A/N: He lives.

So I am aware that yes, it has been long since I updated. I have excuses. Ohhhh, I have excuses.

But while I could choose to buff my wordcount bitching about the swing shift of my new job that kept me from my glorious nights of wordsmithery (Is that a word? Meh), I think I'll instead choose to highlight some milestones that I myself am quite proud of.

Since my last chapter came out, a few notable firsts have happened.

I hit a milestone of over 300 favorites, which is already more than the Spartans had in their army. Now say what you will – I think having more fans than an army had soldiers is a baller thing indeed. That put, thank you all for being my Spartan Army. Your patience and understanding is a fundamental part of what makes me want to see this story live and thrive.

I also got my first plagiarist! A Brazilian one, no less! And while you might be thinking "dafaaaaaq?" I do consider it an honor all its own that someone thought my story was worth the effort to take that ballsy swing. Having said so, please do not be a shameless cunt and start duplicating my work unless you plan on giving your author due credit. Thank you. :) Also, big shout-out to the awesome secret police force I apparently have for catching wind of the plagiarist and making him take it down before I even knew it was a problem. That's some loyalty you can't buy. Mad thankful for Assault1337 and his/her squad!

I also received my first honorable mention in another writer's story. Definitely not something I ever expected to get, but it is a damn fine privilege. Thank you, Bacrep, for lending your unbelievable support.

Now that the gooey stuff is mopped out of the way...

Chapter 8: Hello to Spring

Disclaimer: I do not own One-Punch Man.

"BEHOLD!"

A great voice boomed over the city with such antipathy that it shook the very earth itself and enervated the thousands of civilians unfortunate enough to hear it.

As if in affront to nature itself, the sky began to twist, crack, and peel – bloody red replacing baby blue, piece by fracturing piece. The clouds billowed violently before parting like a lofty curtain. A large crimson portal encircled by countless indiscernible runes suddenly replaced the sun, bathing everything beneath it in a sinister red hue.

"I AM THE PROPHECY OF DOOM THAT YOUR SEERS HAVE FORESEEN. I AM THE HERALD OF THE MORNING STAR..."

A colossal, humanoid hand reached out of the portal, as though it were clawing its way out of a bloody womb. Another hand soon followed, grabbing on to the other side of the celestial rift. The rest of the figure promptly emerged, revealing what appeared to be a moving, immaculately sculpted statue of a man.

"I...AM...DOMINUS!"

At the shout of his name, the rift that he had slipped through exploded behind him with a visceral splatter. Some red fluid which could only be perceived as blood proceeded to fly from the burst in all directions, raining down steaming hot gore on the poor inhabitants below.

The effect of the numen's presence was immediate: the standing rivers of people below scattered in all directions, jostling, tripping, and stepping on friends and strangers alike to get clear of the obvious threat. Even floating high over the air, the sheer size of him generated mass hysteria. The entity was beyond massive – bearing uncanny resemblance to the Colossus of Rhodes. As he descended closer to land, all who dared look upon him amidst the noise and confusion could see the white roman cloth adorning his frame, elegantly draped over one shoulder and flowing down his form. In accordance with his theme, his handsome and well-groomed head was crowned with a gilded laurel wreath, representing his apparent sovereignty.

In one hand, he held out a long staff, at the head of which sat a curious symbol – similar to an ankh. The features of his face were totally inanimate. He didn't blink, or even move his mouth as he spoke. Yet despite appearing to be made completely out of stone, the rest of his body seemed to be fully supple – as demonstrated when he pointed his rod at a section of tall buildings, casting a scorching ray of blinding light that promptly burned an entire section of the city off the map.

"IN AGES PAST, LONG HAVE MORTALS PROSTRATED THEIR HEADS IN SERVICE TO THE GODS." The great titan touched onto the ground, creating chasms underfoot and causing the city to rumble at the strain of his weight. "THEY PAID TRIBUTES...HELD BLOODY BANQUETS...EVEN SACRIFICED COUNTLESS OF THEIR FELLOW COUNTRYMEN – ALL IN THE NAME OF MY GREATNESS." The being that called itself Dominus turned his head to face a tall building, still under construction and surrounded by cranes. At the top sat the familiar golden mound that had previously marked Zeniru's great 'Shit-Scraper' tower. Apparently the millionaire wasn't about to give up the prospect of expansion after just a few dozen assassination attempts.

The towering god-like statue stared mutely at the shining golden turd for a few good seconds before turning back and continuing. "AND NOW I RETURN TO SEE THAT THE SONS OF INDUSTRY HAVE SULLIED THE GOOD SOIL WITH ICONOCLASM AND HERESY. NO LONGER DO MORTALS REMEMBER GODS. NO LONGER DO THEY REMEMBER THEIR PLACE." Taking his scepter in both hands, he held it high over his head, and the unsettling hum of magic filled the air. "AND THAT IS WHY...I COME FORTH TO REMIND THEM!" A deafening pang of metal rang out as he slammed the bottom of the shaft into the ground, creating a gigantic shockwave that sprang forth in front of him, uprooting and decimating everything along its path.

Dominus's eyes, including an apparent third eye that was hidden at the center of his forehead, began glowing red in unison. The three triangulating points let out a blinding flash, after which a series of orbs erupted out of his face, blasting every damnable thing in his sight.

"WITNESS!"

The crimson projectiles hit all of their marks handily, resulting in numerous explosions and many deaths.

"COWER!"

A scarlet beam caught many buildings in a straight line, cutting through all of them at once as easily as a knife through butter. Decades of progress were undone in an instant, sliding apart like ribbon.

"AND PROSTRATE YOURSELVES ONCE MORE! FOR I...AM…!"

"Annoying!" Someone else heckled, somehow managing to cut off his epic, roaring voice. "Shut. The fuck. Up!" On the last emphasized word, a titanic cluster of rubble collided with the towering deity from his flank, only to be deflected by some manner of invisible barrier just before impact. Nevertheless, the shock of the recoil caused him to stagger back, forcing him to one knee before he could regain his posture.

As he turned his expressionless face towards the direction of the offender, many more rocks came hurdling his way in a huge volley. He raised his forearms in defense, staving off the attack as the stones crumbled into mere dust against him.

The colossus grunted in mild surprise as more fragments of the landscape he just laid waste to rose up from behind him almost in revenge, encased in a curious green glow. The barrage continued.

As he set about repeating his simple strategy to block them off, the trajectory of the flying rubble conspicuously adjusted course – quickly parting to the side just before making contact with him, resulting in a raging swirl of debris that swept him unwittingly up into its center. The storm grew so violent that it became impossible to see where the titan was past the swirling wind – that was, until the three red orbs representing his eyes flashed clear through. On cue, the entire torrent was blown apart by another powerful beam, freeing him from the trap with not so much as a single crack in his stony aspect.

As the fractured rocks around him fell, he delivered a single, mighty sweep of his arm. With a brisk howl, the wind obeyed, carrying away the surrounding cloud of dust that encroached his view.

A half-mile off, he spotted something floating in the air – a mere speck of lint on the wind compared to his magnificent breadth. Even so, his all-seeing eyes caught every offending feature on the small creature's face as clearly as they would if she were right in front of him.

Tatsumaki sneered upon sensing his lifeless leer bearing down on her. It was an unsavory feeling that made her hairs stand on end. Like being undressed by the eyes of a depraved pervert.

The very city itself seemed to hold its breath while the two stared each other down for another moment. The crackle of the deity's voice shattered the stillness looming in the air. "CURSED BE THE ONE TO CAST THE FIRST STONE." The towering immortal drummed menacingly as he tightened his grip against the gilded bar of his staff. "HAVE YOU COME TO MEASURE YOURSELF AGAINST THE HEEL THAT CRUSHES YOU, CHILD?"

"Measure?" The esper raised an eyebrow, seemingly offended by the word choice. "Oh wow. Plenty of assholes have taken shots at my size before, but this might be the first time a pigeon-shat statue gave me a go. Some special snowflake you are, David."

A halo of furious red light draped around the goliath's head, expressing his unappreciation for the esper's words. His porcelain mouth opened up for the first time, revealing a glowing ball of vermilion fire within as he bellowed. "I AM DOMINUS!"

He bit down into a forceful grit, discharging the plume of energy into a massive beam that cut across the city to meet up with his offender.

Entire precincts parted like the Red Sea as it tore through with blinding speed and deafening noise, closing on Tatsumaki well within the first second.

A magnificent explosion erupted where the girl was floating. The force of the impact must have shattered every window the city had left.

No longer sensing any trace of the tiny and obstinate creature, the divine giant proclaimed, "YOU ARE CLEANSED AND MADE CLEAN... WITCH." before turning to proceed onward with his bloody campaign.

As he rotated completely around, he was met with the startling view of the woman he was thought to have just vanquished, crossing her arms indignantly just a few meters away from his face.

In spite of the overwhelming size difference, the goliath sensed enough danger to instinctively launch himself back several squares away from where Tatsumaki had reappeared.

"Cleansed?" She scoffed unpleasantly. "Not quite the word I'd use. After being spat at by such an ugly attack, I've never felt filthier in my life!" Her glow intensified as she picked up more pieces of rubble without even acknowledging what she was doing. "You called yourself a 'god,' right? So it's not so silly to assume that you're a God-level Disaster Threat, right?"

"WHAT ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT." The giant retorted. "I AM DOMINUS. I AM NO SINGULAR THREAT. I AM THE SUN, THE SWORD, THE TORCH, THE STORM. I AM ALL THREATS!"

"Hm." The slightest of smirks made its way across Tatsumaki's lips. To think that not only would Shibabawa's prophecy be taking place so soon, but it seems she was the one appointed by fate to stop it. At least that poor hag won't have died for nothing. "Maybe I actually rolled out of bed for a good reason today." The multitude of objects compiled around her was poised and ready to launch. "Then don't disappoint me… Big man."

With the simple flick of her hand, mountains of debris came speeding after him. Dominus opened his maw into a gape again, and the orifices of his face glowed red in unison. "PROFANE CUR!" The red sky immediately deepened its hue as the area darkened.

The sun began to turn black.

"Hey, Genos, which of these do you think that little squirt will like more?" Saitama held two t-shirts out for his roommate to inspect. One shirt had what appeared to be a crudely drawn image of a stubbly man wearing a mouse suit, puckering his lips out while standing on all fours. The other had the caption 'MOBU PSYCHO 1000000' resting above the silhouetted head of some kid with bowl cut hair.

Genos's eyes went dark. If cyborgs could sweat, that's the first thing this one would be doing. "I..." His shoulders sank in hopeless defeat. "...I do not have an answer for this question, Master."

Saitama gave him a discouraged look as he lowered both articles. "Huh? Oh come on man, these are the two coolest shirts I have left. You're telling me you don't prefer one over the other even a little bit?"

"Well, in my opinion—"

"Whoa. Hey, does it seem like it suddenly got darker to you or something?"

As the room noticeably drew more shade, the blond half-droid looked out through the unfixed wall ruinously marring their apartment. Considering how ordinary the sky above them looked save for indeed being rather dim, one would not think to suspect there was an evil hell bath going on many cities off. "It is still early in the morning. The sun is not due to rise for another eighteen and a half minutes," he informed, "and the meteorologists predicted more heavy showers later on. Perhaps an overcast."

"Oh." Saitama muttered vaguely. "Anyways," he shrugged, "I guess it's time to have our last breakfast together."

Genos grimaced. There went that blasted word again.

Last.

Last breakfast.

Last rent payment.

Last tooth-brushing.

Last toilet flush.

Last. Freaking. Everything.

At this point, the cyborg didn't know if Saitama was excited for their parting, dreading it, or simply milking it out. The bald hero's tendency to flippantly brush off every situation made him a very hard read, even with all the practice their time together afforded.

As Genos further pondered on it, Saitama went over to the fridge and opened it to browse their selection. "Hope the milk's okay. Don't know how long the power was out. Ah…!"

"Hm?" His disciple snapped back into reality to look over. "Is something the matter, Sensei?"

"I always suspected...but now..." Saitama slumped dismally, pulling out a plastic container containing a dubiously discolored liquid of...something. He turned to look at his companion with a glassy-eyed stare, as if announcing the death of a family pet. "I think...we lost the Szechuan. We should probably toss it..." He opened the package to smell it, after which he abruptly jerked his nose back to look at him again and add, "You know what? No. Not toss. We should bury it in a deep hole. And then bury the hole."

Genos tried to sound as sympathetic as he could. "I am deeply sorry for your loss, Master."

"Bahhh..." Saitama waved it off. "It's not the end of the world."

"I WILL END THIS WORLD!" Dominus snarled bitterly. "I AM THE SUN!"

Blotches of darkness fell from the spherical void hanging in the sky, colliding with Tatsumaki's projectiles and burning them out of existence.

"I AM THE SWORD!"

From out of nowhere, a wreath of elegant shining blades appeared from behind the titan, each the length of a school bus, swirling around him in a uniform, dance-like motion. All at once they pointed at the esper, and flying off to meet her they went, cutting through the air on the way with the bittersweet sound of swinging metal. As the collection of spinning steel came for her, Tatsumaki casually flew clear of each throw, grunting in annoyance when she saw that each sword seemed to boomerang right back at her – powered by an almost living eagerness to make good on their master's intent to do her harm. She threw out her hand, and before the weapons could strike, they were suspended by the green of her psychokinesis and subsequently broken into spectral sand.

"I AM THE TORCH!"

Colorless wisps of light – each the size of a golf ball – appeared around the god's head, accompanied by sharp buzzing sounds as they spawned. As Tatsumaki coolly watched on, the lights proceeded to devour their other siblings for kindling, growing fewer in number, but hotter and more massive.

When only three were left – now the size of houses – they all flared up into a bright cerulean blue and hurdled towards her with wild abandon. At such speed they were going, it was difficult for her to outmaneuver all of them at once while they were approaching her from such widely different angles. To save herself the trouble, she conjured an energy shield around her with the mystic wave of her hands just as the three great balls of fire converged on top of her, coating her spherical defense in azure light.

Not allowing her a moment's time for recovery, Dominus thrust his weapon skyward.

"I AM THE STORM!"

High in the sky, a hurricane-like cloud began swirling with the eye of the cyclone forming at the head of his scepter, and when it had spread far enough to encompass the city, a red surge of lightning shot down upon the great statue god, coating him in electrical charge. With a zealous roar, he swung his staff in Tatsumaki's direction, where nothing of her could be seen but the engulfing blue star that still held her captive.

A bolt of crimson fury leaped forth from his weapon like a lightning rod, crackling with unchecked power before colliding with the esper's fiery prison. As red rushed to meet blue, the burning celestial cage holding Tatsumaki shattered on contact like a sapphire gem, and the entire space around it ignited into a monstrous yet dazzling explosion of purple.

The entire district that she floated over was blanketed in a dense fog – fallout from the discharge of angry magic. Sounds of choking and gagging gradually filled the tarnished air as the people unfortunate enough to be hiding in that area began struggling for breath. To the cruelty of an enraged god like Dominus, however, the feeble rasps and brays of an undeserving race were sweeter than ambrosial wine.

Forgetting all about the esper he had practically disintegrated like an ant beneath a magnifying glass, Dominus turned to revel in the tune of human atrophy and slow death. His elation was short-lived however, as the malignant fog he had just created off of his last attack began to rise away from the civilians, being sucked upwards by means of some hidden vacuum.

"Unbelievable..." High in the air, the nightmarish smoke began to shrink back smaller and smaller as the indignant voice within it continued. "I should have suspected this from the start, but I guess I was too afraid to acknowledge the simple truth..." The fog, now condensed into the size of a penny, was swirling harmlessly on the tip of the esper's finger. "Your power..." Tatsumaki threw him a condemning look. "...is a pittance. An irritant at best." The disappointment in her voice was so pervasive that every survivor below the two titans felt the chill.

"WHAT?!" The mysterious being barked in outrage, partly for her jab, and partly to see that she yet again eluded her gruesome fate.

"This is the fucking worst." She held her hand high and opened it above her head. The onyx disk containing the fog from his previous attack began to dilate and expand. "God-Level? Get real. You'd have to bribe the assessment board just for them to consider you a Dragon Threat..." She paused for a moment, putting a finger from her other hand to her lip in thought as she continued to effortlessly hold up the rapid-growing death cloud. "I'll bet if he were here..." she concluded bitterly, the image of an annoying face in her mind, "...he could probably beat you with just one punch."

The regal giant scoffed incredulously. "WHO COULD BE SO POWERFUL..."

"Does it even matter at this point?" She replied dismissively. "You know, I actually feel kinda bad for you. If he were here, you would've lucked out. At least it would've been quick. ...Your death, I mean. But instead, you got me. And as a reward for terrifically wasting my time with your pointless buildup..." Suddenly, she haphazardly flicked the stormy disk at him. Despite the lazy manner in which she threw it, it closed on him with astonishing speed. It was all the stony creature could do to fly over it before it hacked him in two. However, as it passed from below, he no sooner heard Tatsumaki say "...Here. Have your lightning back." before the same bolt he attempted to strike her with leaped out through the cloudy projectile and lashed him from behind.

A thunderous noise rang out, and the next thing he knew, Dominus was missing his arm – the staff included. He grunted in surprise that his Perfect Defense had been so perfectly compromised, throwing his only remaining hand over in a frantic effort to staunch the crimson waterfall of blood that was now pouring out from the other side.

"Oh dear. Looks like I just made a god bleed."

He snapped his head over to where Tatsumaki stayed floating nonchalantly. "MISERABLE WRETCH..." His mighty voice had a slightly strained pitch to it. It was apparent that he felt more than a little pain. "YOU DARE TO STRIKE DOMINUS?!"

"Dare?" She blinked as if she were half-asleep. "Dare. Yes, I dare – twice in fact."

On cue, the bolt raced back to him from the other direction, taking out his eye, and virtually half his face. Surprisingly, the mangling of his stone exterior revealed a full set of teeth underneath, now partially exposed with the soft, bloody tissue of normal human anatomy beneath the cracks.

"FOR THIS TRANSGRESSION, YOUR SENTENCE SHALL BE—"

"Blah,"

She interrupted. The bolt of lightning zigged through him again, zagging out the other side and blasting a huge chunk out of his chest.

"Blah,"

Suddenly switched to a reclined floating position, she ushered the projectile in the other direction with her finger. The string of electricity changed its course again and passed Dominus, taking his other arm with it.

"Blaaah." She finished with a yawn.

By the time she turned the lightning streak loose for good, her opponent was a literally crumbling mess. Now covered more in viscera than stone, the self-proclaimed god looked like a battered egg that had just been shown a bad time by the beater.

"UGH… I NEVER IMAGINED..." The stone creature's unmoving mouth had blood rolling out, "THAT A MERE MORTAL...COULD BE SO STRONG..."

She gave him a weary look. "Do you go around crediting all your opponents for your own weakness?" She got into a threatening posture, holding her glowing hand out to him. "Or perhaps you think that you can win your life over with flattery?"

Forced to land and utterly...disarmed...Dominus was more apt to retreat than exchange words any further. Sensing him prepare to back away, she casually hovered closer to him with a half-hearted drift.

"You really think I'll tolerate pissants like you calling yourselves 'gods' so carefree?" She chided him. "What gives you license to come down here acting like you're hot shit? Because I've got some pretty overdue news for you..." She leaned in forward and spoke slowly, as if talking down to a child. "You're not a god. And you're not the Storm." Without turning away from him, she raised her hand up like she was grasping at something. From miles away, a familiar shape came flying its way over to her side. It was the Golden Turd from Zeniru's skyscraper. "You're just a sad weatherman who's grossly misread today's forecast. The real storm..." The large floating effigy next to her erupted into golden flame. "...she's right in front of you."

The fallen deity barely had enough time to look up in time to see the portending shadow move its way over his head.

"And now..."

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN THE MIGHTY—!"

=CRUNCH=

A gruesome sound rang out; the voluminous crack of eggshell and splatter of the yoke within.

Tatsumaki backed up a bit and put a finger to her chin to get a better look at her handiwork. The crap-shaped headpiece of the city landmark, still melting and smoldering with golden flame, sat in place of the colossus's head, which had since disappeared under not-so mysterious circumstances. It was almost comical how perfectly the relic seemed to fit atop his shoulders – as if that was its true destination all along.

"Now you're nothing but a piece of modern art." She told him, even though she knew she was only talking to a newly transformed husk at this point. "Enjoy posing at the national museum… Shithead."

Shithead. She was proud of that one.

Said shithead's broken body had been reduced to a sitting position, and with his shoulders slumped forward and his arms missing, he indeed looked quite sad. Art imitates life? Not this time.

"Kkh..." She sneered through her teeth with irritation as she turned to fly out of the city still burning and painted red. Whatever. That's what the clean-up crews were for. "How am I supposed to show that bastard how much better I am if I can't even find a decent challenger?"

As she ascended upwards towards a sun and sky now freed from divine tyranny, a rhythmic serious of beeps rang out.

Scoffing at the trouble, she reached back and pulled out a flip phone from God-knows-where, opening it and holding it up to her ear.

"Yeah? What?" She asked curtly. A series of long-winded chatter came out from the other end, indiscernible to all but her. "An evil statue god? Sighted in City F? Undetermined Disaster Threat Level, you say?" She pretended to act surprised before dropping the game and adding "Uh, yeah, I just killed it, genius. Why don't you turn on the local broadcast and learn something. Oh. And I better not receive flack about the damages. It was like this when I got here."

Another long streak of chatter answered her. Tatsumaki pinched the bridge of her nose in deep exasperation at what she was hearing.

"No, I'll have you know he wasn't with me to fight it. What, you think I needed his help or something? I'm about to—"

She was cut off by another response. As the prattling went on, she growled in annoyance.

"God, enough already! I was just headed in that direction to go get him… ...Seriously?! You called to ask me that?! Obviously I've decided to work with him, why else would I have even bothered to answer your call? ...Yeah, well...stuff happened. So now you can report some good news to your boss. Maybe he'll even put your name up on the fridge. Good for you." Some more inaudible words dropped in from the phone. She evidently didn't like what she was hearing, because her face straightened into a deadpan and she replied "I'm hanging up now. Thanks for eating up my minutes."

With the push of a button, her phone beeped before she tucked it back away and sighed gruffly. If there was one thing she wouldn't have missed about the Hero Association had she quit, it would've been the endless loop of the same three stupid conversations she had on the phone with the same three idiotic supervisors handling her. Was her time a joke to them?

"A boring fight with some self-absorbed statue, and now all this fuss over that weird-ass baldy..." She grumbled to herself as she continued her crow's flight towards Z-City. "Just who put me here to suffer like this...?"

Oh, right… She did.

And yet there was this feeling she couldn't shake… As if despite every ill turn she sustained over the past 48 hours, the real suffering was merely shuffling its way to her door.

The image of a certain bald face flashed through her mind with much unwelcome. Ironically, for all the things her brain allowed her to control, her brain itself was not always one of them.

She rolled her eyes, picking up speed though tempting was the thought to slow down and draw out the length of her flight. She doubted there would be many peaceful moments after this one.

Time to get this chapter of her life over with.

"Genos..." Saitama began to his roommate, taking a moment to look up at the re-lit morning sky in a seemingly contemplative trance. Next to him sat a packed rolling suitcase that looked arguably just as plain as its owner did. Out of his hero outfit and into his more casual hoodie and shorts combination, the cool wetness of the outdoors felt even more apparent. "...How long has it been since we met?"

The cyborg standing with him outside of their battle-torn apartment put a finger to his chin in careful thought. "From the very moment I first knocked on your door...it will have been ten weeks..."

Saitama whistled at the number. "Ten weeks already."

"Four days..." Genos went on.

"Huh?"

"Seven hours..."

"Ah...you don't say."

"Forty-three minutes."

"Yeah, I get it..."

"Sixteen seconds...four deciseconds..."

"Haha...okay that's getting creepy, please stop."

His mechanical neighbor gave him a look, but obeyed the request. "It seems a peculiar thing to ask..." Genos replied sullenly after a few beats. "Considering that we are about to part ways."

"Yeah..." Saitama answered. "I suppose it is."

The two took another lengthy moment to stare out at nothing in particular. There weren't necessarily a lot of noises in their neighborhood this early. In fact, it would be justice to say that there weren't a lot of noises around there period.

Z-City had seen its fair share of excitement. Yet in the wake of dream-ushered mole men, biting swarms of insects, and plummeting rocks from space, humans continue to stake their claim. As things were, it was a bleeding miracle how the business and residential districts still managed to hold on to people, but as for the particularly trashed area that the two heroes now inhabited...not so lucky. The ongoing rumors of monster hordes nesting beneath the settlement were to thank for that. The oh-so spooky "Ghost Town" they were calling it now. Saitama, of course, was there to enjoy his marginally cheap discount on rent, but the unmerry few that also lingered did so because they didn't really have any other choice. They were transients...vagabonds...or criminals.

"Look, man..." The cyborg's unwitting preceptor turned to look him in the eye. "I know I'm not exactly...the most expressive person you'll ever meet. I don't do long-winded speeches, and that kinda extends to goodbyes too..." He paused for a moment to fish for something in his pocket. "Still...I have a request for you. It's not something just anyone can do. I've chosen you. So I really hope it's not too much to ask."

"Sensei." Genos regarded him with a grave seriousness; his eyes deadly, but full of reverence. "Coming from you, no request becomes too much. Whatever it is, I swear I will do."

Saitama stopped searching his pocket for a moment to smile softly. "That's great to hear. So here it goes. Would you do me the honor of—" Something came rattling out and fell to the ground. "—oops, I dropped it… Hang on a sec..."

As he got down to retrieve the object, the otherwise overawing hero known as the Demon Cyborg completely escaped his stoic character by cuffing both hands over his mouth in shock when he saw what it was that his master was preparing to give him.

Saitama, too lazy to completely stand back up, elected to rise on one knee as he held the item up to Genos. "Would you please do me the honor..." still kneeling, he held up a ring of keys, the sacredness of which sparkled in the rising sun, "...of looking after my super-conveniently-cheap pad while I'm gone?"

The not-currently caped baldy had never seen the pseudo-machine look so overcome with emotion. Genos actually looked like he might start crying as he uttered from beneath his clasped bionic hands,

"Y-Yes…"

Saitama's vague expression was steadily growing with concern. "Uhh...dude? You okay up there?"

"I...I am just so...so surprised..."

"Huh? Surprised? For what?"

"Just that..." The cyborg paused to look away, still holding a hand over his mouth in almost maidenly tenderness. "It is such a sudden proposal… I was nearly thinking that it would never come to this. I shall do my best to be worthy..."

"Proposal…?" Just sliding the word in his mouth made Saitama feel nauseous. "Look, could you please just take the keys? You're starting to freak me out..."

Just as Genos reached down to comply, a breeze of wind rushed against them with a ghostly howl, leaving as quickly as it came. The two of them turned to look the direction it blew in from.

"Seems I interrupted a tender moment..." The newcomer cocked a short yet expressive eyebrow; the gesture barely even visible from under the curling bangs of her prominently green hair. As she descended with her hands to her hips in a posture that embodied all sass, she added with cruel amusement, "So when's the wedding, faggots?"

"Eh?"

Saitama, previously unaware of the outside context of his kneeling position, rose to his feet. Without looking, he casually tossed the key ring to his right, which was then promptly caught by the two careful hands of a certain cyborg whose fluster had redoubled.

"Wh-wedding?" Genos practically spat the word, finding an unusually hard time articulating his speech. "I-I do not know what you are insinuating, b-but I assure you that Sensei and I do not partake in that form of human company!" He stopped speaking for a moment to sneak a look at Saitama, as if looking for assurance that they were not in fact pursuing courtship. His mentor gave him a clueless shrug, which somehow satisfied his unspoken question. "Our relationship is strictly of master and student, nothing more!"

Next to him, a mildly-disturbed sensei stared in vacant wonder at how the cyborg awkwardly continued digging them a deeper hole just out of how hard he was trying to deny her simple jab. "Way to take a stand, Genos..."

Tatsumaki rolled her eyes – a habit she was oft to do while engaging the company of fools.

Wanting to waste no more time with the metallic one than she absolutely needed to, the esper directed her eyes to the shiny-headed fool instead. "Well?" She curtly beckoned. "You coming or what, Tic Tac."

Saitama returned her passive insult with one of his airy stares. "You sure you wanna take the party to your place? I know how much you like privacy. It's not too late to bunk up here instead..."

The esper followed his finger to where it pointed – up to the quaint hovel that still had a gaping hole blown into its side from where they tangoed a few nights back.

"Whoa goodness gracious me…" She chirped. "That's such a generous offer." Batting her long eyelashes cutely at him, she went ahead and added, "Do you really mean it? Like really really?"

None the wiser, the baldy nodded his head. "Yeah, I mean of course. We even had a chance to wash the futon you slept in last time, so now it doesn't even smell like death wrapped up in fifteen flavors of cheese anymore." He concluded somewhat proudly.

"Wow..." She put both hands to her cheeks, pretending to be humbled by the improvement. "That sounds just lovely… Lovely." She closed her eyes and smiled wide. And if her sister were here to see it, that smile would have already sent her packing half-way across the city by now. "Oh..." She acted like she was only just now realizing it, putting a worried finger to her chin. "How I wish I could stay… The only teensy-weensy problem is..." A vein popped up right over the faux grin she did such a good job holding. "How in the fuck can you call it 'privacy'..." She threw both of her arms out in a grand gesture at the problem that would have been obvious to any other homo sapien on the planet, "...WITH A HUGE FUCKING CRATER STICKING OUT ITS ASS?!"

"I recall that it was you who put the crater in the ass to begin with." Genos clarified, seeing fit to adopt her wording.

"No," she spun around at him and protested fiercely, "Get your memory repaired. The monster was the one that did that."

"Of course." Genos corrected, before narrowing his disdainful eyes at the green devil who wrecked his teacher's home, "You merely made the hole twice as large."

"Ughh, what-ever." Tatsumaki heaved a sigh of disbelief. "Have you even done anything to fix it since then?"

"Do I really look like someone who can afford it?" Saitama asked, rolling his pockets inside-out to emphasize. "Besides...it's not that bad. Kinda like a really big panoramic window. Set a few mosquito traps around it, and it's actually kinda pretty this time of year."

"You must be joking." She returned with cloy.

"Meh." He shrugged. "Worth it if it's funny. Anyways, I think I'm all set to..." Saitama stopped himself to look around, and apparently not finding what he was looking for, he reassessed, "Oh! Crap. I missed something..." Without waiting for a response from Tatsumaki or Genos, the hairless hobbyist turned to disappear back into the building.

Left to their own devices, the two other heroes turned to glare holes into each other's ocular cavities, and the background seemed to melt away as it became consumed with rising hellfire. Fortunately, the cyborg and the esper would not be alone long enough to kick-start World War III, because a short moment later, Saitama reemerged carrying an object in his arm that Tatsumaki could best deem as...questionable.

"What...is that?" In her cartoonishly underwhelmed portrayal, she pointed at what she saw him holding.

"This?" Saitama did a double-take at what was with him, as if to make sure it was indeed what he thought it was before informing her. "It's a cactus."

"I know what a cactus is, jackass." She spoke up impatiently. "I'm asking what the hell you're doing with it."

He turned down again to give the potted plant another long stare, as if to compartmentalize, calculate, and compute every logical excuse that a logical person could follow.

Needless to say, he failed miserably at that, so instead he settled for the directest approach. "It needs me."

She blinked at that. "...This prickly desert vegetable needs you?"

"Hey hey!" Saitama hugged the plant pot it stood on, getting unexpectedly worked up. "Don't talk bad about my kid. I have to take it with me, otherwise Genos will either over-water it or just forget it's there and neglect it altogether."

"Master! I would never!"

Tatsumaki looked at him as if he just grew an extra head before letting out another sigh – an action she might as well be fated to repeat with every second breath she drew today. When it came to this weirdo, a brand new mystery always seemed to come with him. At least in spite of how dull he looked, there might never be a dull moment associated.

Not seeing any real reason to refuse him his ridiculous request, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "...If you must."

Saitama's plain face seemed to light up at that, and for a brief moment, the definition of his features enhanced again. The way they had the night before when he and Tatsumaki were alone. However, lacking the fierceness they had before, they instead appeared warm and grateful. His smile revealed the teeth he somehow always managed to hide behind a simple mouth – perfectly straight and white as can be.

"Awesome. Thanks."

Despite the bland tone of his voice, the sudden reemergence of this more sophisticated look of his made her heart do a small, involuntary jump. She felt the quick tang of heat shoot up her body and hit her face, producing a small blush that she quickly turned away to hide.

Struck off-guard by the baldy's facial phenomenon, the tiny esper had to wonder what the fuck made that spiky plant so special.

"Y-Yeah yeah. I am awesome, and you owe me for it." With her back to him and her arms crossed, she retorted snappishly while waiting for her body temperature to sink back into regularity. "But you're keeping that thing outside, you hear? If I find a single needle on my carpet, I'm turning it into compost, no fucks given!"

She faced back around to see that not only had her warning been totally ignored, but Saitama's face had already reverted back to its quirky, plain state as he set his attention elsewhere. If she was being totally honest with herself, she wasn't sure which irritated her more.

"Well, Genos..." He set the cactus down next to him before turning back to acknowledge the man-machine hybrid that was soon to leave his company. "Guess this is it."

Genos furrowed his eyebrows in a mournful display of concern. "Yes..." He replied somewhat distantly. "That it appears to be." The cyborg stepped in closer to him, making sure that the esper was out of earshot for what he would say next. "But please take heed, Master..." Genos cuffed a hand next to his face to muffle his voice. "You must be careful. The Tornado of Terror...I have gone to extensive lengths to research her."

The ear that he was whispering into perked up. This ought to be good. "Oh?"

"Prior to her registration, hardly anything is known about her." They broke off for a moment to sneak a look at the topic of discussion, whose scowl had deepened at the notion that she was being excluded. Turning back to his sensei, Genos continued, "Something is amiss. No being with her level of power comes without leaving some sort of past impression. That either means that someone has taken great strides to cover up her background...or she has done so herself." His synthetic face deepened into a dark grimace. "A person cannot completely erase their history. And attempting to do so merely suggests a deeply troubling affair. I can conclude with 100% accuracy...the esper is dangerous."

"The person who can move things with her mind is dangerous?" Saitama gave him a coltish look coupled with a sarcastic shrug. "Thanks – I had no idea."

"I am being serious!" Genos hissed, pulling him in a little closer by the hoodie. "You are strong. So strong in fact that I have yet to assess your limits for myself. Even so, I must express my wish that you proceed with great caution. We have no way of knowing what her limits may be either."

"Appreciate the heads up dude, but you might wanna spend a bit more time wondering about your own partner. They say it's all about the devil you know, and if that's true, then at least my devil's already bothered to show up."

Genos' response fell back into his throat. That was a good point.

Today marked the end of the grace period given by the Association for heroes to rendezvous with partners and settle. It would have been one thing for them to be stuck deciding where to set up shop, but Genos didn't even know what his would-be collaborator looked like yet.

Fortunately, Genos was the overly dedicated sort, and if it wasn't readily apparent, he had a strong willingness to investigate. After he consulted with a few officers from headquarters, they seemed all too happy to produce the information he missed at the orientation meeting about his partners.

Yes. Partners. As in more than one.

Since Genos was fairly new to the game, it wasn't like they were ready to dump half of Class B on his back. Still, he was in S-Class, and without the uncommon reservations that the Tornado of Terror had, they were of course inclined to give him a bit more to work with.

The authorities assured him that his new companions would be in contact with him soon. Yet that was days ago, and it was becoming readily apparent that "soon" couldn't wait much longer. Despite getting a few names and some basic information, hardly any of the heroes he reached out to responded to his calls or emails. Frustrating, to say the least. He could hardly believe he was involved in an organization where 'organization' seemed to mean so little to its affiliates.

There was, however, one particular hero that seemed almost too eager to touch base with him. An upstart that went by a peculiar name…

Spring Sapling.

Like Tatsumaki, very little was actually known about this girl, and since she just seemed to magically pop up on the hero roster a few weeks before the Rule of Two came through, Genos had his research well cut out for him. Though unlike the temperamental esper, this new girl was apparently more than thrilled to answer any and all questions Genos had for her through an active email exchange, although even the cyborg himself had to admit that he felt more like an interviewer coldly drilling her for information than someone genuinely trying to get to know his colleague. But if this bothered her in any way, she really didn't seem to show it through their correspondence.

During their brief but numerous exchanges throughout the past few days, Genos had very limited success constructing a clear picture of this girl in his head. Her personality seemed motley and diversified. At one instance, he thought he was talking to a scientific genius like his Dr. Kuseno. At the next instance, she came off like a giddy elementary school student who was sneaking texts with him while trying not to get caught by her teacher.

Her abilities were just as hard to make sense out of. From what there was to gather from her vague explanation, she drew all her talents from direct sunlight – absorbing it through a special pigment in her skin and converting it into energy identical to photosynthesis. From rapid cellular regeneration and growth to an uncanny communion with plant life, she seemed to run a wide gambit of potential uses.

But none of this would mean a thing if she never made an appearance. The same went for every other junior assigned under his wing.

Accepting that nothing could really be done about it at this point, Genos gave his sensei the slightest of nods and extended his hand to him. "I want you to know, Master..." Saitama blinked down at the mechanized digits of the offered palm. "I cherished every moment I spent under your guidance." The cyborg looked him square in the eye before his concerned frown inverted into an encouraging smile. "No matter what anyone may say to disparage you, you will always have my respect. Do not ever forget that."

Saitama turned his attention from the hand back to his self-made disciple. "What're you doing?" He asked.

"Uh?" Genos looked confused by his reaction. "I...only meant to shake your hand, Master."

Saitama looked almost offended at the gesture. "Forget it." He declined tersely. "We're not at that level."

Genos lowered his offered hand, clenching it tightly to keep it from shaking. "O-oh..." He replied, trying to hide the defeat in his voice. "Well I suppose...it is good to know where I stand."

Before he could react further, Saitama balled his hand into a fist and threw it out in front of him. Upon reflex, Genos damn near skyrocketed away, remembering the traumatic event where the exact same fist went flying at him – the kanji for 'Death' emblazoned on a red glove.

The cyborg began to steady himself as his master's fist halted with a fully extended arm. "This is what level we're at." Saitama finished off with a confident smile.

Genos kept trading attention between the fist that he had seen far too often used as a weapon of certain doom up to the man who owns it. Many seconds passed with him wondering what to do.

His bald mentor frowned slightly at the cyborg's unnecessary anxiety. "Here, just ball your hand into a fist like this."

Genos obeyed, his robotic hand letting out the slightest whir of gears working in tandem as he complied.

"Now pound it, bro." A quick look at how baffled Genos appeared by that statement told Saitama how badly he needed to elaborate. "Just...push your fist into mine."

With more than a little reluctance, his former roommate followed command, slowly inching his way towards the other set of knuckles as if he was about to touch a live frag mine.

As they connected firmly, Saitama called out in a half-lazy tune, "Fist buuuump." He seemed to draw contentment from the small action as he continued to explain, "Handshakes are too stiff for me. This is how real men say…'see ya around.'" His grin deepened a bit, causing the cyborg to blink rigidly.

Faster than the moment started, Saitama ended it by breaking away and walking towards the esper with his cactus and suitcase in tow. "Okay, we're off now, man. If you throw any wild parties, I'm billing you for what gets broken, 'kay?"

Genos watched Saitama's back as he continued to shrink into the distance along with the girl floating next to him at even pace.

Raising his hand in a steady wave, Genos stared on with the equal longing effect of a dog watching his master leave to go on vacation.

"See you around…" He repeated after him. "...Sensei."

As the legendary Tornado of Terror and Baldy of Capes proceeded together down the street where the sun was rising, Tatsumaki gave her new partner a queer side glance. "Pound it? Bro?" Her tone was over-saturated with disgust. "Woooow. Does your appeal to the male fantasy feel complete yet? Or should we go catch a football game later while drinking booze out of some of those idiotic beer hats?"

"Naw, I'm good." Saitama insisted casually. "If you're thirsty though, we could always swing by the store and get you a juice box."

"Tch..." The esper bitterly gritted her fangs, feeling more deflected by the moron's density than the moron himself. "Forget it."

"Already did. More importantly," he addressed, "you didn't have to go through all this trouble to escort me to your place. I already know where you live, you know."

"Actually shit-brain, I do." She corrected him as though the reason should have been impossible to miss. "You really think I'd trust you to come to my dwelling without inviting more of your lame-ass friends along? It stands to reason that if Robocrap and Grandmaster Mustache already stick to you like shit to a blanket, you'd probably end up dragging that stick-waving pompadour poof to my door next."

"Huh. I never thought about it before you said that, but I guess I am getting kinda popular..." After a moment's pause, his face turned dreamy. "Maybe that means I'm not far off from getting my own fan club of cute girls too. Whaddaya think, huh?"

Tatsumaki's face sprang alive with irritated veins coursing throughout. He let out an exaggerated, dorky laugh that just about drowned out her reaction. "Has anyone ever told you that you focus on the wrong part of the story?!" Not knowing any other way to shut him the fuck up, she begrudgingly waited for him to stop that insipid laughter on his own accord before continuing. "Besides..." her annoyance suddenly became eclipsed by a long, foreboding smirk. "When else am I going to get such an opportunity to go over my house rules with you?"

All traces of amusement immediately abandoned Saitama's face. "Rules?"

Her twisted visage not faltering in the slightest, she leered at him with wide, unblinking eyes; a cat that had backed a mouse into a corner. Without taking her dooming gaze off of him, she pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment and let it unravel. By the time the list was completely open, it had sprawled from where she was floating clear down to the unwitting baldy's feet. The damned thing had to have been at least six meters in length.

Tatsumaki tapped where she held the list up with a keen pointer finger. Perfectly lining his hairless head up in a fine crosshair, her green eyes glowed with malachite malice as she echoed his concern with verbal venom potent enough to kill.

"Rules."

After his teacher had departed onward towards the next chapter of his career as a hero, Genos vowed to do his best too.

In the beginning, his goal had been singular. Almost selfish, really.

The rampaging cyborg of four years ago had changed everything for him. And even up to this very day, he wondered what kind of person he would have grown up to be if he still had a mother...a father...a brother. If he could have stayed in his town – in a small world of constant harmony; a world where meeting people like Dr. Kuseno would never have become necessary.

...It must have been quite something.

But Genos had a mission. He had a family to avenge, and while he thought of nothing else, vengeance hadn't made him completely blind. Dr. Kuseno warned him about the risks of becoming a cyborg, and he acknowledged them. He knew that he could never truly go home, and he acknowledged it. So with every small implant, every minor modification, every natural sinew of his body being replaced with something better, he thought less and less of that home.

Whether by fate or by chance, Kuseno came to him with an opportunity. Opportunities come with costs. And Genos would pay his again a thousand times over if it meant finally putting the memory of his loved ones to rest.

To that end, he needed power. Plenty of it.

So when someone like Saitama – who as far as he could tell was the embodiment of the very word – happened upon his path, Genos saw yet another opportunity; one too good to pass up.

And now here he was – tending to an empty apartment building in an abandoned area several cities far from home, while his objective to acquire said power necessary to destroy his life-long rival was slipping away with a brat of unspoken magnitude. Truly, the hand of fate gave him a hard slap with that one.

Still, long before he met Saitama, he had Dr. Kuseno. And even before Kuseno, Genos managed to survive in the terrible conditions of his ruined hometown for almost a week before he was even found. He looked up to both of his mentors with great approbation, but he was nothing if not independent on their very presence.

After he watched the unlikely new pair vanish from view, the cyborg turned to make his way back into the building. The first rule of business would be to patch up that onerous hole gaping from their abode. Saitama acted like he didn't care, but with Genos still having to stay, the forecast of spring showers would be rather unkind to his many metal parts.

Just as he reached out to open the door…

"Heeeeeey!"

Grunting in surprise, he turned his head to spot a peculiar figure rushing over from the opposite side of the road. Based on the way it moved and how slender it was, he presumed that it was a female.

And sure enough, as the distance to him closed, he was brought face-to-face with the labored, panting visage of a girl who looked to be around his age.

"Hah...whew..." As soon as the young creature recaptured her breath, she gave an exaggerated wipe of her brow and straightened herself up to give him a proper look. "Haha, sorry you had to see that hokey run. You're Genos-sama! Right?"

As if against his will, he was immediately drawn to her hopeful brown eyes. Vibrant and bright, they shimmered with a vivacious vitality all their own. Her youthful face was gifted with flawless skin and a smile warm enough to melt a hole in winter. Even going by just proportions alone, there was certainly no question to her beauty for the average beholder. But somehow, the thing he first failed to notice was her hair; the wild, wavy bangs that framed her head practically flared with a vibrant red – far too much to be anything natural. The very sheen of each strain seemed to shine electrically against the light of the waking day, all the way up to the base that was occupied by a headband composed of what appeared to be white flower petals.

He narrowed his eyes in perplexity. "Genos...sama?"

"Oh goody! I finally tracked you down!" She peeped eagerly.

'Who is this?' His eyes darkly sank as he mentally voiced his purported hunch. 'Another crazed fan…?'

"You're a pretty hard guy to find, you know that?" She beamed brighter all the same.

'It would seem that my theory is correct.' He concluded with the evidence he drew from her words. 'I do not have time to deal with this. I must attend to Sensei's apartment before the storms come.' Just as he was preparing to dismiss her, he was halted by what she said next.

"When you sent me your address, I didn't figure you'd be staying in a place like..." she gave the excessively damaged area a good look around as she struggled to find the words for it. "Well...I just thought...it'd be more crowded here!" She quickly regained her smile. "I'm relieved, honestly! People can be noisy, can't they? Anyway, your body looks immaculate! Like waaaaaaay shinier than I pictured in my head! Thought you were the Silver Skater from a distance! What kinda tarnish remover do you use to get so shiny? Any liquid polish? Anti-corrosives? I assume you use WD-40 or something to soak it with, 'cuz I hear that the non-WD stuff makes metal kinda squeaky!"

Genos lowered his defenses a bit, but continued studying her. How this girl appeared to know so much about his routine maintenance specs, he could hardly guess. It wasn't exactly the trade of a traditional mechanic. Before he even thought to ask her, he found himself bombarded with loads more questions and comments.

"Whoa, your eyes look really evil, Genos-sama!" Her carefree close-eyed grin completely contradicted what she just said. "No wonder they call you the Demon Cyborg! Is there a reason your eyes have those colors, or is it just to look scary? And your hair looks so real! Were you a blonde before you became a cyborg too? Is your body completely efficient, or do you still have to poop like everyone else? Is rust considered a hygiene issue? Can cyborgs still—mmph~!" She was cut off by a set of cold, metal fingers wrapping around her mouth in a vise grip.

"Stop. Talking." He commanded her stoically, feeling pushed back by her incessant prodding.

She looked up at him from her restricted position with a few confused blinks, but seemed to have no trouble complying with his order.

To Genos, the questions themselves weren't stupid, but the rate at which they were fired gave him the impression that she didn't revere tact for subject matter. He wondered why this childish line of questioning seemed so familiar to him. He certainly never met anyone who acted like this…

Releasing her tightly puckered lips from his grasp, he thought about chasing her off the premises before he recalled one of the first things she said. Was he really the one who sent her his address? If that was the case, then wouldn't that make this girl…

"Sapling?" He asked carefully. "Spring Sapling. That is your name?"

She dipped her head and gave him a quick curtsy, holding her bright yellow skirt as she did. "Hehe… Hi!"

The cyborg heaved a sigh of relief. He had only just given up on the possibility, but he had finally united with his first partner.

That in mind, he committed another moment to studying her appearance more thoroughly.

Withdrawing from her curtsied position, he noticed that the B-Class hero's skirt was woven with an intricate wreath of flowers that ran just short of her knees, both of which were covered by long black stockings. Below those, she wore brown leather shoes with a fashionable golden finish.

Additionally, she was equipped with a forest green sash around her waist and a black jacket that she kept open from the front, out of which peeked an undershirt that seemed to be clad in leafy vines.

Just as he picked up on this detail, the girl in front of him stepped closer. Amazingly enough, the vines strewn around her torso appeared to react independently by rapidly spreading and growing out from beneath her jacket. The verdant tendrils that seemed to behave as extensions of her body proceeded to creep over and down her shoulder, making their way across her limb. As if to say what was happening to her was completely natural, she casually held her hand up, the vine quickly covering her arm and working its way towards her dainty fingertips.

As it reached its destination, she pinched her thumb and pointer finger together, and Genos's eyes widened in shock as she produced a brilliant flower with deep azure petals and a radiant golden core. Standing a good head shorter than the cyborg, she reached up to offer him the bloom in apparent greeting, grasping it by the stem between her appendages.

Barely managing to break free of the entrancing wonder, Genos drew his eyes from the petals back to the face of the girl holding them.

Something was weird about it. Her mouth and her eyes…their expressions didn't match up.

Her smile was wide, and warm as can be. But her eyes could have told a completely different story. A churn of unease stirred up from within the pit of the cyborg's few remaining organic parts. Through the two secluded windows he stared at, was it sadness he saw reflecting back at him? Was it fear? Or...could it have been something even more foreboding?

Either way, the moment she closed her eyes to deepen her smile, this imbalance of the humors departed so quickly that the cyborg wasn't even sure if he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

"Let's do our very best to get along..." When she reopened her eyes, the briefest twinkle of color shot across her pupils so red that it matched the fire in her hair. "...Genos. Sama~"

Asinine.

A certain distinguished individual shot a disapproving glance over at the newspaper neatly folded by his studio chair before taking another sip of sparkling wine from the delicate glass he was nursing. He let the nectar pass his lips and slide over his tongue, entering his gullet with the same bittersweet burn he had tasted a thousand times before.

In the background, the ultra-high definition flat screen TV was blaring the same abrasive noise that the distasteful headline on the paper next to him was already conveying:

"Hero Association Mass Sanction: 'Rule of Two' Launches Tomorrow."

Utterly asinine.

"Expect Heavy Power Shifts In Multiple Cities."

A few cracks appeared around the young man's fingers where tall feelings of resentment threatened his wine glass.

If it was his journalism put to work, he could think of several better headlines to get the message across much more prudently. What about 'Incompetent Local Heroes Make Love To The Pooch: Entire Hero Association Gets Blue-Balled.' Or maybe 'Ugly Cluster Fuck-up Makes Life a Living Hell For Hero Celebrity.'

Yeah. That one could work.

The man drew his glass closer for another swig before a guest all but kicked his door in. The slam almost caused the drink to spill as the fancy suit waltzed right in, eyes completely obscured by a heavy pair of shades.

"Maaaask, babyyyy," the approaching man's ear-to-ear smile was every bit as phony as the yellow hair he kept slicked back. "Just swooped in from the press conference! Groovy job ya did calming down the media. You make Daddy so proud~~!"

The other man swept an agitated hand through his own bed of steel blue hair, passing a side-glare of gold that he was hoping his guest could even see through those obnoxiously tinted windows he wore over his eyes. "Haven't I told you not to refer to yourself as 'Daddy'? You are but one of eight managers I choose to work with, and if I have to remind you how replaceable you are one more time, I'll have you blacklisted."

"Amai baby, c'mon now, we have fun~." The charismatic man tried to talk him down with hands raised in defense.

Sweet Mask drew a miserable breath before redirecting his gaze at the television, where his longtime political rival Kurosawa Momota was reporting the same rundown every other news anchor was non-stop all day. If she had it her way, that doll-faced vulture would have picked his bones clean and left him destitute and penniless on the roadside of City Z's 'Ghost Town.' Luckily she was just a woman.

And if his many careers had taught him one thing over all years, it's that he knew how to handle women.

"This organization has really gone to the dogs..." Mask seethed, wisely setting his glass down before his temper painted the carpet ruddy. "To think that there would ever be need for such an unconscionable measure. It's positively moronic!"

"Ey eyy, I understand how ya feel, but still glad ya managed to reign it all in for that interview with Momota-chan. I know how much she tries to get under ya skin. You two cats have never seen eye-to-eye, baybeeeeh~~!"

The male pop celebrity flashed the briefest of smiles before it receded back into the cold frown he retained for the past three days – off-camera, of course. "Naturally." He flourished. "That distasteful woman sniffs me up for a juicy scandal like a bitch in heat. But I enjoy a challenge. If she wants it, she'll have to dig her grimy paws just a little bit deeper."

"Well she did pay ya a darlin' pretty penny for your time, yo."

"Yes..." Mask agreed with his eccentric manager. "Over twice the going rate that I'm accustomed to seeing from the press. Why do you think I agreed to it in the first place."

The sleazy smile on his colleague's face deepened more, revealing the long bars of his teeth. "Amai-chan is always so gracious with people's business, yeyeyeyeeey!"

"Wish they would return me the courtesy for once." The handsome celebrity hero turned his radiant gaze downwards to fidget with the ring around his finger. Messing with the gemstones it held captive were always a sure tell that he was bored...or irked. "I rather not look forward to putting up with whatever nuisance the Association has saddled me with. But in the interest of maintaining my image with fairness, I suppose I'll play along. After all, I don't need to give Kurosawa the ammunition that I, Ikemen Kamen Amai Mask, used my social status to excuse myself from common law. The only real time in her life she's a threat is when she can cause ripples in the ideal expectation that my fans have of me."

"Yeah, uhh, speakin' of which..." His business associate stroke his goatee in thought. "Didn't ya mention the H.A. gave ya a gal partner?"

Sweet Mask closed his eyes with unparalleled confidence. "Indeed. It was by my personal request. Girls are simple, you see. Princess, pauper, seamstress, model...they all share a fundamental similarity." He motioned to himself, gleaming in his signature silver suit. "I am that similarity." He presented as a fact. "I shoulder the principle that all people be the most beautiful version of themselves that they can. And what girl does not wish to be beautiful?"

"Ayeauh, but correct me if I'm wrong..." His manager returned. "Ain't beauty one a' those relative terms?"

"Hah." Mask chuckled in amusement. "Even if my beauty doesn't fit the beholder, an actor of my caliber has many means at his disposal. Does she want a gallant prince to come sweep her off her feet? An aloof 'bad boy' to treat her like rubbish? A shoulder to cry on for a rainy day? Every lock has a key, so they say. And I..." Mask paused to reach into his pocket. The contents jingled before he pulled them out. Laying open his hand, he revealed a collection of rings, each embroidered with dazzling gemstones all colors of the rainbow and the spectrum beyond. "...I hold all the keys. You see?"

His manager gave an unsteady smile in response to the invincible smirk his top-shelf client was now sporting. "You one scary guy, Amai-babe. So where's this latest victim of yours, neh? Don't see no dame swoonin' in those big strong arms of yours."

Sweet Mask's face lapsed back into deep thought. Spinning his chair around, he turned to the mirror of his makeup parlor, elbows on the desk, hands clasped in front of his face. "...I've heard no word of her. She hasn't shown up, and it may be safe to say that she won't in time."

"I dunno much 'bout this hero biz buuuuuuut don't that hurt you too babe?" His colleague asked.

The renowned renaissance man closed his eyes to give off a flippant shrug. "No matter. If she's a no-show, it's a no-show. The Association wouldn't dare discipline me for it; I'm one of their most influential members. Losing my support means losing a full quarter of their gratuity, at least! Besides, they can't prove I didn't do absolutely everything in my power to comply with their wishes. I don't know where everybody is, but it's not like people don't know where to find me..."

"You may have a good point there babe."

"So glad to have your approval." Mask responded in that mysterious way which no one could tell was sarcastic or not. "Now then, I just happen to be in need of a buffer to proof this script with me. After which you can be a lamb and fetch me another bottle of Château Cheval Blanc 1947. Please, not another '48, or I may vomit."

"Gotcha covered babe. What page of that script you on? Still 96?"

"From the top, please."

Just as he was preparing to hand his manager a copy of the manuscript, there came a loud series of knocks at the door, earning the attention of both men.

Grateful that this person had elected not to gracelessly bash through the door as the previous person did, Amai Mask chimed out the simple order, "Enter."

The ornate door opened with no hesitation, revealing a rather out-of-breath girl that looked to be in her late twenties.

To say that Sweet Mask approved of what she was wearing would be the same as to piss into the sky and call the whole thing yellow.

The woman dressed substandard at best – bent over to dust off the shredded pair of jeans she allowed around her legs, followed by the briefest moment to straighten out the immodestly-sized tank top shirt which didn't even prove long enough to cover up her belly button. Combined with the thuggish black wristbands and mud-crusted steel-toed boots she wore, this girl clearly had no passion for high-end fashion.

"Yo guys. Sorry if I caught you in the middle of somethin'..." The girl panted somewhat frantically, putting a hand to the back of her short bed of light brown hair. "Is one of you two dudes called..." She paused to pull out a small slip of paper from her back pocket, squinting at it intently before painstakingly pronouncing, "...Icky-Man-Cummin-On-My Mask?" She looked back up at them with a clueless face after she all but butchered the articulation of the name, blinking a few times as she waited for confirmation.

Sweet Mask and his agent made two faces as different as night and day.

While the male pop star looked at her like he had a mouth full of lemons, his associate beamed brightly at how gorgeous the girl was, plain though her style was. "AAAAHHHH YEAYEAYUYEAH, gal! You be lookin' for the one-n'-only Handsomely Masked Sweet Mask! And YEEOOOW! Ain'tchu a sight for sore eyes! A real Nine-outta-Ten, if ya wanted to spend that last point to catch a coffee with me!"

"That's quite enough out of you." Sweet Mask cut in, not once taking his eyes off of the female aberration in front of him. Anyone else he fixed his eye on might have felt the deep chill common in his blood thirst. This girl was either too dense to notice, or too stupid to care. "Hey, Feretto… Why don't you head downstairs. Have your phone ready in case I send for you."

"Yeyeyeyeyou got it chief! In a room with a pretty lil' thing like her, can't say I'd wanna third wheel neither! Ya got my numbah babe." His manager gave Sweet Mask a call sign with his fingers as he headed out past the girl. "Seeya lates!"

The young woman looked over her shoulder to watch the hyper man leave before turning back to Sweet Mask with a cocked eyebrow. "Who was that guy?"

The man she was now addressing sat in his formal business pose, legs crossed with hands wrapped over his knee directly facing her. Despite the unhappy first impression he now had of her, he whipped together years of practice in his acting circle to sweep his cold stare into a fake but flawless smile. "You really must pardon my celebrity manager. He can come off a bit...eccentric." He rose calmly out of his seat and proceeded to saunter his way towards her, casting grace on every step he took. "I have certain doubts that you are the fashion consultant I booked an appointment with. By elimination that means you are from the Hero Association, correct?"

"Yup. That's me." She nodded, giving him a casual, friendly smile. "Sorry it took me a hot minute to find you. Had to sprint up loads of stairs after they told me you were on the tenth floor! Pretty cool, though! You must be famous or something."

Sweet Mask's fake smile faltered for a moment, revealing the concern on his face. 'Or something...' He thought. 'Could it be… This girl really has no clue who I am?...'

The chances were virtually nonexistent. If you were to pick up a stone, walk into the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve, close your eyes, spin around and throw, you'd have a better chance of being struck in that crowd by lightning than you would of hitting someone who hadn't heard his name or seen his face even once.

Presumptuous maybe. But true.

So harmless though her intentions may have been, not even having the decency to pretend knowing who he is could be perceived only as an act of war.

Restoring the aspect of false delight to his face, he followed up on her comment. "Oh, dear. Did you really run up ten flights of stairs to reach me? Why didn't you just take the elevator?"

The youth in front of him turned her head to the side in befuddlement.

"Well it would be improper for a building of this size not to have any elevators now, wouldn't it?" He added, gesturing around the big space.

"Hmm..." She put a tentative finger to her chin. "I thought about it like halfway up, but the guy at the front desk never mentioned an elevator when I asked for directions. He just told me to take the stairs..."

Mask's eyes narrowed only slightly. "Is that so… I see."

Wanting to avoid complaint, the girl gave him a civil smile while gesturing dismissively with her hands. "Ah, well, it can't be helped. No hassle. I guess the elevator must've broke or something. Haha..." She tried playing it off with a light laugh.

"...Perhaps."

Sweet Mask knew better. With the money that he and the other VIPs put into staying at a suite of this prestige, not so much as a single light bulb went out for more than five minutes. If something truly was wrong with the elevator, every electrician and tool-setter in the city would practically be stomping over each other trying to be the first to fix it. Likely the receptionist took a single look at her, determined her lower class status, and helped themselves to a little fun – by making her life a bit harder than it needed to be. Such was the great divide between castes, even in a modern society.

And staring into this girl's eyes...even hearing the uneasy inflections of her voice...he sensed that she was aware of this too. Aware of the differences between the two places from which they came. At least she had the good sense to try evading conflict. Through her, he was oddly reminded of himself years ago when he first set foot in his many professions. Back then, he might have even been bad at lying too. But now that he had – for all intents and purposes – mastered the craft, her petty attempt at passing under him was almost sad enough to make him cry.

Almost.

To pursue a solution without upsetting the situation more, he looked at her carefully and said, "Do let me know if the...elevator is still broken next time. I will see to the problem personally."

"Aw shucks, you don't have to do that, man." the tough-looking lady rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Water under the bridge, like I was saying. So you're my new gang brother now, eh?" Her eagerness to swap subjects almost made him scoff. "Or I guess, since you're the big O.G. I should say I'm your gang brother, hey?"

"Gang brother?" He scrunched his nose at the word. "This isn't some ghetto, you know. Up here we don't have gangs. Only...collaborators of art."

"Art?" She gave him a look identical to the one he just gave her. "Riiiiiiggghhht...Sure."

The golden-eyed patron was not quite convinced. "Allow me to enlighten you. Starting with a proper introduction." He reached out his arm and extended his hand to her purposefully. "I am, as you pronounce it correctly, Ikemen Kamen Amai Mask. Do save yourself the trouble by shortening it to Mask." He added with a smirk, "Certain fans of mine even prefer to call me Amai."

"That's..." She gave the offered hand an uncertain look before reluctantly sending hers in to meet it for a hearty shake. "That's cool, I guess. I think Mask'll do just fine for me. You can call me Tanktop Girl."

"Tanktop Girl." He repeated her name with almost a purr, though in truth, he had ignored its relevance completely.

His smirk deepened as he watched her take the bait. Unbeknownst to her, his preeminent plan to charm her under his wing was already underway. With her madly smitten with him the way numerous others have fallen, he will secure complete control over her, and will therefore be impervious to any insubordination from his inferior.

'No true maiden's heart can resist this power move.' He triumphed internally.

Taking her more slender hand in his, he delicately wrapped his fingers around hers, doing his best to pretend not to notice the rough calluses infusing her palms while he deepened his grip on her ever-so subtly and allowed his pleasant warmth to comfort her skin.

He maintained focus on her eyes, patiently lulling them into a silky aura of stars, waiting for that knowing glint to break her visage. It did. She noticed the intention. His smile broadened only slightly. An indication to her that he noticed she noticed.

Timing the moment with military precision, he closed his eyes and slowly advanced his head downward, making its way over to the top of the hand he still held in his. His lips were within inches of the skin, ready to execute but a single one of his many signature fan-girl finishers.

Her fate is sealed. She will be dominated. An extension of his will to hang at his every beck and call.

The way it always was.

"...Dude?"

The way it will always be.

"'Scuse me, dude?"

Because you see...all girls share a fundamental similarity.

"Hey. Yo. Buddy."

All at once, the illusion shattered like a billion pieces of stained glass as she yanked her hand away from right under where he was about to kiss it.

"What gives?" Tanktop Girl asked as she struck a defensive posture, pumping her fists adamantly into her hips. "That was a tad forward, don'tcha think, Slick?" Her tone lowered as her left eyebrow raised to an angle, highlighting her suspicion.

Sweet Mask went through a long series of rapid blinks; fighting to refuse what his eyes were telling him.

Secret Move #9… The Inviting Baiser à la Main…

...failed?!

He felt his blood run cold as the Icy Sea. On every other girl he practiced that move on, it practically melted their insides into warm jelly. What could this mean?!

Not only that, never before had he found himself in the precarious position of having to explain his advances. Advances that were always welcome every day prior to now.

But apparently today was a new day. And now it appeared that he was on the receiving end of such a surprise.

"I...I was just..." He was currently at war with his own biology, fighting the urge to sweat, lest that make him seem even guiltier of some terrible crime of subterfuge. Sharpening his mind with some quick improv skills, he finally managed to utter, "That...that is just the way celebrities greet each other in the higher circles. Sorry...did you...not know?" He tried to break the mounting tension with an embarrassed chuckle.

Not moving from her power stance, she furrowed her lip into a pout and raised an eyebrow. "I ain't a celebrity, bud."

"B-But you're a hero, aren't you?" He brought up, hoping to lead her further away from the truth. "All heroes are celebrities to some degree."

"Aww, really." She returned, with a hint of sarcasm. "Even us little C and B types?"

Sweet Mask's face straightened into a poignant silence. As an official member of the Hero rank evaluation staff, he very well knew the answer to that question.

Aware that she wouldn't like that answer, however, he instead said the most merciful thing he could…

"Of course." He presented a guilt-free smile, as friendly as he could make it without twitching from lingering shock. "The lower classes are the foundation that holds the Association high. A pyramid cannot function with only the tip. Wouldn't you agree?"

Her sleeveless shoulders relaxed, letting her arms casually fall back to her side. "I guess..."

He closed his eyes with delight, secretly mixed with relief. It appeared that his theatrics had placed him in the clear. "Now that we've clarified on that, I'd like to know just a bit more about you."

"'Bout me?" While Tanktop Girl was no longer on high alert, the discomfort hadn't quite left her face yet. "Not much to tell, to be honest."

"Well, going off your name and what you're wearing, I assume that you're part of Tanktop Master's crew."

She gave him a queer look. "You heard of the Tanktop Army? Can't say I ain't surprised. You don't seem the kinda guy to sport a tank top himself."

"You're no less surprised than I was to hear that you on the other hand don't seem to know who I am at all."

"Nah." She shrugged plainly. "Should I?"

The pop celebrity's eyes darkened. "...What?"

"Sorry, let me put it to you like this. You're a celeb, right? And what do celebs do?"

He sized her up a bit longer before entertaining the question. "Along with my duties as a hero, I...write. Model. Act. Sing."

"What kinda books you write?"

"Romance novels."

"Uh-huh. And what magazines you model for?"

"'The Springtime Citizen.' Occasionally I make it into the 'Top Ten Alphabet Alphas.'"

"Whaddaya do on TV?"

"Soap operas… Romance dramas. As it happens, I won the academy award for best actor in the film 'Love Story Beauty.'"

"Sure." She tapped her cheek coolly, brushing his achievement to the side. "And your favorite song?"

Growing sicker of this one-sided interview by the second, Sweet Mask felt his patience slip away as the tone for his answers turned colder. "'Love Me Tomorrow'..."

A wide smile sprang across Tanktop Girl's face. She produced a loud noise by clapping her hands together once. "Bingo!"

The disgruntled pop star could practically feel the sharpness of the vein throbbing against his head. "...Bingo…?"

"Aw c'mon man, loosen up a little!" She ribbed him playfully, all manner of seriousness stripped from her expression. "You can't honestly tell me that you thought all girls are into the exact same shit, can you? Don't you know how many of us there are out there?"

Sweet Mask was grinding his teeth together, practically producing sparks from the friction. "I'm well aware, thank you..."

"Then I guess you should also be aware of a few other things..." She stepped over to his parlor desk, briefly glancing at herself in the mirror before facing down to spot all of the unopened letters piled up on the table. Given the magnitude of glitter, shades of pinks, and heart-shaped emblems, she guessed that they were from his many female fans. She gave the collection an amused smirk before turning back to face him. "I don't read romance. I don't read fashion magazines, and I do not. watch. soap operas." She finished with emphasis.

"Then..." He almost didn't want to ask. "If you don't appreciate anything about my world… What exactly do you appreciate?"

She didn't like his tone, but casually closed her eyes to answer. "I like motorcycles. Action movies. Metal rock. Maybe blowing off steam with a good brawl every now and then." She opened her eyes and gave him a smooth, steely gaze. "Dig it?"

Even with his already fair complexion, Sweet Mask turned pale. Deathly pale.

He dug it, alright. But now he very much wished he could have tossed that proverbial shovel when he still had the chance.

He had heard of girls such as this one – within the genus of the female subspecies, at the darkest corner where even he dare not tread. But in all his years of conquest...this was his very first encounter with one.

Newly guarded, he took a few tentative steps back without taking eyes off her tough, roguish face.

Please let this be a dream. A nightmare. The cruel figment of some illusion placed on him by a God-Level devil.

Give him fire.

Give him brimstone.

Hell, even give him one of those unsightly 'Ugmons' that he would occasionally hear whispers about.

But for the love of every beautiful thing in the world…

Do not.

Give him.

A Tomboy.

The bishounen Antichrist.

Her gaze turned from cool to concerned. "Uhh, bud? You feeling okay over there? You're making kind of a weird face..."

Sweet Mask was all but backed into a corner now – looking at her as though he was suddenly trapped in the room with a man-eating lion.

"I..." His pupils quivered in their windows as he watched her helplessly, awash with cold sweat. "Excuse me for a second. I feel faint. I need...the washroom!"

Without waiting for her to respond, he dashed over to the suite bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

He didn't know how long it took him to calm down in there. Amidst his hyperventilating, he found it difficult to arrange his thoughts.

How dare they.

How. DARE they!

How dare they twist his wrist with this...this street urchin! This stray animal! They should have been grateful that he went along with this little mandate of theirs at all, even if they had agreed to give him only one partner to conform to his busy schedule. But to suffer an insult like this…!

He gradually worked up the courage to crack the bathroom door open by an inch to peek at his unwanted guest. Tanktop Girl was now sitting legs-crossed on the sofa with remote in hand, actively helping herself to his master television.

'Great...' He seethed internally. 'It's already making itself at home...'

He turned back to the mirror in his bathroom, looking his reflection sternly in the eye. "Look at you." His reflection came to life and addressed him. "You're pathetic. Cowering under the shadow of some common thug. If it were a man, you wouldn't fear him in the least, and you know it. So why should you fear her just because she's a woman? You deal with women all the time."

"But..." He tried to protest.

"But nothing. Do you know who you woke up as today? You woke up as 'Handsomely Masked motherfucking Sweet Mask.' Are you prepared to go to bed hiding under the sheets as a different person?!"

"No..."

"No what?!" His reflection demanded.

"She's just a girl." He confirmed. "I...am Sweet Mask! Girls...girls have posters of me on their wall, damn it!"

"61-by-91 centimeter posters, goddamn it!" The reflection added aggressively.

"Girls wear merchandise of me from Victario's Secrets, by God!"

"Undergarments from Victario's Secrets!" The reflection added again. "And that was a multi-million yen endorsement!"

"So what am I afraid of this girl for?!" He shouted in outrage. "I'll bet she wears my brand on her underwear in secret!"

"Go show her whose house this is!" His reflection commanded ruthlessly.

"I will!" Sweet Mask vowed. "I will show her whose house this is!"

Nodding confidently at the doppelganger on his wall, he spun around and opened up the door to march back out into the main room. Honestly, what was he even worried for? He was a pop star! A world-class performer! It didn't matter if one person didn't know who he was. He would show her. He would—

"Eyy, welcome back, dude." His thoughts were dashed as Tanktop Girl turned from the TV to give him a toothy grin. "You good in there? I heard you shouting. Something about...underwear?"

"Ah, y-yes...that was...I was just...making a call to the hotel laundry room."

She blinked a few times before letting it go. "...Gooootcha. Anywho, could ya help me out here? I'm tryin' to find the sports channel. The Yankees are playing. Also, got any beer sitting around? All I could find were some prissy fruity drinks."

"Oh heavens, wouldn't you know, I'm feeling faint again." He mentioned abruptly. "Must be something in that wine I had."

He immediately departed for the bathroom again, leaving her behind to stare vacantly at the door he just slammed for the second time. Only this time, he made sure to lock it before turning back to his reflection.

"You know what?" He asked it. "Fuck this. I'm paying the Association a visit."

Saitama couldn't exactly remember the last time he wanted to die this much. Probably since the days he routinely tortured himself with his old self-made training program.

From the moment they started moving to the moment they stopped at the store to the moment they started moving again to the moment they were now standing here in the subway express car, no break from it. NO REST.

His miniature accomplice's cute little list of "Do's and Don'ts" turned out to be anything but little...or cute for that matter. The only time the esper stopped her insipid recitation of the "rules" she wrote down was when she'd take a quick sip out of her kiwi-flavored juice box, which, yes – she decided she was thirsty after all.

Saitama rolled his eyes. Kids were so fickle.

Unfortunately, the juice ran out about half an hour back, although she still had the box with her. Occasionally she would take a few dry, drawn-out slurps from the straw, as if she wasn't quite convinced that she nailed every drop of what she paid for.

But the grating noise against his ears was the very least of the bald young man's annoyances.

Her rules were garbage. Hot garbage.

Sure, he understood the one where there was to be no light or noise after 10pm. And he could even sympathize with the rule not to enter her bedroom "under any circumstance." People have their space, after all – a principle he became more aware of since living with Genos, who at times had very little regard for his.

But someone please tell him. Why. In the name of fluffy butterburgers. Did he have to leave her whole building every time she needed to use the bathroom? Do all girls take that measure when a guy starts living with them?

And why did he need to wear not just one, but two layers of gloves before handling anything in the refrigerator? What was she cultivating in there? Drugs? Nuclear fusion cores? The T-Virus?

Why did he have to place the iron trivets absolutely dead-center on any table when they're in use? Wait...what the hell even was an iron trivet?

These, along with a great many other questions were abuzz in his naked noggin as his petite partner continued scrolling down the list with a no-nonsense look in her eye.

"Rule Number Four-Seven-Five," Tatsumaki proceeded with the next provisional article, talking around the straw that kept the juice box hanging from her mouth. "Thou shalt be limited to one shower in a day, not to extend more than five minutes. In addition, thou shalt not use more than a grand total of one liter of water from the sink per day."

Saitama spat at that. "What?! One liter?! For what reason!"

She didn't even bother to look up at him from the list. "Water bill."

"Do you live in the Sahara Desert?! No way water's that expensive!"

"RULE FOUR-SEVEN-SIX." She raised her voice, still not bothering to look at him. "Guests complaining about the rules set henceforth are subject to promptly fuck off."

He shot her a lifeless deadpan. "I swear you made that up."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, mouth obscured by the paper in front of her. "And I swear you are mistaken. Check it, lamebrain."

She turned the list over, allowing him to hunch forward and look for the number they were on. He squinted as he read off the words aloud. "...subject to...fuck...off...' Huh. Well. That sure shut me up."

She scoffed. "Glad something can..."

From the underground subway they were riding, it might as well have been nighttime in there. The only lights to illuminate the outer darkness of the tunnels were the ones lining the railway. Conveniently, all the major cities had a complex network of multipurpose channels beneath them, ranging from the sake of easy pedestrian transport to redirecting sewage to the treatment plant.

The particular junction that the two heroes rode in was unusually crowded. Hopefully no bomb this time. With every seat occupied, Saitama was relegated to stand holding a grab handle with his cactus and other effects carefully set down next to him. Tatsumaki simply elected to float, trying her very best not to think about how people were confined to standing so close to her that they were practically grinding into her ass like polished marble.

And then there it came again.

-sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp-

Saitama cracked his head slowly towards the source of the offense, lower eyelid twitching madly beneath the bloodshot eye. If you wanted to talk about straws, then this was truly the one that broke the camel's back.

"Okay, enough already, stop!"

Tatsumaki gave him an idle look. "Stop what."

"You finished that juice box like a gazillion years ago! There's nothing left inside it, so just. stop. sucking."

"Hey dipshit, I paid for this with my money. Are you telling me what to do with my money? That's a direct violation against Rule Sixty-Five."

"Yeah, well guess what, Happy Meal. I'm invoking Clause Two of Rule Sixteen, stating that any party has the right to disregard all other rules if it threatens the life and/or well-being of the concerned party."

Tatsumaki blinked, unable to believe he kept track of the list so well. Then again, the only reason he remembered that particular standard was probably because it was the only one in the entire list that yielded him some sort of benefit. "What I'm doing with my drink isn't threatening you." She pointed out.

"It might if it drives me to throw myself through that window!" He gestured towards the glass.

She rolled her eyes at his bit of melodrama. If he was still managing to stand after a direct wave of her telekinesis bore down on him, he could probably attempt suicide as many times as he fancied and still not achieve a thing.

Not that it wouldn't entertain her to see him try.

In a show of defiance, she gave one last quick sip of the straw, smirking when she noticed the sharpness of the sound make him twitch uncomfortably. Then, she removed the apparatus from her mouth entirely, and using her psionic energy, she levitated the small square container next to her, crushing it into nothingness with relative ease.

If that much annoyed him, getting rid of him might be even easier than she thought.

"Hummmm~" she cooed lightly, turning back to the elongated page still floating in front of her. "Now let's move on to Rule Number—oof!"

The entire subway train rumbled violently, nearly throwing many of the standing passengers off their feet. Likely hit a bad piece of track.

Someone next to Tatsumaki – an older gentleman – lost his balance more than others, and ended up knocking straight into the floating esper, sending her back into the unwavering firmness of Saitama's chest.

The man was quick to apologize.

"Ahh~ S-sorry about that, young miss… I didn't mean to—"

But not quick enough.

"Fucking hell, gramps! If you're having that much trouble standing, get a goddamn wheelchair!" She snapped at him with a heated face; her back still up against her partner.

The senior citizen tightened his wrinkly face to the volume she was using, which also caused quite a few others to steer clear of her as well. "Begging your pardon..." he replied, unable to believe that so much rage could fit into such a small body. "But the train merely knocked me into you. For the sake of tired old men like me, try to be a little more forgiving of simple accidents."

Her face contorted with outrage. "Forgiving?! You've got a lot of fucking nerve to—MMPH!" She squealed in surprise when a hand slapped over her mouth from behind.

"Sorry, man. Afraid she skipped her nap today." Saitama consoled him with a simple smile.

While it didn't really succeed in making the man feel all that better, he did give the bald hero a small nod of understanding before shuffling the other direction, lest he incur the wrath of the wind goddess a second time.

Saitama felt teeth against his fingers, and realizing that it was the result of her trying to chew her way though his hand, he loosened his grip over her mouth.

"Ugh! Let go of me, Baldy! Stop touching me!"

"No."

"NOOOOOW!"

"Uh-uh."

Tatsumaki grunted and squirmed to wrestle her way out of his arms – to what end, even she didn't know. She was maybe 34 kilos soaking wet, and Saitama wasn't letting up. Even if she tried applying some psychic powers to the equation, she wasn't absolutely certain that she could prevent the recoil from causing danger.

After a few minutes of struggling, she finally gave up and dangled cartoonishly between his entrapping arms.

Saitama, seeing his cue, began speaking. "Why are you such an angry noodle?"

"Fuck you." She spat.

"I'm serious. You just don't like people, do you."

"What was your first fucking clue... You half-baked testicle."

He cocked his head sideways, giving her an odd look. "Can you even bake a testicle?"

She snorted at his clueless followup. "Forget it. I have nothing to say to you."

Saitama sighed. Hopefully this was the closest he would ever come to being a parent. Even if it was already closer than he preferred. "Is the idea of making the world your enemy that appealing to you?"

"..."

"Oh, you just wanna brood? Works for me. It's kinda hard to talk over your insults anyway." He readjusted the way he held her to make it more comfortable for both of them. "I sorta collected this over a short time with you, but you just seem angry."

"Pff..." She closed her eyes, trying to drown out his voice with her thoughts. 'He doesn't understand. I can't explain it to him. I can't explain to anybody.'

"Not just here and there, but constantly just mad all the time at...well...everybody. I don't know who or what gets your goat so much, but it ain't that old man's fault."

'I didn't choose to be this. I didn't choose to be...so angry.'

"You don't have to like the people we're supposed to protect, but I can't just have you go around attacking them either."

'I didn't choose anger... Anger chose me first.' She affirmed. 'And I am the only one who will ever understand what that means.'

"So attack me."

Her eyes opened in surprise at the suggestion. She turned as best as she could to look back at him. "H-Huh?"

"I can't make your anger disappear." He acknowledged. "I know we aren't close. We're not even friends. If you can't throw hard feelings away, then at the very least, you can throw them at me."

She narrowed her eyes in distrust. At best, he's bluffing. At worst, he's insane. No way does a guy just say this and mean it. At least not without a catch. "Explain." She ordered in a low voice.

"We aren't friends." He repeated. "What do I care how nasty you get towards me? Drop the f-bomb on me, a literal bomb on me, doesn't matter. Because I'll take you on… All of you." She gasped softly at his face. Out came those same blasted features he seemed to take on whenever he got so serious about something. And this time, she couldn't do anything to hide the blush she was positive that her face was now sporting. Her rushing blood produced warm tingles inside her that almost felt...dare she even think it...not entirely unpleasant.

At this point, she was beginning to wonder if he had some sort of control over when his face morphed like that.

"So the next time you get angry – angry enough to scream," He continued. "Don't scream at old men. Don't scream at your sister." She noticeably flinched at this additive. "Don't even scream into your pillow, because a pillow can't listen. You go ahead and scream at me. Because after all..." His lips tugged a bit upwards, producing a gentle smile. "...It's only me."

Tatsumaki's bright green eyes quivered unsteadily at him. Her lip about did the same. Before it could be taken any further, however, she closed her eyes and jerked her head away, giving a rough pull from his forceful embrace.

This time he let her go; having said what he needed to.

"Now arriving at City X; Terminal 3." A robotic voice buzzed in over the intercom.

The compartment screeched to a steady halt, and the doors opened.

People seemed to pour out in droves, and Saitama couldn't help but wonder how much of that had to do with the spectacle that his tumultuous partner made out of herself.

As the area vacated, Saitama spotted almost an entire section of seats that opened up, and tired of standing, he picked up his luggage and ambled over to a spot, leaving Tatsumaki to float in her own private space by herself.

Only a few other passengers besides them remained onboard now. The air of privacy had been somewhat restored, along with some comfortable breathing room.

After a few minutes drifted away from her partner in silent reflection, Tatsumaki dared herself to glance over her shoulder to where Saitama was sitting, holding his beloved cactus in his lap.

She put a gentle hand to her chest, somehow unable to break away from the green, prickly plant taking up the space against his legs.

But…

Wait...

What was this...bizarre feeling?

With him more distant from her now, it was as if her blood began to simmer down. She oddly felt...colder.

Was it because his body felt so damn warm against her for some reason? It had to be, right?

Because there was no way in hell that it could be loneliness! Abso-fucking-lutely not...!

…

. . .

Slowly but ever so surely, she drifted closer to where he sat, floating down into the seat next to him at the pace of a falling leaf.

After she was firmly planted, she snuck him another careful look, only briefly before turning to face straight ahead. She twiddled her thumbs a bit. Almost as if looking for something to say.

When that something finally hit, she snapped her head up to him, almost desperately. "I…!" And then just as quickly, she snapped it back away to stare over at an invisible object that for some reason just became very interesting.

"Uh?" Saitama, apparently coming back from some distant daydream, turned to give her a neutral peer.

"...I fought a god today." She finally managed to mutter, still looking away. 'Damn me… Why is it so hard to speak all of a sudden…?!'

"Ah yeah?" He cracked a smile, apparently at least somewhat interested. "That's cool. And how was he?"

"Mm-mm..." She shrugged stiffly. "Nothing too special… Just some cheap tricks and a big mouth."

Saitama slightly opened his mouth into a frown. "Awww. That's too bad. So in other words…he was kinda like you, then."

Tatsumaki felt herself jerk up on instinct. Forgetting all about her sudden apprehension, she snapped over to face him full front. "Wh-what the hell did you say about me?! Well if that's how you feel then let's see how well you would've lasted against him! Wait what's that we can't? Oh right that's because I already kicked his shit in sideways! Me! But I'll bet he would've roasted you a thousand times – no – ten thousand times over before you even got a proper hit in! What do you have to say to that, huh?! Huuuuh?!"

He gave her a harmless shrug. "Could be. Like you said, I guess we'll never know."

Tatsumaki crossed her arms and puffed up her chest, reveling in her victory with a prideful smirk.

"But tell me something," he asserted, "what makes you so sure he was really a god?"

"Because I…I just...!" She stuck up her pointer finger to talk back before it withered away along with her response.

"I mean, did this guy go changing water into wine right in front of you, or did he just call himself a god and you believed him?"

"..."

Tatsumaki did not want to answer this question.

...

...Ah, fuck it! Who was she even trying to impress anyway?!

"Now arriving at Terminal 6." The robotic voice chimed in.

"Th-That's us." She piped up, a little more than grateful to be saved by the bell.

After a brief drag across town for some last-minute provisions, the two ended up side-by-side, standing in front of the door leading into the lair of a Tornado. A door that would usher them both into their new lives as dictated by the new Rule of Two.

New lives. Stuck to each other. Like glue.

At first, nothing sounded more nauseating. Now Tatsumaki didn't know how or what to feel. How badly she wished she could just give up trying to. But feelings, as it turns out, can be inexhaustible little bitches that live inside of you, gnawing at your guts until – when given an adequate incubation period – coalesce to form one great big superbitch of a problem.

But the real problem is...how do you kill something like that if you aren't sure that you actually hate it?

"This is it." Saitama broke her from her thoughts. She looked over to see him already making his way to the patio, scouting out a decent place to set that cactus.

"Meh. If you say so..." She spoke distantly.

"This little guy and me," he found the place, crowning a nearby sill with the pot, "we'll both be in your care, Tatsu."

"Told you not to call me that." She rebuffed with no real effort. It's not like he'd stop anyway.

Saitama gazed at her while scratching his cheek, but if he was actually thinking something or not, nobody could tell. Ultimately, he turned back to try the door handle. Locked.

"Uhh, Tats, I think your door is—"

"Keys are with me, stupid."

He turned back to see her jingling a ring of them around her finger. Using her other hand, she pointed at the door, and he heard something unlatch.

With a second try, he realized that she had unlocked the door without even bothering to use the conventional opener. "Ah. Handy." He smiled.

He looked back at her just in time to catch the key ring she tossed him. "Lose a single one of those, and I'll re-purpose your skin into a lampshade."

"Gooooot it. Points for the creative threat."

As he turned to make his way in, he heard her voice call out behind him again. "Hey. Baldy."

"Yeah?"

He spotted the notorious list – the new bane of his existence – levitating right next to her.

He frowned. Here they come. More rules.

But then, the last thing he expected to happen...happened.

The paper caught fire. It combusted completely into nothing long before he could even fully process what was going on.

Tatsumaki appeared to neither say nor do anything. She just kept looking at him; floating in the space before him with an unwavering gaze, even as the list went up – even as all the words that she spent the afternoon reading off to him turned to black soot and littered the ground.

He saw the expression she was making. But initially, he didn't understand.

She didn't appear angry, as was often her tendency. She didn't seem nervous or scared. And she certainly didn't look happy.

Yet somehow, within the dense recesses of Saitama's mind, the pieces slowly began to drift together.

What she was conveying to him wasn't meant to be understood with any primary expression. What she was conveying to him didn't owe an explanation to anything.

Her eyes were warning him – shooting him one single message:

Don't hurt me.

Saitama stood there, stuck in the moment and not fully knowing what to say, even as she already drifted past him and beat him through the door. There, she turned back, eyeing him over with absolute austerity. The emeralds of her eyes glimmered from inside the dark room.

"Trusting you is my decision. Proving me right is yours." She uttered gravely. "Don't fuck this up for us, Baldy."

He gave her a solemn stare. Next to her eyes, the dull black dots nesting in his were unimpressive, but unwavering as well.

"...You got it." He said with a straight face.

Then, dragging baggage in tow, he stepped inside and vanished with her behind the closed door.

A/N: Admittedly, this chapter gave me some hell. But I just couldn't wait to portray Sweet Mask.

I would ask what you guys think of the new season if I wasn't so certain that literally every other author on the OPM section was pretty much already doing that. I'll tell you what my favorite part sure was though… Bang completely stomping Garou's shit in. I got hit-crit on the part where Garou tries to cop out and sling dirt up at him, and Bang was like "Naw bitch" before sweeping it to the side and continuing to make ground beef tacos out of him. Poor bastard.

Also, Saitama is King's Stand, confirmed.

Ugh… Back to work for me.