The aftermath of the "Noodle Crusade" settled into a strange new normal within the Royal Palace. The immediate, frantic panic was replaced by a kind of low-grade, constant, existential anxiety. The Royal Council now held daily briefings on what they termed "Tempest Status," which mostly consisted of Sir Kaelan providing detailed reports on Saitama's mood, his snack consumption levels, and whether he had expressed any new, potentially city-endangering forms of boredom. The shattered windows had been replaced, the noodle supply was (for the moment) plentiful, and Saitama seemed content. It was a fragile, bizarre peace, and everyone in a position of power knew it couldn't last.
The intelligence gathered from the Gray Monk's Monastery was both a relief and a source of profound dread. The captured Prelate Malakor, once he regained consciousness, was a broken man. His stolen abyssal power was gone, his fanatical zeal shattered, leaving behind only a terrified, rambling shell. Under interrogation by Archmagus Theron's specialists, he confessed everything. He spoke of the Cult's structure, their ambitions, their belief in the "Coming of the True Shadow," and their attempts to manipulate "Diablos's bloodline" – a phrase that sent a particular chill through King Olric and his daughters.
But when asked about the being who had destroyed his sanctuary, Malakor's ramblings became incoherent, tinged with a mad terror. He spoke of a "void in a yellow suit," a "fist that unmade reality," and, most confusingly, a "relentless inquisition regarding the stockpiling of savory broths." His testimony, while confirming the Cult's danger, did little to clarify the nature of their vanquisher, only adding to the mountain of baffling, contradictory data.
The kingdom was reacting to the ripples. The fall of the Titan and the chaos of the tournament had unsettled Midgar's neighbors. The Oriana Kingdom sent a formal diplomatic envoy, led by a silver-tongued ambassador who spoke of "mutual understanding and stability" while his attachés discreetly tried to bribe palace servants for information about the "Bald Champion." The Jotunheim Hegemony sent a formal challenge for a "rematch of honor" for Hrolf the Iron-Beard, which King Olric politely but firmly declined, not wanting to risk Hrolf being "patted" into a permanent geological feature. The world was watching Midgar, and Midgar was watching Saitama.
And in the shadows, others were watching, too.
In the bustling lower districts of the capital, a young man with ordinary brown hair known as Sid was enjoying a meat skewer from a street vendor. He listened with detached amusement to the wild rumors and exaggerated tales of the "Tempest" being swapped by the common folk. A being of overwhelming power who acted on whim, driven by mundane desires… it was a fascinating case study. He had followed the events of the monastery raid with great interest, his own network of informants providing him with details far more accurate than the public rumors. A single entity dismantling a major Cult base in minutes? It was… impressive. And useful. The Cult of Diablos was an obstacle, an annoyance in his own grand, long-term plans. Having this "Saitama" act as an unwitting, chaotic wrecking ball against them… it saved him a great deal of effort. It allowed him to remain in the shadows, observing, manipulating, while the Tempest drew all the attention.
He smiled faintly, taking a bite of his meat skewer. This Saitama was the perfect smokescreen. A living, breathing natural disaster that kept the world's eyes fixed on the overt, explosive displays of power, leaving the subtle, deeper shadows free for him to operate in. He would have to continue observing this "hero for fun." Perhaps their paths might even cross, in a carefully managed, entirely "coincidental" way. The thought was… entertaining.
Up in the palace, Princess Alexia was also finding the situation entertaining, but for different reasons. While her sister Iris fretted about the geopolitical implications and the moral ambiguities of Saitama's power, Alexia was captivated by the sheer, beautiful absurdity of it all. She had found a new, favorite pastime: "Saitama-watching."
She would often visit his suite under the guise of diplomatic necessity or simple courtesy, bringing him strange snacks or asking his "opinion" on matters of state, just to see his baffled, non-sequitur responses. She found his utter lack of guile, his inability to comprehend the complex web of power and intrigue that defined her life, to be a breath of fresh, unpolluted air.
One afternoon, she found him on his balcony, meticulously re-hanging his laundry after a sudden rain shower. He was complaining to a pigeon about the "unpredictable weather" and how it was "bad for drying times."
"A champion's work is never done, it seems," Alexia commented, leaning against the railing, a wry smile on her face.
Saitama looked up. "Oh, hi, Princess Grumpy-Sister's Grumpier Sister." (He was getting worse, not better, with titles). "Yeah, it's a real pain. You think you've got everything perfect, then bam! Surprise rain. Ruins the whole system."
"A profound metaphor for the unpredictability of life, wouldn't you say?" Alexia mused, her crimson eyes twinkling.
"Nah, just means I need a better weather forecast," Saitama replied, adjusting a sock. "Or maybe a giant umbrella for the whole balcony."
Alexia laughed. "Saitama," she said, her tone shifting slightly, her curiosity getting the better of her, "that monastery… the one with the… 'noodles'… my father's advisors say it was a very dangerous place. Filled with powerful cultists, dark magic." She watched him closely. "Were you… ever afraid? Even for a moment?"
Saitama paused in his sock-hanging, a genuinely thoughtful expression on his face. He looked at his hands, then out at the city. "Afraid?" he repeated, as if tasting an unfamiliar word. "Hmm. I guess… maybe I was afraid I wouldn't find any noodles. That would have been a real bummer. A total waste of a good leap." He thought for another moment. "And sometimes, when I'm at the supermarket and there's only one container of my favorite brand of discounted tofu left, and I see someone else heading for it… that can be pretty scary. A real heart-pounder."
He seemed completely serious.
Alexia stared at him, her smile faltering for a moment, replaced by a look of profound, almost dizzying, understanding. It wasn't that he was fearless in the way a knight or a warrior was, by mastering their fear. It was that the concept of a physical threat, of mortal danger, simply did not exist in his perception of the world. His worries, his fears, were entirely, completely, mundane. His power had elevated him so far beyond the struggles of mortals that the only challenges left to him were those of boredom and grocery shopping.
"I see," she said softly, her voice filled with a new, complex emotion – a mixture of pity, awe, and a strange, unexpected kinship. She, too, often felt bored and constrained by the world around her, albeit for very different reasons. "So, the greatest threat you've ever faced… was a potential tofu shortage."
"Pretty much," Saitama confirmed, nodding gravely. "It was intense."
This quiet moment of bizarre, profound insight was interrupted by the arrival of Sir Kaelan, who looked even more stressed than usual, if such a thing were possible.
"Princess Alexia! Mister Saitama!" he panted, bowing hastily. "Forgive the intrusion, but… there is a situation."
"A situation?" Alexia asked, her interest piqued. "What kind of situation? Has someone stolen the King's crown? Or, heaven forbid, the last of the Lightning Broth?"
"Neither, Your Highness," Kaelan said, wringing his hands. "It's… well… it seems a delegation has arrived. Unannounced. From the 'Sanctuary of the Silent Blade'."
Alexia's eyes widened. The Sanctuary of the Silent Blade was a reclusive, semi-mythical order of swordmasters, renowned for their inhuman speed and skill. Seraphina, the silent swordswoman from the tournament, was rumored to be one of them, or at least trained by them. They rarely, if ever, interacted with the outside world.
"And?" Alexia prompted. "What do they want?"
Kaelan took a deep breath. "They wish to speak with Mister Saitama. And… and their leader, a woman who calls herself 'The Matriarch of Stillness,' has issued… a formal challenge."
Saitama, who had finished his laundry and was now trying to see if he could flick a water droplet off a leaf with his finger, looked up. "A challenge? To me? Like, a fight? A real one?"
"It seems so, sir," Kaelan said nervously. "They claim that Seraphina's… 'concession'… was an incomplete test. They wish to… 'gauge the true nature of the abyss'… themselves." He looked like he was about to be sick.
Saitama, however, broke into a wide, genuine, almost dazzling smile. It was the first time Alexia, or Kaelan, had ever seen him look truly, genuinely, excited.
"A real fight?" he said, his voice filled with a hopeful energy that was almost terrifying. "With more of those super-fast sword people? Awesome! Maybe this one will last more than five seconds! Maybe they'll even be strong enough that I can… you know…"
He clenched his fist, a low, almost imperceptible hum filling the air around him for a fraction of a second, making the very stones of the balcony seem to vibrate.
"…finally cut loose."
Alexia felt a thrill of pure, unadulterated terror and exhilaration shoot down her spine. The cipher, the paradox, the bored god of laundry and noodles… was finally interested. The quiet after the storm was over. And a new, far more deliberate storm, was about to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting Kingdom of Midgar.