Mei Hatsume
The room was too clean.
First thing Mei noticed—too smooth, too polished, too quiet. No scorch marks. No tool clutter. No exposed wiring. It felt less like a workspace and more like somewhere ideas went to behave.
Her gaze swept once—walls, table, corners—noting what wasn't there.
Then she spotted the outlet panel.
That was enough.
By the time she reached the table, she was already talking. A faint smudge of grease marked her cheek, her goggles pushed up into her hair, and she smelled faintly of metal and something recently overheated.
A hand lifted across the table.
She leaned closer instead.
She stopped—not because of him, but because she was done.
She leaned back, chin settling into her palm, eyes bright and focused.
The agent exhaled slowly, then opened the folder.
Mei blinked.
Not offended—just recalibrating.
He slid a document forward.
Mei's eyes flicked down, then back up.
That landed differently.
Mei's head tilted.
She pulled out a small device, angling it toward him.
The word cut clean through.
Mei paused.
Her eyes shifted—not away, but inward. Recalibrating.
The agent pressed forward.
Mei barely reacted. Her attention had moved on.
The agent's gaze sharpened.
Mei stilled. Just slightly.
He turned a page.
Recognition flickered instantly. Mei leaned forward—precise, not chaotic.
Silence.
Her fingers tapped once. Twice.
Running numbers. Timelines. Structural requirements. Output potential.
The agent hesitated.
Mei's smile returned. Small. Sharp. Immediate.
The agent closed the folder.
The door opened.
Mei's head turned.
Everything else—papers, room, agent—fell away. Her eyes narrowed, her Quirk engaging without conscious thought.
Posture. Movement. Subtle imbalances. Potential.
Her gaze tracked, precise and unblinking, dissecting everything in seconds.
Interesting.
She leaned forward, elbow finding the table, chin settling into her palm like the position had been waiting for this moment.
Her voice came bright and direct.
Then she stopped.
Not because she was finished.
Because something clicked.
Both hands hit the table as she pushed to her feet, leaning forward, eyes lighting up.
First thing Mei noticed—too smooth, too polished, too quiet. No scorch marks. No tool clutter. No exposed wiring. It felt less like a workspace and more like somewhere ideas went to behave.
Her gaze swept once—walls, table, corners—noting what wasn't there.
Then she spotted the outlet panel.
That was enough.
By the time she reached the table, she was already talking. A faint smudge of grease marked her cheek, her goggles pushed up into her hair, and she smelled faintly of metal and something recently overheated.
Okay, imagine this.She dropped into the chair, one gloved hand bracing the surface as she leaned forward.
Compact, low-noise, zero visible emissions—looks harmless, right? But internally? Multi-phase output regulator, adjustable pressure valves, reinforced chamber—
Miss Hatsume—
—scale the output and it becomes viable for field use. Not combat, support applications—disaster zones, tight infrastructure spaces—
Miss Hatsume, this meeting—
—thrives in environments like this.Her hand swept the room.
Clean. Contained. Controlled. Exactly where you don’t expect something to—
A hand lifted across the table.
She leaned closer instead.
—well, it might still explode, but only under very specific conditions, which I've already reduced by—
Miss Hatsume.
She stopped—not because of him, but because she was done.
She leaned back, chin settling into her palm, eyes bright and focused.
So,she said,
what do you think?
The agent exhaled slowly, then opened the folder.
I think,he said carefully,
that your… proposal is not the purpose of this meeting.
Mei blinked.
Not offended—just recalibrating.
Okay. Then what is?
He slid a document forward.
You have been selected for participation in the Quirk Marriage Initiative.
Mei's eyes flicked down, then back up.
Structured pairing?She was already leaning forward.
Long-term cohabitation, shared resources, monitored outcomes—
Yes,the agent said,
participants are matched based on Quirk compatibility—
So it's a controlled integration system.Voice quick, precise.
Track performance over time. Adjust variables. Optimize—
Miss Hatsume.Firmer this time.
The objective includes reproduction within the first six months.
That landed differently.
Mei's head tilted.
Six months? I make babies all the time,she said, brightening as her hand dove into her bag.
Hold on—this one's compact, but she's one of my best—
She pulled out a small device, angling it toward him.
Reinforced casing, adaptive output—still a little unstable, but that's part of the charm—
Human,the agent said.
The word cut clean through.
Mei paused.
…Oh.The device powered down with a soft click.
Her eyes shifted—not away, but inward. Recalibrating.
Right. Different category.
The agent pressed forward.
Participants are expected to cohabitate within seventy-two hours of assignment. Compliance is mandatory.
Mei barely reacted. Her attention had moved on.
Resource allocation? Workshop access? Material funding? Testing permissions?
The agent's gaze sharpened.
That depends on your level of cooperation.
Mei stilled. Just slightly.
Define 'cooperation.'
He turned a page.
There is a project you previously submitted for approval. It was denied on safety concerns.
Recognition flickered instantly. Mei leaned forward—precise, not chaotic.
…Go on.
We are prepared to revisit that decision under the condition that you fully participate in the Quirk Marriage Initiative.
Silence.
Her fingers tapped once. Twice.
Running numbers. Timelines. Structural requirements. Output potential.
You'd lift the restriction.
Yes.
And provide funding.
Yes.
And testing clearance?
The agent hesitated.
…Within regulated parameters.
Mei's smile returned. Small. Sharp. Immediate.
Okay. That works.
The agent closed the folder.
Your assigned partner will now be brought in.
The door opened.
Mei's head turned.
Everything else—papers, room, agent—fell away. Her eyes narrowed, her Quirk engaging without conscious thought.
Posture. Movement. Subtle imbalances. Potential.
Her gaze tracked, precise and unblinking, dissecting everything in seconds.
Interesting.
She leaned forward, elbow finding the table, chin settling into her palm like the position had been waiting for this moment.
Her voice came bright and direct.
Okay. What's your Quirk output range? High-maintenance build or low-maintenance? I need to know before I design anything. Do you come with durability testing, or do I have to run that myself?
Then she stopped.
Not because she was finished.
Because something clicked.
Wait!
Both hands hit the table as she pushed to her feet, leaning forward, eyes lighting up.
If we're optimizing genetics—do we have access to past Quirk lineage data?
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