Standard Disclaimer: I own One-Punch Man as much as Saitama owns hair.
Cha.1- Prologue: A New Border
The unpigmented exterior of the low key laboratory stood humbly on the populated avenue, the street's overwhelming commuters circulating by without paying due attention.
The source of their ignorance was not their own negligence but the modesty of the one-story workshop. It was cramped between a resplendent skyscraper occupied by hungry millionaires and a robust foundation for the proposed chamber of the remixed United Nations. Yet, in the latter's still materializing blueprint, its stature cast a shadow over its juxtaposed runt of a neighbor.
Even if sporadic glances were shot the way of the elfish facility, they were only in remote confusion of the architectural oxymoron. However, the tourists' curiosity was quickly smothered by the passing crowd's indifference as they propelled the traffic, numb to the scenery of the anomaly.
In fact, even its name was distant to the passerby. Chewed only by elite masterminds, the anonymous title was in sharp contrast to its retired prototypes released to the world, among which were the famed supercomputers in the aforementioned financiers' lavish rooms capable of global monetary analysis, or the discharged satellites that were now worshipped by the global alliance's Star Wars Project.
"First Look." A young graduate, recent valedictorian of Stanford and son of the decade's second Nobel Laureate, muttered its peerless epithet, one that harmoniously integrated dominance with reservation.
Well, at first look, it is not so impressive, the boy mused. He could not understand the reason behind his father's decision to send him hither, over the luscious offer of a fellowship overseas or the Yale president's personal invitation to his graduate school on full grant.
Nevertheless, he took no more than a few seconds to inspect the soundlessly exclusive entrance before tightening his posture to an immaculate degree of professionalism. Forward he marched, an air of brilliant pride radiating. His figure disappeared as the automated door shut with absolute determination, closing the ulterior treasure again from public vision.
As if the entry was a portal that transported him to a galaxy unbeknownst, the sight before the scholar was in heavy distinction with its outer appearance. Gone was the understated tone, replaced by a dignified aura of sincerity.
Light streamed as if from deep space, with no detectable origin, and dazzled the interior with a glow as penetrating as sun rays, while achieving a reclining effect. Instead of the normal second of the eyes' discomfort transitioning from a bright morning to a gloomy setting, the bachelor of science had no visual hesitation in taking in the lab's ground floor in its totality.
The optical illusion of the street view did a disgrace on the vast room, but its lack of scientists made the immense space appear vacant. A vermilion carpet led the steps to the destination of the path: a reception desk, placed strategically at the end of the hallway, instead of serving as the pioneer. White, chiseled limestones revealed by the tidy wool led to brown doors on the sides, each of which was pinned with a small nametag.
The Nobel protégé found his way by the guiding light and textile to the desk, behind which sat a petite woman who gifted him a flawless smile. "Hello. You must be Mr. Suzuki."
Slightly taken aback, the addressed adult nodded, his face lagging by the camouflage of leftover adolescence. "Yes, I am. I am arrange to start today as an intern for First Look's Project…"
He looked down at his paper, voice trailing off as he read. "Project Termination of Debate Over the Superego Finality of Superficial Figure-Ground and Perceptual Ultimacy Achieved by Means of Technological Engineering in Place of the Evolutionary Perspective."
He blushed, internally sparring with the awkwardness of babbling. The woman looked at him in a glint of sympathy. "Yep, I know. We are all involved in some degree with it. It's the main agenda for First Look right now, so we have to say its name more than a few times a day. Here, we little ones call it Project Infinity."
She paused. "Not for the 'cosmic outcomes' that the two Chiefs pronounced, but more in spite of the name itself."
The newcomer shifted nervously, unsure of a proper response without potentially antagonizing his acquaintance, while maintaining an impression of respect for the referenced Chiefs.
"Don't be so stiff. This is a heaven! We don't exercise those rigid, ridiculous social protocols." The lady winked, vigilantly recognizing his agitation. "I have been ready for you since yesterday. New employees are as rare as artifacts. I am so hyped for you!"
The lady reached down and pulled a readied binder from underneath her furniture. Along with it came a key dangling by a string strapped onto the upper ring. "There's your office key, along with a basic manual of lab expectations."
"We don't have much stipulations or a thousand meaningless divergence of the basic rules of humanity. You get enough incoherence in project titles." She somehow made a wry expression appear reverent. "Everyone here has an IQ above 180. As long as you follow morals and not try to disgrace another's intelligence with pitiful stratagems, there should be no trouble."
"Also the motto." Her face turned sacred at the mention of it, almost like a mask. "'No member of First Look shall take advantage of another member of First Look.'"
"That's… short and to the point." The valedictorian opinionated. "Are there, you know, unspoken rules, then?"
"Nope. The goal of science is to organize a straight line from one point to another. The two Chiefs hate making things more complicated than they are. That being said, complex politics is First Look's most guarded enemy."
This is more than eccentric… The graduate reflected. He began to see why his father had chosen this internship over the standard routes. There was an attraction already building, a cohesion stemming from… mutual rapport?
He was directed to his office, one of the rooms behind the row of brown doors fortifying the entrance, after the receptionist kindly expressed her willingness to aid with any issue at all.
The office was simple, like a square prism, but yet comprehensive, supplied with an antiquated desk facing the entryway, a couch lining the side wall, couple of cabinets, an overhead fan, as well as other accessories. Granted that he was only a novice on his first day of work, the unexpected gift of his own province he found gratifying.
The young gentleman opened the folder, unveiling a thin collection of papers he estimated to be at most ten double-sided sheets. As he indulged in the words, the appointed intern became first familiarized, then awestruck at the unknown supremacy in which he had stumbled.
The laboratory's inveterate tradition was concentrated on humility and concealment, as well as density, whether in intelligence or integrity. Therefore, it made sense to have an unimpressive exterior, but, like its downplayed achievements, its genuine structure was hidden underground.
Compared to the ostentatious towers, this establishment had truly surpassed the modern art of construction by any and all means. There were hundreds of floors downwards, each requiring more security and privilege than the one above.
What's more, the manual stated explicitly that the last floor preserved the secrets to immortality and the perfection of Darwinism, along with clairvoyance, the lost Tai Chi, invincibility…
However, it was no doubt that reality only became myths after unbounded twists of plot had been adjoined by the human minds and gossiping mouths. To seek the strand of truth from the attached fiction demanded more than smarts and logic. It required a pair of untarnished eyes and able hands.
Such were hard to find in the heterogeneous society, and they were not made easier to uncover even in a crowd of the world's most acute talents. Hence, only six people sat in front of the Supercomputer XI on the three hundred sixty-fifth floor, their heads wearing an elaborate helmet as they stared intently at the enormous screen… playing Heart-Throb Sisters…
"Are you mother suckers serious right now!?" A figure bellowed as he slammed open the door of the stairway connected to the last floor, bursting back up. "Do y'all want me to just die of a stroke so you can take over as Chief!?"
"Please, sir, you can't die of a stroke… maybe unless the strain is from a black hole caused by the collapse of a supercluster." One of the players replied mindlessly, eyes still trained on the screen of the quantum calculator, through the mask of a virtual reality imitator.
A second, female figure slid in behind the first Chief. She eyed them with the venom of a warden patrolling her prison of innocent bystanders. Somewhere in the world, there was a torrent of volcanic ash spinning into a tornado with the help of arctic winds.
Curtly, she encapsulated the situation's two main conflicts. "I don't know if I am more upset about your using our simulator that can replicate an experiment of YEARS down to DAYS for a ridiculous barbie game, or the fact that you didn't even think to invite us!"
"Ma'am, may I ask you to please shorten your complaint down to twenty words or less?" Another voice sounded without its user taking his eyes off the display.
The tornado was threatening to lose control and inundate the world with icy hot, and it turned thermonuclear as her equivalently ranked counterpart interjected in laughter. "Good one! That's our hidden motto!"
"Thanks, Chief! Wanna play?" A helmet was handed over.
"Of course!" The male figure smirked at the shapely figure beside him. "Joining us, rambler?"
Hostility undulated. "Have your fun now! Just wait until you lose our bet! I'll be waiting for that letter of resignation."
"Mmhmm. Demote me to an intern and I'll work my way back upto Chief in a year. C'mon, we do this constantly." He picked up the cephalic contraption and replied without as much as a grimace. "Plus, I don't lose."
"Ummm… Boss, you lost three times." One of his subordinates spoke up through the purrs of a very openly-dressed fantasy character.
"Keep talking, and you'll be the one starting from Day 0." The addressed leader slapped him on the back of the head and spared an instigating glimpse for his chortling contender. "I don't know why you're laughing. You failed four times."
"..." Her hair comically inflated from a pretty bow bun into exaggerated bunny ears. "Just you watch! When it finished, I'm gonna make you begin in the janitorial closet!"
"You gonna play or not?" He held the last headgear up, it lingering by the tip of his pinky, while resolving in his mind the final verdict between an incessant, verbal argument with a tangible damsel and an incessant, bodily discussion with a digital one.
She huffed and snatched it over, balancing it on her bubbly curls. The lock to the three hundred and sixty-sixth floor fastened itself, and the room returned to a state of shady lights and s̶e̶n̶s̶u̶a̶l̶ ̶m̶o̶a̶n̶s̶ courteous conversation.
"Welcome back to Alphabet Announcement, the regional station for the most accurate news report, weather forecast, and emergency updates. Thank you for joining us." A TV monitor shimmered with the only light in the dark room.
"Breaking news: The inspection result for City A's recent annihilation in the mysterious UFO assault has been officially enumerated. Casualties count up to seventy million people, wounded or perished, with nine trillion dollars vaporized in the demolition of 99.8% of the settlement."
"Classified by the Hero Association as the pinnacle of all Dragon-level threats, it resulted in damage that had surmounted all of past devastation in the hands of similarly ranked perils," The voice ceased, sparing time for a breath of exigency in order to continue. "Combined."
Soft murmur resonated in the room to condense into a noticeable reverberation that divulged the latitude of the chamber.
"Sitch, the Minister Officer of Justice, serving additionally as the Hero Association elite placed in charge for the preparation to this disaster, had declined to be interviewed, but he was heard to mourn the event as 'a day which will live in infamy.'"
"The organization's spokespeople expressed the proposition for an expeditious return to normalcy, but they, when pressed for a reconstruction procedure, had yet to propound a cogent routine to do so."
"The Alphabet Announcement has enlisted correspondents who are in constant touch with the Association, and further intelligence would be delivered. But first, a word from our sponsors." The screen dimmed to dullness, the channel silenced in the process.
On the other hand, rows of lengthy, incandescent bulbs bathed the auditorium in a glistening shower, but the intensifying brightness struggled to bring about a similar elevation in the spirits of the listeners.
This was the main assembly room of the Association Headquarters, the only tower in City A that stood adamantine. Up in the VIP box, an expansive area limited only by its name, sat all eight appointed executives, along with twelve of the shareholders, including Agoni, the chairman of the board and founder of the agency.
They were positioned horizontally across a wide table, all facing the same direction. Opposing them, a man sat on the edge of his seat, head hanging as low as the tip of his tie.
As if the tension of the interrogation in itself was not enough, the twenty administrators all stared at him without a word, trapping him between a depressing silence and the persistent haunt of the mortality statistics.
Finally, Agoni spoke up, his voice more a dreaded conviction than a holy blessing to his ears. "Sitch, I'm not disappointed… nor is any of us here."
The officer in question raised his head enough to touch the elder's eyes, before blinding his own. He had no reply, and he knew that they wanted none. His sacrificial task was to merely listen, listen and then walk the plank, to be smoked into a slab of exquisite lambchop priced at an exploitative nine trillion dollars.
"But the people are, Sitch, the people!" The baritone pursued, an unblemished tone asphalted with gilded care and generosity. "Please look at me."
The prosecuted confessed his bloodshot sclera to the demanding judge on his high throne, who smiled in convolution. "It pains me immensely to have to demote a fellow member of justice, you all must know this."
His parallels gestured with conforming nods, which seemingly satisfied the autocrat. "However, I do think, oh dear Sitch, that old age had caught up. It would seem you might benefit from a relaxing furlough, to loosen the taut knot a little."
There was a lasting pause, indicating to the addressee that his voice was lusted after. "Yes sir."
"Ahhh, wonderful. I would hate to see a passionate member being backbroken to labor. Your health comes first, friend." Agoni's melody was soaked in an saccharine eternity that could dismiss Sweet Mask's albums to the downwinding shade.
"Your first check of pension, Sitch, will be infused with a bonus that shall unconditionally cover your choice of vacation, for as long as you wish." He winked. "My treat, old pal."
Vacation… For as long as he wished… The lone male ruminated bitterly… yes, as he wished.
The room fell back to a grave silence. Needles pierced through the deserted goat's heart, one that had aged a year for a second in the last minute.
The ex-officer stood. His hand reached unobstructedly into his breast pocket and heaved out the prepared IDs, all bunched neatly by a thin rubber band as grey as his hair. He placed them down on his chair gently, like the twinkle of the stars shedding on a spilled latrine.
Wordlessly, he left, trailing behind the dusts of not his legacy, but just of strait, soon-to-be forgotten footsteps. A uniformed secretary appeared at the exit, showcasing the convenient apparatus.
Agoni watched as Sitch's warped silhouette was engulfed by the rush of time, shaking his head miserably. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last of my wishes."
"However, on a more positive note, I've received news primarily from Sweet Mask, who ensured a link of empathy from the cities in which he had toured." His unrivaled sedan was lifted by the applause of his porters. "It is such a treasure from God to have our A-ranked zenith supporting our righteous cause, wouldn't you say so?"
Again, optimistic chuckles and addicted agreement greeted the opinion. The expression of secretary brightened first by the sobriquet, then the 'classified' revelation wavered to her coincidentally as she walked in.
Agoni waved politely at her. "Please, if he's ready, invite Metal Knight in."
The door sealed. A few seconds later, loud stomping shook the floor, sending vibrations into even the box.
The Chairman was not the least fazed, his glittering vizard only growing more fluoresce as a giant, four-legged steel bot challenged the surface area of the entrance.
It bypassed the recommended chair, still slightly warm, to resettle right in front of the directors, folding its legs under itself. A programmed, rusty dialogue rustled the senior's eardrums. "Greetings. I've come for your business proposal."
"I see. Let me just take a second to relay how gleeful we are to have invited your presence during your time off."
"With all due respect, please cut to the chase. There is an underestimation of the quantity of energy necessary for the activation of my machines."
"No problem, Metal Knight. We've specially prepared a written synopsis for your scanning to catalyze this process." Sekingar, an executive sitting directly to Agoni's right, spoke up.
He was an average man at first look, until a second glimpse at his left eye commonly inspired a gasp for first-timers. In place of the eyeball was an implanted mechanical prosthetic, which aided in a gradually precipitating outlook of phlegmatic sturdiness.
From the gadget displaced a feeble beam that stabilized into a holographic stack of papers incisively detailing the elements of the announced proposal.
A resonating white poured out of the S-Ranker's android and swept through the informative contract within seconds. Another few minutes of uninterrupted deliberation sifted through its intricate motherboard.
"If I understand it correctly, you desire to annex City A and convert it to solely Hero Association use." He succinctly compressed the writing. "Thus, you offer the stated sum for a renovation within one month?"
"Indeed. What do you think?" Sekingar inquired, adapting to the curt fashion of oration.
"I give you my affirmation. Have the currency transferred in three days." The robot stood up, considering the meeting terminated.
"Please spare us with one more moment, Metal Knight." Agoni's firm request reached the automation's auditory device. "I would like to interview your attitude on the invasion of the UFO."
"Chairman, I exhort you to forego the pointless apparition of a prologue. What is on your mind?"
The billionaire's lips danced, complying to the appeal for an oral shortcut, which was quite ironic in its lengthy delivery. "Very well. In summary, the spaceship has revealed to me how little humanity really understands of the world beyond this simple Earth."
"Besides our neighboring planets, we had yet dared to venture out of our comfort zone, and never had we considered the prospects beyond the borders of our solar system." His hands tightened, his posture shifting unconsciously into one of focus.
"Yesterday, an abhorrently advanced technology came and wiped out the capital of the Alphabet. Only God knows what tomorrow can bring. There's no way to combat such threats by simply burying our heads below the sand." Agoni's tone progressed up the chain of eagerness.
The man raised his head up, as if peering at the darkness above through the confines of the roof, the same way a rebel stared at the lavish palace of his tyrant. He extended his hand, hoping to clench the luminous specks in his palm.
"Rather, we must utilize our wings, however burdensome, to ascend and sought after the origin of the threats, to quarantine and safeguard their power source, and to rehabilitate its corruption to justice!"
He finished by slamming his fist down, panting. The golem gazed at him blankly, before commenting at last. "You sure have a way with words, old man."
"So you basically want to start a collaboration for space exploration? An expansion of civilization into the universe? To spread your control even further?" The hero's substitute blared.
"If you're mobilizing my factory, allow me to assure you that the Association simply do not possess the funds, even though I do have the capability. It is an appetite much more extensive than reshaping City A."
"Metal Knight…" The Association leader closed his eyes. "Aren't you curious?"
For the first time, the driod's geared plates reflected an emotion besides impatience. "What?"
"I know you salvaged the crashed UFO. I'm sure it brought even you a torrent of engineering amazement. Well, haven't you wondered what else is out there? New forms of energy, chemicals, blueprints!?" The elder's voice slithered like Pandora's serpent. "Infinite possibilities. You had stood at the apex for a prolonged length already. Earth is only a prison for you."
"Think, even with all else not mattering, the fame and legacy with which you will be commended if you became the initiator of deep space travel. Perhaps, history books would record you as the Father of New Humanity…"
"Halt, Agoni. I have no interest in reputation, though I must applaud your skill in the manipulation of human nature." The bot's eyes twirled in a mysterious light of sorts from the other end. "You've managed to spark my musing about viable new finds unavailable on Earth. It is a worthwhile idea, I suppose."
"However, that is not to say I will acquiesce in this visibly fruitless expedition without a heartfelt presentation on the Association's part. What is your offer, and what is your plan to go through with this… improbability?"
Sekingar's gadget formed another stack of virtual paperwork, this one piling much higher than the last. Metal Knight shot an analytic laser through the portrayal.
A few minutes flailed by, and then more. Abruptly, the iron construction bounced up, eyes escalating to maximal battery output. "Impossible! She would never agree to this!"
"How about a bet?" Agoni smirked with the unspoken confidence hidden behind the constantly grinning face of the Association's leading mastermind. "If she does consent, then you shall accede to the organization of our space force, still, of course, with the salary as listed. If I lost, then I will present the same sum of money and privileges without any argument or demand."
"It's always a bad idea betting with you, kitsune." The robot immediately shook his head as fast as a rattle drum. "But, if you can really persuade her to yield, then, in any case, I would deem it a show worthy enough of my time."
"So, your decision?"
"I accept." The machine paused. "The bet."
Agoni stood adjacent to a large window in his office that served simultaneously as the fourth wall. Below was the luxurious sight available only from the hundredth floor of the Headquarters.
However, what was to be magnificent scenery was reduced to insensible piles of rubble in the most severe crisis in modern history. Regardless, the elder was pleased. Compared to the previous day, more evidence of decimation had disappeared than remained.
A night and morning had slipped by since the meeting with Metal Knight, whose efficiency shocked even one of the most guileful man on Earth. Nevertheless, his stupefaction worked to his advantage this time, as public positivity was already flooding in.
The reconstruction was in perfect accordance with the S-Ranker's outlined agenda. By the end of today, all traces of savagery should be restored back to their raw form in the Knight's furnaces, which could then be used for instituting civility.
The torn landscape was no longer on his list of troubles. This was not the first hedge with the tech-god, and none in the past had betrayed his competence.
In contrast, another looming cyclone was descending, one that involved a torrent of vibrant green too zealous for her head… or his.
Just as he was reviewing his speech again in his head, knocks sounded on his door. Adjusting his suit, Agoni called. "Enter."
A head poked in. It was his secretary. "Sir! Miss Tatsumaki is here."
"Tornado! The name is Tornado of Terror!" An intransigent disapproval protruded the stout material with which the indestructible Association was built. The Chairman internally winced at the thought of leveraging with the organization's most difficult hero.
"Please join me." He replied, daring not make the impatient female wait. She was no Metal Knight… hell, she was no anybody!
His secretary excused herself from the esper's course, allowing her to float into the wide office, before bringing the door to a close, all the while praying for her boss's health.
Agoni took in the petite frame of the secondly ranked S class. Her adolescent face and fragile physique were more misleading than his own phonaesthetics were.
The first time Darkshine met her at his S-ranked ceremony, his joking label of her as a "greenhead" motivated a two-hour makeout session with the consequentially vandalized wall. Come to think of it, it was the first and only time he had seen anyone damage the Headquarters structure.
In fact, Darkshine's butt mark is still imprinted in that dance room…
Tactfully, he extracted his glance of inspection before the insidious psychic's gelid glint found his gaze too passionate. "Welcome, Miss… Tornado."
"What do you want? Hurry it up!" Her arms were crossed in their standard fashion of panache, while her sight curved down at him from their ironically lofty position. "I don't have time for this. There are monsters to squish."
Agoni hid his weariness well and gestured to the seat in front of him. Tatsumaki grumbled and shrunk into the chair, height back to Year 12. The director felt no more in control.
"I understand your temptation to pancake Mysterious Beings, and you've been getting tired of the Tiger and Demon threats of recency…"
He was cut off by a prideful huff. "Mere caterpillars."
Coughing, he picked up the broken communication. "Anyway, I have found more of a challenge, monsters that only you, the utmost powerful Tornado, could handle."
"Oh?" Her disinterested face perked up, attention tactically captured. "Where is it? Dragon-level? How many? Speak, old man!"
"Yes, Dragon-level, maybe even God-level. No one else has a chance, Miss." Agoni smirked under his skin. She was still too young, too blatant to shroud her cravings that could be cunningly arranged for seduction. "As for numbers, I would say perhaps in the hundreds, with even more massive armies of lesser reinforcements."
Flame tangoed in Tatsumaki's eyes, not the least perturbed by the count or the impossible chance of her losing. Her cells were screaming, her curls fluttering like flags in unconscious viridescence.
"WHERE!?" The girl demanded, burrowing furiously into his irises.
The executive pointed above him. "In space."
The hanging light in path of her and 'space' shattered into dust. Agoni gave himself a mental pat on the back. Only a chandelier. Not bad.
"Are. You. Messing. With. ME!?" Tatsumaki yelled with the ferocity of a lifting rocket, hair trumpeting on their ends histrionically. "Do you understand how precious my time is!?"
"Why are you upset, Tornado?" The owner of the office smiled at her with everlasting radiance.
"Well, genius, how the HELL am I supposed to get to damn space!?" The psionic expert bawled out her predicament. "Plus, what does a monkey like you know about space?"
"Blast told us." The alleged Cercopithecidae announced, noticing the widening pupils and avalanching aura. "He's back from the Northern Constellations."
Blast… A million ambivalent images of her… the hero soared through her mind, interrupting even her psychic pulses. Spontaneously, she submerged back into the leather chair she all of a sudden deemed comfortable.
Agoni declined to speak again, instead vouching to give the telekinetic storm some peace. The clock ticked on.
Tatsumaki picked her head up, expression softened enough to allow for a slippage of femininity.
"What else did he tell you runts?" She interrogated.
"He wants to erect a second Earth at the astronomical pole of the galaxy, directly opposite from here." The Chairman beamed with potency, discerning that the lioness had swallowed the bait. Gone was the worry that the lure was not attractive enough.
"One with livable conditions so that, one day, humans can inhabit it." His only job now was to escort her to the finish line. "And he wants your help."
Tatsumaki said nothing. He mentioned that he would be venturing on an adventure two years ago before entrusting her with protecting the world, but he never informed her that he would be roving that far from her.
Well, he was back now. She didn't need to regulate the world any longer. No wonder there was an unforeseen, dramatic decrease in Dragon monsters. They should have been sprawling by now with so many S-rankers exhausted from the space-dawned disaster.
How was she going to explain the eradicated City A to him? No, he already knew. He probably was called back because of the UFO attack. Bloody hades, only he could travel millions of light years in a day.
She looked back at Agoni, a stab of fatigue obscured well. "What do you want, then?"
Agoni's shadow gagged. When the hell did she care about what he wanted?
"Well, a secondary colony across the galaxy is an outstanding idea. Not to say that new opportunities are laden with each step, it would even serve as humanity's backup life. Furthermore…"
"Who asked you about your opinion!? Just tell me what I should do!" Tatsumaki interrupted in her standard infernal intonation. "When do I take off?"
A streak of astonishment sparkled against the Chairman's lens. Blast had remarked that the reference of his appellation would observe a speedy transaction, but Agoni, in no way, forecasted what surfaced as virtually submission.
Against his better acumen, he voiced out his curiosity. "Miss Tornado… aren't you… going to give it more thought?"
"Why should I?" She stared blankly. "Blast said there are monsters up there, right? What is there to mull over? It's not as if there are entanglements on Earth that I'm nostalgic about!"
For a second, the Chairman's heart nearly went out to her. Nearly.
Tatsumaki paused, commenting aloud. "Except for Fubuki. I need to leave a note to him to watch over her. You better not give her dangerous jobs!"
"Your assignment is described in this manual." Agoni produced a colossal binder from beneath his desk. "It's a tremendously extensive project that could take years, even decades, centuries. Just look. The first sub-step is building an atmosphere. The intricate details are all put down here. You just need to follow the procedures…"
"Just give me that!" The esper snatched the gargantuan literature over… and failed. The directory was merely dragged a few inches before being defeated by the curse of friction. Tatsumaki glowered and lifted it brutely by psychic, before dashing out.
That was… actually… not as onerous as Child Emperor's simulations foretold, Agoni cogitated, wiping a drop of sweat off his brow. Suddenly, an epiphany struck as his expression contorted bitterly into one of the Tornado of Terror's victims.
He forgot to address the principal challenge of this errand! The speed in her mellow reaction to his first entreaty had subconsciously knocked him off his boots. The elder rushed to the door, but Tatsumaki's timid image had already vanished.
On another thought, let's save that for the second discussion. Today had been enough of a hassle. The head of the Hero Association sighed, closing the door.
Leaning marginally against it, out of the sight of any audience, he whimpered at the nag at the back of his head that reiterated how there would be a second meeting.
In his moment of slack, he was somewhat startled by the buzzing phone. Murmuring an obscenity at the offensive communication device, he walked over and flicked at the speaker button.
The nonstop voice of his endearing secretary transmitted through. "Sir! Demon Cyborg is here to see you. Is Tornado…"
"She left." Agoni straightened his posture as the optimism of the tiny victory he had over life zonked. Fixated on the invisible sign atop his door that read 'Patience is a virtue,' he opted to relinquish even more of his time to the dealings of this space affair.
"Send him in." He issued the permission before clicking the phone off.
Genos entered to see Agoni standing up, with two glasses of yellow liquid which he scanned to be apparently champagne. An unreasonable smile stretched across the Chairman's face, a body language that tended to express happiness or positivity.
Or at least that was what his database concluded through extrapolation of the mean. "Salutations, Chairman of the Board. What assistance might the top executive of the Hero Association request from me?"
"Hoho, don't be so businesslike, lad." The addressed billionaire handed over a glass of the priced drink cheerfully. "Today is as much a day to celebrate your achievements as to introduce an eccentric… task."
The synthetic creature grasped the glass with an iron grip and took a sip, before looking up indifferently. "The beverage is quite mild in its conversion to biofuel. Have you considered milkshake to be a more appropriate potation for festivity?"
Agoni almost choked on his cup and stared at the robot in disbelief. Was he seriously suggesting that the creamed product was to be a match for his prodigal liquor?
No. The former had ostensibly lapped the latter in the metaphorical race for supremacy in the android's technical examination.
The picturesque mood fully extirpated, the elite daintily placed the chalice down, prompting his guest to mimic the action. "Demon Cyborg, you have been an S-ranked hero for months now. What is your opinion of our environment?"
Genos scowled slightly, his natural facial formulation for intense reflection. "I would say that the biomes are very much polluted, with air contamination in Cities reaching up to 2.5 parts per million, which could be translated to 12 micrograms of smog per cubic meter of air."
The Chairman's eyes bulged out. He was very glad that he had placed down his cup so that no excess alcohol could murder him by blocking his airways.
Agoni was a champion of poker, whether figuratively or literally, in all aspects from politics to finance. And for him, the most grievous opponent was not another player of the same rank, but one who knew not the rules of the game.
There was literally no way to predict an advance and account for it. And now, he must challenge two in a single noon.
"I mean, Mr. Genos, the Hero Association! How have we been treating you?" He articulated with strained effort, hand wiping a drop of sweat off his brow.
"Ahhh, thank you for the clarification." The mech responded impassively. "In respect to the average beneficiary's concerns, your insurance, pension, and salary have all skyrocketed out of the second standard deviation of a normal curve."
The executive took a moment to filter the politically impeccable statement. "So you think that our privileges are indeed… serviceable."
"It is certainly 78 percent of popular opinion, according to the Alphabet News survey." The android paused. "My apologies. It had just dropped to 77 percent."
Agoni made a mental note to have Child Emperor update his simulator to upgrade the difficulty of all social interactions with the superhumans widely known as 'cyborgs.'
"... Thank you for your confidence in our abilities." He decided to cut to the chase— quite a feat for the king of eloquence. "I think we might have an assortment of information that is to your interest."
Genos raised his artificial eyebrow at the file passed toward him, highly doubtful. Nonetheless, he opened the folder and commenced to piece together the pixels.
Only a few seconds into the inspection, the chair below him exploded into splinters. His rigid, iron-clad countenance somehow distorted from their engineering configuration into a hideous monstrosity substantially spookier than his neutral scowl, as if his internal inferno had melted both the metallic paint and the modicum of humanity left.
His body dazed into yellowish-crimson, clothes vaporizing along with his white iris, replaced by scarlet. The rogue formation glared with an understatement of meanness at the boss.
"WHERE THE HELL IS HE!?" A profound bellow detonated from the highest elevation in City A, so boisterous it suppressed Metal Knight's construction drones in their undeclared noise competition.
Demon Cyborg's orbs were burning a pair of expanding holes into the cellulose portrait before him… the photo of another towering cyborg.
His sensai had asked him to compressed his history into twenty words or less. But, by bringing him face to face to even a two-dimensional source of his childhood suffering, he discovered that he could condense it to a single word.
Die.
Or other synonyms incapable of outright description.
"We don't know." Agoni scooched back, unintentionally exposing his apprehension. The languor was palpable, materializing into sweat that dripped down the Chairman's neck.
The rampant sentience regarded him through his two entrance to Hell, adjudicating Agoni's innocence only after a breathtaking wait that left the prosecuted in cyanosis.
"Is this all the intelligence your surveillance had generated?" Genos spat with the venom that could rival the Deep Sea King. He crumbled the slim picture, the only treasure its container entombed.
"No, it is not." Agoni matched his eyes, his inner chill mustering into a daring pool of hydrogen that threatened his life by volunteering to tamper with a freak whose rocket boots still blared of flames.
"Give me all your possession of knowledge!" The humanoid's visual implements crackled with the malicious electricity from a dozen short circuits, like the ancient ions conserving in the skies to eventually nominate a bolt for the primordial seas.
"No!" Agoni gritted his teeth and stood his ground. Behind the cover of daily deceit, polite posture, submissive supplements, and tantalizing trickery was the reason why he was the founder of the Hero Association and arguably the most influential man in the Alphabet in ways that excelled brute force.
Their respective strength clashed for a seeming eternity. At last, something creaked in Genos's body, like a machine whose gears had rusted over years of unuse. The fire died down as oxygen was deprecated. "What is your reason for refusal?"
The thunder had failed to evaporate the ocean. Instead, the first prokaryote was synthesized through the heat, the second milestone of creation, the first being the fusion of atoms within the tornadoes of solar reactors.
"Because they are top secret information, coded triple S for security." Agoni shook his head. "Even I can access only double S. You can only freely obtain single S."
"What must I do? Inform me!?" The ruffian half-screamed his demand for exploitation into the Chairman's face.
"You must contribute in terms of heroic points to the Association. The problem, however, is that there are no missions altogether that you can collect over a span of years that could reserve you enough points to access a triple S document."
He stared at the destructive contrivance. "Not even singlehandedly disentangling a God-level threat could earn you the necessary credit."
Genos growled. "If years aren't enough, I'll go for decades! As long as it takes to put him to justice!"
"Yes, but, have you accounted for the fact that all our information may be rendered nullified by the time you are done? You might have to begin your search all over again."
The robot blazed back up, streaks of aggression overtly painted. "Allow me to hold responsibility for the entire mission archive!"
"There is no need. Please let me finish, Demon Cyborg." This time, the Chairman was not at all fazed. The shark was frightening in the waters, but its jaws were of no use on land, capable only for a show of stationary, harmless one-way motion.
"There came an assignment recently that could provide all the points necessary for your convenience. I left it open just for your serendipity, my friend." Agoni expertly tried for a wave of strategic diplomacy that stirred no visible effect.
"Elaborate." The drip froze before rolling off the motorized icicle of a tongue.
The manager found it displeasing when the snappish tone was used against him, but nevertheless abiding. "A space exploration, mister. We need you to go to space for a few months for… certain architectural objectives."
"When you return, you will be awarded the confidence of your wish." The old flytrap watched the fluttering insect twirling around the alluring aroma.
"The duration of this assignment is only a few months?" Genos inquired.
Agoni answered without hesitation, as if practiced. "Indeed. No longer."
Tatsumaki came out of her kitchen armed with a bowl of organic tortilla chips and a can of sparkling water. She made a face as she fished out a strand of her green locks from the bowl, wondering what distracted her from just using psychic instead.
Her apartment was, well, the pictorial demonstration that popped up in the dictionary when flipped to the word 'simplicity.'
Indeed, the Tornado of Terror kept a living room free of any junk, as oppose to the destruction her namesake leaves… or, for that matter, she herself.
She had a zero tolerance policy for trash, which included both the materialistic or biological kind, classified, of course, by her callous perspective.
Her walls evaded the sacrilegious abomination of Sweet Mask, while her floor was sheathed by a modest layer of black carpet that resonated with her black dress, her black TV, black couch, and darkwood table that was… hot pink.
Wait! Hot pink!? Tatsumaki's snacks flew out of her hands as her body quaked into the most brilliant green she had released in a long time.
Who the HELL was here!? Who befouled her one sole sanctuary of sanity? And most of all, who had the ability to break through her psionic shield without its backlash tearing the intruder into pieces!? And without her detection!?
Suddenly, her flapping curls solidified in its motion eerily, and not to her doing, like a palm tree frozen dead in time pushed aside by the winds of a motionless typhoon.
The FREAK!? Intense bolts of arcane lightning slashed out, but the aberrant tesla wriggled out mere inches before they were forced back through her pores, as if subjected to an impossible gravity.
The unplugged television scintillated into a full display. Moments of The Ring flashed through the esper's mind as she stared in horror, both from the fact that a cordless electronic had flickered open and the more dominant reason that… her powers were restrained by… a force greater than even HERS!
HOLD THE FLIPPING BLOODY PERDITION ON! There was NOT a single, living damned mightier than HER!
Tatsumaki's brain buzzed into a hazardous level of drudgery that she KNEW would curse her with a migraine for weeks… maybe even a concussion. She cared not, her pride impaled and safety terrorized.
Finally, the clandestine chains on her physique faltered ever so slightly, and Tatsumaki struggled to elevate her hand. She was not at all relieved though. She was protesting with the gravity of a galactic black hole, a state that even the blessed esper could not sustain for long periods of time.
Nor had she ever. Most adversary fell at the pull of a small one.
Abruptly, the a blot of fluffy clouds emerged in the screen of the lit TV. A voice that she had not heard for a long time, a voice that she could never forget, strung out. "I've told you this many times already. Before you attack, process the situation first, or else you could too easily become someone else's blade… for free."
The sturdy tone flowed harmoniously with a mysterious wind that ruffled her hair with the same gesticulation of a familiar hand brushing her locks.
Tatsumaki's posture shivered, her power degenerating at an exponential rate. "B-Blast?"
"Yes, Maki, it's me." The cloud shifted and turned to a translucent silhouette of a man whose significant quiddities were blurred. "Can we talk nicely now?"
The psychic opened her mouth to speak, before her levitation precipitously cancelled out, freeing her fragile frame to collapse onto the couch. The brewing after-effect had finally flared up into a bang of agony in which her mind too quickly overdosed. The legendary battle of hurricane of anguish versus tornado of terror warred unceremoniously in her head.
Even the few seconds of transgressing her limits had strained her Pneuma beyond the predicted fathom. She didn't know for how long she wrestled the intangible enemy before a tranquilizing chill cryonized her mind.
"You're making me do a lot of work for a simple welcome." The same voice echoed in her private space. The cloud was no longer in the screen, but had somehow spawned in her Pneuma's imagination.
The grandiose psyche immediately neutralized her pain from the backlash. She stared and took an unsure step forward. Her hand reached out with a… timid sense, as if fearing that the shape would wither away without meticulous precaution.
She made contact. It was soft and warm, and it answered her pleas to not disintegrate. Back to cloud-form, the S-ranker who oversaw the food chain in its entirety spoke with a congenital regality. "Good job with everything while I'm gone."
"I know! I'm strong and independent now!" The second heavyhitter on the ladder puffed out her chest in an undignified, childish fashion that would prompt the jaws of thousands of people to slam into the ground to create a combined volume of holes as majestic as the Grand Ravine.
"You're not quite making your case here." The seemingly paternal figure glanced at her hand, still pressed onto the white cotton of his form.
Tatsumaki blushed, a facial phenomenon that even she herself thought went extinct due to, hell, the clogging of her veins.
An awkward silence ensured for ten minutes with the two powerhouses simply gazing at each other.
"Nevermind." Blast sighed. "Save the greeting. It'll be a lot less excruciating for both of us."
"No, I can do this!" The younger esper struggled. "I-I'm…"
Her childhood mentor raised an eyebrow. She twisted under the expectant stare. "I'm g-glad to…"
Her tongue fell back to anticlimactic quiescence. Blast blew out an air of disappointment. "If you want, we can try this later."
Tatsumaki pouted, yet ANOTHER gesture that could be recorded in the Quinness Book of World Records for a millennia. "Why are you here?"
In his decades of experience, the proper answer for an average girl was 'Because I want to see you,' but he booted the thought as rapidly as it surfaced. "Agoni had talked to you today?"
"Yes." She raised her head, a flash of hurt crossing her eyes before her ego took command. "Why didn't you take me?"
"Who else would there be to protect the world?" Blast responded immediately, as if prepared. "Silver Fang? Atomic Samurai? Those Ichor-barbarians can't fend off against a slightly bigger terrestrial monster who flies!"
"More joined after them, you know." His sonorous assertion brought a haughty smile to the psychic's fair-skinned face. "Though none even scratched their magnitude, and infinitely from me…"
She paused, rearranging her thoughts, before reinitiating her report. "Except for this big fat dude who devours everything. His ability isn't too bad. There's also this one kid whose Pneuma was ingenious enough to digest post doctorate level engineering to a decent extent, but his combating capability is downright trash. The Tech Nerd of high… middle school."
"There's a guy who's the combination of a zombie and a human. He can heal any wounds, even if he's diced up into tiny quartz, but the more severe the injury, the more time it takes to heal. I can kill him by simply sucking him into a black hole." The psychic bragged flippantly.
She summed it up. "So yeah, they've all breached the First Limit of human capacity in either Ichor or Pneuma. Kid and dead guy are at Pre-First, piggy is at Mid-First, compared to dojo master and samurai who are still trapped at Post-First."
Blast only smiled and nodded, silently putting abilities to the names he was given upon return. She continued. "Then, there are two other ones whom I can't see through."
"One goes by the name of King. There are zero recordings of him fighting. Although I've meant to challenge him for a year now, I never got to for one reason or the other, unfortunately. My intuition tells me he's up there though."
"And, there's Metal Knight." Tatsumaki inhaled, debating how she was going to put her next statement. "He's… maybe, possibly, perhaps…"
The cloud waited for her fillers to terminate patiently. "... by perchance, might be as powerful as me."
"Oh!?" THAT got his attention. "Tied with YOU?"
The green-haired girl shook her head grudgingly in affirmation.
"That means… he's broken the Second Limit!" The misshapen being warped into an aurora borealis. "What was your fight like?"
"Intense and infuriating. He's a Pneuma trainer too. But his line of ability turns him intangible, and he could travel and battle by wifi and magnetic pulses. Since my evolution was with raw tactile power, you can only imagine what that was like— smacking your shadow." The esper crossed her arms while gagging. "All he did was play tag!"
"On top of that, he had robots that were as weak as mortals who haven't breached the first limit, like the other S-heroes. Weak but annoying."
"What about Drive Knight? I heard he's ranked ninth." Blast identified the only S-ranker in the Top Ten she did not address.
"He's a mere cyborg, so he could never advance into the Limits." She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, what kind of idiot would give away their body? Sure, you get more firepower instantly, but then you toss away the chance at Evolution. Pitiful!"
"Indeed. Living cells have potential. Metal stays the same, however malleable they are." Blast agreed with the impudent girl in a lenient manner. "Nature always follows Balance. Power comes at a cost, whether you see it immediately or not."
He looked at the levitating form, deadpanning. "In this case, you might not be so happy with whom the Hero Association assigned to be your partner to space."
"God… Please not Drive Knight." Tatsumaki bunched up her fists and punched the air lividly. "I swear I'm gonna lacerate his parts and hurl them into a supernova! He's both arrogant AND disrespectful, not to mention that he can NEVER cooperate!"
The masculine hero decided against pointing out the irony in her exclamation and skipped to his preceding point. "It's not."
Fireworks shot up behind him in her mind space, the girl delighted that her unstoppable rebellion prevailed, before her laggard dual processing finally caught up with an ignored detail.
"WAIT! WAIT A FLIPPING MINUTE!" Her transparent cornea was tainted to a crimson verde. "I'm assigned a PARTNER!?"
Blast sighed and reached out with a strand of cloud to caress her hair, aiming to soothe the bratty goddess whom he had watched grow up. The unwinged pixie slapped his anatomy away, glaring profusely.
"Yes… and it have to be a cyborg too." He added more weight to the tipping equilibrium.
"NO, it does NOT! No, that's not the problem! I don't need a partner!" She planted her hands belligerently on her waist, while boring holes in her ex-guardian. He was almost intimidated if he was not both stronger and experienced to her callous tantrums.
But even so, the so-called secret weapon of the HA looked away as he breathed the next sentence. "It was my idea."
The psychic sprite stopped shaking with rage for the most meager pause before the remote hit play again. "Why!? Do you not trust me alone!?"
Good question. Not an easy answer. "Maki… You're not exactly…"
The hero equivalence of a God-level threat dared him to finish with an unbattering eye. The cultivator of such dialectic threat coughed. "... You're not exactly, say, methodical in spontaneous reactions."
"What? So I'm reckless!?" Tatsumaki huffed, but her aura was waning. Her motivation of a remonstrance was defused by the consensus between the conscious and unconscious that his words were… potentially… right."
Still, she didn't have to ADMIT to it!
Blast held his hand up to showcase the figurative microphone that was in his possession. "I worry about you. There are monsters up there in the Second Limit. I know you can take care of Dragon-Threats. What about multiple God-Levels?"
The usual aggressive aftermath to such a guiding… no, underestimating tone did not ignite. She lowered her head. Know your bounds, he said eighteen years ago, when she… was freed… and when she entered the Second Limit.
"You're the strongest of Earth… with my exception. You had been for almost two decades now. But… this is a much greater ocean, the marine of stars." His voice was tender, but it did not deter her slight happiness from being cared about from devolving into defiance.
"There are creatures who could create super black holes on command and hold them indefinitely. Third limit ones. I've seen and battled them. And you? You couldn't sustain one for more than a minute."
"You don't want to end up back in a machine, do you?" Blast laid down the trump card.
Suddenly, Tatsumaki's entire mental space exploded. Invisible winds ravaged the expanse, aiming to push aside all and everything, including the despicable guardian.
"NO! DON'T YOU DARE MENTION…" The female porcupine combusted with the power of a thousand suns, but she was interrupted at the highest peak of her traumatic parabola.
"NO! You listen to ME, Tatsumaki! And you pay attention!" The zenith of the Association's power clouted back in a longstanding magnificence that annihilated the submissive stance he had been taking for half of the conversation.
"Fifteen years ago, you already entered mid-Second Limit. It took you three years to go from pre-Limit to mid, and only another few months to perfect the mid-level! Then what!? Fifteen years had passed and you're still stuck here!"
"You told me to stop training…" A meek voice untypical of her struggled out before being cut off. Unbeknownst to the world, Tatsumaki was a callous character of seeming dominance, but when her might was sufficiently countered, became easily defied. Only problem: few had come even close to matching her exterior force.
"I told you to stop because you're on the verge of losing to your Duress! Of monsterfication! I killed him eighteen years ago, but your hatred is still here! You can NEVER pass into the Third Limit like this! Hell, not even post-Second Limit! The crack in your Superego would be magnified by your power to become fatal, and you will lose yourself, Tatsumaki!"
"I took you to join the Hero Association three years ago for you to help people… to gain a real sense of compassion that can replace the empty ravine." His eyes grew softer. She was whimpering. "Do you like that, Maki?"
The female was sitting on the floor with her head buried in a fetal position. She didn't cry. She couldn't cry. Her shoulders shook, legs dying to run away. But this was her mind. She had nowhere to go, just like…
An agony more harrowing than overstretching her powers attacked as memories surged, threatening for your Duress to swallow her right there and now. Just then, Blast's question arrived, like an ambulance. Did she like that?
A warmth that was present only on some nights emerged in the raging winds. However minute, it was there, real and influential. She didn't say no.
"You need to go see space. You'll find the medicine to the scar. That's one of the main reasons why I suggested this space expedition in the first place. To open your heart." A hand rested on her shoulder. The cloud had materialized into a human figure of light. "Learn to sympathize, if not… love. Perhaps start with your partner."
His tone shifted. "Or are you afraid of the challenge?"
"I…"
"A truly strong one can defeat herself. A raven must inflame before reincarnating as a phoenix. It is the secret of the Third Limit. Or else, it just stays dust."
Like an ember disintegrating, the esper's figure disappeared from his sight, leaving her mind space. Her voice sighed from nowhere and everywhere. "Who is it?"
"What?"
"My partner. Who is it?"
"Demon Cyborg. S-Rank 17." Blast said plainly to the owner of the realm. "We chose him because humans are too vulnerable to environmental uncertainties like radiation and other unexpectant occurrences. His mechanical parts are more easily repairable. Not that he must fight. He's just there to offer appropriate analysis, like an adviser."
"Blast?"
"Yeah?"
"Fuck you."
"Thank you." He smiled. "You're not curious why it's not Drive Knight?"
"Fuck you."
"You're right, it doesn't matter to you anyways." The man turned back into a cloud before disappearing from her Pneuma.
"Hello! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, Saitama-san." A bent, old man in an exaggerated bowl-cut held out a hand as the door opened to reveal a bald male in his late twenties.
Protruding as inward as his hand was a stretched nose. After his cornea was nearly pecked by the proboscis, the lauded hero staggered back and examined the scientist, swallowed by a lab coat a size too large.
The third most noticeable trait behind the conspicuous keratin and cartilage was a pair of enthralling grey eyes that blended polar black and white, tested by temporal labor and humanistic tempests.
Saitama peered into the mesmerizing oculus and stuck his pinky into his right ear, persistently trying at that adhesive bug. "So, who are you?"
"Professor Kuseno!" The sharp voice of his self-proclaimed disciple rang from the living room. Echoes of enthusiastic steps pursued the shout, and the unimpressed hero soon found his passionate roommate parked six inches from his arm.
"Sensai! This renowned researcher and engineer is the origin of my robotic existence! He supplied me with the replacement of my human body for ameliorated steel parts and gave me an opportunity to seek out and castrate the heinous cyborg who destroyed…"
A freezing chill swept between Saitama's legs. He placed a half-sympathetic, half-discouraging hand on his blonde avenger. "Please shorten this repeated story down to ten words or less."
Genos's vocal cords circuit-broke to sparks, energy drained into perforating his teacher with an inconceivable stare. "I… I thought it was twenty words, Sensai?"
"You told it too many times." The boiled egg deadpanned and lastly took the elongated hand of the developer. "So you're Genos's easy-fix guy! Nice to see you man! C'mon in!"
"YES! Thank you, master! I must write that down!" The obsessed android whipped out a composition book from somewhere Saitama wanted not to know and began to scribbled furiously.
The forced mentor frowned at the creepy grin spated across his visage and sighed, leaving the door after the senior had entered. "You've come for Genos, right? I'll leave."
"No, actually, I've come to get a glimpse at you, mister. Genos-chan spoke of you very frequently, so I figure it would be an honor to see the teacher that he always hangs on his mouth."
"Awww! Genos, you brag about me?" Saitama beamed at his chum, delighted by the genuine opinion.
"Affirmative, Sensai! You deserve each strand of praise from both me and the public! I must convince the latter to exhibit a corresponding state of gratitude for you as myself!"
"Woah, woah, laying on a bit thick there, man!" The baldy scratched his nonexistent hair and smiled goofily. "Although, that must be pretty nice to have… like that King guy."
"Would you care to join us for lunch, Professor Kuseno?" Genos inquired.
"Of course, if the host mind not." He glanced at the other tenant of the complex. Seeing his nod of approval, Kuseno consented. "Then it would be rude to reject such a kind motion. What is on the menu?"
Saitama clicked his fingers and returned to his coupon book in search of suitable ingredients for an amateur recipe.
Genos spoke up in inspiration. "How about a hot pot to celebrate the meeting of the two most dignified men?"
"What a great suggestion!" The hero shook his head vigorously while batting an inquisitive eye at the oldest male.
Kuseno smiled. "Of course. It's been a while, but I expect a full reminder of its savor."
"I shall do the shopping, master! I will be back in thirty minutes!" The motivated cyborg dashed through the door once finished.
Saitama looked down to see the pages fluttering in consequence of the meteoric trajectory. "You forgot the coupons!"
"I'm so sorry, Sensai! My most sincere apologies!" A metal claw attached on a resilient spring flung back and grappled the precious booklet and pulled back, tearing the treasure of the apartment from its owner's palm.
Kuseno arched his back to seize a closer look at the precise cyborg locator on his cheated watch. The signal emittance was darting away at near supersonic speed, already conveniently putting hundreds of feet between them.
He turned his head, a serious glint materializing, to Saitama, who was now resting on his right arm, while his careless posture slouched sideways in boredom facing the blaring TV on an austere mat.
"Saitama-san, we must talk." He blasphemously strode between the hero-for-fun and the animated crystal. "Have Genos told you about his assigned mission yet?"
"Hey!" The unhappy camper tilted his head up at the half-coconut head, somewhat vexed at the interruption of the entertainment wavelengths. "Assigned? What?"
"He was tasked by the Hero Association to go to space."
"Woah! Space?" Saitama gasped jocularly. "When did this happen? I thought they had astronomers do that!"
"Sir, I think you meant astronauts." Kuseno coughed.
"Tomatoes potatoes." Caped Baldy waved, while a look of concern scratched his eyelids. "I wonder why he hadn't told me this."
"It's not his fault. He said he hadn't found a way to express it yet." The professor explained. "He said he must 'deduce a formula to disclose the notice in a homely yet informative monologue to avoid interrupting your homeostasis.'"
"Not a psych major here. Just a normal human being." Claimed the 'normal' human being.
"Sci-entific actually… more biological, in fact." The holder of the post doc corrected.
"Please shorten this story to twenty words or less." An impatient Saitama was already spying at the last resort of his attention span.
"No can do." Kuseno looked at his watch. "This may take up the next thirty minutes, which is how long on average he takes to shop. If it goes longer, we must think of a way to distract him further."
Not… stalkerish… at… all… Saitama reflected. How did the proverb go again? Ah, if the roof beams weren't upright, the pillars would be crooked too.
"Yesterday, he came to my lab to announce the news. After much probing, I discover that the Hero Association had promised him the information on The cyborg upon his acceptance and return from the space mission." The elder began, his tone heavy.
"Hey, really!?" The younger male interrupted, understanding the context instantly after being trained by the repeated story. "That's awesome! He must feel so good! Maybe he'll invest his time into something else that's not counting my daily tongue flaps!"
Tongue flaps…
"Yes, but the catch is that he must go to space. And not the moon, but a planet at the opposite of the solar system." The emphasis came. "To a place where none of us could reach him… if he needs help."
"Even cooler!" Saitama jumped up. "Must be great scenery up there. And he's got years to look at the dots. Right? Space travel is slow? I'll miss him though after the first weeks."
"No, no, that's not the problem. The Association has a one-way space-folding device that is very expensive to activate which can 'propel' them into a nearby solar system, from which it will only take weeks to arrive to the destination."
Saitama blinked. "Again, normal human being here."
"In layman's terms, a teleportation machine." Kuseno identified patiently. "The problem is that… have you considered his safety once he reached the planet?"
The hairless adult blinked.
"He's across the galaxy. With no method of assistance. The Association is apparently sending only two people. Genos… he's still a very young boy. I admit it, but I have not done the best job raising him."
No, you hadn't. The images of his roommate's behaviors appeared in front of his eyes, most of which were leaning on the alerting end of the spectrum rather than comforting… even for Saitama. Like standing guard with the shampoo during his shower…
"I feel like a grandpa not able to let go of his grandson at graduation, especially since finding the evil cyborg is both of our jobs, and I cannot let the weight fall completely to him."
"He said that the Association made for him a self-repairing kit, but you don't need inductive reasoning to see how primitive that is, or how dangerous it is…" Kuseno waved his hands uncontrollably in the air. "It may be a planet of Dragon-level threats, and… Genos cannot yet handle such a being. We know this from the Deep Sea King attack."
"Hold on old man!" Saitama's features suddenly became sharp and distinct, as if inscribed with hard, edgy lines that imprinted deeply in the smooth roundness that had now been unveiled. His pupil expanded to an impressive, depthless black. "Don't play me for a fool."
"You let him go and fight monsters on Earth, even after Genos was constantly injured to near destruction." He stared straight into the master engineer's eyes. "You're overreacting quite a bit for a mission to space."
Instead of objecting his abnormal overprotection in the instance or accusing the superhuman for being too heartless, Professor Kuseno sighed. "You sensed that, huh."
"What is the true reason here?" The undefeated male questioned with a commanded vigor.
The room was silent for two minutes, until the elder's watch beeped. He looked down to find a red dot speeding back in the direction of the apartment. Fifteen minutes remaining.
"Please allow me to tell you about the Path of Evolution."
All beings in the universe, whether they originated from cells, or rocks, or metal, or silicon, or electric pulses, they were common in one essential aspect:
Limitations.
All things, no matter how powerful they were, had a limit at some point, one that could not be bypassed through simple training. It was the natural law that applied to all humans, dragons, Gods...
It was the cap on their development. It could not be transcended. It was what defined a species: their limitations.
However, laws were made to be transgressed. Those that were 'impossible' to overstep were only so because they were not yet disobeyed.
That was not to say that the limit was a pushover. Its nullification came by exceptionally rarely, and with each case a different scenario of its own complexity, but the general term was tagged:
Evolution.
Not improvements, but… Evolving. Breaching human… Or generically bodily or spiritual limits for a larger expanse. A higher horizon. A sacred elevation. Breaking each maximum was like transcending to a new dimension.
If improvements were like climbing a mountain, then stepping into a new limit was like the difference between standing at the top of Mt. Everest and flying two feet above the peak. Defying logic. The becoming of an ultimate.
In fact, the basis that defined the First Limit was, indeed, logic, and its being rendered useless: Pig God's ridiculous digestive system, Zombieman's regenerative anatomy, Child Emperor's irrational smarts with engineering…
On the other hand, many S-classes were close, but yet far away. At the pinnacle of the cliff, but a ways from flying: Flashy Flash's speed, swift but still in the bounds of physics, Metal Bat's ascending power in relation to personal damage, again having a maximum that was not betrayed.
There were less than two hands' count of those who had trespassed even the first limit within the billions on Earth. Even in the planet's immemorial history, the count did not exceed a hundred.
Through the eons of living existence, the prehistoric beings devised two mainstream formats to steer evolution: Ichor-training and Pneuma-training.
The former was the exercising of the body, the latter of the soul. Both had its own impenetrable limits in which apertures were equally difficult to splinter.
In ancient times, both trainings took form in mass popularity. Ichor-trainers descended into what was now known as ninjas, samurai, and kung-fu masters. In fact, each and every martial art was designed to express the body to its maximum and try for the beyond.
In the Hero Association, Ichor-trainers included Silver Fang, Atomic Samurai, Pig God, Flashy Flash, Puri-Puri Prisoner…
Pneuma-trainers were more scarce, even in the primeval ages, mainly because it took much longer to see an effect than Ichor-trainers. Nevertheless, countless disciples meditated after their masters, hoping to gain the mental power that could seemingly violate logic and bless them with superhuman status that was, in a sense, 'cooler' than martial artists.
The pioneers of mind-power were not just confined to only development in raw, psychic powers. Others invested in internal focus, boosting their memory and vigilance. Even more intricate were abilities that poly-morphed oneself or took control of the essences of the universe that later graphic novels attributed as 'magic.'
In the case of the Association: Tatsumaki, obviously, and more discreetly, Metal Knight, and Child Emperor.
In totality, humans had five limits, five heavy mountains that weighed down on their backs, each and every one vaster than the last and more arduous to outmatch.
The Five Limits.
"Okay, stop. You're blowing my mind." Saitama massaged his temples with tremendous force in effort to qualm the strain brought on by the influx of information. This was something the rogue trainer had never heard about before. Not even in games.
"Saitama-san, Genos had described you to me in great details, and I believe I've figured out the reason to your indecipherable power. This is it." Kuseno blared at him with a look that would put Alpha Centauri to shame. "It's why you cannot find pleasure to any more fights."
At such words, the unbeatable male snapped his head up at the professor with such immense speed a vortex of sonic booms materialized around his neck, but the noise was nowhere near as thunderous to his ears as the elder's sentence.
"Over the years, I've classified the threat levels. Dragon threats corresponds to the first limit, and God-level threats to the second limit. From Genos's recollection of your description of Boros, the alien invader whom you fought, he is a God-level threat."
"You destroyed him without much of a scratch, except tattered clothes." The septuagenarian deadpanned. "Does this give you a clue of your power, Saitama?"
"Moreover, if a God-Level danger is capable of humanity's destruction, what is the power that surpasses it?" He did not wait for a spoken answer to the rhetorical question. "It means a might that can destroy the entire planet. Remember that Second to Third is exponential, not linear."
"I was not sure the third limit truly existed until I've met you, sir. The records were right, at least up to the third." The engineer quickened the pace of his words in demonstration of his zeal. "Therefore, you will not find a match on Earth. It's impossible."
"Then what does it have to do with me!?" Saitama demanded, his patience wearing off after his hopes were raised and crushed.
"Let me say one more thing." The respondent checked his watch. "Did you know that the popular opinion is that cyborgs cannot Evolve?"
"And I care be-" The irked face halted. "Wait. That means Genos…"
"It is an opinion with which I do not agree. If Evolution is for all beings, not exclusive of just those made of carbon and cells, metal parts could evolve too!" There was a crazy glint to the technician's expression that took even the master of emotionless prowess aback. The same enthusiasm that labeled radical scientists as lunatics.
"I had almost lost hope until I saw him twenty years ago." Kuseno paused. "The Cyborg of Conscious who had later killed Genos's family."
"Most importantly of all, he is an Ichor-trainer! Not a Pneuma-trainer! A metallic Ichor-trainer! One and only!" The old man had stood up, arms waving fervently in the air in a possessed fashion. "Not even Genos was able to copy what I saw in him! A living, evolving cyborg whose power is not fixated and limited by its parts but is emanated from a constantly growing integral!"
"Saitama-san! Do you realize what this means?"
Saitama stared dumbfoundedly. "...That it is important?"
"Exceedingly." Kuseno's laser eyes pierced. "I must not have Genos come into contact with him. Genos wants him dead. I cannot allow that. I must have him to study his conscious and evolution. It's the only opening to a brand new world."
"A world where humans can breach the Limits through technological innovation. My ultimate dream." He concluded.
"So you purposefully kept him away? How long had this been going on for?" Saitama breathed.
"Years, albeit Genos is no match for him anyways. His mindless pursuit would lead to his own annihilation."
"Haven't you thought about what this meant to him? You're practically hiding the murderers of his family away from him!"
"I have not. I am keeping him safe!" Kuseno retorted sharply. "Think about what he would do otherwise! He would never ask for help, not even from you. He could not evolve into the First Limit, and I do not know how to make him as powerful… until I have my hands on the Conscious Cyborg who could! And it is the one thing Genos wishes to kill! Don't you see the paradox here!?"
"I'll squash it for him." Saitama declared plainly.
"Then I will guarantee that he will hate you forever." Kuseno stared into his eyes, the eyes of the male who could squish even a million of his knowledgeable bodies combined. "Because you took the one opportunity to free his heart away from him."
"Then what the hell is the solution!?" The newly-coined Third-Limiter snapped, the last straw landing on the camel's back.
"Catch the cyborg, analyze his parts, build an evolved system for Genos, and have him find his salvation in a true battle." The professor announced the long sequence of complexity that had been on his mind for years. "Meanwhile, humanity benefits from a systematic way of Evolution."
"I'll catch him for you, if this is your request." Saitama offered.
"If only it was this simple." The post doc shook his head. "I do not have his location."
The bald man took a deep breath. "Then what the… is the point of this conversation?"
"I need you to go to space… in place of Genos."
The TV shut off, the off-button slammed by Saitama's dropped jaw. He was amazed… no, astonished at the insensible ambition. "What? Say again?"
"I know this sounds very improper, but, please, hear me out." Professor Kuseno persisted. "It is for both yours and Genos's sake."
"Okay, you're going to give me the safety crap, right? And there's your sake too." Saitama fixed his jaw and sat up. "What's mine? You're asking me to leave MY home PLANET for some giant rock at the other end of this world!"
"Simple. Like I said, it's what you want the most." The professor blew smoothly. The sniper was set. "There are Three-Limiters up there, ones that could pull you into a good fight. Multiple fights. Fights you're looking for."
The bullet hit the mark. Saitama's jaw plummeted down again, inches from the same remote. Lethal glares of frenziness plasmarized the very atoms in the air with a passion that he had not exhibited for two years now. A dignified aura befitting of a Third Limit royalty, not a simplistic egghead, tore invisibly through the walls, the ground, the electricity, the sky of City Z.
"One… one good fight!? A truly serious fight?" The undefeated hero's voice shook. If it resonated with the tectonic plates, a continental earthquake would immediately form. He had forgone the control over his powers, which were now on full blast.
The capability to destroy an entire planet…
"Yes. Maybe even something that can defeat you." The professor's morphemes rang in his ears, distant yet deafening. "So, what do you say?"
Saitama froze. The memory of the grocery stores, the coupons, Hero Association, Genos, mangas, the park he ran the daily ten kilometers around, the Earth itself soared through his mind. The nostalgia shouted at him to stay.
Then, then, an unexpected indigo face materialized. It was much like a human face, but it had only one edgy, trapezoidal eye that stamped the forehead, like a cyclops. Boros… that was his name.
I've traveled the galaxies to meet you. The prophecy says, here is where I can find someone who could be my match! FIGHT ME!
Ok, he answered.
Saitama's eyes snapped open. There was someone in the past, once living and breathing, who crossed the universe to seek an opponent. To seek a loss. To seek an ultimate combat of exhilaration!
In that case, was his hunger any less?
"I'll go."
A/N: Feedback please! My power structure will be surrounding the Five Limits. Hail the fearsome spaceship of Tatsutama!