Hmm?
The bowl of high-grade beef in his hand slowly lowered, Saitama's gaze landing on the box beside him.
"A fighting game? KING, you play fighting games too?"
King still wore his usual smile, looking anything but malicious.
"Sure, I play a little, but my skills are kind of trash—maybe I can't beat you."
The moment he heard that, Saitama's eyes lit up; he wolfed down the beef, shut off the hotpot, clenched his fist, and pumped it into the air.
"Perfect! I'm a fighting-game god—let me show you what real technique looks like!"
In everyday battles, Saitama felt empty because he was too strong; he longed for an opponent who could push him to his limits.
In fighting games, he wanted both to spar with strong players and to stomp weak ones for ego.
Listening to Saitama's grand declaration, King's mouth twitched as he nearly burst out laughing.
Can't… laugh yet… hold it… five minutes later.
The two sat before the console, the screen showing a popular fighting-game interface.
Saitama picked the Muscle Giant—towering frame, spiked mace—clearly a brute.
King chose a petite loli, twin-tails tipped with tiny bells, fists raised in a boxing stance.
Seeing the size gap, Saitama gripped the controller, brimming with confidence.
"KING, your character choice is weak. Mine's way fiercer—watch me KO you in seconds!"
The round began; Saitama mashed the attack button, clueless about combos, attack-only on his mind.
His colossus kept swinging the mace, yet the little girl parried and dodged every hit with precision.
Cornered, King's eyes sharpened; two fingers blurred across the pad, nailing almost every input.
In-game, the loli leapt, chaining a perfect combo that left the colossus motionless until death.
Saitama: "…"
He was dumbstruck—how had he been perfect-to-death while still at full health?
King turned with a smile.
"Again?"
Saitama, clearly unconvinced, slapped the floor and glared, dead serious.
"Of course! That was just luck—watch me crush you round two!"
Round 2… 3… 35. Seeing the blood-red "KO," a vein throbbed on Saitama's bald head; his skin flushed red—he was tilting hard.
"Again!"
Saitama yelled, nearly breaking, panting as he glared at the screen.
Still relaxed, King let go of one hand and rested a single finger on the pad.
"Tell you what—one finger. Beat me, and I'll cover your beef for a month."
"Really?!"
Suddenly re-energized, Saitama grabbed the controller, eyes sparkling.
"KING, you're cocky—one finger? I'll smash you!!"
Round 75… Watching his muscleman kicked to death by the loli, Saitama knelt and howled like a shōnen hero.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
King yawned, grabbed the cola, swigged, then shook his right hand.
Pressing with one finger for so long actually made it sore.
Round 108… "I'm done."
Saitama, ashen-faced, tossed the pad and collapsed to the floor in despair.
Not a single win—he hadn't taken even one round.
One finger was enough for King to dominate; Saitama never wanted to touch the game again.
King could barely hold it in; in the source, he'd known Saitama was bad, but not this bad.
Being weak was fine, but mashing only the punch button while forgetting kicks, blocks, and dodges?
Saitama went full-obsession, ignoring even his beloved manga, and flopped on the sofa to switch on the TV.
"Recently, swarms of mosquitoes have appeared in Z-City; many suburban animals have been drained to husks. Citizens are advised to stay indoors."
"Mosquitoes?"
As he idly flicked channels, a faint buzz reached his ear.
Within two seconds, the buzz grew louder; he turned to see a mosquito already on his arm, probing for blood.
Without hesitation, he slapped, a gust of wind erupting with terrifying force.
Thinking it dead, he heard the familiar buzz again as the mosquito leisurely slipped through his fingers.
Under his stare, it landed on his face, ready for another sip.
Saitama: "…"
After 108 losses, now even a mosquito could dodge him; veins bulged across his forehead, rage peaking.
He smashed his own face, leaving a bright-red palm print, eyes murderous.
The next second, the mosquito wobbled out between his fingers, its buzz sounding like mockery.
"Damn it!!!"
Saitama blurred into after-images, speed so high he seemed to split into clones, wildly swatting the circling pest.
Yet after the rampage, the mosquito still hadn't been hit; it buzzed annoyingly toward the balcony.
"Get back here, bastard! Where's my bug spray!"
Watching Saitama's mask of agony, King calmly sipped his cola and smacked his lips.
Looks like the plot has inched forward again.
Only… this timeline feels a bit off?
…