Sid—Shadow—left the Royal Kitchens in a daze. His mind, a place usually filled with intricate plots, cool monologues, and the satisfying click of perfectly aligning plans, was now a silent, echoing chamber, dominated by the sheer, magnificent absurdity of Saitama's final proposition.
'I'll be the villain.'
It was a narrative twist so profound, so utterly outside the realm of his own calculated manipulations, that it felt like the story itself had gained sentience and was now co-writing the script with him. He had sought to create a stage, and his unwitting lead actor had just offered to not only play the villain but to also build the theatre, sell the tickets, and burn it all down in a glorious, self-sacrificial finale.
He returned to his hidden headquarters, the quiet click of his footsteps the only sound. Alpha and the others were waiting, their expressions a mixture of concern and curiosity. They had felt the immense, though brief, surge of their master's emotional turmoil through their psychic link.
"Lord Shadow," Alpha began, her voice hesitant, "the… meeting with the Tempest… did it…?"
Sid held up a hand, silencing her. He needed to think. To process. To adapt his entire worldview around this new, insane, and undeniably epic, development.
Saitama's plan was, in its own way, perfect. It solved everything. It would create a global crisis, a singular, ultimate threat that would force the disparate kingdoms to unite, to innovate, to grow stronger in the face of a common, overwhelming foe. It would provide the ultimate "test" for the cosmic auditors, a story of such high stakes, of such desperate heroism, that it would surely be deemed "interesting" enough to spare the world from cancellation.
And it would, of course, cast him, as Shadow, in the perfect role. He would be the enigmatic leader of the resistance, the brilliant strategist who rallies the scattered forces of the world, the one who understands the true nature of the "Mad Tempest" and orchestrates the final, desperate gambit to defeat him. It was the role he was born to play. The role he had dreamed of.
But there was a catch. A huge, profound, and deeply uncomfortable catch. It would all be a lie. A grand, collaborative performance. He would be the hero of a story whose villain was, in the most profound sense, the greatest hero of all. His ultimate triumph as the Eminence in Shadow would be built upon Saitama's ultimate, silent sacrifice.
A part of him, the pure, undiluted chuunibyou core of Minoru Kageyama, was ecstatic. The drama! The tragedy! The sheer, delicious irony! It was the most perfect, most heartbreakingly cool story imaginable!
Another, newer, and more unfamiliar part of him felt… a strange, bitter taste. It felt… hollow. Cheap. Like winning a chess match because your opponent had told you all of their moves in advance and was actively trying to help you checkmate them.
He stood before his throne, wrestling with this new, complex emotion. Was this what he truly wanted? A staged victory? An unearned apotheosis?
He looked at his loyal Shadows. At Alpha's unwavering devotion. At Delta's simple, fierce loyalty. At Gamma's brilliant, tireless work. They believed in him. They believed he was the one who could navigate the darkness, the one who could save them, save the world. They believed in the story.
And he realized, in that moment, that the story was no longer just his own. It was theirs, too. His performance was their reality. And for their sake, for the sake of the world he had, in his own strange way, come to care for, the performance had to be perfect.
"The Tempest has… made a proposal," Shadow finally said, his voice the calm, steady baritone of a leader who has already seen the end and accepted its price. He laid out Saitama's insane, noble, self-destructive plan.
The Seven Shadows listened in stunned, horrified silence.
"He would… do that?" Gamma whispered, her hand over her mouth. "Sacrifice his own name, his own honor, to become a monster for the world's sake?"
"That… that is not a villain!" Delta growled, her ears flattened, a look of genuine, confused hurt in her eyes. "That is… a hero! The greatest hero! I will not fight him! I will bite anyone who tries to fight him!"
"We will do what must be done, Delta," Alpha said, her voice tight, though her own eyes glistened with a new, complex emotion. She was looking at her master, and for the first time, she saw not just a being of immense power, but one who was grappling with a burden she could not fully comprehend.
Sid saw their reactions. He saw their loyalty, their confusion, their dawning understanding of the terrible choice before them. And he knew what he had to do. He had to honor Saitama's sacrifice. He had to be the best damn fake hero this world had ever seen. He had to play his part so perfectly that no one, not even his own devoted followers, would ever doubt the reality of the threat, or the necessity of their victory.
"Prepare yourselves," Shadow commanded, his voice now imbued with a new, cold, and terrible resolve. "The age of quiet preparation is over. The 'Mad Tempest' will soon reveal himself. He will become the greatest threat this world has ever known. He will be a force of unimaginable, indiscriminate destruction."
He looked at them, his unseen gaze meeting each of theirs. "And we… we will be the world's only hope. We will gather the heroes. We will unite the kingdoms. We will be the single, unblinking eye in the heart of the storm. We will do what must be done. We will become the legends this world needs." His voice dropped to a final, solemn whisper. "This is our vow. This is our burden. Let no one speak of the truth of this day, ever again. The performance… must be flawless."
Back in the Royal Palace, a different, far simpler, and much more awkward, preparation was underway. Saitama, having made his decision, now had to… explain it. He started with the one person he thought might, in her own strange way, understand.
He found Princess Alexia in the royal armory, practicing her fencing against a series of automated training dummies.
"Hey, Grumpy Sister's Grumpier Sister," he began.
Alexia spun, her blade a blur, stopping a hair's breadth from his nose. "It's Alexia," she said, though the usual sharp edge was gone, replaced by a weary curiosity. "What do you want, Saitama? Decided to take up fencing? I warn you, your 'one-punch' style may not translate well."
"Nah," Saitama said. "I'm leaving."
Alexia lowered her sword, her eyes widening slightly. "Leaving? Your grand culinary quest? Or… for good?"
"For good," he confirmed simply. He then, in his own, uniquely straightforward way, explained the prophecy from the creepy book, the cosmic TV producer who was about to cancel their reality for being boring, and the deal he had just made with the "chuunibyou coat guy."
He concluded, "So, yeah. To keep the show from being cancelled, the story needs a new final boss. And I'm it. I'm gonna go on a 'rampage,' break some stuff, look all scary and evil, and then you guys, led by spooky coat guy, get to have a big, cool fight and 'defeat' me. And then I… you know… go away. For good. And then everyone lives happily ever after. Or at least, gets to live."
Alexia stared at him, her usual cynical smirk completely gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated, stunned disbelief. She had seen him punch mountains, shout away gods, and survive reality-erasing bombs. But this… this was the most impossible, most unbelievable thing he had ever done. The sheer, idiotic, selfless nobility of it was staggering.
She was silent for a long, long time. She looked at this simple, bored, food-obsessed man who was calmly, rationally, planning to sacrifice everything – his reputation, his comfortable life, his very place in this world – for the sake of a bunch of people who had, at various times, feared, mocked, and tried to kill him.
Finally, she spoke, her voice a low, rough whisper she didn't recognize as her own. "You," she said, "are the biggest, most goddamn fool I have ever met in my entire life."
Saitama just smiled, a small, sad, and very genuine smile. "Yeah, well," he said. "It's what heroes do, right?"
Alexia looked at him, at his simple, honest face, and for the first time, she understood. This wasn't about power. This wasn't about glory. This wasn't a game. For him, it was just… the right thing to do. And in the face of that simple, absolute truth, all her cunning, all her schemes, all her cynical manipulations, felt small, and cheap, and deeply, deeply, ashamed.
"Alright, you magnificent idiot," she said, sheathing her sword with a sharp, final click. "If you're going to be the villain… then you'd better be the most convincing, most terrifying villain this world has ever seen." A new, hard, almost dangerous, light entered her own eyes. "And we… will be the heroes who rise to stop you."
She had her own role to play now. The audience, the collaborator. The keeper of the truth. She would help him set his final, tragic stage.