Summary: There was definitely something about the food, Genos determined, as he watched a mini Saitama wield a frying pan with enviable finesse. He watched the omelet perform a perfect 360 with a touch of hysteria. Was it any surprise that the pan was made in China?
Genos blinked, fighting off hysteria.
He blinked again with enough force to dislocate his optic plate.
(Ok, ouch. Let's not do that again.)
But no good. He could still hear the echo of the frying pan.
This honestly wasn't what he expected when he begged to become Teacher's apprentice.
The Honorable Imouto stared back at him unblinkingly. Face as bland and uninterested as Teacher's. The only difference was the stretch of long black hair in the place of the skin colored armour plate Teacher donned.
Oh, and she was undeniably female. Wearing a middle school uniform. With a frying pan in her hand.
"Hello." She intoned.
Genos had a heart attack. (well, he could have if he had a human heart.)
F-F-F-Female Teacher?!
Except her carbon copy (except the hair, and the fashionable yellow jumpsuit) was currently sprawled out in a metre deep saitama shaped hole from a swing of the run of the mill frying pan.
Geno's perfect memory unhelpfully provided him with the label of The Frying Pan, enlarged and pixelated.
Made in China. Huh.
(Genos idly wondered if he could attach one to his arm. Perhaps it's time he made a foray into the Chinese robotics market.)
Female Teacher leaned over the hole and spoke to it.
"You killed our cactus."
A strange gurgle came from the depths of hell.
"Therb waa a mosquieoto-"
Female Teacher threw the frying pan down into the depths like a boomerang.
"You killed Bob. Have you no heart?" She mumbled monotonously. The Frying Pan bounced back up, its sides gleaming menacingly.
And…. And was that blood he could see on the handle…?
Genos pondered if it was too late to make a break for it.
Genos has a healthy respect for Honorable Imouto. More than healthy, in fact. Not to mention the frying pan.
(Seriously though, don't mention it.)
Genos, against all of his self-preservation instincts, had stayed for dinner at the monotone insistence of Honorable Imuoto. (All the while watching the same Frying Pan that downed the strongest man he knew cook an omelet like it was harmless. It wasn't.)
When Teacher finally climbed out of the hole with half of his head the size of a watermelon with cancer, all it took for a vague waving of The Frying Pan to make him climb back down the hole again.
Genos watched him go enviously.
The wall sprayed out in a firework of plaster.
A monstrous praying mantis leapt onto the dining table, cawing a scratchy laughter.
The Honorable Imouto looked calmly down into her food. Her painstakingly marinated salmon was covered in a fine layer of plaster dust.
She put her bowl down, gracefully, gently.
She delicately dabbed at the corner of her lips with a napkin.
The Frying Pan was brandished.
Genos felt a prickle of despair at the sight of Honorable Imouto wielding the Weapon of Absolute Doom.
Her pink Kiss the Cook apron swished in bloodlust.
"I heard that praying mantis tasted liked peanuts when cooked."
The Frying Pan swung down like a guillotine.
One Pan Girl Strikes.
There was mantis for breakfast the next day. It did taste like peanuts.
There was no doubt that Honorable Imouto and Teacher were related.
But there was something in the food in the Saitama household, Geno was sure of it.