The wind whipped through Saitama's cape as he landed on a rooftop in a blessedly quiet and undamaged part of the city. Genos touched down a moment later, his landings always a bit more dramatic, accompanied by a soft whirr of hydraulics and a puff of dust from his boot thrusters.
"Master, I have completed a preliminary scan of this sector," Genos announced, his optical sensors glowing a soft blue. "Minimal structural damage. Civilian life signs are stable, though displaying elevated heart rates consistent with city-wide panic. I have located a potential source for groceries."
He pointed a metallic finger towards a brightly lit storefront several blocks away. The sign read "OK Supermart."
Saitama's eyes lit up with a genuine spark of interest, a rare sight. "Nice! They even spelled 'Okay' wrong, just like back home. I'm starting to like this place."
He took a step towards the edge of the roof, ready to jump down, but Genos held up a hand.
"A moment, Master. We should proceed with caution. We are unknown entities here. Our appearance may cause further alarm. I suggest we procure local attire to better blend in."
Saitama looked down at his yellow jumpsuit and red boots. "What's wrong with this? It's my hero suit."
"Precisely, Master," Genos said patiently. "It is iconic. To you. Here, it is alien. My own chassis is also... conspicuous. Acknowledging that our goal is to acquire kombu for your hot pot with minimal fuss, a tactical disguise is the most efficient approach."
Saitama considered this. He hated complicated things. But he also hated it when people screamed and ran away from him when he was just trying to buy daikon. It always made the cashiers nervous.
"Fine," he sighed. "What's the plan?"
Twenty minutes later, Saitama was staring at his reflection in a grimy shop window, and he was not happy.
Genos had, with his usual terrifying efficiency, "procured" some clothing from a laundromat's forgotten lost-and-found bin. Saitama was now wearing a pair of ill-fitting jeans, a faded grey hoodie with the words "I'm With Stupid ->" printed on the front, and a blue baseball cap pulled low over his head.
"I look like a deadbeat dad on his day off," Saitama grumbled, tugging at the cap.
"Excellent, Master," Genos replied, his voice devoid of irony. He himself was wearing a large, dark green trench coat, a fedora, and a pair of sunglasses, despite it being late evening. He looked like a 1940s detective who had been rebuilt by a cyberpunk street gang. "We are now effectively camouflaged. Civilians will mistake us for unremarkable members of society."
Saitama highly doubted that, especially since small puffs of steam were venting from the collar of Genos's coat, but he was too tired to argue. He just wanted his hot pot ingredients.
They walked down the street, and Saitama couldn't help but notice the atmosphere. People were huddled in small groups, talking in hushed, anxious tones. Their phones were out, screens displaying grainy footage of the earlier battle.
"...saw it with my own eyes! A giant monster, bigger than a mountain!"
"...and Captain Ashiro, with one shot! Bam! Gone! She's amazing!"
"I heard it was a new secret weapon, 'Heaven's Hammer'..."
Saitama overheard the snippets of conversation. "Heaven's Hammer? That's a dumb name. I just punched it."
"They are attributing your victory to another, Master," Genos noted, his internal audio sensors picking up every word for a hundred-meter radius. "This is a common phenomenon. When faced with an event that defies their understanding, humans will often create a more palatable, comprehensible narrative."
"So they think some lady with a big gun did it?" Saitama asked, sounding more confused than annoyed. "But... I was right there. Did nobody see me?"
"They saw you, Master. But they did not perceive you. Your existence is, at present, a conceptual blind spot for this world's populace. It is, perhaps, for the best. It will make grocery shopping significantly easier."
Saitama shrugged. As long as he got his kombu, he didn't really care who got the credit.
They finally reached the OK Supermart. The automatic doors slid open with a cheerful jingle that felt completely out of place with the city's mood. The inside was an oasis of fluorescent lights and neatly stacked shelves. A few other shoppers hurried through the aisles, grabbing essentials with a grim sense of purpose.
"Okay, plan," Saitama said, grabbing a shopping basket. "You look for the vegetable aisle. I need daikon, napa cabbage, and some good-looking shiitake mushrooms. I'll handle the most important part."
"Understood, Master. I will locate the kombu," Genos said with the solemnity of a soldier accepting a sacred mission.
"No!" Saitama said, his voice suddenly sharp and serious. "The kombu is my mission. It's the soul of the hot pot. You can't just grab any old kelp. You have to find the one with the right color, the right thickness. You wouldn't understand. You get the veggies."
Genos's glowing eyes blinked. "My apologies, Master. I underestimated the tactical nuances of kombu selection. I will proceed to the vegetable aisle."
The cyborg strode off, his trench coat swishing dramatically, leaving Saitama to his sacred quest.
Saitama found the dried goods aisle. His eyes scanned the shelves, a rare focus in his normally placid gaze. He saw it. A beautiful, dark green, perfectly dusted sheet of Hidaka kombu. He reached for it... and then he saw the price tag.
His hand froze.
"500 yen?!" he squawked, his voice echoing in the quiet aisle. "For one sheet?! That's highway robbery! Back home, I could get three for that price!"
He looked around, as if expecting someone to share in his outrage. An elderly woman pushing her cart gave him a wide berth.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, picking up the package and examining it. He had no money. No wallet. No yen. The dimensional trip had been a bit of a one-way street in that regard.
He sighed in defeat. He had saved a city, defeated a god-monster, broken the laws of physics, and now his quest for a satisfying dinner was being thwarted by basic economics. It was always something.
Just as he was about to put the kombu back, Genos returned, his arms laden with a perfect selection of vegetables.
"Master, I have procured the requested items. My scans indicate they are of optimal freshness and nutritional value. Is there a problem?" He noticed the look of despair on Saitama's face.
Saitama held up the kombu package like a failed report card. "It's too expensive, Genos. We don't have any money."
Genos tilted his head. "Money. The local system of paper-based value exchange. An inefficient, antiquated system, but a necessary one. One moment."
His right eye glowed brightly. A thin, laser-like beam shot out, hitting the barcode on a nearby instant noodle cup.
bip.
"Data acquired," Genos said. "I have analyzed this world's digital banking network, encryption protocols, and economic infrastructure. It is laughably primitive."
He turned to the self-checkout counter at the end of the aisle. His eye glowed again.
The machine whirred to life. Its screen flickered with random characters before displaying: TRANSACTION COMPLETE. THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AT OK SUPERMART. A receipt began printing out, a very, very long receipt.
Saitama stared. "What did you do?"
"I created a new bank account with functionally limitless credit, backdated its transaction history for the last ten years to avoid suspicion, and made a small purchase to test the system," Genos explained calmly. "I also took the liberty of setting up a pension fund and applying for several government tax rebates on your behalf. We are now financially secure."
The receipt finally stopped printing. It was three feet long.
Saitama looked from the receipt to Genos, then to the kombu in his hand. A slow, happy smile spread across his face.
"Genos..." he said, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "You're the best disciple ever."
"It is my duty, Master," Genos replied with a slight bow.
With their groceries bagged (Genos insisted on incinerating the bag and just carrying the items), they left the store. As they stepped outside, Saitama's good mood was immediately soured by the sight that greeted him.
A group of thuggish-looking men were harassing the elderly woman he had seen in the aisle. They had her cornered, trying to snatch her purse. In a city still reeling from a Kaiju attack, common street crime felt particularly disgusting.
"Come on, grandma, just give us the bag! You don't need all that food anyway!" the lead thug sneered.
Saitama sighed. It was the deepest, most world-weary sigh in the universe. He had just wanted a peaceful night.
He handed his precious kombu to Genos. "Hold this. Don't let it get wrinkled."
He started walking towards the thugs, cracking his knuckles. His bored, listless expression was gone, replaced by the blank, terrifyingly calm look he got when something truly annoyed him.
The streetlights flickered above. The lowlifes of this new world were about to learn a very simple, very painful lesson:
Never, ever, get between a bald man and his hot pot.