A whole week. Seven days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. That's how long it had been since Chisaki dumped me in this warehouse like I was an Amazon package nobody wanted to claim.

The guy hadn't even checked in. Talk about poor management skills.

And now, with Christmas just three days away, I was overwhelmed, stressed, and pretty sure my left eye was twitching from all the last-minute chaos.

What chaos, you ask? Oh, nothing major. Just trying to single-handedly pull off the largest underground Christmas operation this city had ever seen. No biggie.

Between sewing up ripped gift bags, reorganizing inventory (read: stolen goods), and figuring out how to keep my cover intact while still delivering presents to every kid in need, I barely had time to sleep, let alone eat.

So, of course, that's when Chisaki decided to finally show his masked face again.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him—the heavy, deliberate kind that screamed, I'm important, fear me. Dramatic much?

The door creaked open, and there he was, looking as pristine and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, I looked like I'd been mauled by a Christmas tree.

"Well, well," he said, his tone oozing that smug superiority he probably practiced in front of a mirror. "Still alive, I see."

"Barely," I muttered, not even bothering to look up from the pile of ribbons I was untangling. "Thanks for asking, by the way. Your concern is truly touching."

He ignored my sarcasm, stepping closer to inspect the mess of supplies surrounding me. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Trying to save Christmas," I said, waving a hand at the chaos. "You know, for the kids who don't have criminal empires or, oh, I don't know, basic human decency backing them up."

His eyes narrowed behind his mask. "You're serious about this Santa act."

"Dead serious," I shot back, finally looking up to meet his gaze. "Because someone has to be. And apparently, that someone is me."

Chisaki studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, he said, "You're really doing all this... without a quirk?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, yeah? Did you miss the part where I told you I'm quirkless?"

"I assumed you were lying," he said bluntly.

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," I said, rolling my eyes. "Because lying about being quirkless is such a great way to gain sympathy from villains."

He ignored my snark, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Why would someone without a quirk risk their life for something like this?"

I sighed, leaning back on my heels and rubbing my temples. "Because somebody has to. Because those kids out there deserve better. And because, frankly, being quirkless sucks, and I'm tired of letting that define what I can or can't do."

Chisaki's gaze lingered on me, his expression softening just a fraction. "You're... unusual."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered. "I'll be sure to add that to my resume."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly debating something. Then, to my utter shock, he said, "I could help you."

I stared at him, my brain short-circuiting. "Wait, what?"

"I said I could help," he repeated, his tone impatient. "You're clearly in over your head, and you're too stubborn to admit it. I can provide resources, manpower... whatever you need to pull this off."

I squinted at him, suspicious. "What's the catch?"

Chisaki smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up behind his mask. "You work for me."

"Ha! Good one," I said, laughing. "Oh, wait, you're serious?"

"Completely," he said, his tone deadpan. "You want to make a difference, fine. But you'll do it under my supervision. And in return, I'll help you with your little Santa operation."

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again, suddenly unsure. On the one hand, working for Chisaki was about as appealing as swallowing a cactus. On the other hand...

I glanced around at the mess surrounding me. At the piles of toys and clothes waiting to be sorted, the bags of donations I still needed to deliver, and the countless kids relying on me to make this Christmas special.

"Fine," I said finally, crossing my arms. "But don't think for a second that this makes us friends."

"Trust me," he said, his smirk widening. "The feeling is mutual."