Author Note: Hello there!! I have read some of your comments and I understand some of you have problems with how the protagonist acts on an ankward way when talking to Mizuki. I inform you that after this chapter he won't act like that anymore, I felt obliged to clarify it with the number of comments I received, however, the reason he acts that way will be revealed on the story, just to clarify.
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(The Next Morning – Saitama's Apartment)
The early sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds, casting warm stripes across the tatami floor. A dull breeze passed through the cracked window, bringing with it the distant sounds of Z-City slowly waking up.
Saitama groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Another day in manga-land… he thought, still not fully believing he'd gotten used to this reality.
He stretched lazily, his joints letting out a satisfying series of pops.
"Alright… shower, then maybe swing by the HQ."
He yawned and shuffled toward the small bathroom, grabbing a towel from the pile of semi-clean laundry. The mirror above the sink was cracked, but clear enough to show the now-familiar bald head staring back.
"Damn. I'll never get used to this dome," he muttered, running a hand over his smooth scalp.
As he pulled off his shirt and shorts, he paused—eyes glancing downward to his dong zone. A beat of silence passed.
"…Huh."
He tilted his head.
"No way."
He took another look.
"Okay—what the hell, Saitama?! Since when do you pack this anaconda inside your boxers, no wonder why the fucker would always have some female following him like the plague."
There was a moment of confused awe, followed by him quickly stepping into the shower and turning the water on cold, muttering under his breath.
No wonder his power is unmeasurable… did everything about this body get maxed out?! I mean, I must be packing at least 10 inches of dingleberry now and I am not even hard, if this doesn't give me enough confidence to talk to Mizuki, nothing will.
The water splashed down on him as he stood under the spray, still blinking at his own anatomy.
"Peak human, huh…" he mumbled, trying not to overthink it.
Okay, focus. Today's plan. Swing by the Hero Association HQ. Pass through the gym. Maybe, just maybe… Mizuki'll be there again. Play it cool. Ask her if she wants to grab a drink after training. Nothing weird.
He nodded to himself, water dripping from his face.
Just be casual. Confident. Bald, but bold. You got this.
With that, he shut off the water, grabbed the towel, and stepped out of the shower—ready to face the day, even if the universe still felt like a fever dream.
The apartment was still as cluttered and modest as ever. His hero uniform hung on a hook by the door, slightly wrinkled, and the air smelled faintly of instant noodles and floor cleaner. He scratched the back of his head as he wandered into the living room, towel slung over his shoulder.
He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.
"…The terrorist group responsible for the riots call themselves the Paradisers. They have destroyed a high-rise building in City F, and the situation seems to be spiraling out of control. Fortunately, we've just learned the identity of their leader. Hammerhead is a B-Class criminal who has been involved in multiple counts of property destruction and inciting anti-capitalist violence…"
The camera cut to photo of a bald man with a large scar on his forehead and the biggest head he had ever seen.
Saitama squinted.
"Oh no. I recognize that clown," he muttered, grabbing a half-full mug of tea from the table. "Hammerhead. The guy who robbed a super-suit and rallied a bunch of unemployed meatheads all because he didn't want to work."
He took a sip.
"Pfft. Pathetic."
He chuckled softly, then leaned back onto the floor mat with a lazy thud.
If I remember right, he thought, this is the episode where Sonic shows up and wipes the floor with them. I'm not getting involved in that circus unless I have to. And unlike the original Saitama, I'm not gonna stress if people mistake me for one of those bald freaks. Let 'em.
BURRR!
Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the table, interrupting his peace. He picked it up and checked the notification.
"Oh, a message from Genos. Let's see what Robocop has to say…"
As he read the contents, his expression slowly fell.
"What…?"
He sighed, dramatically letting his head fall back.
"No way. He already finished the demon-level monster hunt?"
The message was short and formal, as always:
Sensei, I have completed the challenge you assigned. Awaiting further orders. Shall I return immediately to continue training?
"Ugh…" he groaned.
That was supposed to keep him busy for the day! The whole point was to buy time so I could see if Mizuki was at the gym. Damn it, Genos, stop being such a tryhard!
He rubbed his eyes and fell sideways onto the floor, towel draped over his head like a shroud.
"I can't even lie properly, can I?"
A long pause.
"No, wait—actually I can."
He sprang up, pulling the towel off and tapping away at his phone.
Hey Genos, good job. You can come over around 3. I've got hero duties until then. Patrol and some paperwork. See you later.
He hit send, then tossed the phone on the couch.
"See? Not technically a lie. I do have hero stuff to do... I just also have me stuff to do."
He walked over to the mirror, adjusted his collar, and gave himself a long look.
"I'm gonna walk in there today like a man. I've fought dragon-level threats. I've been slapped into concrete. I've slapped monsters into paste. I'm a goddamn S-Class hero now."
A beat.
"And I'm gonna talk to Mizuki. For real this time."
He turned toward his hero uniform, still neatly hung on the hook by the door. His eyes narrowed with determination.
"Okay. You can do this."
And with that, he got dressed and prepared to head toward the Hero Association HQ—heart pounding, not from fear of monsters… but from the terrifying idea of asking out the hottest woman he'd ever seen.
Without further delay, he prepared himself. He dressed in his hero suit and looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink.
"Hmm… Should I really wear this suit?" he muttered, pulling at the yellow fabric with a frown. "I mean, it looks a little cheesy… and kind of like I'm cosplaying at a convention. But then again… I don't really have many clothes."
He opened the tiny sliding closet in the corner. Inside: a spare cape, some grocery bags, and two sets of casual wear that looked like they came from a clearance bin ten years ago.
"…Damn it. Why did the original Saitama have to be so cheap?"
He sighed, pulling the zipper up on his jumpsuit with resignation.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is what I say and do. That's what'll count!"
With one last fist pump to hype himself up, he launched out the door in a blur of speed—though he deliberately slowed down halfway through his run to the Hero Association.
Let's not shatter every window in the city again. I don't want to end up on the news just for commuting.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the HQ, and as always, the black monolithic structure loomed above him like something out of a dystopian sci-fi movie. He adjusted his cape and walked up the steps, heart thumping—not from battle nerves, but because today was the day he was planning to see if Mizuki was around.
But first things first…
He made his way straight to the reception desk.
The same receptionist from before greeted him with a bright, professional smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Saitama. Welcome back."
"Hey. I came to ask about my pay," he said, trying to sound casual, "You know… for taking down those dragon-level threats from the other day. The alien looking guy and the Gym-bro skycraper size."
She typed quickly, scanning his record. "Ah yes… very impressive work, sir. Those eliminations have all been verified and credited to your name."
"Nice!" he grinned. "So where's the money?"
The receptionist paused, suddenly awkward.
"…Well, Mr. Saitama, the Hero Association distributes payments at the end of each month, unless otherwise specified in emergency compensation protocols. Since your registration is new and no emergency bounty was placed on those monsters, your rewards will be included in your first monthly deposit."
Saitama blinked. "…What?"
"You'll receive your pay on the 28th. That's in twenty-two days."
His expression went slack.
"…You're telling me I'm still broke?"
She gave him an apologetic smile. "Unfortunately, yes."
No way… he thought, internally deflating like a popped balloon. I fought a dragon-level monster. I saved the city. I made a giant crater with my fists. And I'm still poor?
He turned away from the desk in defeat, dragging his feet.
Twenty-two more days of instant noodles and rationing toilet paper…
But as the weight of poverty settled in again, another, more devastating realization hit him.
I CAN'T ASK MIZUKI OUT WITHOUT MONEY!!
He froze in the middle of the hall, hand clenched dramatically over his chest.
What would I even say? "Hey Mizuki, wanna go for a walk because I can't afford coffee?" Or worse—"Wanna split an instant cup ramen on my floor?"
He slowly fell to his knees.
"No… no no no…"
Several employess from the association and heroes passing by glanced at him briefly, then just kept walking. Weird bald guy behavior, probably normal.
Meanwhile, Saitama stared blankly at the polished floor, his grand plan crumbling.
I'm still broke. Still awkward. Still a complete idiot in front of women.
He sighed and stood back up, dusting off his knees.
"…Okay. Plan B. Get rich before asking her out."
He turned on his heel and marched toward the gym wing with a new goal in mind: find another mission, or another monster, or anything that pays fast—and maybe, just maybe, Mizuki would be there too.
Hopeful, determined, and painfully broke, Saitama walked onward.
And fortunately for him, she was there.
Just like yesterday, Mizuki was in the training area, this time down on a gym mat, powering through a set of crunches. Her abs tightened with each motion, sweat glistening on her brow, ponytail swaying with the rhythm. She was so focused, so determined, she didn't even notice anyone watching. Not that Saitama wasn't watching—he totally was. But respectfully. Mostly.
He stood there awkwardly at the entrance to the gym area, fidgeting.
Damn, she's in the zone again. I can't just walk up to her mid-set. That'd be rude.
So he waited.
A couple of minutes passed. Eventually, Mizuki stopped her set, letting out a small, satisfied groan as she rolled to her side and grabbed a bottle of water. She took long, refreshing gulps, and wiped her face with a towel, sighing in relief.
This is it, he thought. Now or never.
He smacked his cheeks gently. Okay, remember: deep breaths. Eye contact. Don't freak out. Don't act like a fanboy. You're an S-Class hero now. You're cool. You've got this.
Then he stepped forward, hand up in a casual wave. "Hello there!!"
Mizuki turned, blinking at first. When her eyes met his, recognition lit up her face. "Oh hey!! You're that guy from the other day! The one who asked for the treadmill. Were you able to finish your routine that day?"
She sounded genuinely interested, voice bubbly and cheerful. It caught him off guard.
"I-I—uh, yeah. I did," he replied, stumbling over his words a bit. Damn it, pull it together!
"Great! I'm so glad!" she said, flashing him a bright smile.
Oh god, that smile should be illegal. He felt his face heating up again. He scratched the back of his head nervously.
Then came a beat of silence. Neither of them said anything. The moment lingered—just a touch too long.
Shit, say something, idiot!
"Hey, I was thinking… I didn't catch your name the other day."
Mizuki blinked. "Oh yeah! You're right! I totally forgot to introduce myself. I'm sorry!"
"Take it easy," he chuckled. "So you are…?"
"Mizuki! Captain Mizuki, Class B, Rank 71. Maybe you know me from the Olympics? I won the gold medal in track and field. Twice in a row!" she said proudly, pumping a fist in the air.
Saitama raised his eyebrows. "Ehmm… no, sorry. I'm really not the sports kind of guy."
"Really?" she asked, tilting her head. "That's a surprise! You look like you're in pretty good shape."
"Yeah, but that's just for hero work, although I signed up on the association recently. I didn't get into sports. Or… the Olympics."
"Oh, right! You're a hero too. Duh, Mizuki…" she muttered, tapping her forehead in self-reprimand. "What class are you in? B-Class as well?"
Saitama shrugged casually. "Nope. Actually… I'm S-Class."
The words hit the air like a thunderclap. Mizuki's expression froze mid-sip of her water. Her bottle remained tilted, but no liquid came out. She just… stared at him.
Saitama stared back. "Uhhh… are you okay?"
Suddenly, she snapped out of it. "YOU'RE WHAT?!"
"I said… I'm in S-Class."
"Seriously?! As in the S-Class? Already? But you said you joined recently!"
"Yeah, I did. Still don't even know what my hero name is yet."
"HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW YOUR HERO NAME?!" she yelled again, bouncing with disbelief.
"I just got in, and they haven't assigned one yet. I think the paperwork's still processing."
"AND YOU'RE ALREADY IN S-CLASS?!" she repeated, as if it might sound more reasonable the second time.
Saitama scratched his cheek, slightly embarrassed by all the attention. "Yeah, I guess… I mean, I did take out some monsters the other day."
Mizuki stared at him for a second longer, then let out a long whistle. "Wow. I didn't take you for the strong, silent type… but that's seriously cool. You must be crazy strong."
He looked away, flustered but secretly glowing inside.
She thinks I'm cool. She thinks I'm strong. She's smiling. THIS IS THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE.
But out loud, he just said, "Heh, well… I do my best."
Mizuki smiled again, more relaxed now. "Well, welcome to the Association, S-Class mystery man. Maybe we'll get to work together sometime!"
Saitama nodded, smiling back. "I'd like that."
Then another beat of silence passed—this one comfortable. She returned to her water bottle, and he stood there a moment longer, deciding whether or not to go for it and ask her out.
"Hey, Mizuki."
She turned her head, strands of her ponytail swaying gently as her blue eyes locked onto his. Big, bright, confident eyes—eyes that sparkled with a mix of friendliness and genuine curiosity.
In contrast, Saitama's deadpan brown eyes blinked once, then twice. He swallowed. His heart, which could face a dragon-level monster without flinching, now thudded like a jackhammer in his chest.
"I was wondering if maybe… you wanted to go out one of these days."
Mizuki sat up from her stretching position, eyes lighting up. "Go out? Like on patrol?! That would be an honor for me! I mean, to patrol with an S-Class hero? That's huge!"
Saitama scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh… no, I wasn't talking about that. Not that I'd mind patrolling with you or anything."
"Ohhh…" Her enthusiasm seemed to waver, a little puff of air escaping her lips as the energy dipped. She tilted her head, wiping her brow with a towel. "So… what did you mean?"
Saitama took a slow breath. Now or never.
"I meant going out, like… the two of us. Just us. To a place. Together."
Her eyes blinked once. "Ohhh…" This time, her voice was quieter. And then came the blush—light at first, just a tint of pink under her cheeks. Then it bloomed. "So you mean like… a date?"
Saitama's eyes went wide. "I-I-I—yes. Exactly. A date. That's what I meant."
He closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself. Here it comes. Rejection. Awkward laugh. A polite 'let's be friends' and a pat on the shoulder—
"I would like to," she said.
His eyes shot open. "Wait—really?"
Mizuki giggled, a hand playfully brushing her hair behind her ear. "Sure! Why not? You seem like a good guy. Honest, respectful… and I think it'd be bad manners to reject someone who asked so sincerely."
Saitama blinked again, almost suspicious. "You don't… have to say yes out of pity or anything. If you're not into it, that's totally fine."
"But I want to," she said with a smile. "Besides, you seem fun. I bet it'll be interesting. So… when do we go out?"
OH GOD. IT'S HAPPENING.
He nodded way too fast. "Tomorrow! Eight p.m.? We can meet just outside HQ and, you know, start from there?"
"Sounds perfect," she said, slinging her towel around her shoulders.
"O-Okay. Great! I'll see you tomorrow, then. I'll leave you to your training."
"Sure thing! And thanks for the invitation, Saitama," she said, waving as she turned back to her mat. "I'll be looking forward to it."
As he turned and walked out of the gym, trying to look calm, cool, and collected, his insides were doing backflips.
Holy shit. I did it. I ACTUALLY DID IT.
Tomorrow. A real date. With Mizuki. Captain freakin' Mizuki. I gotta find a place. I need money. I need better clothes. I need—
He stopped mid-hallway, wide-eyed.
"…Crap. I need to not screw this up."
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