Isabelle hadn't done a job interview for a while, which was fine since she wasn't even sure if this was an interview.

She looked at her resume, which was starting to get a little damp due to her sweaty palms, well, pads. She hadn't bothered putting down any of the retail jobs she had before becoming the Mayor's secretary. None of those seemed like they would apply to this position, as far as she knew. However, this meant that she only had one job on her resume. She went into extensive detail of the various skills and responsibilities associated with the position but was still nervous about how it would look.

Isabelle was delighted when she heard that someone was looking for a secretary. Granted, she wasn't sure who was looking for one or what department. She wasn't even sure if there were different departments within the Smash Brothers. She was just glad to have the opportunity to do something other than fighting, something she was familiar with.

Smash was more fun then she thought it would be, but she hadn't taken to it like the Mayor did. He could hold his own among the best of them, to the point where people thought his easy smile was a mask for something darker. As long as she approached these fights with a genuine enthusiasm, everyone would have a good time! Still, she didn't fight with the same tenacity as the Mayor...

Isabelle shook her head. "I can't compare myself to the Mayor! He's the coolest, most adaptable person around! I have to do this my way! They wanted me for Smash, they're going to want me for this too!"

Isabelle caught her reflection in the door. There wasn't anyone else around (maybe they had already interviewed? Had she gotten the time wrong?), so she stood up on her chair and looked herself in the eyes.

"You are capabele! You are wonderful! You are the best secretary around!" she exclaimed, pumping herself up. She could see her confidence boost, the fiery passion in her eyes well up with the desire for success and productivity.

As her eyes adjusted, Isabelle saw past her reflection and saw a different pair of eyes, looking at her in confusion. She yelped in surprise, falling off of her chair and knocking it to the floor. As she scrambles to gather her knocked-over items and pick up the chair, the door opened.

"Hey," said Robin.

"Hi! Um, Hi! I'm, I'm so sorry! I hope I wasn't disturbing you or anything!" exclaimed Isabelle, picking herself up. She offered her best apologetic smile.

"You did," said Robin, causing Isabelle's anxiety to shoot up to enormous heights.

"O-Oh…Are you...here for the interview..?" As she asked the question, Isabelle realized how in trouble she would be if he said yes. Robin must be a better secretary then her, considering that he worked with royalty! If he was interviewing for the job, she was completely out of luck!

"Interview?" he asked. "What interview?"

"I got a message yesterday saying that some department was looking for a secretary, and since that's sort of my area of expertise, I figured I would throw my hat in the ring! Well, I mean I don't wear a hat, but still!" rambled Isabelle.

"Oh," said Robin, and then, as if he understood something. "Oh. No. No, thank you. I don't need one."

With that, he promptly turned around and shut the door on Isabelle. A few seconds passed before the door reluctantly opened.

"Five minutes." said the white-haired man. "If you don't convince me in five minutes, I'm passing on you."

Isabelle nodded enthusiastically, giving him her brightest eyes.

"Please don't. I'm a professional."

"Right. Right, Professional." Isabelle followed the tactician into the room. She was always a little more anxious around characters like Robin, who carried this sort of intensity that fighters like her didn't have. He was apparently a war tactician, after all, so it would make sense that he was a more serious person…She couldn't think like that! Her work was serious too! Sure, it didn't immediately affect weather or not people died, but it still mattered to people!

"I have to apologize. I think my wife may have sent you. She checked out my office the other day and saw how much work I had to do, and insisted that I try to get some help. I told her that this was all manageable. Sure, there are more fighters here then soldiers that I've managed in the past, and they range from animals to people to plants, but I got this. She tried sicing her dad on me, but Chrom is even less organized than me! Hell, it's my job to keep him organized! If I need help being organized, then what does that say about him?" ranted Robin, leading Isabelle to his desk.

"You wife?" Isabelle asked.

"Lucina," Robin replied. "Chrom is my father-in-law and best friend. We have a daughter." Robin pointed to a picture on his desk of a blue-haired girl in a cloak like Robin's standing on a tall stack of books with a panicked look on her face. "This was taken right before she fell," he added with a smirk.

Isabelle looked at the picture, and then brought up her mental image of Lucina. She had always assumed that Lucina was somewhere around her age, even potentially younger. It got confusing trying to figure out the ages of fighters. People like Roy could be 15 while Pit was hundreds of years old. Was Lucina one of those people? And what about Chrom? Even if he was older then he looked, he didn't look like a grandfather!

"Time travel," interjected Robin, cutting off any other questions Isabelle had. "I could see the gears turning in your head. Your time started a minute ago, by the way."

"O-oh!" exclaimed Isabelle. "Well, alright! I've been a secretary for the mayor of Smashville for a while now, I have experience in-"

"I don't care about your experience." interrupted Robin. "I have enough to make up for any experience you might not have. I am, after all, a master tactician. I need someone who can keep up with me. And, from the looks of it, I think you might be too ditzy to do it. Sorry, dog, but you aren't the best in this show." He paused. "Hmm. I hated that. Hold on, let me think of a better one. Three minutes, by the way."

Isabelle was in full panic mode at this point. Robin was right, there was no way someone like her could keep up with him! Her world was a world of peace and community and cute little animals, while he was from a world of war and bloodshed and nasty things! What could she bring to the table?

She stopped herself from having a full panic attack by breathing deeply. She had to treat this like another problem to solve. It was like planning Nook's birthday party or figuring who could use the town hall on certain days. Take away all the war stuff, all of the experience, all of the master tactician stuff. What was it that made her a great secretary? Solving problems. So what was the problem here?

She quickly glanced around the office and wanted to kick herself. Of course! It was so obvious!

"You don't like office work, do you ?" She quickly said, dragging the man out of his thoughts.

"What? I mean, I can do it." Robin said. "It's sort of necessary. Kind of weird how necessary it is for a place like this. You'd think everyone would track down their skills through fighting or whatever, but nooooooo, I have to know about all of Lucas's allergies or Kirby's dental history."

"You can do it, but it doesn't look like you're good at it." She said confidently. The glare Robin sent her way almost punctured her false bravado, but she knew she was right.

"I'm good at it." He protested. "I'm just still adjusted to this office."

"What's that giant stack?" asked Isabelle, pointed to the large stack of files on Robin's desk.

"They're files on every stages, fighter, items, all that jazz."

"And it's easy to look through?"

"Yeah."

"Prove it. Pull out my file."

"Pull out my file!" mimicked Robin in a high pitch voice, then stood up and started picking through the stack. It took a few minutes, during which Isabelle was treated to a few annoyed grumbles and one or two words that would never be said where she came from.

Eventually, Robin made a triumphant explicated and grabbed a file from the middle of the stack. Isabelle knew what was going to happen next, and it was all part of her plan, but she didn't feel any less bad about it.

For his part, Robin didn't go scrambling to pick up the fallen papers. He stood there, a deadpan look on his face. Isabelle didn't want to ask how long it had taken him to organize those files.

"...And how would you do this, pup?" he asked, turning his eyes toward Isabelle.

"For starters, it might help to convert all of these to digital, but beyond that, a filing cabinet can do wonders!" she suggested with a cheery smile.

Robin knelt down to Isabelle's level, looking her head in the eye with an expression she felt was reserved only for war.

"...If you want to do this, I have to warn you: I run a pretty tight ship. We've got over eighty people to manage, not to mention any other extra business that comes up along the way. Things are gonna get weird, and I'm going to need you to be able to keep up. We might run out of ideas midway through, so you may have to pull some creative weight. It always helps to have a different perspective, but I need to know if you can keep your cool. Can you do that?"

Isabelle looked into the man's eyes. Even though he had so much more experience than her, she knew she had what it takes. She just had to keep up at a different pace.

"I was born ready!"

Just like that, it seems like a flip had switched inside of Robin. His faced relaxed to an easy smile, and he immediately stood up and started walking out of the office.

"Great! Now clean all of this up. It was a clever trick playing my ego like that, but I need that info organized. Consider this your first lesson: always remember your actions have consequences. I learned that after a few deaths, so count yourself lucky it's only paper. Oh, and could you also grab me a coffee? I don't know all those fancy drinks they make, but I'm partial to chai." He took to bossing her around like a fish to water. Robin threw the keys to the office behind him, expecting Isabelle to catch them. She did, after some fumbling.

Isabelle looked at the mess in front of her. This was going to be something. It was her personal Ridley, but she was Samus, and this office was her space ship, and her dress was her power armor, and her organizer was her arm cannon, and her need to succeed was her dead parents…

Ok, maybe comparing a stack of messy paperwork to a genocidal orphan maker wasn't the best comparison, but still, she was ready to go!