For a long moment, nobody moved. The assembled S-Class heroes, the members of the Blizzard Group, the police, and the few media drones brave enough to get close just stared. They stared at the perfectly circular, miles-wide crater glowing like a fresh wound in the heart of their city. And they stared at the lone, bald figure standing at its epicenter.
He had not just defeated the threat. He had annihilated the very dimension it occupied, and taken a sizable chunk of City Z along with it.
Genos was the first to move, flying at supersonic speed to his master's side. He landed, his scanners sweeping the area, his face a mask of awe. "Sensei! Your technique… it was magnificent! You did not merely punch the enemy; you weaponized your own existence, creating a localized reality cascade that overwhelmed and erased the void's null-state. I have 1,700 terabytes of data to analyze!"
Saitama just grunted, dusting off his gloves. "I just punched it. Really hard this time." He looked around at the devastation. "Think the landlord will notice?"
The other S-Class heroes began to approach the crater's edge, their expressions ranging from stunned disbelief to cold, hard calculation.
Superalloy Darkshine's gleaming muscles seemed less lustrous than before. "Such power…" he whispered, his voice full of a reverence usually reserved for his own reflection. "There was no technique, no form. It was just… pure, absolute force. It makes my own shine feel… dim." For the first time, a seed of doubt was planted in the mind of the man who believed he was the pinnacle of physical perfection.
Drive Knight's single red eye glowed as he processed the scene. "Conclusion: Hero Saitama's potential for collateral damage is equivalent to his potential for threat neutralization. Strategic liability is equal to strategic asset. Must recalibrate all future engagement protocols." In his mind, Saitama's threat level was being adjusted, but it wasn't for monsters. It was for the Hero Association itself.
Tanktop Master just stood there, his jaw slack. He remembered the feeling of utter helplessness, of his power being snuffed out like a candle. And then he watched this man not just resist that feeling, but violently reverse it on a cosmic scale. "The Tanktop teaches us that true strength comes from wearing your power with pride," he muttered to himself. "But… what if the shirt doesn't fit?"
Far from the scene, Fubuki watched the live drone footage on her tablet, her mind a whirlwind. This changed everything. Saitama wasn't an asset to be controlled or a partner to be recruited. He was a force of nature, like a typhoon or an earthquake. You didn't partner with an earthquake. You studied it, you learned to predict its movements, and you tried your damn best to stay out of its way while making sure it pointed itself at your enemies. Her strategy had to evolve. Absorption was impossible. The new goal was… proximity. Influence. Becoming the indispensable Saitama-whisperer.
The puppet heroes were starting to stir, groaning as their consciousness returned. Medical teams rushed in. The immediate crisis was over.
Now, the political one was just beginning.
In the dimly lit, smoke-filled backroom of a Yakiniku restaurant in City Q, two men sat opposite each other, separated by a sizzling grill of high-grade beef. One was Psykos, the brilliant, bespectacled strategist of the now-defunct Monster Association. The other was a man in a nondescript business suit, his face utterly forgettable, a man who seemed to blend into the shadows even in a well-lit room. He was a senior executive from the Neo Heroes.
"The Void Collective failed," Psykos stated, placing a piece of marinated rib on the grill. "A predictable outcome. They are a conceptual threat, too rigid in their philosophy. They were a useful probe, but ultimately, a blunt instrument."
The man from the Neo Heroes nodded, his face impassive. "Their failure provided valuable data. The asset, Saitama, is not just physically invulnerable. He appears to operate on a different set of physical laws entirely." He paused. "Our backers are... concerned. They believe he is an existential threat to 'The Plan.'"
"Of course he is," Psykos said with a smug smile. "That's why he's so valuable." She flipped the meat, the fat hissing on the hot grill. "The Hero Association is a decaying institution. Corrupt, bureaucratic, slow. Your Neo Heroes organization is an improvement. Efficient, charismatic, with a clear message. But you both share the same fundamental weakness."
"And what is that?" the man asked, his voice betraying no emotion.
"You believe this is a war you can win with armies. With numbers, and technology, and public approval." Psykos picked up the cooked beef with her chopsticks and ate it with relish. "This is not a war. It is a new mythology being written. And in every myth, there are gods, and there are mortals. All your heroes, HA and Neo alike, are mortals playing at being gods. But Saitama… he may actually be one." Her eyes gleamed with a familiar, dangerous intelligence. "And the problem with gods is that they are notoriously difficult to control."
"So, what is your proposal?" the man asked.
"Stop trying to destroy him. It's a waste of resources," Psykos said. "And stop trying to understand him. You'll only get a headache. The answer is simpler. More… elegant." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You find something he cannot punch. You create a problem so insidious, so deeply rooted in the system he has sworn to protect, that he is forced to make a choice: either watch the world burn, or become the very thing he despises—a politician. A king."
The man considered this, his fingers steepling. "You propose to break him philosophically."
"I propose to give him a real challenge," Psykos corrected. "A moral and ethical crisis that will tie his hands and tear his soul apart. And while he is busy wrestling with his own conscience, we will be busy building a new world from the ashes of the old one."
Her plan was taking shape. It was no longer about monsters versus heroes. It was about order versus chaos, and she would happily use both sides to achieve her true goal.
Meanwhile, in a hidden underground facility, the being known only as Zombieman pulled a bullet from his own forehead and dropped it into a metal tray with a clatter. It was the tenth one this week. His regenerative abilities were working perfectly.
He was in one of the secret Genus labs, poring over old data from the House of Evolution. Dr. Genus, now a humble takoyaki stand owner, had granted him access.
"This is it," Zombieman muttered, pointing to a section of corrupted data on a flickering monitor. "The Limiter Theory. The very edge of your research."
A holographic projection of Dr. Genus appeared, his face weary but still brilliant. "Yes. My greatest failure, and my most profound discovery. The concept that every living being has a divinely-imprinted barrier, a 'limiter,' to prevent them from growing powerful enough to lose their sanity and reason."
"But Saitama broke it," Zombieman said, stating the obvious.
"He didn't just break it. He removed it entirely," Genus's projection replied. "And the source of his power isn't the training. The push-ups, the sit-ups… that was merely the trigger. The catalyst was his will. His absolute, single-minded, and frankly, rather pathetic desire to be a hero 'for fun.' It was a will so pure and simple, so devoid of ambition or complexity, that it created a paradox reality couldn't resolve. So reality simply... gave up. It removed the rules for him."
Zombieman was pacing. "I've faced beings that can regenerate, that are immortal like me. But they all have limits. Saitama has none. And now... others are appearing." He gestured to another screen showing footage of the Void Collective scout. "Conceptual beings. Entities that operate on different rules."
"The world is changing," Genus agreed. "Saitama's existence is like a crack in a dam. His presence is slowly destabilizing the laws of our reality. Beings from other, stranger realities are starting to leak through. The Monster Association was just the beginning. Child's play."
Zombieman stopped pacing. "I need more. I need to get stronger. My regeneration is useful for investigation, but I'm just a speedbump in a real fight. Genus… I want you to find a way to remove my limiter."
The projection of Dr. Genus looked at him, his expression filled with a deep sadness and pity.
"I can try," he said softly. "But you must understand what you are asking. Saitama became a god, but he paid a terrible price: everything he once was. His passion, his rage, his fear. His humanity. He's a hollow shell of infinite power. Tell me, Zombieman, what parts of yourself are you willing to sacrifice? What will be left of you when you get the power you crave?"
The question hung in the sterile air of the lab. Zombieman looked at his own scarred, regenerating hands. He had died over two hundred times. He had seen the absolute worst of monsters and men.
"What humanity?" he said, his voice as dead as the bodies he'd left behind. "Let's begin."