Unbeknownst to Saitama, who wanted to only eat something for the sake of enduring this entire evening, Fubuki grew cautious of her surroundings. As if some strange pull at the pit of her stomach told her that something terribly is going to happen. Of course the disrespectful man at the window was only confirming her suspicion. She wanted to give her bald companion a sign and casted a look at him, only to notice that some people were once again staring weirdly at him. At the beginning of their companionship Fubuki had not really cared about it, now she got angry whenever others – especially those of higher society – threw Saitama a disapproving look. They did not know him or his strength. In addition to that the bald man would protect them from any danger. It was his dedication: protecting everyone from devious attacks.

Along with those snobby guests was the man who had once made a very disagreeable acquaintance with Saitama weeks ago. Sir Zeniru, who was still being affected by Saitama's punch as he was wearing a sling around his arm, fought with his own facial expressions to not show his uncertainness – or as Fubuki interpreted it: fear.

A little distressed, Fubuki saw him approaching Saitama and feared that the scene would repeat itself. Lucky for her, there was no fly in the room that could trigger a fight. She stepped forward to both of the man, ready to intervene.

"S-Sir?"

Saitama turned at the sound behind him, although he neither recognised the face nor the voice.

"Yes?" came the light confused question, causing Sir Zeniru to frown upon the bald man.

"I-I beg your pardon, but . . .," the gentleman was unsure what to say.

Saitama, thinking that he wanted to take one of the glasses standing on the buffet, suddenly said: "Oh I am standing in the way?" The words were spoken sincerely, leaving Sir Zeniru baffled.

"Y-You don't know me?" He suddenly asked; feeling a little hurt. The bald man had indeed forgot him . . . The question how he could have forgotten the man he had completely knocked out with one punch, dominated his mind.

"Should I?" Saitama was a little perplex of this encounter – how in God's name should he know every guest's name? He was here for a mission (that the expensive room and food was being paid by the Hero's association was an advantageous side effect).

Sir Zeniru stared at him with his mouth open; he gaped several times but could not choose which words should spill out of it. He wanted to apologise to Saitama – not that he really felt sorry, but the mere fact that he could forge an alliance with a man as strong as him would mean a lot of advantages. After the defeat, he had faced several blows and wanted to clear his name in society. Now he saw himself disappointed.

"Saitama." The called man was glad for Fubuki's appearance. Although he had thought she had been standing behind her all the time.

"Lady Fubuki," spoke Sir Zeniru with widened eyes – for him it was the first time seeing both together. He had not thought that she would like to be in the company of a bald man. His exclamation drew attention from other guests. Once again he and Saitama were the highlight of the buffet room. The gentleman cringed at that thought.

Saitama ignored the stares and turned to Fubuki to ask her who that man was. The dark-haired beauty's lips created a fake smile as she looked at Sir Zeniru. "Well he is the man that had challenged you weeks ago." Saitama only lifted an eyebrow, still not remembering the incident.

"Exactly," Sir Zeniru remarked, "That evening when my second man fought yours, Sir."

The bald man only blinked, causing the gentleman to articulate another evident of that night. "Their fight involved a lot of action and a destroyed wall."

At the last words Saitama's face changed dramatically and he nodded quickly. "O-Of course . . . that wall." He eyed Fubuki for a moment.

"Indeed, to think that such fine marble–"

"I remember," Saitama pressed, not wanting to dwell on that topic. The Lady next to him observed his untypical behaviour and decided speak of another matter.

"Yes, but that fine marble would not have been destroyed if you had not declared to call out on him," she reminded the arrogant gentleman whose eyebrows were drawn together. Red colour adorned his face and it was clear that he was angry with her opinion but remained silent – he would not risk receiving another punch from the bald man for insulting Her Ladyship.

With a turn, Sir Zeniru left them, giving Fubuki the opportunity to give Saitama the information of her observation. Unfortunately, the refreshing-room became stuffy as more people decided to eat something.

"Oh dear", the black-haired Lady spoke, thinking of a solution for the problem and finding one that would definitely not disagree with her heart. The heat quickly rose to her cheeks and she pulled Saitama by the hand towards the ball room.

"W-Wait," he blurted, a little confused by her move as he found himself standing in a row of people. Suddenly the realisation dawned on him: they were lined up as couples for the next dance. Something Saitama had definitely never done before; he was good at fighting, confronting strong opponents, not whirling a woman around and remembering dance moves. His eyes darted across the room to see Genos looking at him with an astonished look on his face. The bald man blinked several time, staring at Fubuki as the music suddenly started to play . . . He had absolutely no idea what to do and thought that she wanted revenge for the destroyed wall that was mentioned before. He wanted to leave but was stopped by the black-haired Lady, who laid his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't fret," Fubuki spoke nervously, "I will help you." Discreetly, she turned one of her hands, small light dancing across her fingertips. Saitama's feet moved involuntary, matching her movements of the feet. She was helping him with the steps, but he still looked at her with confusion. "Why exactly are we dancing?"

The red colour claimed her face again, but her voice was steady: "I think I found a spy of the pirates' crew."

"Where? Could you not have told me earlier?"

"W-Well too many people were streaming in the room a-and could have heard us. At least the music here covers our voices for the surrounding guests," she reasoned, trying to convince herself more than the bald man in front of her. "A-And no one can interrupt our conversation while we are dancing," she added. The nervousness was controlling her again.

Saitama, noticing that he could definitely not change the current situation, accepted his fate and nodded.

"Before I entered the ballroom, a servant with the most disagreeable manners opened the doors and he was acting suspicious. And now I saw him in the refreshing-room and he definitely waits for someone."

"Someone here?"

She shook her head. „He was looking outside the window every few seconds . . . I have a bad feeling."

Saitama turned his head. „Do you think the attack is tonight?"

"Probably."

"He is dancing . . .," Genos commented, seeing for the first time how his sensei moved gracefully across the room. "I never thought he could dance."

The blonde teenager was once again impressed by Saitama's skills – not noticing the magical strings that helped the bald man dancing. In a second Genos' mechanical arm moved to the pocket inside his jacket, pulling out a small notebook to scribble something down. "This must be part of his training," the blonde mumbled, reading the other notes of previous observations.

He looked up from the paper, focussing on the surrounding crowd. Something was in the air, he could feel it. With a turn, he watched several people entering the room; there was one woman among them that that wore a terrified expression. Genos decided to step towards her and stopped only a few metres in front of her when he heard her speak of men that looked like the devil. Before he could question anything, a loud blow shook the ship, causing a great amount of panic among the guests.

[A/N: Wow, an update . . . what a progress :'D *self-irony*. So Saitama's training according to Genos: 100 dancing steps per day~]

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