#catya

Pro Hero Ingenium, real name Tenya Iida, had a social media presence akin to a milennial living room: drab, gray, and uninteresting. it wasn't a train wreck like some of his constituents, but that was almost worse. audiences liked a train wreck, it meant they couldn't look away. with Ingenium, no one was looking in the first place.

when he first stepped into your office for a consult, it immediately became clear why.

"you need to ditch the haircut."

you blurted it out the second he took his helmet off. when he marched in wearing shining white armor, you had assumed he'd be some dashing knight with shimmering blond hair down to his lower back. instead, he was touting a slicked back blue haircut that was deeply unflattering.

he looks nigh on offended at your words, bringing his helmet closer to his chest, about to start a polite bow before he was upended by your insult. "… excuse me?"

you shake your head, and hold your hands up in surrender. "my apologies, mr. iida. let me start over." with both hands, you pull back your own hair, showing off a petite forehead. "how do you think this looks on me?"

the pro hero gapes, an indignant blush rising to his cheeks. "f-fine, i suppose."

he's very polite. i can work with that. with one hand still holding your hair back, you bring the fingers of your other hand to rest on your forehead. only about 3 and a half of them are all it takes to cover the whole area. "do you see how small my forehead is? pulling it back elongates the area." you let your hair fall, then spread both your palms upwards in a sort of supplication. "now, your turn."

he looks down at your hands, then, tentatively, takes a step forward, and presses his own fingers lengthwise onto your forehead. you chuckle. he's charming in his awkwardness.

"i meant on your own forehead, mr. iida."

"oh!" he jumps back like he's been burned, then presses his fingers to his own forehead. one, two, three, four, and his thumb, all fit on it. "it's… quite a bit bigger."

you nod, eyebrows raised. "yes. i'd venture to say a bit more than average. and that haircut puts a spotlight on it."

he looks perturbed, eyes seeming to darken as he puts a hand to his chin. "it's supposed to convey speed. that is my quirk, after all."

"oh, i understand the intent. and an 'a' for effort, mr. iida." you pull out a notepad, already scribbling down some of the basic facets of his personality to bring through on his socials. "i like that you're already thinking about those things. i appreciate a hero that brings more than a pretty face and an outstanding quirk to the table."

"a… pretty face?" he has the expression of a man who has never heard such a thing before, which baffles you. "but i thought you said that the haircut-"

"the haircut." you stop him, and begin jotting down a number on a sticky note. "the terrible haircut is distracting from the pretty face. you need bangs." you reach across the desk, and wait for him to gingerly take the proffered note. "that's my hairdresser. tell her exactly what i told you, and come back tomorrow. we'll start a social plan."

"but, ma'am, this meeting is supposed to be a whole hour. i've barely been here five minutes!" the hero looks absolutely distraught. you've never seen a client who didn't want to leave early. when you say nothing and give him only a surprised face, he pulls a folder from what seems to be thin air and starts leafing through it. "i've brought my social insights from x and instagram, as well as some charts that meta provided regarding my demographics. i thought perhaps we could discuss them, and you could help me interpret them. it all seems fairly intuitive, but i don't think the content i'm producing is resonating the way i expect it to. with your help, perhaps we…"

he keeps prattling on, but you can't bring yourself to listen. a dark blue hair has broken free from the gel, and is curling over his pointed eyebrow as he looks down upon the marketing documents. my god, he actually gives a shit. this must be how ben gates felt when he found the map on the back of the declaration of independence.

you wait for him to finish speaking, then pull up a chair from the wall to sit across from your own. your tone is clipped and professional, perfectly hiding a butterfly that seems to have made a home in your stomach. "i'll happily discuss specifics with you, mr. iida. i simply didn't expect you to be so interested in your own social presence."

he plops down without preamble, immediately placing the folder on your desk, then settling his own hands stalwartly on his armored thighs. the sudden proximity seems to bother him little, so focused is he on the task at hand. there is something truly noble and knightlike about him, and it's not just the polished metal that graces his body.

your hour meeting becomes an hour and a half, both of you ensconced in discussions of content marketing and the value of brand voice. he's uneducated on the finer points, sure, but it's clear his preliminary research is sound. you've had clients with a vested interest in their socials before, but never ones that demonstrated a level of care and research like tenya iida. by the time the meeting draws to a close and he's leaving your office with sticky note in hand, you find that you're sad to see him go. you even catch yourself watching him leave from your window, his helmet back on, engines on his legs shaking just slightly as he breaks into a run.

"ingenium, huh…" you muse to yourself, watching him tear off into the evening sun.

"yeah. i can work with that."

you've never had a crush on a client.