Truth be told, Saitama liked days like this one.
There was something about patrolling in the mornings that he couldn't quite explain: the city still quiet, people starting their day, the noise at just the right level where it didn't bother anyone. Yes, he liked facing a kaijin every now and then, even if the result was always the same. One punch. Done. It was hard not to feel something when everything ended so fast, but what could he do? It was his job to keep everyone safe, and he did it without expecting anything in return. It had always been that way from the start: he'd show up, solve the problem, and if there was rubble left either he or the cleanup crew would take care of it. Nothing left to report after that.
It was reasonable not to receive attention. He wasn't doing it for that anyway.
Though this past year had been different, it had to be admitted.
First came the stares in the street, then the comments, until one day a group of people surrounded him without warning, endlessly asking for autographs. He had to make a run for it because they were keeping him from working and the level of suffocation was unbearable. It was Fubuki who explained what was happening with a smile he couldn't forget: she showed him a compilation of videos online where he could be seen eliminating several kaijin of colossal proportions with a single punch. He hadn't known anyone was filming him, and with all the detail and filters involved, they were hard to ignore. He also hadn't known that those videos had accumulated over ten million views each — that came as quite a shock.
That probably explained why he had been promoted from ordinary officer to police commissioner, an enormous leap for a simple officer who had only held that rank for three years. Didn't you need a high intellect to be a commissioner? And it also explained why that heroes organization where his wives worked kept calling him. Especially a certain Sitch, who persisted with a frequency that bordered on obsessive. Sometimes he hung up mid-call. Not out of rudeness, but because the conversation always arrived at the same point and he had nothing new to say.
Well. He'd think about the fame and the promotion another time.
Because right now, right behind him, Genos was following him with the concentration of someone who hadn't blinked in the last twenty minutes, jotting something down in a notebook at a speed that didn't match what was actually happening, which was basically nothing.
He felt a little sorry for not having said anything, for being distracted.
—Hey, Genos…
—Yes, sensei! —The cyborg straightened up instantly, put away the pencil and gave him such complete and immediate attention that it was slightly unsettling.
Saitama tensed at the reaction.
—Why do you follow me around so much? Shouldn't you be at home, or doing something else? —He paused—. And what are you writing so intently?
—Sensei, as your disciple it is my duty to document every lesson transmitted by your very presence. —He showed him the notebook without hesitation. There were pages upon pages of notes, movement diagrams with explanatory arrows, and something that appeared to be an analysis of the way Saitama had helped an elderly woman cross the street—. I am also recording your training regimen to analyze it in detail.
Saitama looked at the notebook.
He swallowed.
Because over the entire day he had done absolutely nothing memorable. He had walked down three streets, checked the perimeter of two buildings, and helped a little old lady cross the street because the traffic light was taking too long. That was all. Any way you looked at it, it was the most ordinary morning of a perfectly average police officer.
And Genos had documented it as if it were a masterclass.
"I'm genuinely starting to worry — I have no idea what I can actually teach this guy."
He thought, rubbing his temple.
"What am I even supposed to teach him?! I need something! Come on! A profound phrase! A spiritual lesson! Something that sounds like ancestral wisdom from a mountain monk! Something… Damn it!! Nothing's coming to me!! … I only know basic training… And besides, he's a cyborg. Does he stretch his cables before running? Is there a protein supplement for cyborgs? Does he oil himself to get stronger? IS THAT TRAINING FOR HIM?"
He glanced at Genos sideways. Genos looked back at him with absolute expectation, pencil poised over the notebook, as if at any moment he was about to utter something that would change his existence forever.
"I don't have even the remotest, slightest, most microscopic idea what this kid is thinking. …I'm going to have to improvise something. Fast."
֎֎֎
Record of day 11 alongside Sensei Saitama.
I have learned a great deal from his teachings over these days under his guidance. It appears that a true warrior must have senses so developed that they act automatically, even without his awareness. The master, by simply walking and projecting his unconscious killing presence, has stopped 30 tiger and wolf level monsters as if it were nothing, causing them to surrender voluntarily or faint from fear. And 10 demon level monsters that attempted to attack him were defeated by pure instinct with a single motion of his hand, without him even noticing. A clear example of his remarkable capacity and the respect it commands.
After being offline for a period, upon updating my database, I discovered that Sensei is currently a very well-known public figure thanks to videos of his exploits from the past year, particularly in the "Storm" incident where he demonstrated a portion of his power. He quickly gained a following, and some consider him on par with the top ten heroes of Class S in the Association, going so far as to compare him to King, who is catalogued as the strongest man on Earth.
And yet, I have noticed that the master has absolutely no interest in any of that. Scanning his calls and encounters over these days, I have confirmed that the Heroes Association persistently insists on recruiting him, something the Sensei finds annoying and bothersome.
It is evident that they want something hidden from him, even more so given that they conceal the majority of his heroic feats. Perhaps they want to diminish his popularity by treating him as someone superficial. How pathetic.
In official records, his most notable actions remain limited to repairs, rescues and civilian assistance, which barely places him as a Class B hero at minimum. A disgrace for him.
With this information gathered, I devised a plan to strengthen my bond with Sensei and, once and for all, be recognized as his true disciple. I could no longer hesitate or allow other figures to interfere with my mission. Especially Mrs. Tatsumaki, whose closeness with Sensei still strikes me as suspicious; I am convinced she is hiding something from him. My idea was simple: if I managed to register with the Heroes Association and achieve a high score, I would gain access to privileged information. With that, I would eliminate unnecessary inconveniences for Sensei and, at the same time, earn unquestionable respect as his disciple.
The dilemma was how to join the Association without troubling the master. He detests that place, and the last thing I wanted was to go against his wishes. Perhaps I could…
—Genos, come here a moment. I just thought of something —said Sensei, somewhat animated. Perhaps he was about to give me another revelatory lesson.
—Sir, yes sir! What do you need?
—How would you feel about registering as a hero with the Heroes Association?
—…
I was taken aback. This was too fortunate, so perfect that it could only be considered a miracle for my self-appointed mission.
—Why do you ask that of me, sir?
—Simple —he replied calmly—. If you join the Association, you'll be able to take advantage of the experience that comes with the training I'll give you. On top of that, you'll have access to useful information for what you're searching for. And if you do it… I'll recognize you as my disciple. What do you say?
Everything made sense at once. How had I not seen it sooner? Sensei, as a high-ranking police commissioner, had deduced exactly what was going through my mind. This wasn't merely a suggestion: it was a mission designed to test my determination and secure my place as his one and only disciple.
It was the opportunity of my life, and I was not going to let it slip away.
—Yes, Sensei!! I accept the mission you have entrusted to me without hesitation! —I exclaimed, filled with determination and with energy burning in my core. I was ready to claim my definitive position as the best and only disciple of Sensei.
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—Perfect, that's what I wanted to hear —Saitama responded with a completely composed expression.
Inside, it was a different story.
"Hehe. He swallowed it whole. I AM A GENIUS. If Genos joined the Association, he'd be busy with missions, building his own name, feeling satisfied with his progress. And most importantly: he'd stop following me through the streets noting down how I cross the road. And as a bonus, a new hero will give them enough work to stop calling me every three days. Two birds, one stone. This is worthy of a high-level strategist. Hehe."
—Right, hold on a moment. I'll make a call —he said, pulling out his phone with complete calm.
He dialed the number they had given him on previous visits. They picked up before the second ring, which caught him mildly off guard.
"Well, at least they're efficient in that regard."
—Officer Saitama, we greatly appreciate your call. —The operator's voice sounded professional, almost rehearsed—. How may we assist you? Have you perhaps decided to register with the Heroes Association?
"That tone… as if they'd been waiting for exactly this call all day. Unsettling."
—I know registrations closed yesterday and it's a bit late —said Saitama, with his usual calm—, but I was wondering if I could come in today. It's something urgent.
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In the sixth recruitment center of the Heroes Association, everything was chaos.
Staff hurried back and forth adjusting measurement equipment, reviewing registration systems and reorganizing protocols with the frantic energy of someone preparing a state visit. Nobody said it out loud, but everyone was thinking it: this was not a normal recruitment.
Sekingar and Sitch were moving briskly down the main corridor, reviewing documents and reports simultaneously, nearly colliding with staff crossing in the opposite direction.
—This is… extraordinary —Sekingar murmured, without taking his eyes off the tablet—. We've spent months trying to convince him. Months. And now he shows up on his own, without any prior notice, asking for an appointment today.
—I know —Sitch replied in a serious tone—. This is a golden opportunity. Since the "Storm" incident it became clear that his power isn't a rumor. Defeating that purple creature that nearly leveled City A, then the giant that was about to wipe City B off the map, and in both cases with a single punch. —He paused—. Not just anyone can do that. And finally we'll make those idiots in the upper ranks understand what we've been telling them for so long: Commissioner Saitama is not to be pressured or coerced. He is to be received properly, treated with respect, and waited on.
They stopped before the doors of the meeting room. Sitch straightened his tie. Sekingar adjusted his jacket. They breathed.
—Remember —said Sitch, in a low voice, glancing sideways at him—. If we manage to bring him in, the Association will have the most powerful shield in its history. Possibly the most powerful that has ever existed, second only to Blast. We cannot ruin this.
Sekingar nodded, swallowing firmly. The door opened and inside, the scene was not exactly what they had expected.
What they found inside was not quite what they had imagined.
Commissioner Saitama was seated in a completely relaxed posture, drinking tea and eating the high-quality biscuits they themselves had ordered prepared for the occasion, with the calm expression of someone who has been waiting for a good while and hasn't particularly minded. At his side, back straight and aura serious and intimidating, sat a young cyborg they quickly recognized: Genos, the same individual responsible for the destruction of the House of Evolution and the subject of several pending investigation reports.
Sitch and Sekingar exchanged a glance. The opportunity had just doubled. This was more than they had dared to hope for.
They approached and bowed in unison with a respectful incline.
—Commissioner Saitama, it is an honor to receive you —said Sitch—. Tell us, what brings you here so urgently today?
Saitama set his cup on the table. He looked at them with an expression that, for an instant, was so serious and unexpected that both of them tensed involuntarily, as if they were about to receive a declaration of historic importance.
Then the expression dissolved into his usual face, completely relaxed and without any drama.
—I want to register my disciple Genos to become a recognized hero. Is there any problem with that?
Silence.
A silence that lasted exactly as long as it took for the words to land completely, bounce, and land again with the same absurd weight as the first time.
Sitch and Sekingar looked at each other.
Then they looked at Saitama.
Then they looked at each other again.
—WHAAAAT?!! —they burst out in unison, with a sincerity and simultaneity so complete that the staff in the corridor stopped to listen.
Saitama watched them with genuine confusion, the biscuit halfway to his mouth.
He didn't understand what he had said wrong.
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—This is a nuisance —Saitama muttered, standing in the recruitment arena wearing nothing but his underwear, while dozens of incredulous stares settled on him and on Genos, who accompanied him with his usual seriousness.
It had been those two, Sitch and Sekingar. After the meeting, the pair had insisted with an energy that bordered on desperate, offering him fame, money and a place in Class S as one of the Association's most important heroes. Saitama listened patiently, considered the proposal for approximately three seconds, and dismissed it. His wives already covered that territory: Tatsumaki at rank 2 of Class S, Fubuki dominating Class A with a combination of power and resources that needed nothing from him to sustain itself. Why take the spotlight from them? He was comfortable in the police force. Stable. No unnecessary drama.
The problem was that those two wouldn't accept a simple no. So they reached an agreement: Saitama would sit the tests alongside Genos, and after that they would leave him alone. It seemed reasonable at the time.
Now, standing in his underwear in front of several evaluators who had no idea what to do, reasonable was relative.
—Don't worry, sensei —said Genos—. If you complete the tests quickly and decisively, you'll be out of here in no time. You're also exempt from the written portion.
—Yeah, yeah, whatever. —he said with the least possible interest or concern.
It was then that, among the crowd, he recognized a face. A hero he remembered facing a while back over a situation involving police officers.
—Hey, you… I know you.
The hero in question tensed immediately and approached at a brisk pace, like someone who prefers to arrive before being called out more loudly.
—What was your name again? I know it had something to do with a snake. Let me think, Snake… fists… flying snake fist? dazzling snake man? the snake that strikes? Got it! Man who bites snakes.
—"Biting Snake Fist" Sneck, Mr. Saitama —he said, bowing with a slightly trembling voice—. I am deeply sorry for my conduct on the previous occasion. I beg your forgiveness.
—You mean last time? Don't worry about it, that's all in the past. —Saitama gave him a natural pat on the shoulder—. I'm glad to see you've become a respectful hero. I'm proud of you.
Sneck trembled slightly under the pat. Saitama noticed and concluded internally that he was very shy, poor thing.
—Hey, since you're involved with these tests, could you keep an eye on Genos? I want his evaluation to be… well considered. I'd like him to end up with a high placement.
—Yes, sir. With great pleasure —Sneck replied, bowing even lower, with the solemnity of someone who has just been handed a high-ranking mission.
Saitama smiled at him. Satisfied.
֎֎֎
The tests began.
—Next: lateral jumps for thirty seconds. Ready? Go!
Genos activated his propulsion units with millimetric precision, moving with an unmatched speed and steadiness. The evaluators nodded, impressed.
Saitama started two seconds later.
The first jump opened a crater. The second expanded it. By the fifth, the evaluators had retreated to the wall and one of them had lost their tablet under the rubble. The test was stopped before time for structural reasons.
—Next: fifteen hundred meter run. Go!
Genos crossed the track in 30 seconds, leaving a trail of melted fire in the asphalt. The evaluators exchanged glances. It was an extraordinary result.
Saitama disappeared.
One second later he was on the other side, looking back with a mildly bored expression. The ground along the entire course had the appearance of having been struck by a giant missile at surface level.
—Next: weightlifting.
Genos carried a ten-ton weight without visible effort, his joints resonating with controlled force. Technically impeccable.
Saitama picked up ten of those weights and started juggling.
He threw them into the air, caught them, waved to the evaluators between repetitions with a completely relaxed expression. An evaluator attempted to write something on their form and gave up mid-sentence.
—Next: projectile throw.
Genos's shot embedded itself in the ceiling with enough force to make several nearby candidates take a step back.
Saitama's shot pierced through the facility, disappeared into the sky and did not return immediately. The evaluators waited. 10 seconds later it fell from the opposite side, straight into Saitama's hand, which caught it without looking. It had completed a full orbit around the world. The official report later recorded that during its trajectory it had eliminated two dragon-level kaijin, one aerial and one marine, without Saitama being aware of having done so. For fun he repeated the throw three more times.
—Vertical jump.
Genos reached the ceiling in one thrust and came back down with precision. Clean, powerful, calculated.
Saitama went through the ceiling.
He took several minutes to return. When he landed he commented, with complete nonchalance, that the descent had been entertaining. The Association's sensors, reviewed afterward, confirmed he had reached the exosphere. Nobody knew how to respond to that, so they didn't.
—Precision test: "Hit the Mole."
Genos synchronized his systems with the moving targets and struck every one with millimetric precision. The evaluators applauded internally.
Saitama destroyed three machines in one motion. Then he looked at the remaining ones and remarked that the game was fine but could be faster. No one responded.
—Punching machine.
Genos delivered an incandescent blow, his fist burning with energy and the impact generating a score that was nearly impossible to surpass. Saitama simply struck with disinterest. The machine flew up into the sky, disappearing from the record.
Genos's punch generated a score the evaluators took a moment to believe was real. His fist burned with concentrated energy and the impact shook the entire platform. It was, by far, the best result they had seen in years.
Saitama struck with disinterest.
The machine went through the roof. It did not return. The subsequent report listed it as "whereabouts unknown."
At the end, Genos achieved a perfect score in every category: one hundred out of one hundred in every measurable parameter. The evaluators were genuinely impressed.
Saitama left no scores. He left repair invoices, three infrastructure damage reports, an equipment loss form and the blank expressions of twelve evaluators who had been saying nothing for twenty minutes.
When Saitama, with complete normalcy, offered to pay for the damages, they handed him a notably low figure. No one in the room wanted to argue it.
—That was entertaining —he remarked, adjusting his cap—. It wouldn't be bad to do it again some other day.
The evaluators nodded in silence. For the sake of the facility, it was better that he didn't come back.
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Following the physical tests, where sensei once again demonstrated his power with the same nonchalance with which he would do anything else, he withdrew without ceremony. I completed the written test and the interview. The results were satisfactory: position 17 in Class S. Two objectives accomplished simultaneously: a respectable rank within the Association and formal recognition as sensei's disciple. I noted the next steps in my internal log: request a direct confrontation to assess his true limits and take advantage of my new access to gather relevant information from the organization.
But that could wait. It was late, and sensei should be at home.
I decided to go and inform him of my results. I considered that he might be proud.
As I approached the building, my sensors detected two presences inside. Sensei's, recognizable immediately. And another feminine one that did not match Mrs. Tatsumaki's profile: taller, different body temperature, different voice pattern. Something in my systems activated without my being able to classify it precisely.
I quickened my pace. I opened the door as softly as possible so as not to raise suspicion.
The first thing I processed was the voice.
—I'm sorry… it's just that I needed Genos to have something to focus on and, well… —it was sensei, with that direct and calm tone of his as always.
—I don't care about your disciple!! —the feminine voice responded, laden with a mixture of fury and something my parameters couldn't classify immediately—. Do you have any idea how it feels that my Darling didn't invite me to examine that gorgeous body of yours?!
I stopped.
Darling? Why was this woman speaking to Sensei with such affection and yet such rage at the same time? Who was this woman?
—I know, I'm sorry. If there's some way to make it up to you I…
—You said it yourself, Darling —she continued. My sensors registered a sharp rise in her body temperature—. And don't play dumb.
—Fubuki, wait… you shouldn't… Tatsumaki could arrive at any moment and she…
—Shhh. I don't care what my sister says right now. You are going to pay for your insolence.
The tone had shifted. It was no longer just fury. There was something else in it, an edge wrapped in something my systems couldn't categorize with precision, and that generated an immediate alert in me.
—Wait, please, we could…
—Sensei!!
I entered the living room at maximum speed.
The scene that unfolded before my eyes left me bewildered: Sensei was on the floor, face down, with his police uniform open from the collar, leaving his chest completely exposed. On top of him, pinning his arms to the ground, was a tall woman with disheveled dark green hair, dressed in a fitted dress of the same shade. The garment barely covered her torso, and her chest was suggested, barely contained by a brassiere.
The sight was enough to activate my defense systems. My artificial respiration accelerated and, without thinking twice, I readied my arm cannon, prepared to incinerate her for attacking and humiliating Sensei in such a degrading manner.
—Oh, hi Genos, wait… —she looked more carefully at her situation and then at me in alarm—. Genos please calm down, I don't know what you're thinking but it's not what it looks like!
—The position you are both in suggests otherwise, sensei —I replied, without lowering my aim—. I will not permit you to be dishonored. I will proceed to eliminate the threat.
—Hey, let's calm down for a moment —he said, more composed—. I know her. That's Fubuki, Tatsumaki's younger sister. And she's also my…
—I'm his lover —she interrupted him with complete fluency, adjusting her dress without any haste while a smile that had nothing innocent about it settled onto her face.
—…
—…
—Huh?!! —sensei shouted in alarm.
I processed the declaration.
I processed it again. This was a serious problem.
If the information was correct, sensei was maintaining a relationship parallel to his marriage with Mrs. Tatsumaki, whose younger sister was precisely the person currently smoothing her hair over him with the satisfaction of someone who has just won an argument. The implications were multiple and none of them were favorable, especially considering that Mrs. Tatsumaki was Class S rank 2 and I already had direct experience of what happened when something displeased her.
If she shows up right now, the situation will be catastrophic.
—What is going on here?
I turned.
Mrs. Tatsumaki was floating in the doorway, arms crossed, with a gaze that moved slowly between sensei on the floor, her sister standing over him, and me with the cannon still deployed. The green aura that always surrounded her was present, but in this moment it felt considerably denser than on other occasions.
The atmosphere became very heavy very quickly.
My systems calculated the available variables in real time. There is no good option here. Only options with different levels of consequence.
I needed to think. Fast.