Hey people. So I have been smitten with OPM and this is my attempt or take towards it. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer : I don't hold any rights to the characters, or their story arcs and all of them are the IP belonging to their respective publishing authors and houses. I however retain a hope that you enjoy my deviations from the mainline arc of the story.
Monotonous.
Droll.
He had thought being the strongest hero, defeating them all in a single punch was the best thing ever. To be the strongest. A hero for those who couldn't defend themselves. The strongest hero, to help those who were just as downtrodden as he was.
He never could have guessed that the thrill of victory would evaporate. The decidedly overpowered features would lead to an unimaginably dull existence.
Three years he had trained. Fought. Bled. Almost died a few times. He persevered and got his dream.
But at the cost of so much. At such a young age, he hairless. He was emotionless. For all purposes, he was a vegetable. And nothing mattered anymore.
Just that morning, he had defeated a supposedly dangerous hybrid of a vampire and a starfish. A formidable creature that had drained several people leaving just a husk behind. And all the creature could bare was a Reduced Series: Single tap, Highly Reduced Punch; if that fountain of blood was to go by.
As he was seated on a bench in Z-City Public Central Park, his despair did not go unnoticed. Several people gave him a wide berth, many going so far as to inform park security of a possible harm-seeking stranger with murderous vibes. He was shaken out of his thoughts when an old man sat on the bench and asked him, "Aren't you too young to be brooding?"
In his typical fashion, he replied uninterested, "Eh!!... Nothing matters."
"What is the problem, kid?" was the next uestion.
It was the first time in three years someone had asked something about him... Or even, partially concerned about him. He felt an overwhelming urge to spill his problems. He then got a proper look at the guy whom he sat next to - a middle-aged, slightly balding, greying, average Joe who was walking with a prosthetic as his left leg.
Immediately he felt disappointed with himself. He was supposed to be a hero. Supposed to help those weaker than he. And here he was, ruing his absolute privilege of not getting a true fight when there are so many problems out in the world.
He decided that he would pour out his heart to this man and maybe, he could stop going down the rabbit hole of complete excessive boredom.
"I am bored, old man. I am slowly loosing all interest, emotional appeal and just feeling empty. Three years I trained to reach the pinnacle of strength and now, I just don't have a challenge anymore. No matter what the problem is or who it may be, it's all resolved for me in a single punch. It's... disheartening. I live for the thrill of a good fight as it helps me grow. But, now that it eludes me? I am empty and bored, carefree and unaware, and it is slowly and steadily crushing me."
The old Joe just stayed silent for a few moments. While he contemplated the urge he felt in revealing his issues to a complete stranger.
"I think I understand, kid. But, I cannot sympathise. I guess, I am not the best at ah particular thing nd that's okay by me. But, I do get the dullness of a challenge-less environment. There is no growth without conflict or opposition.
"But, it doesn't mean you can't build another skill and try to reach it's pinnacle. You would be starting at the bottom, and you would need to make your way, all the way to the top yet again.
"It won't give you the same rush you feel or felt for fighting in the past. But, it won't leave you empty, lonely and depressed all the time."
He had never considered that. All he wanted was an adrenaline rush from a fight. He could no longer be physically hurt and his rush can't come from danger anymore. Perhaps, if he learned to control his strength, he could extend his fights much longer, reduce the damage from fighting to as less as possible, and even try to gain a rush from it?
Maybe he can switch tracks to a writer or a detective or a chef. Who said he couldn't be all of these while still being a hero for fun? It had been eight months since he had felt this excited. His bored visage sharpened to those of a young man - a handsome one, unfortunately bald.
"Thank You, sir. You may not know it but you have helped me gain another angle to help me muddle through this."
The Joe then looked him in the eyes and smiled a huge smile, "Think nothing of it. Seven months back, when the spiral blade monster attacked, you saved my life. I would remember that yellow and red clowny costume anywhere, haired or hairless. Consider whatever help I gave as me paying it back for saving my life."
Saitama, the bored hero, felt embarrassed. None ever thanked him before and perhaps in his rush to seek a fight, he had lost his way on why he wanted to be a hero. One who helped those in need... An unselfish, kind and generous person who without an iota of a doubt cared about others more than a fight.
That revelation cleared much of his anxiety and despair. He wouldn't stop seeking an opponent who can give him a good fight, but he wouldn't spiral anymore because of it. He had a lot to do and this hero gig, he was doing it just for fun. If it is no longer fun, he is doing it wrong.
Time for a change up.
Disclaimer : I don't hold any rights to the characters, or their story arcs and all of them are the IP belonging to their respective publishing authors and houses. I however retain a hope that you enjoy my deviations from the mainline arc of the story.
Chapter 1: The Beginnings of Resurgence.
Boring.Monotonous.
Droll.
He had thought being the strongest hero, defeating them all in a single punch was the best thing ever. To be the strongest. A hero for those who couldn't defend themselves. The strongest hero, to help those who were just as downtrodden as he was.
He never could have guessed that the thrill of victory would evaporate. The decidedly overpowered features would lead to an unimaginably dull existence.
Three years he had trained. Fought. Bled. Almost died a few times. He persevered and got his dream.
But at the cost of so much. At such a young age, he hairless. He was emotionless. For all purposes, he was a vegetable. And nothing mattered anymore.
Just that morning, he had defeated a supposedly dangerous hybrid of a vampire and a starfish. A formidable creature that had drained several people leaving just a husk behind. And all the creature could bare was a Reduced Series: Single tap, Highly Reduced Punch; if that fountain of blood was to go by.
As he was seated on a bench in Z-City Public Central Park, his despair did not go unnoticed. Several people gave him a wide berth, many going so far as to inform park security of a possible harm-seeking stranger with murderous vibes. He was shaken out of his thoughts when an old man sat on the bench and asked him, "Aren't you too young to be brooding?"
In his typical fashion, he replied uninterested, "Eh!!... Nothing matters."
"What is the problem, kid?" was the next uestion.
It was the first time in three years someone had asked something about him... Or even, partially concerned about him. He felt an overwhelming urge to spill his problems. He then got a proper look at the guy whom he sat next to - a middle-aged, slightly balding, greying, average Joe who was walking with a prosthetic as his left leg.
Immediately he felt disappointed with himself. He was supposed to be a hero. Supposed to help those weaker than he. And here he was, ruing his absolute privilege of not getting a true fight when there are so many problems out in the world.
He decided that he would pour out his heart to this man and maybe, he could stop going down the rabbit hole of complete excessive boredom.
"I am bored, old man. I am slowly loosing all interest, emotional appeal and just feeling empty. Three years I trained to reach the pinnacle of strength and now, I just don't have a challenge anymore. No matter what the problem is or who it may be, it's all resolved for me in a single punch. It's... disheartening. I live for the thrill of a good fight as it helps me grow. But, now that it eludes me? I am empty and bored, carefree and unaware, and it is slowly and steadily crushing me."
The old Joe just stayed silent for a few moments. While he contemplated the urge he felt in revealing his issues to a complete stranger.
"I think I understand, kid. But, I cannot sympathise. I guess, I am not the best at ah particular thing nd that's okay by me. But, I do get the dullness of a challenge-less environment. There is no growth without conflict or opposition.
"But, it doesn't mean you can't build another skill and try to reach it's pinnacle. You would be starting at the bottom, and you would need to make your way, all the way to the top yet again.
"It won't give you the same rush you feel or felt for fighting in the past. But, it won't leave you empty, lonely and depressed all the time."
He had never considered that. All he wanted was an adrenaline rush from a fight. He could no longer be physically hurt and his rush can't come from danger anymore. Perhaps, if he learned to control his strength, he could extend his fights much longer, reduce the damage from fighting to as less as possible, and even try to gain a rush from it?
Maybe he can switch tracks to a writer or a detective or a chef. Who said he couldn't be all of these while still being a hero for fun? It had been eight months since he had felt this excited. His bored visage sharpened to those of a young man - a handsome one, unfortunately bald.
"Thank You, sir. You may not know it but you have helped me gain another angle to help me muddle through this."
The Joe then looked him in the eyes and smiled a huge smile, "Think nothing of it. Seven months back, when the spiral blade monster attacked, you saved my life. I would remember that yellow and red clowny costume anywhere, haired or hairless. Consider whatever help I gave as me paying it back for saving my life."
Saitama, the bored hero, felt embarrassed. None ever thanked him before and perhaps in his rush to seek a fight, he had lost his way on why he wanted to be a hero. One who helped those in need... An unselfish, kind and generous person who without an iota of a doubt cared about others more than a fight.
That revelation cleared much of his anxiety and despair. He wouldn't stop seeking an opponent who can give him a good fight, but he wouldn't spiral anymore because of it. He had a lot to do and this hero gig, he was doing it just for fun. If it is no longer fun, he is doing it wrong.
Time for a change up.