A/N: I almost forgot to include this. As if any of you really needed to know what a geek I am about my ships, it was my wish to show you all a beautifully crafted pillow that my mother made for my birthday, featuring our two titular badasses together. However, since the FanFiction administrators are all massive douches about URL links being posted directly to this site, I've elected to go ahead and replace my story cover with it. Many thanks to MetalBatt for the suggestion! The image might be a bit small to see, but the entire thing is woven by punch needle, which must have taken more patience than I can even fathom. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 10: Victims in Vogue

Amai Mask folded his arms statically, taking in the empty view of the outdoor basketball court that his would-be comrade had practically dragged him to.

Though it wasn't far from the branch office they had just left, the backstreets of the area seemed to belong to a world altogether different from the corporate buildings dwarfing them under their combined shadow. The neighborhood was desolate – with the quantity of items hanging on clotheslines outnumbered only by the pigeons that perched on nearly every surface high above. With no visible people anywhere outside, it was quiet enough to hear the collective cooing of birds echoing through the dark alleyways.

The celebrity hero sneered under his breath at the uninviting pall looming inescapably overhead. The world around him seemed to resent his very presence – like how a large, bitter darkness resented the light of a candle. He could never – nor would he ever try to – imagine what it was like to live in a dim squalor like this.

Tanktop Girl, who did not appear to share this sentiment, blissfully skipped on ahead of him and slipped through the tattered opening of the chain link fence that flanked the entire court. Her shoes clicked soundly under the hard concrete as she stepped into the arena.

"Hmmm. Yup. I think this'll do fine." She spoke aloud her thoughts, surveying the area with one hand on her hip. "In a big area like this, we can go as wild as we want."

The taller man gave her a suspicious glint. The gold in his eyes seemed more ominous without any light to reflect off of. "I don't understand why you brought me here. Did you plan on changing my mind by challenging me to a game of ball?"

"That's not a bad idea either," she replied with a toothy grin, "buuuuut I can think of a faster way to get this done. Besides!" She spun away from him and spread her arms wide to take in the surrounding area. "In a place this unpopular, we can do this without any of your fans or reporters butting in! Pretty smart, huh?"

"You still haven't told me what this is about." He reminded her.

"Oh, this?" She turned back to face him. "This is just a nice quiet place to chat. That's all I wanna do, Mr. Mask. I wanna chat."

He raised his eyebrow at her. "...Just that?"

She walked straight up to him with an unwavering confidence, stopping only when she was directly in front of him and pressing a finger into his chest. "Juuuuuust that." She smirked, meeting his eyes dead-on.

"And I suppose I'm to believe that you dragged me this far out from where anyone can see us just to conduct a private interview? I should remind you, my time isn't free."

"Heheh… Whoops!" She stuck her tongue out with a playful wink while tugging the pockets of her jeans inside-out. "Looks like I don't have any money. Darn the luck! That's Class C for you, amirite? Ain't we pitiful?"

Despite her apparent lighthearted take on her own situation, Amai Mask furrowed his brow, unamused. "If you expected this to surprise me, I suppose this is where I disappoint you."

"Awwww, lighten up, dude." She tucked her pockets back in and kept her hands placed inside them. "Doesn't your makeup artist tell you being that puckered up all the time is bad for your skin?"

He gave her a tired look. Something was off about her. She appeared to be having a little too much fun wasting his time. "Let me give you some advice..." He took a step forward, stopping right when he was next to her, preparing to pass. "If you want to improve your life situation, you should start by investing some time towards yourself...rather than meaningless conversations."

With an unflinching look, she continued staring absently past his shoulder, holding a weightless calm as he wrapped up his lecture.

"...Though I am a generous man. If you needed some supplementary work, I suppose I could put in a word for you over at one of my studios. I hear that some of the floors need mopping..." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, waiting to see how she would react. After a few more seconds, he simply closed them and shrugged. "...Hmph. As you like. I wish you the best of luck in continuing to fill your weekly quotas. We will expect great things from you." She could practically taste the bland brand of insincerity in those words. "Perhaps they will place you with another A-Class hero whose...predilections are not as refined as mine. If you'll excuse me..."

He proceeded past her…

...only to get stopped dead in his tracks by a hard shoulder.

He shot awake at being snagged by the shorter hero next to him. Slowly, he cracked his head to leer at her with a dangerous glow.

Even while their shoulders remained abrasively locked together from where he had tried to walk around her, she still continued to stare vacantly past him with the same deadpanned expression.

"Hey uhh...bein' cold-blooded is fine n' all..." She finally spoke, turning her head to meet him in the eye. "But if you take it too far..." Her gaze didn't look threatening like his did, but it didn't appear the least bit afraid of him either. "...someone might freeze you in place."

"What are you—"

To his surprise, he was cut off by a hard blow from her shoulder to his, which sent him back almost halfway across the court. His shoes left a small trail of skid marks and dust from where he scraped across the floor to catch himself. On reflex, he struck a defensive stance, literally blindsided that a person of her rank and size was capable of so much output.

"So how are they treating you in Class A these days? Life good?" Hearing her voice from the distance, he watched Tanktop Girl, having never even taken her hands out of her pockets as she approached him with a thuggish saunter. "I'll bet life is good for you." She answered her own question. "...Not that I'd know, of course." As she continued stepping forward, Amai Mask took a passive moment to calmly dust off the shoulder of his white jacket where their shoulders crashed. "Is the Hero Association still offering those sweet monthly bonuses just for retaining a spot in the class? I know Class C sure doesn't get those..."

He regarded her questions with a quietly displeased frown.

"Oh! And are they still offering access to those cool premium services? Y'know…the restricted data archive, the special events program, the specialized missions that aren't available to B-Class and under, yadda yadda..."

A twitch cracked the porcelain calm of his face. "How do you know about that? No one below Class A should even be privy to that information."

"Well, huh. Ain't it just a big damn mystery..." She put a finger to her chin with sarcastic intrigue. "Reckon somebody musta' let slip some stuff to me. Because otherwise...how's a girl to know?"

"Please, spare me the mystery angle; it really doesn't fit your typecast." He returned a face bordering somewhere on irritation and boredom. "Regardless, I suppose I'm occasionally willing to spare some room in my heart for second chances, so...why don't we start fresh. I will provide you with the opportunity to atone for your behavior by giving me the name of whoever told you about those naughty little tidbits above your station. Heck, I'll even forget about that unpleasantness with the shoulder bump." He flashed her an unsettling grin. "Well? Aren't I sweet?"

Against his unnerving gesture, she harmlessly smiled back, contradicting the next thing she was about to say.

"So sweet I could vomit."

"Aw." He let himself appear hurt for a small second before brushing her words aside. "Well if that's really the way you feel. There are many ways a seasoned hero such as myself can administer the association's justice."

"Justice?… From the association?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh brother."

"I am usually opposed to treating women like this. But if you should still feel the urge to rebel, my misguided sheepling..." A glint of cruelty flashed across his eyes while the rest of his expression hung still. "...then I'm afraid you too must face punishment."

The crackling of knuckles echoed through space as Tanktop Girl clenched her fists and widened her smirk. "Oh I hope that was a threat."

Amai Mask returned her look with a farce, friendly smile of his own. "Would you like it to be?"

Not a split second after the question passed his mouth, the young woman vanished from her spot in a burst of speed and reappeared directly in front of him – a rising fist poised and ready to meet the challenge. "Bro." she declared, "I'd love it to be. Let's rock."

She threw a quick uppercut, and if the sudden move surprised Amai Mask, he certainly didn't let it show. Instead, he purposely flung his body back, headfirst, to duck under the blow. Guided by smart instinct, he converted the simple dodge into a feat of grace, catching himself off the ground and clearing some distance with a back handspring flip.

"Do you really want to do this?" His question was calm, but sharp. "I can't be held responsible if you take this too far."

His warning was immediately answered with a hard home-run slide by Tanktop Girl, who rushed in trailing dust behind her to take him by his feet. This was little availed, however, as all he needed to do was a simple hop over her with his hands still in-pocket. She seemed to anticipate this maneuver, because she swiftly transitioned from her sliding position to a merciless series of windmill kicks, creating the leverage to propel herself back to her feet in breakdance fashion.

He stepped clear of her aggressive advance, regarding her with a passive calm while she launched into a string of air flares in an attempt to catch him with a stray shot. This gutsy stunt was met by him catching her by the heel with a single finger as her foot went down on him and flipping her leg back, reversing the momentum and causing her to capsize the other way.

She hit the ground solid, but promptly recovered by pushing off and rushing him again.

Rather than dodging her advance this time, Amai Mask struck a firm horse stance to prove he was not afraid to meet her blows head-on. She came in hard with a strong side kick, which he caught blocking into his elbow. "Huh. I don't recognize the brand of your shoe." He remarked smugly while he kept her boot locked in place. "Are these steel-toed, or—?" Before he could finish his question, she threw back onto her hands and stamped her other foot hard into his wrist, effectively crushing it and releasing her captive leg. "—ah, they are." He concluded without changing his mild tone.

The next time Tanktop Girl returned, she abandoned her kicks and switched back to arms, although she only threw her hands this time with the intent to hook him into a close grapple. However, this advance too was met by failure, as he simply denied her reach with continual backhands to keep her from getting a lock on his jacket, shoulder, or neck. Eventually, she decided to rush in closer for the attempt to catch him, since she knew it would be harder for him to keep her entire body at bay. But he spryly parkoured over her head, using her shoulders to pivot off as he launched himself behind her. She spun around with a reflexive lash, permitting him no time to capitalize on her blind spot. He merely leaned back, once again making light of her attack with stylish evasion.

"Not bad reflexes." Tanktop Girl took time retracting her arm from her last strike. "But that choreography? Seriously? Maaan I feel bad for you; spending every moment of your life like a film crew is watching. Sounds exhausting!"

"Au contraire, my dear," he replied with a dauntless smile and eerie stillness, "handling stunts is part of my purview. I'm not even breaking a sweat."

While her movement was anything but on par with the likes of Flashy Flash, she made surprisingly quick work to once more close the gap between them. Throwing in a basic string of quick jabs and hooks, the Tank Topper pressed for advantage, undoubtedly putting all her effort into offense in the hopes of never giving Amai Mask an opportunity to counter.

Weaving with no noticeable effort between all her punches, he cracked a small grin. Such a big show for such minuscule results.

Her eyes widened in response to having her fist caught between five strong fingers.

"Class C indeed." He let a nearly playful chuckle escape as he applied some force to his grip that made her wince. "For your own criticisms of me, do you borrow all of your moves from dated action movies? Your fists, elbows, knees, and feet…easily half of your air time is spent telegraphing." Tanktop Girl bit down in a grimace as he turned the tables on her with the same relative trouble a cat would have pinning a mouse. "But if all those blusterous windups still amount to such feeble blows..." She suddenly felt like she was...floating? Time seemed to slow down for her as she found herself looking down at her opponent from an awkward vantage point. He was actively slinging her by the arm while she hung high in the air like a human kite. "...Then why should I even fear to dodge them?"

He lashed her down flat against her back, and reveled as the impact from her rough landing reverberated all the way up into his shoulder.

When next he expected to hear the broken sound of her gagging for breath, he was instead met with quite an adverse effect.

He shuddered lightly as a startling shock wracked the arm he had just used to drop her. The crackle of a few unsettled joints came to his attention. He hadn't broken bones by any means, but the woman's last-ditch maneuver was clearly meant to save herself while sabotaging something of his in the meantime.

"Yee-owch. Might wanna ice that arm up, tiger. Or signing autographs tomorrow's really gonna blow." He regarded her with a look of vague indifference, despite her remarkable feat of seemingly managing to hurt him. "Oh, sh-shoot!" She put her hands to her cheeks, as if suddenly realizing what she just did. "Should I have asked you to sign a waiver or something before fighting?! I-I can't afford for this to turn into a lawsuit, y'know!"

He arched his eyebrow indignantly, unable to tell if she was just being cocky or actually dreading the possibility of legal action.

"Ohhh my gawwwdddd I just injured a celebrity! Wh-what would my sisters say if they found out who I hurt?! Jesus, I screwed up! Screwed the pooch! Made passionate love to that pooch! I—"

"Hey, lady."

"I…!"

"LADY."

"...Eh?" She paused ruffling up her hair to blink at him with an almost tearful look in her eyes.

He scowled coldly at her petty concerns before dismissing them with a simple demonstration.

Grabbing his dislocated shoulder with his good arm, he promptly applied enough force for a sickening crack to split the air from his ligaments. Without so much as a small flinch, he rolled the joints in his previously afflicted limb to show that she had in effect accomplished no damage.

The two exchanged knowing looks, with him closing his eyes in a delighted smile that admittedly helped to ease her conscience. But before Tanktop Girl could even heave a sigh of relief, he effortlessly sailed into her with a sliding motion of one leg, using the other to blindside her with a rising knee into the face. Out of pure survival instinct, she vaguely managed to fend him away from her head in time, but at a nasty cost to the arm she guarded with. She went tumbling across the ground, catching herself and stopping on one knee.

"There." Amai Mask dusted his clothes off and straightened his blazer, as if in passive denial of the trick he just pulled. "Now we can both be sued. Fair?"

"Haha..." Oddly, her first reaction was to laugh before clutching her ribs, as if just remembering to hurt. "...ow." She stood back up, seemingly unaware of her bloodied elbow and skinned leg. "Glad you're tougher than you look, dollface… Then if it's all the same to you..." She got up and resumed her fighting form, which to Amai's eyes was no better than a common street brawler stance. "...what say we find out which of us can shake the most money outta' the other."

He turned his head in disbelief of the stubborn display. "There is truly nothing more maddening than dealing with someone who can't distinguish the difference between bravery and bravado."

"Bravado? Heh. What's that? Oh!" She returned with a snappy quip. "Now I remember! I think I had a bowl of Bravad-O's for breakfast."

His eye twitched dangerously over a cracking vein, showing no amusement from her attempt to joke. "...What say I start on your smallest bones and work my way up. Maybe the rising pain index will clue you in."

Tanktop Girl raised her fists at the ready, wearing a winning devil-may-care smirk in spite of her new injuries. "You gonna flirt with me all year, toots, or are we gonna keep dancin'?"

In a blur of white and blue, the senior hero met her taunt with a blinding burst of speed, eager to sail past her guard and take her by surprise. In that instance, however, a yellow spark of concentration flashed in her eye, and she struck the pursuing blow off-course as it reached her. Of course the timely parry wasn't enough to stop him altogether, but to merely cause his attack to glance off away from her head. She narrowly managed to save her face, aside from the gash that had opened on her cheek from the wind shear of force he had used. At least now she could be sure he wasn't that interested in pulling punches.

'Scary...' She admitted to herself, touching a finger to the fresh red fluid before promptly returning to her defensive posture just in time to meet consecutive blows.

In a much more polished version of her own earlier attempts to suppress him, the celebrity hero had her dead to rights, pinning her under a barrage of blows that not even Tanktop Master might dare to repeatedly block. It was everything she could do just to back up and whiff his attacks – she knew that even one solid connection to her body could end the fight immediately, whether it got her in the head or just a limb.

With every caution her senses allowed her, she subtly bided her time and conserved her stamina while struggling to adjust to the timing of his strikes. She could tell right away that there was no point in trying to wait out the storm; it almost seemed like Mask's body was streamlined for long-term onslaughts like this. Her only hope was finding an opening, however brief or small, and capitalizing on it.

...But as the next agonizing minute rolled by, no such opening ever came.

'Kay screw it – I'll make my own, then!' Tanktop Girl silently resolved, struggling to keep her thoughts together as her arms and legs shivered under the numerous lacerations sustained from the veteran hero. Another ten seconds of this, and she knew she'd be jelly.

From out of the blue, she dropped her guard entirely and pivoted her entire body low. When she noticed his next move, she hid her smirk behind an unreadable poker face to keep from letting slip that her gamble had paid off.

Amai Mask instinctively switched from using his arms to his legs, and he threw a hard kick to catch her while she fell below, intent on bringing a swift curtain down on this duel. However, as his leg flew out to deliver, she narrowly evaded his foot and wrapped her arms around his knee with all her bloody might. He grimaced when he noticed her intention was to grapple, but he should have guessed as much for a common thug to fight so dirty. He kicked off the ground with his free leg in preparation to roundhouse her in the temple, but as it exited his center of gravity, the girl let out a determined roar and threw him down into a slam-tackle.

He grunted loudly at being flattened between a rock and a hard place, but while this mad gambit had bought her a few extra seconds of consciousness, they both knew it wasn't nearly enough to afford her an actual victory over him. As she scrambled to work her way up his legs and lock him in an airtight clinch, he rammed a hard elbow into her shoulder. Having missed her collarbone by a slim margin, she was able to shrug off the damage and reach out to grab for his face.

This to him...was impermissible.

He took hold of her wrist and gripped with an almost monstrous strength. The pain shooting up her arm was so extraordinary that the only thing she could think to do was abandon her entire hold on him in favor of getting away. But even then she knew he wouldn't allow it. His grasp on her was ironclad, and by the time he got back to his feet, he had suspended her clear off the ground by no less than her favorite shirt.

As she dangled freely in the air above him, she only briefly caught sight of a grizzly flash of red in her opponent's eye. It was too late and too obvious all at once for Tanktop Girl to see how unkindly he took to being face-handled.

"That was a mistake." He hissed, before taking her with both hands and hurling her through the air. She flew clear across the court before crashing into the fence and getting wrapped up in its chain links. If not for that little safety net, she would have undoubtedly smashed into the brick wall just beyond and sustained some much longer lasting damage.

Still tangled in the metal threads of the ruined obstacle, she blinked in a daze as the tall shadow of her rival eclipsed her. Amai Mask loomed over her, his eyes like two embers dancing in the ashen grey shade of his incensed visage. "You're going to wish you hadn't tried that." He uttered doom from his lips as he stepped close to reach down at her.

But then, something that neither hero could have anticipated happened.

From out of nowhere, a slender streak of bright blue shot around Amai Mask's outstretched arm, coiling tightly around it and sinking a row of sharp teeth into his sleeve.

The celebrity hero winced at the bite before reflexively sweeping the offender off of his wrist with an effortless stroke of his back hand. Too swift and sudden to identify, the long, bright form seemed to bounce off the wall that it was cast into, moving back at him through the air with such motions that made it almost appear to be swimming.

This time, Amai Mask was poised to counter, and as the slithery shape went in for another bite, he seized it by its midsection with daring alacrity.

His eyes adjusted focus to see what he held in his grip, and widened to find that it appeared to be some curious form of reptile. With his new quarry held tightly still, the ultraviolet streaks of color radiated off of its sheen scales that felt oddly cool to the touch. It glared up at him from where it was held through small, dog-like eyes as it hissed menacingly while writhing to claw its way free with disproportionately short limbs. It had short horns branching out the crown of its long skull, and fur of pure silver that outlined its mane all the way down its back, ending at a serpentine tail.

As Amai Mask took a moment trying to decide what it was and what to do with it, his earlier opponent seemed to recognize it right away.

"Oh! Wringwyrm!" Tanktop Girl exclaimed with surprise, still downed from the other hero's throw. "Wh-what the hell! What're you doing here, lil' guy?!" The small lizard she spoke to twisted its long body just enough to glace at her from the corner of its eye, which seemed to mellow slightly before narrowing again to refocus on her attacker. "Get outta here! It's dangerous to get caught up in this!"

"You?..." Amai Mask raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. "You're affiliated with this..." he lowered his gaze back down to the creature in his grasp with piercing scrutiny, "...this horrid mutant snake?"

"Hey! Watch the manners! Name-calling hurts his feelings!" She scolded him defiantly, pushing herself to her feet.

"Name-calling? Oh please. What name could be less pleasant than a fungal skin infection like Ringworm?"

"Well..." she rubbed the back of her head searching for a way to explain. "Wringwyrm is spelled kinda different from how it sounds, actually..."

"I couldn't care less." He dismissed coldly. "Besides..." his eyes turned dangerous as he extended his gripping thumb in preparation to snap the tiny animal's neck. "Monsters don't...have feelings."

The split second before he bore down on it, the creature called Wringwyrm billowed a small jet of flame at him, which he blocked with his other arm. However, the attack proved just the distraction the monster needed to squirm free of the hero. Amai Mask stifled the fire on his sleeve with a single, powerful sweep of his arm, blasting away all the smoke as he watched Wringwyrm carry itself on three sets of bat-like wings towards Tanktop Girl and perch on her shoulder. Now that its full body was in view, it was revealed to have the form of an eastern-style dragon, and its movements seemed much slower and docile while not forcefully grabbed.

"Awww, shucks…I was doin' okay, lil' buddy. There was no need to help." Tanktop Girl smiled brightly at the tiny monster resting against her and gave it a gentle scratch under the scruff. It seemed to lean in at the loving touch, trilling softly like a bird – a stark contrast to how he sounded when Amai Mask was handling him.

Despite the tender moment, the celebrity hero looked absolutely repulsed by what he saw. "Get away from that." The pretense of cordiality gone from his voice, his words dripped slowly with venom.

"Huh?" Her eyes snapped open in surprise as she turned back to face him. "Wh-wait, man. Just gimme a chance to clear the air—"

"The only air that I plan on having cleared," he cracked his knuckles with ill intent, "is the stench of that disaster threat that you have sitting on your shoulder like a damn parakeet."

"If you would just—"

"You disappoint me, Tanktop Girl, and given my past impression, I hardly thought thinking less of you was possible." The light in his golden eyes had gone dark, giving him a sinister glow. He took a heavy step towards them. "But harboring monsters is not only a crime. It's a sin."

"A sin?" She sucked on the word like a bitter pill as he ambled closer. "Okay, first off, that whole...thinking less of me thing? Ouch. Big ouch. But sidestepping that, if you would just listen for a sec, I'm trying to reason with you here! Maybe I can't change how you see me, and frankly, I'm already pretty tired of trying. But I'm still a hero, same as you! You need to reason with me too!"

His footsteps stopped, but the fist he held at his side remained, and she could even hear the muscles tighten from where she stood. "Fine." He seethed, crossing his arms bitterly. "Explain. Explain it so I can understand."

"O-okay, so...uhhh...umm," for all the confidence she had going in, Tanktop Girl appeared to be at a temporary loss for words. The senior hero stood deathly still while she scrambled to compose her plea. "As you might've already heard...this here's...Wringwyrm. He's my friend." She gestured to the minuscule dragon next to her before leaning in closer to whisper to it. "Don't be rude, pal, say hi." An angry, raptor-like hiss directed at Amai Mask was the result, making her plant her face in a palm with embarrassment.

"We've been acquainted." The breath that delivered Amai's words were like ice.

"Yeah, well, so, moving on, I've known this guy since I was a little kid. I was practically as small as he was back then, if you could believe that. He got me through...what was kind of a tough time for me, and we've been thick as thieves ever since." She paused to search her senior hero's face for any signs of sympathy – and lightly shuddered when she found none. "So anyway...fast-forward about two decades or so, and I'm pretty sure he's still just a Wolf-level threat at worst…well, except this one time he probably inched closer to Tiger-level when he bit the neighbor's cat by the tail! Heh...eheheheheeh...ehhh…" She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye to compliment the weak laugh. When it fully died out, she stated the obvious with a bleak grin. "...No; no I suppose you wouldn't find that funny."

"Are you quite finished?" She twitched at his tone as he cut her off. "So let me save you the trouble of bringing any futher embarrassment to yourself by summarizing the following: first, you undermine me in front of a head executive officer. Then you challenge me to a petty brawl – which frankly was already beneath me – over your own violation of a company confidentiality clause,"

"Whoa whoa – back up – I didn't 'violate' anything!" She tried to interrupt, outrage spiking in her voice.

"And now I'm hearing that not only were you willingly housing a monster – one of the threats that this foundation of justice exists to fight – but that you were also doing so for such a stupidly voluminous amount of time?! And who with a record like that gets the privilege of traipsing around acting like her brand of justice is somehow kindred with mine? Such utter nonsense! I ought to strip you of every star and stripe you ever earned calling yourself a hero."

She gave him a stern squint and opened her mouth while raising a pointed finger at him. It took a moment to process where to begin before any words came out. "Okay, so I may not know what 'voluminous' means..." She started with surprising confidence. "But you don't honestly think I'll let you talk to us like that just 'cuz you own a dictionary, do you?"

He deepened his frown. "As I said, you're about as far away from being my kind of hero as I can imagine...but still. Allow me to save you..."

Tanktop Girl narrowed her eyes suspiciously to discern his words. "...What?"

His eyes shot wide, and his face suddenly morphed into frenzied glee like nothing she had ever seen before. "...from that abomination clinging to YOUR BACK!"

It was all she could do to let out a startled yell before throwing herself aside into a dodge roll that just narrowly missed his attempt to throw a straightened hand aimed just off her shoulder towards the dragon. The rumbling impact of his hand drilled through the brick wall like a knife through hot butter, opening a crack that rode all the way to the roof of the building.

The Tank Topper got to her feet with surprising speed given her earlier wounds, and turned to address the dragon still attached to her shoulder. "Wringwyrm! Break for the sky!"

Wasting no time, the reptile spread its wings and began its ascent.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that." Amai Mask, with menacing intent, reached long for the tiny monster's tail, and would have successfully caught it if not for a strong hand that caught him by the wrist first.

His eyes widened with mild shock as he snapped his head to acknowledge the girl's sudden display of determination. "So I guess it's my turn to say..." She raised her head to reveal the galvanized life in her eye. "...That was a mistake."

He readied a quick jab at her, but before he could throw it, she retaliated with a punch of her own, sending him staggering a fair distance back. He barely even had time to find his footing before she bore down on him from seemingly two directions at once.

'Her speed...' He noticed just before he felt the sharp blade of her knee drill into his back, taking some wind out of his lungs. 'And her strength…!' She swept out from underneath him to launch him upwards before immediately appearing above and spiking him back down. 'They've both...increased?!'

As he fell back towards the earth headfirst, he extended his arms and caught the ground, executing an urgent back handspring before finding his feet again.

"So you were holding back this whole time..." He stated bitterly.

"Oh no, I was definitely giving my all." She shamelessly admitted. "But I'll let you in on an old Tank Topper trade secret, BTS..." She put a finger to her lip to tease him. "A tank top isn't just a fashion statement – it's a way of life." She gestured over her shirt to elaborate. Miraculously, the scrapes on her body that she had sustained from their previous skirmish appeared to have almost completely healed. Even the cut across her cheek was nothing more than a small line now. "In the Tank Topper Army, every initiate must make a pledge before earning their shirt. And when they become a full-fledged member, the strength granted to them by their tank top flows from their resolve to uphold that pledge. Most of those muscleheads say the same basic stuff..." She lowered her voice a few octaves to imitate her comrades' burly voices. "'I pledge to use this tank top to become the manliest guy alive!' 'I pledge to use this tank top to eliminate all evil!' ...Goofy stuff like that." She flashed him a grin. "Well...I'm a bit more estrogen than testosterone, so I guess most of them thought that my goal was a bit more modest than that. Because what I pledged my tank top to..." She held a hand up in front of her and closed it into a fist. Amai Mask could see her shirt becoming outlined by traces of her muscles, which somehow seemed a lot more extensive than he recalled before. "...was 'to defend the weak.' In other words, the greater the difference in strength between the person I choose to protect and the person threatening them; the greater my own ability gets boosted. And buddy..." The confidence in her face flashed into quiet anger as she cracked her knuckles. "You just threatened the weakest friend I have. Get ready to learn what that means. Because I'm about to go full Mama Bear on your skinny ass."

"You mean to say that these enhanced abilities I sense from you are resonating from that passé strip of cloth hugging your bosom?" He visibly cringed, even as she daringly approached. "You must be insane, on top of naive. After all, if such power truly existed in the clothes we wear, then all that would mean is that I have yet another way of outclassing you."

She closed her eyes, her grin only deepening at this arrogant remark. "And that shallow way of thinking is why you could never become one of us."

His grin deepened too. "I appreciate that."

The two lunged for each other at the same time, each person easily covering half of the basketball court in a single stride. As their fists collided soundly and produced a great thunderclap of force, Amai Mask soon realized – though was not fully prepared to admit – that this girl's status as a Class C hero might just need to be reevaluated.


Two familiar figures – one clearly taller than the other – stood in front of a large building that had a gaudy sign plastered over the door in bright neon colors, brandishing the word 'Vogue' in stylish graffiti-type art.

"...Shorty, why are we here?" The taller figure asked.

"What? It's just a clothing store." The other replied.

"That did not answer my question."

"Look, even you had to figure out sooner or later that if this team thing is really going to work, we're going to need to give you an extreme, extreme makeover."

"Wait, is this why you had me bring my hero suit?" Saitama peered down at the plastic bag holding the aforementioned item before sighing. "Guess I should've guessed… Maaaaaan, I thought we were just going out to do some grocery shopping..."

"Quit your complaining. We're already here, so you can't pussy out now." Tatsumaki pressured him.

"What's wrong with the suit I have?" He resisted. "I think our colors go together just fine."

"That's because literally any color goes well with black, dummy." She stated matter-of-factly, brushing a cavalier hand through her wavy green hair. "But I can't be the only one making you look better. You can make the attempt to meet me half-way by at least pretending to care about how you look while we're out together. In fact..." She narrowed her eyes scrupulously, as if just appearing to notice for the first time since they left her house. "...the hell is that atrocity on your chest?"

Saitama absently looked down at the image on his hoodie, which was lazily accompanied by cargo shorts and flip-flops. "It's a Pirate Lizard."

A small pause was needed for her to digest this answer. "A...pirate...lizard..." She echoed soullessly.

"Yeah, like from that popular cartoon show, 'Pre-Teen Psycho Pirate Lizards'? ...You never watched that?"

She looked at him as though his existence was just as strange as the character he wore on his sweatshirt. "Dear god, it's worse than I thought..." She muttered with a thousand-yard stare. "I'm gonna have to reconstruct his whole fucking identity..."

"Not a fan of the show? I see..." Saitama stared off into the distance, rubbing his chin in obvious thought. "Hmmm… Judging from your choice of band-aids, maybe you'd appreciate my 'My Lovely Pegasus' t-shirt more..."

Her entire body seemed to stiffen at hearing this, her eyes wide and her face a sickly pale. "Your...what?"

"Yeah, actually I think I'm wearing it under this hoodie as we speak. If you prefer, I can just take it off right now so that—"

"Get in."

"H-Huh…?"

"Get your mismatching ass inside that store NOW!" "Ack!" The frantic last word was accompanied by a swift kick to his rear as she practically used her levitation as leverage to dropkick him towards the door, eager to correct this fashion crisis just as soon as time would permit.

As they entered the lobby, Saitama raised his head curiously while taking in the various scents of colognes, perfumes, and fresh carpet. He barely had the time to do a double-take around the area before his partner floated straight for the counter to where a youthful lady wearing heavy eye gloss was casually flipping through a magazine while filing her nails, looking bored out of her mind. Her purple hair swept to one side and buzzed on the other made it certain that she was some sort of stylist.

"They better not have included my sister in that tabloid trash you're reading..." Tatsumaki remarked as she got close enough to speak at normal volume. Clearly the woman she was talking to had some field experience dealing with the esper hero's unconventional hellos, because she didn't so much as look up from what she was doing before knowing who it was.

"Oh, it's you." The store clerk droned torpidly before turning another page. "Great."

"You know why I'm here. Where is he?" Tatsumaki asked, even though she didn't seem any more enthusiastic to get on with business than the other lady did. "Where's that spindly little twink you've got squirreled away in your back closet?"

The woman sighed through her nose and closed her book, turning in her chair to face the esper for the first time. "Password." She spoke with tired eyes.

Tatsumaki raised her eyebrows. "You realize I can turn this place upside down with my mind, right?"

"Password." The woman repeated, unfazed by the suggestion.

"And that I can read minds by holding my breath?" Tatsumaki boasted.

"Whoa, for real?" Saitama snapped his head towards them, his interest finally piqued. "You can read what people are thinking? That sounds awesome! Do me! Do me, do me!"

"Nobody around here wants to do you." Tatsumaki dismissed. "Now keep it shut. I'm trying to do you a favor."

"Esper powers. Invasion of privacy. Illegal." The woman deflected. "Password."

A vein started cropping up from Tatsumaki's forehead, symptomatic of her growing impatience. "The password is 'Sassy duck-headed broad gets her face pulled off if she doesn't get her manager out here by the time I count to three.'"

"Because you can't recall which number comes next?" The woman asked before nonchalantly resuming her reading.

Tatsumaki closed her eyes and held a finger up. "One..."

"Numbers and alphabet soup sounds pretty good right now..." Saitama chimed in. "Anyone else feeling?"

Another layer of veins stacked up on Tatsumaki's brow, and a green filter began swirling around her as she rose higher off the ground. "Two..."

Suddenly, a tall, slender man emerged from behind the counter, waving his arms in a disarming fashion. "Okay okay, alright alright, no need to test the storm damage coverage on my insurance, crazy pill." The man who approached the desk wore a smart, form-fitting vest over a dress shirt that was neatly tucked under a pair of skinny jeans. He had gaunt cheekbones accompanied by fair skin, and silverish hair that he wore swept back. "Nyx, could you be a love and finish threading the aglets I started in the back?" He spoke sweetly to the girl still sitting down in her chair like nothing was about to happen. "I've got this covered."

Without a word, the girl got up and made her way to the office area somewhere in the back at his instruction. The newly arrived man took her place sitting at the desk and turned to face Tatsumaki with his hands folded in front of him in a neat clasp. "Wowwww," he started with a coy grin, "are you for serious with that whole 'get me your manager' thing? Nothing brings a lady's age out faster than pulling the Karen card, Twister Sister.

"Really? Because it seems to take nothing short of murder to get your attention, Gilbert." She sneered back. "And just what do you do to train your associates? Bitch doesn't even look me in the eye anymore."

"Mm-hmm." He twiddled his thumbs while maintaining a neutral expression. "And have you ever given her the impression that you'd scratch hers out if she tried?"

"Hmph!" She jerked her shoulders away. "Whatever. Next time you make me wait this long, I'm coming back there to fetch you myself. And let's see one of your little chippies try to stop me."

The man she spoke to took a long pause to look her over with piercing eyes, as if resetting himself. "...To what do we all owe the magnanimous gift of your warm and understanding presence, Terrible Tornado?"

"This." She replied curtly by grabbing Saitama by the shoulders and dragging him closer. "Give it to me straight. Can you fix him, or is he already too far gone?"

Saitama stared blankly at the icy blue eyes giving him a twice-over. Eventually, the taller man shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his seat. "Well he certainly doesn't share a mold with Amai Mask...but I can tell at a glance that he's been taking good care of himself. His posture is lax, but it should straighten up naturally when we get him into some proper clothes." He turned and pulled out a clipboard from under the desk, taking a pen out from behind his ear as he prepared to jot notes. "I take it you brought some sort of base that I can use to work from?"

Tatsumaki turned to Saitama and motioned towards the bag he held. "Go on, Baldy, show him that crappy suit."

"H-Hey," he gave her an indignant look, "It's not crappy..."

"Fair enough." She corrected her vocabulary. "Show him the shitty suit."

"Tch..." He bit down resentfully before turning to stare down into the bag he held, still distrustful of what might happen if he gave it up. He went back a long way with this uniform – ever since he first debuted as a hero for fun. Sure it didn't have the edgy metallic feel of Genos's armor or the sweet simplicity of Tatsumaki's dress, but there was only one suit like it. It was his, and he was proud of it.

The expert tailor seemed to pick up on Saitama's concern. "Don't worry, I won't do anything to your suit. Your friend just wanted me to examine it so that I can get a feel for your hero's aesthetic. A large part of the business is based on appearance, silly as that may seem. But if you don't want to deal with it, no one can force you."

"Well I can!" Tatsumaki interrupted. "I'm not being caught dead around that weird ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise thing he's got going on with his look!"

"Oh bless, it can't be that bad..." The artist pulled the uniform just far enough out of the bag to see what she was talking about. "Oh dear lord." He exhaled the words under his breath.

Tatsumaki tapped an ardent finger on her arm as she held them crossed. "Well?" She asked, already full well knowing the answer. "Is it that bad, Gil?"

"Let me just...take some quick notes here." He turned to scribble something down on his clipboard.

"Fucking told you so." She mentioned, never too eager to rub something in.

After he finished, the shop specialist stepped around the counter and approached Saitama with goals in mind. "I'm gonna touch you now, kaaaaaay~?"

The bald hero jerked back at him with aversion written in his face. The taller individual easily caught on to his abject response, and raised his hands in peace, revealing a measuring tape between his fingers. "Aw relax honey – it's business, not pleasure. Just trying to grab your numbers for a fitting..."

"I was not prepared for this." Saitama stated plainly.

"Well suck it up." Tatsumaki insisted. "The guy can be a spook, but he knows his fashion."

"Sis, why don't you go sit in the waiting area 'til I finish, kay?" Her topic of gossip motioned her away.

"What?!" She seemed outraged at the expression. "You're dismissing me? That's so rude!"

"I'm beginning to think rudeness is the only language you comprehend." The older man replied without taking his eyes off his measuring tools. "This is Guy Talk time now. Let us get to know our newest friend."

"By talking shit about me while I'm at the wayside, is that it?!" She scoffed. "Forget it! You have something to say, you can say it around me!"

"Hahhh...fine. Guess I can talk to you too..." The guy sighed in surrender. "Arm out, please." He ushered Saitama, who stiffly did as he was told. As the veteran clerk ran the tape along his limb, he proceeded to keep the chatter going. "So you kids are partners now, huh. My girlfriends spoke with me about it over brunch yesterday~" The upbeat tone in his voice carried a flamboyant swagger. "Y'know..." He broke into a full flirtatious smirk. "I hear people are already starting to kinda...put you two together. Get what I meannnn~?"

"Wh-what?!" Her face went flush for a brief second before she got her bearings. "Me? W-with him?! That is just so fucked up!"

"Yeah, no thanks." Saitama added passively. "People have way too much time on their hands if that's what they like to talk about..."

"Ahh, c'est la vie." The tall man shrugged. "Either way, it's prolly good that Tatsumaki has a boy around. Maybe now she can finally take her focus off of humping those poor bed sheets..."

"Wha!" A puff of steam seemed to escape the girl's ears. "I can't fucking believe what I just heard! No! You will not make up false rumors about me! And at least I don't masturbate into a sock!"

Before he could retort, she hurriedly glided off and disappeared behind an aisle of shelves, leaving him to roll his eyes.

"Soooooo...I take it you guys have known each other for a while?" Saitama muttered awkwardly from the side, unsure if it was really wise to try adding layers to the discussion.

"Oh honey. We go waaaay way back." Was the callous response. "Girl's always so loud for attention, she's like a standard issue Destiny Princess." He paused what he was doing to lean down over Saitama's shoulder and whisper mischievously "But that seemed to get rid of her for us, didn't it?" The hero he was measuring shuddered lightly at the closeness, but remarked no further. After a brief moment to readjust, the orotund man rounded to Saitama's other side, proceeding to capture the rest of the measurements. "She probably didn't even tell you why she was bringing you here, did she?" He asked. Saitama shook his head in response. "I doubt she even spared the breath to introduce me beforehand. Well, not that that's a bad thing. Can you imagine someone like her announcing the Queen's presence? Le barf..."

For the first time since he was there, Saitama cracked a small grin. "She's a sassy one, for sure."

"Now that she's out of the picture, I can get proper introductions underway." The slim man finished the last measurement around his leg. "Name's Gilbert. The store I own is mostly for civilian life, but I also run a side hustle as an independent contractor for the Hero Association." He stood up straight and withdrew his measuring tape. "And you, darling?"

"Saitama." He replied blankly.

"Huh. Is that a hero name, orrrrrr?"

"It's a name name. Just calling me Saitama's fine. I'm not huge on the hero name thing..."

"Understood. Certainly less taxing on the tongue than saying things like 'Biting Snake Fist Sneck'… I love you heroes to pieces, but your bosses can give you some pretty ostentatious titles."

"Glad I'm not the only one who sees it that way..." Saitama replied. "Do you work with heroes very often?"

"Well, since my time is limited, and the quality of my work is expensive, I mainly do business only with A-Class and up, but occasionally I hold spots on retainer for other heroes that get good recommendations from S-Class heroes… Occasionally."

"I'm surprised you agreed to take me then, considering the way Tatsu talks to you..." Saitama pointed out.

"Aww, you already have a pet name picked out for her~" The man nearly squealed. "Well for some reason I'm the only outfitter she chooses to work with. Dunno why me – we just go at it and at it, like two monkeys fighting over the last seat on Noah's Ark just before the big bath. I'm equally bewildered that I'm even having this conversation with someone she brought in. You know you're the only person she's ever taken to see me besides her sister? I don't know what you did or what you fed her, but she must really trust you."

"I wouldn't go that far..." Saitama objected. "She's probably just eager not to get embarrassed being seen with me."

"Yeeeeeaaah she's a bit of a brat – if you really ask me, she's in need of a good lay...like...a decade late – but I don't let it come back at anyone besides her. I'm just sorry you got caught up having to work with that stunted hag. I'm sure it wasn't your decision."

"Well..." Saitama hung his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Kinda was, actually."

A glint of interest seemed to catch across Gilbert's eye. "Was it now? You didn't strike me as the hard M type..."

"Well, it isn't that." He insisted. "I guess at some point people got caught up thinking that being a hero just means showing up to fight the bad guys. And that being a decent hero means that you always win..."

"Uh-huh..." Gil nodded, passively indicating that he was listening despite busying his hands with tools.

"But lately it seems to me that sometimes the people that need help the most are the ones that are too strong to actually worry about the bad guys."

"Shouldn't having that kind of strength be a privilege?" The designer asked him.

"Well...yeah...maybe at first..." Saitama opened his fist and stared down at his empty palm. "But there's sort of a loneliness attached to it too."

"...I see." Gilbert replied solemnly after a long beat. "So you think she's lonely?"

"I dunno. It's kinda hard to tell what I think at the moment..." Saitama admitted.

"Well I hope you figure it out soon. Before that angry little wind devil turns you into collateral damage. Clue's in the name, you know."

"Eh." Saitama shrugged. "It's not so bad. We've all got our edges to smooth out."

"Too true." Gil turned around and approached the desk. "All dooo-ooone~!" He called out loudly in a sing-songy voice without looking up from his notes. On cue, a bushy green head popped out from around the corner, squinting at the two men with cartoonish eyes. As Tatsumaki floated closer, Gilbert readied a missive and slipped on a pair of eyeglasses as he read out its contents. "Your suit's construction is simple – easy to modify without changing the baseline layout too much. So at least it won't cost you an arm and a leg..."

"Cost… Wait – cost?" Saitama acted like he had just snapped awake from a peaceful slumber. "You never mentioned anything about a cost! I can barely afford to eat!"

"Relax, idiot." Tatsumaki cut in before he could have a full meltdown. "I'm covering your tab. You can make it up to me by staying out of the way while I work and keeping from making a total ass out of yourself."

"Well...what exactly is it that you're paying for here?" He rubbed his head in confusion.

"This." Gilbert held up a large, rough sketch of what appeared to be a new hero suit. In large, the model looked exactly like his other one. The main difference was that there was more aesthetic detail in the design, and it looked a lot darker.

"So much black..." Saitama squinted suspiciously at the blueprint before slowly creaking his head towards his partner. "Did you put him up to this, midget...?"

"What's wrong with black?" She snapped back, not liking his reaction.

"Oh nothing, except that I'm gonna look like a freakin' supervillain wearing this! It's gonna be like Hammerhead all over again!"

She turned her head at him and raised her brow. "Who?"

"Long story." He waved off. "The point is, how is dressing like the Grim Reaper gonna make me more approachable as a hero, let alone if I'm standing next to you?"

"Oof… Maybe you should've discussed this together before reaching out to me?" Gilbert muttered to Tatsumaki. "This is giving me flashbacks of my parents' divorce..."

"No – no we're not discussing this 'before' or 'after,' we're discussing this now!" She debated. "I'm paying for this, and you're gonna wear it!"

Saitama pinched his brow between his fingers. It wasn't every day that a girl who had the appearance of a primary-schooler was forcing him into clothes like an overbearing mother would for her five-year-old son. "Look," he started calmly. "I appreciate that you're doing this. I know you're trying to help me..."

She folded her arms, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "But?..."

"But I didn't plan my outfit around just looking cool, or edgy, or tough." He told her. "I planned it around being a hero that people could spot from a mile off. I use warm colors, because I think they give people warmer feelings."

"You can't stake a hero career off of just 'feelings.'" Tatsumaki argued. "Yeah, people liking you might sound nice on paper, but we're not in this industry to be mascots, Baldy. We're here to keep as many weaklings as we can from getting eaten by giant lizards, or flattened by alien spaceships, or whatever other fucked up things happen to people in this batshit crazy world!"

"Well can't we do both?" He asked.

"Huh?" She was stopped short by the simple question.

"I'm just asking, can't we be heroes that do our jobs while still making people not feel terrified to be around us?"

"Th-that's not..." She sank back into silence for a while trying to reconstruct her point. "Ugh. Look, if you wanna parade around in that clown costume on your own time, have a ball. But while you're with me, I want you to look more professional on the job. That's all!"

Saitama's eyes widened a bit, and he broke into a smirk. "Ahh, so you do care what people think about—"

"GILBERT!" She slammed her hands down on the counter, clearly intent on cutting off what her partner was about to say.

"Ah! Hello yes I still work here!" The guy appeared to have dozed off while they were debating, and shot wide awake at her abrupt noise.

"WE'RE LEAVING. HOW MUCH."

"I'll send you the bill after the estimates are done." He informed. "In the meantime, is there anything else we can do to help you today?"

"Yes." "No."

Saitama and Tatsumaki looked at each other, having answered the same question at the same time in two very different ways.

"Yes?" She narrowed her eyes into a scowl. "What're you playing at, Baldy?"

"If you really expect me to wear that thing..." Saitama started slowly, building up a sly grin, "Then I think there should be some give and take on this deal. ...Don't you?"

"What!" She could hardly believe his proposal. "Weren't you listening? I'm already footing the bill for this thing. What more do you want?"

"More." He simply replied. "You want me to look more professional? Then lead by example." He pointed a condemning finger at her – more specifically, her bottom half. "Put some pants on."

She dropped her jaw at the suggestion. The shock on her face was one for the records. "Hey, h-hold on now…!"

"Ah! Splendid idea~" Gilbert chimed in, clapping his hands together gleefully. "You'd be setting such a great example for the children~!"

"Hweh?! No one asked you!" She barked at him before turning back. "I-I don't do pants. At all. They..." She blushed in silence for a moment while passively covering her lower quarters. "...They smother my legs, okay?! They're suffocating!"

"Ah. Leg tights, then." Saitama compromised. "That shouldn't be too heavy, right?"

"Eh-ughh..." She found herself at an impasse.

Gilbert had already made his way to the aisle that sold them. "You may browse from our wide selection." He leaned against the shelf while gesturing towards the stock with a wide smirk on his face. "It's on the house. Customer appreciation." He winked.

Tatsumaki bit her teeth into a hard grit, realizing that these two dunderheads had boxed her in.

"I estimate that Saitama's new suit will be ready for pick-up in a few weeks' time. However, I can assist you, Miss Tatsumaki, if you think you're ready for a new dress. Are we thinking 'Darkest Wellspring of Death' orrrr 'Tragic Childhood Noir' for our two exciting new seasonals?"

"Don't patronize me, lather boy." She growled. "I still haven't forgotten about your little 'bed sheet' remark from earlier."

"Awww gurl, you know we have fun, haha~" He waved her off playfully before turning back to Saitama. "My assistant has your prototype ready in the back. Not as durable as the real thing, but the polymer fibers should hold up against anything from Tiger-level to curry kitchen stains. Why don't you go on over and grab it while your senior and I have a little Gal Talk time."

"So...this is really happening to me." Saitama spoke vacantly, not knowing what else to say.

"Shoo." Gil waved the back at his hand at him in a dismissive manner.

Saitama paused and stared at them for a moment before raising his finger. "Hey can I keep that cool pen after you're done using—"

"Shooooo~" The man emphasized.

Saitama, at a loss of what to do, merely shrugged and disappeared into the dressing room.

"Ahh goody~! Now it's just the two of us!" Gilbert sang with closed eyes, leaning in towards Tatsumaki with his hands happily clasped together. "So tell me dearie, how have you been?"

She gave him a dangerous glower. "Work sucks, you're an asshole, and my new colleague is one IQ point away from legally being a vegetable. How do you think I've been?"

"Awww hahaha stahp iiiiiit~" He waved comment off like it was a light joke. "But while we're on the topic of your new colleague, I like him. He fills me with good vibes. I've met a lot of guys, and I don't sense any ulterior motives out of that one. So whether or not you're modest enough to admit it to yourself, I think having him around will be good for you too."

"I'll be the one to act as the authority on what's good for me." Tatsumaki pushed him. "Besides, you spent ten minutes with him. Try having him in your face for three days, then tell me all about your precious 'vibes'."

"...I guess I'm not doing a good job at illustrating my point." His voice immediately shifted from his regular cheerful soprano into a deeper, almost sinister tone. The difference in his aura even caused Tatsumaki to stiffen up, briefly taken aback as Gilbert leaned in even closer, still holding his eyes shut. "I like him." He punctuated. "He's sincere. I can tell he wants to help you, so you need to stop being such a tease and let him." His voice was somehow growing darker the longer he spoke. "Because if I catch whiff that you did anything to break that precious little egg's yoke..." He opened his eyes to leer down at Tatsumaki. His pupils glowed with an icy blue, and you didn't need to be an esper to feel the chill. "I will personally ruin your life."

Tatsumaki's glare deepened on him, her own pupils waxed with a dangerous green. She had heard many threats from monsters before, and even though the person in front of her was clearly human, it somehow felt like this was one threat in her life that could actually deliver.

Just then, Saitama came ambling out from the back, clad in his new black hero's attire. It actually looked like a lighter version of Darkness Blade's armor – the key differences being that it came equipped with a hooded cape, and it didn't have any spikes with which nasty wardrobe malfunctions could happen.

As if nothing happened, the shadows looming over Tatsumaki disappeared from the designer's face, and he went right back into smiling with a gleeful tone. "Oh it's so nice getting to catch up like this, isn't it Tornado dear~?"

"Tch..."

Gilbert turned to examine Saitama in his new regalia, reading him up and down with a ponderous finger to his chin. "Hmmmm… Acceptable, for a first draft." He decided to himself. "How do you feel in it, honey?"

Saitama, black hood draped over his head, gave the tailor an expression devoid of all of life's joy, spreading his arms out to examine the velvety underside of the dark cape. "...Like I'm on my way to the nearest school to kill a bunch of younglings for the Senate." He replied numbly. "Can I take this off now?…"

"No!" Tatsumaki shouted almost desperately. "Leave it! Leave it on!" She glided closer to him while remaining fixated on his new uniform. There was an almost childlike shimmer in her eye as she stuck her hand out and felt at the suit, seemingly unaware of what she was doing...and to whom. "It's...so cool..." She muttered aloud, even though what she had to say was clearly not meant to escape the confines of her thoughts.

"Uhhh...Tats? You good, pal?" Saitama eyed her dubiously, highly unaccustomed to seeing her treat him this way.

"Ahhh huh? What?" She blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance. Realizing that her hand was currently caressing his biceps, she gasped and tore away from him, turning around with her arms harshly crossed. "I suppose it'll have to do..." She tried to play off the line coolly, but it was pretty hard to stay convincing while she shivered like that.

Gilbert smirked at the scene, but simply shook his head. "Well, I should get back to work. This was a fun distraction, though. Speak to one of my associates if you need anything else. Especially nice to meet you, Saitama-kun. Toodaloo~!" He gave them a dainty wave before walking off and disappearing into the backspace of his workshop.

The two looked at each other for a while longer, and while Tatsumaki continued to put on the tough act with her face and posture, it soon became obvious to even her partner that she was struggling to find a way to defuse the awkward tension from what had just happened.

Ever the nice guy, Saitama decided to rescue her with a...less punishing remark. "Soooo now I've got my thing." He gestured at himself. "Where's your thing?"

"Huh? My thing?"

"The tights." He reminded her. "Y'know, for your legs?"

"O-oh!" Realizing herself, she fortified her defenses by puffing up her chest. "Well, not that I agreed to anything like that in the first place..." She heaved a sigh, as if she was about to pay him the world's biggest favor. "But since I guess this is too much woman for a virgin like you to handle...I can make a point to conceal at least some of my splendor..."

He gave her a dead stare. "Thanks." He said dryly. "Appreciate it."

She scoffed aloud, irritated by his underhanded reaction. "Even though any hot-blooded man would consider themselves grateful to be around such a nice long slender pair of legs like mine! Oh well! Too bad! You had your chance! Now into the Pit of No Return they go! You'll never see them again!"

"...Are you actually gonna put them on, or spend the rest of the day talking about how you're gonna put them on?" He asked her tiredly. "Good grief..."

"F-Fine!" She zipped into the dressing room and came out in a flash, landing directly in front of Saitama and striking a power pose with her newest article of clothing encapsulating her from the thighs down. The sleek dark texture on her legs actually matched the rest of her wardrobe pretty well, given that her dress and shoes were about all there really was to her look.

The longer she stood in front of Saitama glaring up at him with unwavering confidence, the easier it became for him to notice the bullets of sweat beginning to form on her face, obviously from the discomfort of wearing something she wasn't accustomed to. "...This feels so weird I hate this fuck I hate this so much oh god I hate this." She uttered in one quick breath.

"It'll grow on you." He lazily reassured her. "Now let's get—"

Instantly, he was cut off by a catastrophic rumble and the sound of a huge explosion. The two exchanged glances before rushing outside to see what was happening.

Smoke. Screaming. Everywhere they looked.

Multiple buildings had been blown apart, rocks and debris were scattered everywhere, people running for their lives. While Saitama remained grounded, Tatsumaki took to a higher vantage point, searching to pinpoint the source of the commotion. When she finally glanced back at her partner, her eyes widened in surprise as she found what she was looking for.

Big, tall, muscular, and green. The form of a monster stood directly in front of Saitama, staring him down with malevolent concern, two antennas twitching madly from atop its head. The bald hero returned the evil leer with one of vague indifference.

"At long last..." The creature spoke with a deep voice before expanding its humanoid mouth into a razor-sharp smile. "...we meet again! Saitamaaaaaaaaa!" The monster roared with sadistic glee, with such volume that it aggressively blew down the hero's new hood to reveal the signature characteristic of his bald head.

"Again…?" Saitama took a vague moment to clean his ear with a pinky finger. "So we've met before too, huh? Feels like I have a moment like this with one of you guys every day now..."

"Surely I stand above the other fodder even in your primitive memory, human! You may have humiliated me once by neutralizing me with a single punch...yet here I stand again! You cannot truly eliminate me, any more so than you could eliminate every strand of bacteria on this planet!"

Tatsumaki casually landed next to her partner, regarding the creature's blusterous speech with just as little fear as he was. "You know this naked rando?"

"Wait..." Saitama scratched his head in thought. "I think I'm getting something here..."

"Ahhhhhh, so the terrifying realization has started to seep in for you, has it?! I am certain you've dreaded the day of my return ever since our last encounter! Yes, it is I. The Final Herald of Mother Earth's Fury! The Architect of Humanity's Ruin! The Cure for the cancerous tumor your filthy race has devolved into!"

"Christ, he never shuts up..." Tatsumaki complained, holding hands to her ears.

"Ah!" Saitama snapped his fingers. "I remember! You're Medicine Ma—"

"VACCINE MAN!" The monster bellowed.

"Damn. Fifty-fifty chance..." Saitama mumbled. "Had a fifty-fifty chance to get it right and I still lost..."

"YOU'RE ABOUT TO LOSE A HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN THAT, YOU SLIME!" The creature continued to shout, even as it expanded its size and began to change shape. "HAVE YOU ANY CONCEPT OF HOW I'VE YEARNED TO SEE YOU AGAIN? TO SEE MY FANGS REFLECTED IN THE SHINE OF YOUR HEAD BEFORE I BEAR DOWN MY JAWS AND BITE IT OFF?!" Saitama, almost self-consciously, reached up for his own head and put his hand to it. "...NO!" His foe continued, as if nothing was happening. "YOU DO NOT! FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE MERE WEEKS FOR YOU HUMANS, I HAVE BEEN REGENERATING AT A CELLULAR LEVEL, EVOLVING OVER AND OVER AT THOUSANDS OF TIMES THE RATE OF ANY OTHER ORGANISM ON THIS PLANET! I HAVE TRANSCENDED EVERY CONCEIVABLE THREAT, AND I HAVE TRANSCENDED YOU TOO, SAITAMA! AND YET YOU DARE SAY YOU DO NOT RECOGNIZE ME?! RECOGNIZE YOUR OWN RECKONING?! THE RECKONING OF YOUR ENTIRE PEOPLE?!"

"Well I mean…didn't you used to be a different color the last time I saw you? Wasn't it blue or something?"

"IT WAS PURPLE!" The mysterious being cried in rage, growing seemingly more furious with every single word that popped out of his rival's mouth.

"Yeah, that's it." Saitama remembered. "And now you're green. Cool. Actually, you're really starting to look like a character from this one anime I used to watch. Hey, a favor? Can you yell 'Doooooooodge!' for me real quick? That would really make my morning something special."

"ENOUGH MAKING LIGHT OF THIS! IT IS NOT 'COOL'! IT IS YOUR DOOM! MY VERDANT SHEEN EMBODIES NATURE'S MISSION TO ERADICATE YOU SWINE! I HAVE FELT THE STRENGTH OF YOUR PUNCH...FELT IT, AND SURVIVED! I KNOW JUST HOW POWERFUL YOU ARE DOWN TO THE NEAREST DECIMAL POINT, AND I REMAIN FIRM AND UNAFRAID!"

"Ahh, give it a rest already." Tatsumaki waved the monster off. "You're just in a shitty mood because you can't find your balls."

"Oh yeah," Saitama added, just now noticing lack of genitalia between the monster's legs. "I thought it seemed like you were missing something important… Heck I'd be mad too."

"I HAVE NO NEED FOR SUCH OBSOLESCENCE. MY KIND ARE ALREADY EVERYWHERE! YOU TWO ARE FOOLS – AND WE ARE DONE TALKING." Vaccine Man, now maximum size, proceeded to loom over the two heroes with killing intent. "LET THE LAST UNATTAINABLE MYSTERY IN YOUR FINAL MOMENTS BE...HOW WILL YOU RISE UP AGAINST THE ULTIMATE LIFE FORM THAT CAN NOW WITHSTAND EVEN THE MIGHTIEST BLOW IN THE OBSERVABLE UNIVERSE?!"

Saitama and Tatsumaki exchanged deadpanned glances once more before the former shrugged and stepped forward. "Well you got me." Saitama admitted. "Guess I'll just have to punch you twice."

The crimson red eyes of the monster widened at the last perceivable second. "WHA—?!"

=BAM= =BAM=

Two blows, and the splash of alien viscera painted the entire block a slimy green. Saitama's fist was still outstretched from the blow – the glove and entire side of his suit had spontaneously disintegrated from the force while the surviving side was caked with goop. "Oh." Saitama noticed the damage done to his uniform. "Oops."

"Ah god damn it, Baldy!" Tatsumaki complained. She herself had been perfectly shielded from the splash from behind her psychic barrier. "That was a nice suit you just destroyed!"

"It's not like I did it on purpose, you know..." Saitama defended. "Stuff must've been made out of tissue paper or something..."

"Ugh… Hold still, and let me see if I can at least wipe the guts off of it..." She outstretched her hand towards him and her figure let off a radiant glow, but instead of helping Saitama get clean like she declared, the new tights she was wearing immediately shredded into ribbons, effectively freeing her legs from their prison. "Oh." Tatsumaki's lazy expression didn't even change as she feigned surprise. "Oops."

"Oops?!" Saitama shot to life. "You could've at least tried not to make that look intentional! Why did you do that?!"

"Hey, you ruined your thing too!" She lashed back.

"Yeah – accidentally! The crap you pulled was out of spite!"

Without breaking eye contact with him, she pointed back towards the building they just exited. "Get the hell back inside that shop and explain to Gilbert what you just did! He's gonna be soooooooooooooo mad at you!"

Without further prompting, Saitama spun around and rushed the esper, narrowly missing to grab her as she launched out of his reach. Incensed, he chased her down the ruined street in a mad sprint as she flew over him with casual effort. "Heeeey. Hey Tatsu." He called to her from down below. "Why don't you come meet me on solid ground so we can settle this like grownups!" He challenged her fervently.

"Why don't you come meet me in outer space so you can choke and die!" She shot back.

"Get down here, you damn imp! I'm gonna buy you a new pair of tights and show you what I really think of those legs!"

"That sounded like foreplay!" She was actually laughing. "You really are a pervert after all!"

"N-No that, I didn't mean like…oh." Saitama stopped his running when a promotional poster caught the edge of his eye. He slowed to a standstill in front of the market, gazing longingly at something.

'Huh?' Tatsumaki took a moment to realize she wasn't being chased anymore. 'He stopped?' She slowed her flight, and began a steady descend towards where her companion stood slack-jawed in front of the window.

"Yo. Baldy." She closely examined the frozen gaze on his face, studying it for any signs of life. When she followed his eyes to what they were staring at, her countenance soured with the realization that he was looking at a 25% discount on leeks. "Are you serious?..."

"Hm? What?" Saitama appeared to just now realize that she was standing next to him, having temporarily lost himself to the bliss world of discounted food. "Sorry, I think I spaced out for a minute there."

Tatsumaki scoffed under her breath while shaking her head. Just when she thought she might have been starting to have a little fun with him too, of course he goes and soft-resets. "Ugh, you're such an easy read..."

Saitama's posture seemed to falter a little when he heard this, and for a while, it seemed like he had slipped back into his trace, albeit for a seemingly different reason. "So…I guess that's a bad thing?" He asked her carefully. "...My bad."

She pursed her lip into a pout of sorts as if to contemplate the answer. "Well...it's not...the worst..." She struggled to convert her thoughts into words. "...I guess it's still too early to decide." She concluded honestly.

"Huh. Well that's better than the straight up 'yes' I was expecting..."

"What. Does my answer disappoint you or something?" She turned and searched his eyes. They seemed dark with discouragement.

"Something tells me I've been disappointing you for a while now..." He finally responded, earning a strange look from her. "So I wouldn't be shocked if you told me you were… But I guess it's nice...not to hear it from you...all the time." He broke away from her stare to look down to the side. "Sorry...I'm not very good at expressing myself."

"Yeah, you do kinda suck at it..." She adjusted her flotation to spin around him and reenter his line of sight. "But I guess..." She again struggled to find the right words, and felt the weakness in her voice when they left her. "maybe we could use the practice?… I guess...?"

He snapped his attention back to her and regarded her with a rare look of surprise before it melted into a slightly amused grin. "Tatsumaki, did you just criticize yourself?"

"What, me? I, pshhh, shut up, it's you I'm criticizing, numbskull."

"Nooooooo, no it sounded to me like that criticism was meant for more than just one person."

"Nope."

"A little?" He leaned in closer to her.

"Uh-uh."

He pinched his pointer finger and thumb close together. "Lil' bit?"

"Baldy, did you want your damn vegetables or what."

"After you."


-CRACK-

The crunching sound of stone split the sky as Tanktop Girl found herself imprinted in a brick wall by a forceful stomp from her opponent's shoe.

Amai Mask stood patiently in front of where the wall suspended her, watching her slowly peel loose from the rubble and collapse on all fours.

In retrospect, it was a decent fight. If he had handled her as casually as he did before her little Tank Top gambit, it definitely could have been his loss as easily as hers. He even had a few tears in his clothes from where she landed some solid connections, but nothing that wouldn't heal up by tomorrow. While he wouldn't call the fight a total snore, she was still only human, and he was made to go up against worse.

"Have you had enough?" He asked her evenly, kneeling over her while she clung to her hands and knees gasping for air. "I'm honestly surprised that you're still awake after that last attack. You may be lacking in grace, but you certainly have grit. Still...make this an easy decision for yourself. Accept what I have to do to eliminate evil."

He turned to stare towards the dragon curled up a few meters away. It was unconscious, but still twitching. In the squabble that had occupied his entire morning, Amai had yet to actually dispatch his prey, but now the job would be easy.

Getting up, he made his way towards his primary objective with the intent to step on it. However, he was stopped in his tracks by a gripping sensation around his ankle. He looked down to see her still struggling for breath, but managing to instinctively reach out and check his advance.

"Ugh...what is the matter with you?" He asked his downed opponent. "There is at least grace in admitting defeat. The fight is over. Let go."

"Nuh..." She shook her head deliriously. "You don't get...to decide...when I quit..." She panted. "I can still…!" In a process that had become fairly regular throughout the fight, her body began to show signs of healing, albeit not as fast as when they first started.

With a surge of adrenaline, the tomboy leapt to her feet and slung her body over Amai Mask – focusing only on restraining his movements, since she knew at this point she was too injured to even hope that she could actually harm him. "To eliminate evil?..." She hissed his earlier words into his ear from where she had him in a headlock. "That's bullshit…! My friend isn't evil! You're just looking for sacrificial lambs to feed your own twisted sense of justice!"

"My justice is true justice!" In a burst of motion, he reversed her lock and threw her back down. "And what could you understand about justice anyway, huh?! Lost in this warped sense of companionship you feel for a monster, did you honestly think you could twist the world's narrative all by yourself? Monsters have been killing people on this planet for as long as there were people to kill! Even now, while I waste time debating this obvious fact with you, some poor soul in some other city is probably being ripped to shreds by something that looks just like this lizard but bigger! What purer form of justice can there be than to rid society of every trace of rot left by these creatures until humans can finally flourish alone as intended?!" He watched her struggle slowly to her feet, looking up at him with tired eyes that have yet to be thoroughly moved. "If you don't have an answer to satisfy my question, then you should just keep silent and stay out of the way!"

"I won't!" She yelled at the top of her lungs, despite her condition. "You think I can just accept that?!" She heaved roughly. "Even if you were to do as you want and murder every last monster on Earth...what then? Evil's gone? It just leaves our atmosphere and floats into space? What about people? There's a bit of evil in everyone! Are you gonna kill us too?!" She gritted her teeth, wincing in pain as she watched him stare at her. "So where does it end?! When are you satisfied?" She staggered forward, stopping directly in front of him and meeting him tall. "How can you say that murdering every member of a race just fixes the problem? Don't you realize who that sounds like?!"

He closed his fists at his sides, and she could hear his knuckles tighten, as if caught in some deeply frustrating thought.

"Then what..." She could barely his mutter at first. "What would you have me do about it?" He gave her an intense gaze. "Would you prefer that I just ignore it? Pretend it doesn't exist? I can't do that. I've spent my entire life working in ways you can't even begin to imagine to become the perfect hero. The beautiful hero! And now I'm supposed to cast the notion away because you have a different opinion? And why should I listen to yours anyway? You're just a kid."

"Hah… Maybe, dude." She admitted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Maybe true. I don't care what you have to call me. I'm young at heart, and I'll always protect somebody who can't fight back. Whether it's a human, an animal...or a monster." She forced herself to grin at him, and only then could he see how swollen her cheek was. "Because to a dumb townie like me...that's the real hallmark of a hero."

Amai Mask was silent for a moment, wearing a face that Tanktop Girl couldn't discern whether it was a scowl or just a look of deep thought. He shifted his gaze around the court, surveying the arena that the two of them had worked together to decimate. The walls were broken, the floor was defaced, and every surface around seemed to bear some mark of the battle.

He looked at Wringwyrm, still twitching on the ground with his mouth hanging open for breath, and then he looked back at her. At her lime-colored eyes, which outside of her tough and boyish exterior seemed to be pleading for him to stop with all tenderness. They were close to tears.

"If I did it..." He finally began to speak. "...If I killed it." He motioned back at the defenseless creature from the corner of his eye. "...You would hate me… Wouldn't you."

"If you did that to my friend..." She sharpened her words, despite the immense pain she was fighting. "...I would hate you forever and always."

He grimaced at her answer. "How unfortunate..."

At this, he turned back towards the tiny mysterious being and continued his approach towards it. Her eyes widened with horror when she saw this. "N-No…! Wait!" She lunged forward to reach for him, but caught her own step and staggered to the ground. He ignored the sound of her fall and continued onward towards her childhood companion.

His path ended in front of it, and he glowered cruelly down at its tender form as it quivered meekly beneath his shadow. With a deathly slow motion, he leaned toward it, wrapped his fingers around its body, and picked it up. It dangled limply in his hand while he examined it from close up.

"Mask…!" "I'm begging you...don't!" Tanktop Girl cried out, tears streaming from her cheeks. "I love that little guy! I love him!"

He appeared absent to her pleas. She watched him reach into his jacket pocket and rummage around for something that rattled. He eventually found what he was looking for, pulled it out, and slipped it on his finger.

"Diamond White..." He whispered into the ring he wore before bringing it towards the dragon's head.

"MAAAASK!"

Instantaneously, the whole area was filled with a bright light that seemed to originate where he touched the reptile with his ring and expand outward from there.

Tanktop Girl rubbed at her eyes to shake off the blindness with all possible haste. She was frantic to get her bearings on what was happening as quickly as she could. Her heart struck in her chest with a series of pangs, like a pendulum swinging between uncertainty and grief. "Wha..." She began to stand up, finding the task to be remarkably easy given the pain she thought she was in. The light bathed her in a warmth that seemed to make her body feel somehow lighter. "What happened…?" She asked herself, stepping closer to the silhouette of a man she knew to be Amai Mask.

When the light dimmed, he was revealed to be at the center, still cradling something in his hands. He seemed to be staring at nothing in particular, even though she knew he sensed her approach. She stepped directly in front of him, searching for some emotion in his face, but finding none.

"Is he..." She didn't want to finish the question.

He stared at her for a bit longer before closing his eyes and holding what he had out for her to see.

Her lip quivered as she stared down at the tiny blue figure that glowed dimly from beneath.

She opened her mouth in a wide gasp and cuffed her hands over it when she saw none other than Wringwyrm softly unravel himself from his ball and stare up at her with dizzy, groggy eyes.

"Are...are you okay…?!" She gently took the animal from Amai Mask's hands and examined him closely to make sure there were no injuries. Amazingly, whatever the celebrity hero used had reversed all damage done, at least from what she could see. The small creature chirped wearily, but nevertheless sounded healthy. "Thank goodness..." Tanktop Girl closed her eyes and put her face to her pet's head, planting a small kiss on top.

Amai Mask watched the touching reunion in complete stoicism before slipping his hands back in his pocket and making his way out of the alley. When she heard his footsteps, she opened her eyes and turned call out for him. "Wait..." She started, still holding the miniature dragon in one arm.

His footsteps stopped.

"Ummm..." She wasn't actually quite sure what to say. "Soo...what happens now?..."

He turned his head just enough to look at her from out the corner of his golden eye. "...Did you mean what you said?" He began cryptically.

"What I...said?" She lightly prompted him to elaborate.

"About monsters and humans." He continued. "If humans have the capability to be as wicked as monsters, and monsters as kind as humans..." He turned to face her full front, giving her a look of intense focus. "Then do you believe there's hope for any of them?"

She took a moment to reflect on her answer before giving it. "I know it sounds childish." She began. "Like a line borrowed off of one of your films… But..." She stopped for a moment and gave him a reassuring smile. "I think for as long as there's you, there's hope; no matter what you come from. That's what I believe." She answered.

"Hm." He vocalized, before turning to walk away again.

"I won't apologize for what I think…!" She raised her voice to call out again. "But...thanks for saving my friend. I know that didn't come...easy for you."

He stopped to give her one more look before finally replying, "You're not actually from Class C… Are you." She stiffened up at hearing him say this. "Don't act so shocked that I know. I take notice of how long my opponents last against me." He added. "I'm a member of the team responsible for determining your rankings…and there's no way I would have ever overlooked you."

"So...what do you want this to mean for us, exactly?" She asked. "Am I still in trouble? Are we partners?" She lowered her shoulders. "...or am I fired?"

"Which of these outcomes suit you?" He asked.

"I think..." she bit down on her lip as if to second guess the thought before finishing. "I think we can still roll together okay. ...I mean, if that's cool with you. Y'know...not just my decision n' all..."

"Still 'roll together'?" He raised an eyebrow at her vernacular. "As in still partners. You want to remain my partner after everything that's happened today?"

"Well, I mean..." She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "I still got Wringwyrm right here. So no harm, no foul, right?"

Amai's frown returned to his face. "You have got to give that thing a better name..."

"Uh-uh, too late. He's already had it his whole life!" Just like that, her jubilant look was back on her face. It certainly didn't take much. "So whaddaya say?"

"I'd say there's still a tall order of things you don't yet know about me." He cautioned her. "And don't mistake me – there are still things about your manners I am very far off from accepting."

"I'd say that's true for just about anybody!" She countered playfully.

"Heh." He smirked at her optimism. "If you truly wish to proceed with this reckless endeavor...then meet me at my main studio tomorrow. You know the one. 6 am, and not a minute later. I'll not tolerate tardiness, whether you're in Class C or not."

"Roger roger!" She saluted him with a wink. "Oh! I can bring Wringwyrm by too, right?"

"...Leave that thing at home."

"Awww, you don't mean that."

"Good day to you, Tanktop Girl." He waved her off as he made his leave.

She waited until he was clear out of earshot before leaning in towards her dragon and whispering "You don't think he meant it, do you, bud…?"

A/N: If something good had to come with being locked in my room sick with the uggo 'Rona virus, I suppose it was sitting still long enough to eke out another chapter. Since I'm already in a crappy mood, however, I've decided to use my illness as momentum to spin y'all a quick little yarn here.

To the general public, I'll say upfront, thank you for all the love and support you've given my work. This story is already several years old, and I have accepted that with age comes a variety of reviews: good and bad. Now how do I discern the "good" from the "bad"? Is it whether someone only had something nice to say? Why no, because in fact criticism is just as welcome – AS LONG AS IT'S CONSTRUCTIVE. Thankfully, most of you have the sufficient mental capacity to grasp this distinction, so I guess this message goes out to the jolly special few snowflakes that managed to slip through the cracks…and don't even try acting like you guys don't know who you are.

If you have advice for me, whether it's something you'd like to see, or something pertinent to the actual story and its characters that you think I could've done better, please do share! However, for the love of God, do not take the time to read the many thousands of words I bother typing up for you just to say that you don't like the way Saitama sneezed in that one scene, or that I don't spell the word "counselor" with as many L's as you would've wanted, or some other petty grievance that I'm not even creative enough to come up with. I even had one instance where someone complained about a chapter but straight up couldn't even provide a reason why they didn't like it when I inquired for detail. Like, really now?

I typically look forward to getting reviews. Some of my best friends come from this site, and it's through reviews that I often meet them. But guys, if you don't have something meaningful to contribute outside the scopes of genuine support, insights, and criticism, then to put it kindly, I really don't know what you're doing here. Because reading a story you don't enjoy seems counter-intuitive to your time, and leaving a limp-dick complaint about it is counter-intuitive for us both. While I could threaten to suspend my story or devote an entire chapter slot to just throwing a pissy-hissy over this like I've seen even bigger whiner-babies do on this site, I'd much prefer to follow the same principle as my favorite bald hero and continue doing this for the same reason I started: for fun. But along the way, only you get to decide whether you want to be my Genos, my King, my Mumen Rider, or that asswipe Tanktop Black Hole – and understand that each of you will be treated according to the roles you give yourselves.

TL;DR – Don't be Tanktop Black Hole. That guy sucks.

Rant over, have a safe, Happy New Year, and I hope you guys have managed to last longer without illness than I have. Sometimes all it takes is one careless dumbass in the family to bring down a careful three-year streak of good health. Ugh. Humans.