"How did a B-Class Rank 63 nobody like you end up ahead of us? An alien emperor issuing a decree summoning someone to the capital—no matter how you look at it, it should be us S-Class heroes going first... Hey, I'm talking to you."
"Oh."
"What do you mean 'oh'?! Hmph, how annoying. I'm asking you—you're clearly B-Class. How did you, whatever-your-name-is, get onto the spaceship? Didn't I tell you to evacuate? And what's with those aliens' weird attitude toward you? Their sovereign suddenly wants to see you—what did you do?"
"My name's Saitama, not Whatever. Shorty, at least remember people's names. As for their attitude? Maybe it's because I fought their boss. The alien emperor wants to see me, so I'll go see her. What's the problem?"
"Ugh—!"
"If there's no problem, I'm heading off. They gave me free vouchers for the ship's restaurant—no reason not to use them... Hey, Genos, let's go check out their interstellar market again."
"Yes, Sensei!"
"Damn it! You two, stop right there! You B-Class nobody—I don't care what trick you used to board this ship alone and draw the aliens' attention. A mere B-Class shouldn't hog the spotlight! Even without you, I'd be more than enough on my own. You baldy, octopus, boiled egg—"
"Bal—baldy?!"
Inside this luxurious and comfortable living cabin, the very 'minimalist-line man' that the Empress of the Sacred Empire, Selene, had been thinking about was currently standing beneath a gilded crystal chandelier, his gleaming scalp reflecting the halo of light brilliantly. One hand rested on his hip as he pointed indignantly at the small figure floating before him.
"What? Can't accept the reality that you're bald? Well... I, the great Tatsumaki, am kind enough to point out that lightbulb head of yours—bright enough to illuminate a basement—and help you face reality."
The one trading insults with Saitama was the S-Class Rank 2 hero, an esper known as the 'Blizzard of Hell.' She covered her mouth halfway as she laughed in a queenly three-stage giggle.
Fair-skinned, with a childish face and green curly hair, she wore a black high-slit dress and small heels. Her appearance and figure were practically that of an underage girl.
Even her personality was entirely that of a little girl, for some reason bickering with a B-Class Rank 63 hero.
There was no trace of the 28-year-old mature woman recorded in the Hero Association's files.
Personality tendency—tsundere.
An Imperial Auxiliary officer accompanying them cradled a terminal tablet in his arms, recording observations.
Grinding his teeth, Saitama glanced around. Hero Association colleagues were whispering. Imperial officers were holding back laughter while taking notes. Embedded reporters were filming and recording audio.
He finally snapped.
Heads could roll, blood could spill. Let the world slander him, misunderstand him, deny his achievements, even let others claim his credit—it didn't matter. All of that was external.
Only—his hair! That could not be insulted!
"Shut up, you smug flat-chested shorty! Didn't your parents teach you basic manners?"
His mouth twisted. Bloodshot eyes bulged slightly. A strained, forced grin of irritation stretched across his face, and a prominent throbbing vein bulged on his reflective forehead.
"Smug... flat-chested... shorty..."
Exposing each other's sore spots, Tatsumaki trembled in fury, her face flushed red as she glared at the bald man before her. An invisible force field began spreading outward. Decorative objects around the cabin trembled irregularly, on the verge of exploding.
Snap!
At that moment, a large hand wearing a gray-black glove silently pierced through the fluorescent green psychic field and gently pressed down on Tatsumaki's slender shoulder.
"Adjust your mindset, Miss Tatsumaki. Unfortunately, this vessel is not equipped with a large-scale training ground suitable for esper duels."
The newcomer wore a meticulously tailored iron-gray high-collared Auxiliary uniform, complete with gold aiguillettes, a gilded twin-headed eagle claw insignia on his sleeve, and a red-background, gold-threaded star insignia on his epaulettes that proclaimed his rank.
"Lieutenant General!" ×N
With a sharp snap of boots, all Imperial military personnel present stood at attention and saluted.
With short brown hair, blue eyes, and a tall, well-proportioned figure, the calm-faced Auxiliary Lieutenant General adjusted his narrow-framed glasses and looked down at the woman floating roughly ten centimeters above the floor.
"If you want to fight, wait until we reach the Imperial Capital. Register at any arena and fight as much as you like. But this is a warship. Any property damaged will be compensated at twice the factory price."
"It was her! It's all this brat's fault!" The moment compensation was mentioned, Saitama—who had just looked ready to throw hands—immediately grew tense.
"See? I haven't even moved yet. She's the one misusing her psychic powers. Those bottles and paintings were knocked crooked by her."
This was an interstellar warship. From what he could tell, its décor rivaled the wealthy districts of City A and City B—every inch of space worth a fortune. Whoever bore responsibility would face astronomical compensation. His tiny savings and B-Class salary wouldn't even come close.
He swore on heaven and earth—he bought groceries only during supermarket clearance sales and salvaged edible parts from defeated monsters. He wished he could split a single coin in half to use twice. Even getting change required careful calculation.
As for running away or defaulting? That wasn't an option. Saitama wasn't some street thug.
So—
Pointing at the flushed Tatsumaki, who was biting down on her silver teeth and clenching her small fists until they creaked, Saitama spoke righteously.
"That's right, it's all this woman's fault. She's always pestering Sensei."
The handsome blond cyborg disciple who always followed Saitama stepped forward as well.
"Restore all displays to their original positions with your psychic powers, Miss Tatsumaki." Fully aware of who bore primary responsibility, the Lieutenant General calmly gestured toward the reception room where tea had spilled and furnishings were slightly displaced.
"Ugh—"
"Private duels are strictly forbidden. This is your only warning." The Lieutenant General's gaze remained indifferent.
"I've already shown you consideration. The reconstruction and support standard for Temporarily Designated World No. 1781063 ('One Punch Man') is the highest level I can personally authorize. You are all heroes who protect humanity and your homelands against alien monsters. You deserve that. But please do not make things difficult for me."
"If you cause trouble in the Imperial Capital, no one will be able to protect you."
"You—S-Class Rank 3, and the elder among them. Bang. Keep your juniors in check." The Lieutenant General pointed out the oldest-looking and seemingly most reliable man in the group.
"This old man shall do his utmost," the elderly hero replied.
His hair had completely faded to white. He wore a somewhat loose black bodysuit and stood slightly hunched.
"Not 'utmost.' You must," the Lieutenant General said, pausing at the cabin doorway to cast one final glance back before leaving.
If one did not look closely at the old man's blue eyes—clear and sharp, gleaming from within deeply carved wrinkles—one might instinctively overlook this seemingly frail elder, especially when compared to the vividly distinctive heroes beside him.
Clack.
The cabin valve rotated shut.
"Ah... this rigid hierarchy and absolute obedience of military life truly doesn't suit an old man long accustomed to freedom." With the most imposing military superior finally gone, Bang scratched his head with a faint grimace.
"Little Tatsumaki, Saitama... we're all comrades in the same boat. Don't squabble. Fighting is affection, scolding is love—people only act that way when they care..."
Playing peacemaker, Bang winked at Saitama in a manner thoroughly unbecoming of his age.
"Who cares about him!"; "Who cares about her."
They spoke in perfect unison.
Tatsumaki snorted and floated back to her original position. Saitama temporarily abandoned the idea of strolling through the ship's interstellar market again. With a displeased expression, he flopped onto the sofa and began flipping channels aimlessly with the remote.
Watching their behavior, Bang chuckled and shook his head. He requested two cups of sake from the intelligent servitor responsible for providing natural food and beverages, then sat beside Saitama and raised his cup.
"Speaking of which, Saitama, it's thanks to you that we earned the qualification to board this ship and travel to the capital of the entire interstellar empire."
"Well... I still don't know why the Empress wants to see me." Saitama clinked cups lightly with him, equally puzzled.
Bang laughed heartily. "Perhaps it's finally time for you to shine with the brilliance you deserve. Saitama, I suspect your battle aboard that alien pirate ship was observed in its entirety by the Imperial forces."
"That one-eyed alien, huh..." Saitama lifted his head, staring blankly at the ceiling while cradling his sake cup.
Recalling his clash with that one-eyed alien, the opponent's all-out assault had indeed given him a rare sense of excitement.
He didn't die, did he...
After Saitama had dispersed the alien's final attack, Imperial troops descended and recovered what remained of the still-living one-eyed alien, sealing his broken body inside some kind of container.
"I'm actually looking forward to a truly evenly matched fight."
Bang set down his cup and lowered his voice. "You're not thinking of fighting the Imperial Empress, are you? I advise you to abandon that notion. Setting aside the Empress' strength, with titles such as Divine Empress, Goddess of Finality, Supreme Creator—if the Empress were to grow enraged, our planet might cease to exist."
"Well... that's true. I'll take your advice." Saitama gave an awkward chuckle.
The two of them gazed out the window in unison.
Beyond the specially filtered viewport, within the void, countless colossal warships gathered together. Ornate, sharp-edged, battlement-lined steel behemoths formed orderly formations beneath a silent purple-red curtain of space, streaking forward amid elongated trails of light particles.
"The Imperial Capital. The Empress has summoned you. How will you respond?" Bang asked.
"Go with the flow. She probably won't make things difficult for a mere B-Class hero." Saitama drained the sake in one gulp, his dull, drooping eyes fixed blankly on the two-headed eagle emblem spreading its wings across the vaulted ceiling.
"If there's a commission, I'll just complete it..."
...
"He will be a template. A wedge."
Within the simulated Marvel multiverse space, there was no east, west, north, or south. The expanse shimmered with iridescent fluorescence. Above and below alike surged torrents of exquisite particle streams, speckled with radiant glimmers, as though one stood within a dazzling sea of stars.
"So this is the fundamental power of that formidable universe Her Majesty mentioned—one that requires long-term attrition?"
Clang—clang!
Eternal ice spears the size of stars tore vast holes through the void. Yet even absolute zero, cold enough to freeze space-time, could not fully dispel the incomparably violent cosmic big-bang force.
Esdeath mobilized the internal Honkai energy within her, attempting to resist the multiverse's assimilation. This method of assimilation resembled Selene's erosion and devouring in certain aspects, yet its underlying framework was entirely different.
Very quickly, the Honkai energy Esdeath commanded began failing to withstand the primordial essence born of the multiverse itself. Specks of iridescent brilliance attempted to permeate, engulf, and erase everything about her.
"That's enough."
Gentle imaginary light seeped through every microscopic fissure in the void as Selene crushed the experimental space that simulated the birth traits and transcendent energy essence of the Marvel multiverse.
Observing the slightly breathless Esdeath, Selene tilted her head, refusing her request to continue the fight.
"If I sent you in directly and the investment went up in smoke, that would be rather regrettable..."
"Heroic Spirits," she emphasized.
"You will go in Heroic Spirit form. I shall elevate the spiritual foundations you bear to Grand and Beast-class levels, then project you into the universe John is currently pioneering. New power. Greater variables. I believe He will not obstruct it—on the contrary, He will welcome it."
This was the result of Selene's careful deliberation.
She would not allow Master Chief John—117 to fight alone. Dispatching new forces to rendezvous with him was also a statement of continued investment.
Sending Esdeath's true body was not impossible, but the returns would likely be negligible—and the risk of losing everything substantial. Selene had no intention of making such a foolish gamble.
To deploy extrinsic entities into the Earth-199999 world did not require overwhelming strength. No matter how powerful they were, could they surpass the successive incarnations of Eternity and the Living Tribunal there? Could they surpass the One Above All?
There was no need. The average upper limit achievable by Grand and Beast-class sufficed—scouring planetary surfaces, destroying stars, even dismantling stellar systems was more than adequate.
So long as they did not provoke the Celestials or irritate the sensitive nerves of the universe's creator gods, it would be enough to dominate the material universe.
For existences beyond a single universe tier, information flowed swiftly. It was impossible they would not know where these special beings originated.
Master Chief John—117 and those who followed him entering the Earth-199999 world—whether or not explicitly sanctioned by the One Above All or the Living Tribunal—was something the gods of that world were inclined to welcome.
It was akin to discovering a new element on the periodic table. An addition at the most fundamental level benefited all. One more individual was more. One more fleet was more. On the scale of the cosmos, it was but a drop in the ocean.
Most crucially—Marvel's space-time fabric was practically riddled with holes like a sieve.
Anyone might stumble upon a fortuitous encounter or some arcane metaphysical anomaly. More exaggerated still—light up the title of engineer or scientist, tinker around a bit, and suddenly—ah, dimensional travel. A connection to another timeline. A discovered space-time corridor.
"If we proceed as Heroic Spirits, when do we depart?" Esdeath stood respectfully at Selene's side. "Shall I travel to the Type-Moon composite universe governorate to summon my subordinates?"
"No rush. The old idlers on the Throne of Heroes need a prod or two. As for the main force—I have someone else in mind."
Selene smiled meaningfully.
"Esdeath, tell me—when a man who has removed his limiter is cast into a vast world with scarcely any bottlenecks, where evenly matched battles are never in short supply—what kind of delightful spectacle would that create?"
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