"Welcome to the Imperial Capital."
Amid the bustling, prosperous clamor of the Star Gate Spaceport, Saitama stood out like a sore thumb. With his conspicuous bald head and drooping eyes, he wore a bright yellow superhero bodysuit with a white cape—an outfit that contrasted sharply against the meticulously tailored uniforms of the Imperial military personnel accompanying him. He looked around in open curiosity.
"Who are they?"
On the opposite side of the docking platform, having arrived almost simultaneously with their group, stood another procession.
They were cloaked in hooded capes, heavy robes, and ceremonial vestments.
Some carried cumbersome staffs crowned with burning flames. Others held smoking censers, or thick metal-bound tomes strapped with iron chains and fitted with heavy metal rams at the corners. Scrolls were plastered across exposed skin and clothing alike. Many had even carved scriptures directly into their own faces.
Like a pilgrimage procession of fanatical cultists, they advanced one step at a time, kneeling and kowtowing every few paces, chanting incomprehensible, rhythmic words under their breath. Their expressions were solemn and grave.
"A—13 Central Direct-Control Grand Sector Governorate (Warhammer 40K) Ecclesiarchy pilgrimage fleet," the port guide said with a shrug. "They come here every so often to pay homage to the Divine Empress."
"It's said Her Majesty doesn't like their barbaric rituals. Last time, a zealot tried to immolate himself in front of the Hofburg Palace gates to accompany Her Majesty in death..."
"But they are devout, aren't they? Religious ritual is like breathing to them—rooted in their souls and daily lives."
"There was once a proposal from the Grand Administrative Council suggesting abolishing the Ecclesiarchy outright. But the trillions of believers there refused... They believed it was their own sins that caused the Divine Empress to abandon them. Zealots who saw themselves as guilty began committing suicide, self-immolating, starving themselves before sacred icons... Her Majesty is merciful. This time, she permitted the Ecclesiarchy to continue existing."
"Tsk... Fanatics to the extreme. If Her Majesty ordered them all to die, they probably wouldn't hesitate..."
The Imperial soldiers familiar with the inside story lowered their voices and muttered among themselves.
Unable to understand High Gothic and not yet proficient in Imperial Common, Saitama didn't dwell long on the pilgrims. With his lifeless, dead-fish eyes, he followed the group forward.
When they passed through an archway and the view suddenly opened up—
"Whoa! That's incredible... It's huge..."
Standing by the railing of a wide skybridge, Saitama pointed toward the magnificent statue of the divine Empress towering above the Triumph Plaza at the heart of the spaceport—covering tens of thousands of hectares—and shouted in amazement.
"Genos, look! It's way bigger than the giant I ran into in City B..." he said excitedly.
Long accustomed to his master's personality—sometimes so mature it was as if all emotion had vanished, other times astonishingly childish—the handsome blond cyborg stepped forward and activated his scanning eye.
"An axe and a scepter... Sensei, that statue should be the Empress," Genos said in a low, serious tone.
"...Everyone here is so strong."
Aside from Saitama, who seemed completely unaffected, that single thought occupied the minds of all the S-Class heroes.
Especially Tatsumaki.
With Blast, the Rank 1 hero, remaining on their home planet to handle the aftermath, she was currently the strongest S-Class hero present—particularly as an esper with the sharpest perception.
The instant she stepped off the side ramp and touched the ground, wave after wave of scrutinizing gazes swept across her—so many they were impossible to count. In that moment, every nerve ending in her body instinctively understood what true cold meant.
A bone-piercing chill. A pain like her soul had been skewered.
It came quickly. It left just as quickly.
As if it had been nothing but an illusion.
"Haa..."
Her face pale, Tatsumaki exhaled silently and looked ahead toward the transfer hub entrance of the spaceport, where pennants fluttered and crowds flowed densely. On the elevated battlements of the structure stood radiant golden figures—silent and unmoving, holding halberds. Were it not for the red tassels swaying in the wind, they might have been mistaken for statues.
As though annotated by the abyss itself, Tatsumaki no longer dared to float conspicuously in the air. Instead, she walked properly with the main group.
Along the way, Imperial officers marched with resounding steps, exuding a chilling aura powerful enough to inspire despair. Their sheer numbers, density, and immaculate order shattered the last remnants of pride among the S-Class heroes.
Under the guidance of an Imperial Auxiliary cadet officer, the group was brought before personnel from the Bureau of Science, instructors from the Department of Martial Training, and palace attendants awaiting handover.
"You are B-Class Rank 63 of the Hero Association—Caped Baldy, Saitama?" The palace attendant stopped before the most distinctive figure in the group.
The moment the title "Caped Baldy" was spoken, Saitama's face turned green.
Which bastard came up with that stupid name?! It's reached the Sacred Selene Empire's capital?! Once the Empress says it aloud, doesn't that mean it's permanently fixed?
There might even be court historians recording it...
"Yes..."
His expression twisted, mouth crooked, Saitama panted heavily and shot a bloodshot glare at the Hero Association staff who had accompanied them.
Did you people even take the hero registration process seriously back then?!
"Very good, Mr. Saitama. Please follow me."
The palace attendant ignored the issue of his hero name. After confirming he was the person Her Majesty had summoned, he gestured and signaled to his colleagues to handle the rest.
The discussion concluded swiftly.
The S-Class heroes had obtained the opportunity to come to the Imperial Capital only because the B-Class Rank 63 bald caped hero had been summoned—tagging along in his wake.
With the principal figure taken away, the remaining S-Class heroes—each possessing powerful abilities and traits—were assessed for development.
Genos, Tatsumaki, S-Class Rank 6 Metal Knight, S-Class Rank 8 Zombieman, and S-Class Rank 9 Drive Knight were selected by operatives of the Bureau of Science.
S-Class Rank 3 Silver Fang Bang, S-Class Rank 4 Atomic Samurai, S-Class Rank 10 Pig God, S-Class Rank 11 Superalloy Blackluster, and S-Class Rank 12 Watchdog Man were taken by instructors from the Department of Martial Training.
One more note.
S-Class Rank 5 Child Emperor was rejected by the Imperial military under the policy of not employing child labor—stating he must be at least twelve to qualify for cadet service—and was left on his home planet to complete his education.
As for S-Class Rank 7 King... the Imperial military did not draft him.
...
"That bald man is the one Your Majesty values?"
Esdeath paused slightly. "A superhuman who broke his limiter...? He looks very ordinary." At first glance, he seemed like an extra who would fade into the background.
"Ordinary is precisely the point." Selene gazed appreciatively at the holographic projection showing Saitama following the palace attendants through a teleportation anchor into the outer court plaza of Schönbrunn Palace, her lips curving into a radiant smile.
"Aside from his bald head and those drooping eyes, his appearance is utterly average. Throw him into a crowd and he has no defining traits. He has none of the temperament one would expect of a powerhouse, no profound aura whatsoever. Everything about him is sparse and commonplace—so much so that one instinctively overlooks him.
"But who ever said a superhuman must be tall and imposing, with 'I'm strong, don't mess with me' written all over his face?" Selene laughed softly. "Look carefully, Esdeath... the heroic qualities in him."
Esdeath frowned. "'Hero,' 'limiter,'" she repeated thoughtfully, savoring the words Selene had used. "Transcendence. A return to simplicity..."
Very quickly, she accessed all available data on Saitama through her authority—Hero Association internal files included, along with unofficial records.
"A true hero," she murmured.
When she came across the reports of petty thugs slandering and insulting Saitama after the meteor incident, even smearing him with false accusations, killing intent flickered across her face.
"I admire someone like him," Esdeath said coldly, "but I could never be a hero."
If such trash dared behave so brazenly before her, she would have long since minced them into paste with ice blades.
"However, I roughly understand Your Majesty's thinking. The 'Deployment Plan' is practically tailor-made for him. That trait of breaking limits and 'continuously growing'—only within an almost omnipotent multiverse can it be fully realized. A hero without regret, with utterly pure will... perhaps in the end, he will grow into a different kind of godlike 'superman'?"
"So, Your Majesty... I am merely the prize?"
Selene did not deny it.
When it came to maneuvering within Marvel, you were always going to be the prize.
Don't be fooled by the fact that Caped Baldy was currently little more than a novice circling within a basic Earth–Moon system. Once Selene changed his environment, that would be the true beginning of his potential being realized.
Saitama followed the path of pure physicality. He had no flashy energy projection techniques. Yet that very purity—of desire, of obsession, of ability—combined with the world's inherent traits, the favor of its laws, and countless unique coincidences layered atop one another, was what forged him.
It was precisely why such an absurd training regimen—one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, a ten-kilometer run every single day, and never using air conditioning at home regardless of freezing winters or scorching summers (in truth, because he could not afford it)—had enabled him to break his limiter.
The moment Saitama entered the Honkai dimension, he had in fact already been branded with Selene's mark.
The god of his home planet had been replaced by Selene. Even the world's own unconscious law—something akin to bestowing limiters and unlocking them within individuals—had been devoured by her, becoming part of her ever-advancing and refining pseudo-omniscient, pseudo-omnipotent authority.
"As a template. As a wedge... provide me with insight and data, Saitama..."
Mobilizing the power of laws, Selene began crafting a Heroic Spirit vessel. During the process, she embedded the concept of the limiter within it. So long as heart, body, and mind remained unyielding—fighting, tempering, and breaking through without cease—one could 'unlock' and surpass the spiritual foundation limits she had set.
She was experimenting.
Every Heroic Spirit foundation projected alongside Saitama into the Earth-199999 world would carry the concept of a limiter. Whether they could break through—and to what extent—would depend entirely on the individual Heroic Spirit.
Knock, knock.
"Your Majesty, Caped Baldy—Saitama—has been brought."
Hearing the chamberlain solemnly and ceremoniously announce the hero's title, Selene and Esdeath exchanged a tacit glance.
We are professionally trained in court etiquette. We must not laugh.
"Admit him."
Selene slowly set down the crystallized spiritual foundation into which she had finalized the limiter concept, and looked toward the utterly ordinary bald man standing at the palace entrance.
"Uh... Your Majesty, if my hometown, City Z, is part of your domain, then I guess that makes me your subject. Should I kneel?"
Raising his hand hesitantly, Saitama looked at the silver-haired woman seated above the steps—who seemed rather pretty—and asked uncertainly, as if speaking to a landlady next door.
"Insolence—"
"Dispense with formalities."
Just as the winged attendant was about to erupt, Selene's light voice drifted across the hall.
"Be seated."
"Huh? Oh... okay!"
Saitama's casual attitude did not bother Selene. She had deliberately suppressed the conceptual traits of Slaanesh and the goddess of beauty within herself. Pure physical appearance alone barely registered in his dull senses.
"Uh, thanks... So, Your Majesty, why did you summon me?"
Without hesitation, he sat down and asked bluntly.
"A mission."
As if conducting a routine guild exchange, Selene unhurriedly poured a cup of strong tea and sent it drifting across the air toward him.
Oaths of fealty were meaningless. So long as she had not committed atrocities in his homeland, and as the highest ruler of the land of his birth, Saitama would not betray her.
His values were that simple.
"A mission?" Saitama blinked.
"Yes. A mission that requires a hero. One of my strike cruiser fleets has gone missing. Its commanding officer—Master Chief John—117."
With a wave of her hand, Selene delivered a dossier—translated into Japanese specifically for him—into Saitama's grasp.
"I require you to confirm the fleet's status and, alongside a support force, reopen a 'rescue' corridor." The words status and rescue were deliberately neutral and flexible.
"Mm. Okay. When do we start?"
After briefly scanning John—117's life history—an image formed in Saitama's mind of a hero who fought for humanity, protected humanity, and pioneered humanity's future. He did not hesitate in the slightest.
"A friendly reminder. The mission is arduous. You will face unprecedented enemies. You may die. You may never return," Selene added calmly.
"Isn't this exactly when a hero should step forward?"
For the first time in a long while, passion ignited within Saitama's lifeless eyes. The hot-blooded drive of justice rekindled.
Even his simple, minimalist features seemed to sharpen with definition.
"Very good."
One hero going to save another hero. A resonance between heroes, Selene thought silently.
All that remained was to have him roll once through the primordial essence of the Marvel multiverse's early genesis—let him gain proper registration there.
"Esdeath, you may go select your Heroic Spirit team members."
...
Meanwhile, within the Earth-199999 world.
Xandar. A noisy bar. Afternoon.
"Alright, Guardians of the Galaxy—no need to be suspicious. We harbor no ill intent. The auction concluded smoothly. We did not detonate anything for a terrorist spectacle. The buyer obtained the atmospheric incineration torpedo. We received sufficient funds and procured supplies. You received your commission. Everyone wins."
"Now, it's time for the second half of the commission. Mr. Quill—Earth is your homeworld. Do you have connections there?"
—
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