Nationwide restructuring rolled on… and across countries, new groups sprang up: things like the X-Organization, Brotherhood of Mutants, Blue Tomorrow, Red Blood Star…
With these "positive-guidance" groups taking shape, the chaos finally began to settle. Mutants were rebranded as "Neo-Humans." Special abilities started moving toward one goal: public acceptance.
No more getting branded a freak just for running too fast; there were now jobs made for people like that.
Professor X wore a wry smile when Saitama strolled back from the supermarket, completely at home in this world.
"Oh! Big sale today too," Saitama said, pleased.
Under his breath, Professor X murmured, "Saitama… in a way, I lost to you."
"Huh?" Saitama blinked—when a voice chimed in his head:
[Sub-quest for this world complete. The mutants here had it rough. Become good friends with Magneto, help him defeat Professor X, and make humanity accept mutants! Initiating return to original world. Countdown: 10, 9, 8…]
"Eh?" Saitama stared blankly. Wait—so the reason he couldn't go back this long was… because the Professor hadn't admitted defeat?
[Negative. Primarily, humans had not recognized they themselves had become mutants—thus they could not accept the meaning of "mutant."]
"Right, right… so I finally get to go ba—" His form began to blur. Suddenly he yelped, "Hold up, tomorrow's discount day!"
Too late. In the next instant, he was back in the One-Punch world—with a faintly annoyed look he could only sigh away. Back meant back; that other world was no longer his concern.
He reappeared inside the same store as before. Fubuki and the others were in the exact poses they'd been in when he left—as if he'd only stepped away for a heartbeat.
[For perfect completion, your original world's time flow was temporarily halted.]
"Oh?" Saitama took a step forward—and the flow of time snapped back to normal.
"Saitama, what's wrong?" Blizzard of Hell—Fubuki—looked startled. In an instant, she'd sensed something different about him, as if he'd become someone else.
Saitama smiled. "Nothing at all."
As they walked, Fubuki frowned. "According to what Garou said, this city's gotten unstable."
"Yeah?" Saitama dug at an ear. As long as it wasn't too big, he wasn't interested. There were plenty of S-Class heroes; it didn't have to be him.
They were still on the sidewalk when a man sprinted past, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Surrender to the great monsters! It's our only way out!"
Heads turned. Saitama frowned. "Surrender to monsters? Are they nuts?"
Fubuki nodded. Monsters were enemies, after all. How could—
Then the same chant swelled behind them. Saitama and Fubuki looked back—and froze.
A large procession was marching their way. White sleeveless vests. White headbands. Flags raised high.
The slogans were all the same kind of drivel about surrendering to monsters:
"Please the monster lords!" "Total capitulation!" "Stop dreaming of being saved by heroes!" "Down with the Hero Association!"
As they marched, they shouted in unison: "Humanity has no chance! We must surrender to monsters across the board!"
"Resist and you'll be butchered—don't even think of fighting back; that only leads to annihilation!"
"That's why we, the Monster-Worship Association, have the only solution!"
"By offering regular live sacrifices to suppress their hunting urges—and having enough children—we can avoid extinction!"
Their words stirred a few onlookers, who began drifting into the column.
Saitama shook his head. In times like these, every kind of person showed up, huh.
Fubuki's voice dropped. "Something's off about them."
"Hm?" Saitama asked. "What do you mean?"
"Look at their movements—they're synchronized. Different gestures, sure, but when they do the same one, it's identical. Hands raised, angles matched—like they're one person." Since her body had been drastically enhanced, even her analytical ability had sharpened.
Saitama squinted at the crowd. "So they might actually be monsters?"
"Very possible." No sooner had Fubuki said it than a passerby barked, "Are you kidding me? Better dead than slaves to monsters!"
Every marcher's head snapped toward him. The same crooked smile crawled onto every face—exactly the same expression.
"Then you can be our first live sacrifice."
They surged as one, a white tide collapsing toward the lone man, clearly intent on tearing him apart.
The heckler turned ghost-pale. He'd just been mouthing off—who knew they'd actually pounce? This wasn't a joke. One moment of loud bravado; now he was about to lose his life.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For 20+ Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!] [[email protected]/Draumel]
[Thank You For Your Support!]