The letter arrived not with the pomp of a royal decree, but with the quiet subtlety of a falling leaf. One evening, as Saitama was on his balcony, attempting to see if he could use his perfectly still reflection in a polished silver platter as a conversational partner ("So, how's your day been? Mine was kinda boring."), a small, folded piece of parchment, carried by a sudden, unnatural gust of wind, fluttered down and landed neatly at his feet.
He picked it up. It was addressed simply to "The Champion." There was no royal seal, just a plain wax stamp. Curious, he broke it. The script inside was elegant, clear, and utterly damning.
He read it once. Then he read it again. His brow, usually so smooth and untroubled, furrowed in concentration. The words were simple, direct. 'A lie… a trap… siphon your power… leave you weak… playing you for a fool.'
He looked out at the glittering lights of Midgar, at the soaring spires of the palace he now called home. He thought of the King's weary but sincere face. He thought of Iris's earnest, almost desperate, sense of duty. He thought of Lyraelle's ancient, sad eyes. He thought of Alexia's mischievous, but not malicious, grin. He thought of Sir Kaelan, who, despite being in a constant state of near-cardiac arrest, always made sure his noodle bowl was warmed to the perfect temperature.
Were they all just… lying to him? Was this whole grand, epic quest, this 'save the world' business, just an elaborate scheme to steal his strength?
A normal person, a king, a knight, a sorcerer, would have been consumed by paranoia, by doubt, by a thirst for verification or vengeance. They would have analyzed the letter, looked for hidden meanings, tried to identify the sender, planned their own counter-scheme.
Saitama… just got a headache.
"Man," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is too complicated." He looked at the letter again. "Siphon my power? Can they even do that? And what would they do with it? Open a really stubborn pickle jar?" The concept of someone else wanting his power, with all its attendant, soul-crushing boredom, was baffling to him.
He reread the final lines. 'They believe you are a simple-minded fool… I believe you are more… confront the ones who have been playing you for a fool…'
This part, at least, resonated. Not the 'simple-minded fool' part – he didn't really care what people thought of him. But the idea of being played, of being tricked, again, after the whole 'noodle-hoarding cult' lie… that was annoying. It was dishonest. And if there was one thing Saitama disliked more than long-winded villain monologues, it was dishonesty. It was just… inefficient.
He folded the letter neatly and tucked it into his suit. He didn't feel angry. He didn't feel betrayed. He just felt… a quiet, simple, and very direct need for clarification.
He walked out of his suite, past the two Royal Guards stationed at his door, who snapped to terrified attention at his sudden, purposeful exit. He walked through the gilded, silent corridors of the palace, his soft-booted footsteps the only sound. He wasn't heading for the King's study, or the council chambers. He knew they would just give him more long, complicated answers, more political double-speak. He was looking for someone who might give him a straight answer.
He found her in the Royal Observatory, a high, domed chamber at the top of the tallest palace spire, its ceiling an enchanted star-map that perfectly mirrored the heavens outside. Princess Alexia stood alone by a massive brass telescope, looking not at the stars, but down at the sleeping city below.
"Hey," Saitama said, his voice making her start slightly.
She turned, a surprised, but still composed, smile on her face. "Saitama. I didn't hear you approach. Come to enjoy the view? Or have you decided to take up astrology?"
"Nah," Saitama said, walking to stand beside her. "Too many confusing charts." He looked out at the city for a moment, then turned to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I need to ask you something. And I need you to just… not be all sneaky and political about it. Just… a straight answer."
Alexia's smile faltered slightly. She had never seen him look quite like this. The usual goofy indifference was gone, replaced by a quiet, focused intensity that was, in its own way, far more intimidating than any display of power. "…Alright, Saitama," she said, her own voice losing its teasing edge. "Ask your question."
He pulled the letter from his suit and handed it to her. "I found this. It says you guys are all lying to me. That this big 'save the world' ritual is just a trick to steal my power and make me weak."
Alexia took the parchment, her eyes scanning the elegant, venomous script. Her face, as she read, went from surprised, to intrigued, to pale with a sudden, cold fury. She recognized the style, the tone. The subtle, perfect manipulation. It was the work of a master, a player of the highest caliber. A shadow.
"Is it true?" Saitama asked, his voice calm, simple, cutting through all the potential layers of intrigue. "Are you guys trying to steal my power?"
Alexia looked from the letter to Saitama's face. She saw no accusation in his eyes, no anger. Just… a simple, direct question. A desire for the truth. And in that moment, she knew that any lie, any evasion, any clever, indirect answer, would be a profound betrayal, not just of him, but of the strange, almost-friendship that had formed between them. She also knew that lying to a being who could perceive the truth with the same ease he could perceive a bargain sale was probably a very, very bad idea.
She took a deep breath. "No, Saitama," she said, her voice clear and steady. "We are not trying to steal your power. This letter… it is a lie. A very clever, very dangerous lie."
Saitama just looked at her, his gaze unwavering. "You sure?"
"I'm sure," she affirmed. "The ritual is real. The threat is real. The 'Heart of the Hero' ceremony is designed to use your spirit, your… heroic essence… as a focal point, a conduit to channel the world's hope and create a shield against The Silence. It will not drain you. It will not harm you. Lyraelle and the Archmagus have confirmed it. It is… a request for you to lend your spirit, not a theft of your strength."
She then tapped the letter, her eyes flashing with a cold, analytical fire. "This… this is the work of our true enemy. Not the Cult. Not some ancient monster. But someone else. Someone who is playing a game with all of us. Someone who wants us to be divided. Who wants you to mistrust us, to fight us, at the most critical moment." She looked at him, her expression a mixture of frustration and a strange, newfound respect. "They don't want to fight you, Saitama. They want to use you. They want to turn you into a wrecking ball to shatter the one chance we have of winning this."
Saitama listened. He looked at Alexia's face, saw the genuine anger, the fierce conviction in her eyes. He had no way of knowing if she was telling the complete truth, no way of parsing the complex political motivations that might be at play. But he knew… he knew what a lie felt like. It felt complicated. It felt… sneaky. And Alexia, for all her teasing and her schemes, was, in this moment, being brutally, refreshingly, direct. It felt… true.
"Huh," he said, taking the letter back. "So, the letter is the lie. And the world-saving magic ritual is the truth." He scratched his head. "Okay. That's… still really complicated. But I guess I get it." He then looked at the letter again, a slight frown on his face. "So… this 'friend' who sent me this… he's the real bad guy? The sneaky one?"
"He, or she, or whatever it is," Alexia confirmed, her voice grim. "They are the ones pulling the strings. The true shadow behind all of this."
Saitama looked at the letter one last time, then he did something that surprised even Alexia. He carefully, meticulously, folded it back into a perfect paper airplane. The same way he had folded the map in the swamp.
"Okay," he said, a new, very simple, and very direct plan forming in his mind. "So, there's the big, ultimate bad guy that Lyraelle is always talking about, 'The Silence.' And then there's this other sneaky bad guy, the 'Shadow,' who is trying to mess everything up for everyone." He looked at Alexia. "That's a lot of bad guys."
He walked to the open observatory window. "This is getting way too confusing. Too many people to keep track of." He held up the paper airplane. "I think… I'm just gonna go ask the guy who sent the letter what his deal is. Directly."
Alexia's eyes widened in alarm. "Saitama, wait! You can't! We don't know who he is, or where he is! It's a trap!"
"Probably," Saitama agreed cheerfully. "But he told me to meet him at the 'highest spire of the Royal Palace' on the night of the eclipse if I wanted to 'confront' you guys. So, that's where he's expecting me to be. And that's tonight." He pointed up at the sky, where the twin moons were beginning to converge, a celestial event of great power. "Seems like a good time to have a chat."
Before Alexia could protest further, he threw the paper airplane. Not with force, but with a strange, focused intent. The paper airplane did not fly. It just… hovered in the air for a moment, then burst into a single, silent, golden flame, turning to ash. It was a gesture. A message.
"Let's go have a word with the man in the shadows," Saitama said, a quiet, almost cheerful, finality in his voice. "I have a few questions for him. Like where he gets his fancy stationery. And also… why he's being such a jerk."
He turned and walked out of the observatory, leaving a stunned Alexia behind. The seed of doubt, so carefully planted by the master manipulator, had not grown into the tree of paranoia and conflict he had intended. It had simply… been uprooted by a single, direct question. And now, the hero, armed not with suspicion, but with a simple desire for clarification, was about to go knock on the door of the most dangerous, most hidden player in the entire game. The script had just been torn to shreds. And the Eminence in Shadow was about to receive a very unexpected, and very direct, visit.