"So…" Saitama raised an eyebrow. "Why're we just walking around inside this place?"
"Quiet."
Tatsumaki huffed. Saitama tilted his head.
"And why're you walking so close?"
"I said shut it," she said.
The bald man narrowed his eyes, but didn't press her further.
.
The two were walking along the hospital halls. Aimlessly, as far as Saitama could tell. They'd been at it for a while now. The sound of beeping, pagers, and general chatter that usually permeated the hospital's walls were now few and far between. The silence, paired with Tatsumaki's odd behavior — it was honestly a little bit creepy.
Saitama watched as Tatsumaki walked beside him. She took deep breaths every now and again, and held her head up — higher than usual — as if she couldn't stand to look down.
"You look tense," he said.
The girl turned to him, eyebrows furrowed.
"Saitama, I told y—"
"We're already here," he said. "Did you want a check-up or something?"
His words were light. Tone neutral.
But…
"No. It's not that," she replied softly, dropping her annoyance.
Was he worried about her?
"You said you didn't want to go to a hospital before," Saitama said. "Does that have anything to do with this?"
Tatsumaki closed her eyes, trying not to feel her heart beating.
"I'm surprised you even managed to remember that."
"I'm not that dumb," the baldy said, pouting. "That's how we met. Or, wait no. That was how we… hmm. It was h—I just remember it, okay?!"
"Well, you're right," she said, her serious tone beginning to mix with amusement. "But it's— just…"
Complicated.
That's what she wanted to say. End it there and move on. She knew he wouldn't push her to explain anything.
She turned to see Saitama waiting patiently for her to continue. The slightest of frowns on his face.
He was worried.
Even if her head was hazy, and her breath was uneven; she couldn't have that.
"I… have bad memories," she said, eyes staring at the bright lights above. Those, at the very least, were unfamiliar. "Of places like this."
.
.
"You're a really blunt guy, you know that?" Fubuki said, handing a signed facemask back to the bald hero. After inquiring about why he'd want her autograph — and hearing his reasoning — she couldn't help but shake her head.
Saitama shrugged, inspecting the quality of the signature.
"I'm just me."
He began to walk off.
Fubuki's hand stopped him.
"And since you're so blunt," she whispered behind him. "You probably wouldn't know this. My sister…"
The raven-haired girl considered her next words carefully.
.
.
'She's scared of hospitals.'
Saitama watched as Tatsumaki turned her head to the floor.
The esper had tagged along with him to a place she despised. Got angry at the two heroes who attacked him. And thanked him. All on his behalf.
Fubuki might not have said it to his face, but her tone dripped with… was it resignation? Frustration? He didn't know. But either way, it made him consider the matter with Tatsumaki more deeply than he usually would.
"I wanted to get used to it," the esper said. "While I'm alone, for once. But… I dunno…"
Tatsumaki's voice was small, and Saitama felt a pit in his stomach. It seemed just talking about it was making her uncomfortable.
"Uhm… You know, back when I would get hurt, I never really made trips to the doctor myself," Saitama said, scratching his head. "All that fancy machinery. Bed-rests. Big words — I found them all way too expens- er, it wasn't really my taste."
Tatsumaki turned to look at him.
"And even now, I'm a little creeped out just walking along this hallway," he said.
"Saitama…"
"So, thanks. For putting up with me and my little trip here," he said.
He held out a hand.
"C'mon. Let's go."
The esper turned her head away.
"Okay… Where to?" she asked.
"Outta here, I gue—"
Tatsumaki wrapped her arms tiredly around his.
"I was just getting the hang of it," she said. "Walking around this place with you…"
It was Saitama's turn to look away. Tatsumaki leaned her head against his shoulder. Her whole weight pressed on him. She felt exhausted.
"But if you insist," she said hoarsely. "Let's get out of here."
.
.
"I didn't know…" Saitama frowned, turning to face Fubuki.
"You couldn't have," the younger esper replied, making sure Lily was out of earshot. A small part of her felt relieved. "She'd never tell anyone.
"It might not have meant much to you when you invited her," the girl continued. "But my sister wouldn't do this for just anyone."
The raven-haired girl paused thoughtfully.
"Saitama," she said.
"Mm?"
Fubuki narrowed her eyes.
"What is she to you? A fellow hero? A friend? Or something else?"
"Tats is… a friend," the baldy replied. "A really good friend."
The esper looked thoughtful.
"What's her favorite food?"
"Uh, what?"
"What's her favorite thing to watch on TV? Her favorite book? How does she like to fluff her pillows?"
"I…" Saitama frowned. "I don't know."
For once, the baldy looked uncomfortable.
"Then it's a little too early to be calling her your 'good friend,' isn't it?" Fubuki declared. "As her sister, I can't appr—"
No.
As right as it felt; as much as Fubuki wanted to hammer in the fact that he was nowhere close to her sister, that she disapproved…
The feeling she felt after shaking his hand — it argued quite the opposite.
"Get to know her more," she said firmly, pushing her dark feelings aside. "But don't ask too many questions."
If her sister — her prideful, cynical, awkward, well-meaning, lovely older sister — trusted him…
"Never call her small," Fubuki continued. "Make sure she doesn't drink. And tune out when she starts ranting about me. Got it?"
Saitama nodded, and the esper turned to Lily. Plucking one of the flowers from the bouquet in her subordinate's hands, Fubuki handed it to the bald hero.
"And one last thing…" the esper said.
.
"Thanks for saving my sister."
.
Then she had no reason not to trust him as well.
.
.
"So how do you plan on getting into that tournament?" Tatsumaki asked. "It's not like you can enter under that other guy's name."
"I mean… why not?" Saitama replied. "Just put on an orange wig and bam — I'm him."
"You're willing to commit identity theft, and for what? A little bit of fighting experience?"
"Yeah. And also three million yen."
"Huh…" The esper frowned. "So, an expensive wig then?"
"That's the plan."
The two were racing down the streets to make their way back to the baldy's apartment, lounge about and eat, then go off to get a wig. There was a particular night market Saitama wanted to visit. He'd seen a variety of wigs there before — not that he was looking to buy any at the time — and wanted to check it out again.
But that was for later.
Saitama turned to look at the esper.
She didn't really have much reason to keep accompanying him. After what was probably a stressful affair in the hospital, he'd half-expected Tatsumaki to retreat back to the comfort of her apartment.
But it seemed the esper was feeling quite energetic again. And had chosen to keep their little outing going. For all the effort she seemed to be putting into this, it felt a bit unfair that he was the one leading both of them through the whole day.
"Hey, Tats," he called.
"Hm?"
"Do you want to do anything?"
"I mean, yeah? Whatever you said a while ago sounds fine."
"Ah… okay. But—"
"I'm fine, Saitama," she said. "I mean, yesterday, I was the one pulling you to go everywhere, right? It's only fair."
The corners of the esper's lips turned up.
"Hey. This is pretty fun," she reassured him. "Better than just laying around in my apartment doing nothing, at least."
The esper's eyes widened.
"By laying around, I meant— y-you know! Not like that!"
"Right," Saitama nodded, trying to focus on his running. "R-Right…"
"So," Tatsumaki rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Apartment. Eat. Market. Wig. Yeah?"
"Yep. Mhm."
.
.
The two heroes encountered Genos across the chain-linked entrance near Saitama's home.
"Ah! Thank goodness you have not gone too far yet, sensei!" the cyborg said, on the opposite side from them. "I had thought my note-taking had taken too long, but I am glad to find that it was succinct this time. Now let us go. I have questions I want to ask the victims of the attack."
"No dude, we're already back."
"What."
"We're back from the hospital."
Saitama was met with silence.
Genos opened the fence, walked a few steps, then blasted off to make up for the lost time.
.
"You know," Tatsumaki said, munching on a sandwich. "I kinda miss eggs on rice."
"Me too," Saitama said. "But egg prices are going up."
"Just buy them anyway," the esper tilted her head. "They're still cheap."
"Ham was cheaper that day," the baldy shrugged.
"Whatever floats your boat," Tatsumaki rolled her eyes.
It wasn't like the ham tasted bad, anyway.
.
The apartment was silent. The usual whirring fan and buzz of noise from the TV behind Tatsumaki were replaced with open windows and a quiet breeze. The day had blessed them with a steady trickle of wind, and they made sure to make the most of it.
The curtains danced gently.
Tatsumaki breathed in as another swell made its way inside.
Even in the afternoon, the esper noted, there was absolutely no bustle to be heard outside. A lot like the HQ — save for the rare chirping of birds — it was the type of silence she enjoyed.
Looking around the cramped space, Tatsumaki reminisced.
It was only about a month ago, wasn't it? When she found herself stuck here with the baldy and his cyborg disciple. It was an all-around uncomfortable seven days. Waiting for her torn clothes to dry, helping out with the chores, arguing about manga with the baldy — all while staying put in the claustrophobic square that was Saitama's living area.
She'd been itching to leave her whole stay — going so far as to cut her lodging short and demand an apartment cities away.
Looking at it now, though…
The piles of manga on the bookshelves, the clean, organized desk and TV set, the hilariously overwatered cactus — now with the monkey pot Saitama bought at the hot spring.
It was peaceful.
The esper's eyes slowly drifted to Saitama.
He tilted his head.
She tilted her head back at him.
He made a face.
She smiled tiredly.
.
'Please don't be mad…'
Tatsumaki agreed to forget about it. And she tried — hell, her whole trip to the hospital almost made what happened that morning take a back seat.
But it was impossible.
'I'm not mad. But… shouldn't you be…?'
That's what he said.
And despite hating his answer, and hating the guts he had to be so careless around other people — there was no way she could forget.
As she laid her head on his shoulder while they walked in the hospital, that was the only thing swirling in her mind.
Well, that — and one other thing.
Letting the thoughts drift through her head once more, Tatsumaki stared at Saitama. Eyes falling, slowly, slowly…
Sitting or standing, his shoulder really was the perfect height for her head.
.
Tatsumaki yawned.
Despite her best efforts, the stresses of the day had caught up to her. And loathe she was to admit, Saitama's sandwiches only served to make her even sleepier.
Tatsumaki shook her head, trying to keep her eyes open. With a flick of her finger, the TV turned on behind her.
She floated beside Saitama and grabbed the remote as she sat down.
Tatsumaki flitted through the channels, leaning slowly on Saitama as she did.
Boring. Click. Boring. Click. Boring…
.
Finally stopping on a show all about keeping pets, the esper put the remote down.
Saitama felt her head rest on his shoulder, watching as a kitten pounced around, trying to catch a feather toy in its claws.
'So she likes cats, huh?'
The bald man took a bite out of his food.
He heard Tatsumaki sigh, and felt her slump deeper against him.
'She must be tired,' he thought.
"Saitama…" Tatsumaki's voice was soft.
"Yeah?"
"I know what I wanna do now," she said. "If you don't mind…"
"What is it?" he replied, meeting her gentle tone with his own.
"I… wanna… s… sleep…"
And so she did.
.
.
"So you were here as well… Mmm. I should have expected as much."
The cyborg, having just entered the hospital, found himself face-to-face with Fubuki.
"Genos?" she was in disbelief. "What're y— You know what? Hi."
"Were you about to exit, Blizzard?"
"Yeah. And I'm still about to."
The esper made to move past the cyborg, but he held an arm out to stop her. She looked at him, expressionless.
"Wait."
"What do you want?"
"You were here earlier?"
"Yeah, what abou—?" Fubuki smirked. "Oh."
"So you met sensei here as well," he said.
"With a certain someone, yes," the raven-haired girl said, huffing. "Your little secret-keeping didn't quite work out, Genos. I don't appreciate you keeping such important information from me."
"It was an error in calculation," the cyborg said. "If I had known you would find out, I would have told you sooner."
"How reassuring." Fubuki rolled her eyes.
"The information was not necessary at that point in time," he explained. "Learning about your sister's interactions with sensei would have detracted from your lesson."
"That's for me to decide," she said, frowning. "But whatever. This isn't important anymo—"
"I would like to know what you have found out about them. What did they do while away from the apartment?"
Fubuki scoffed.
"Really? After all you hid from me, you still have the nerve to ask about those two?" the esper snapped.
"Yes."
"Tch. No way. I'm not giving you a single—" the esper caught herself. "Two conditions."
"Name them."
"Apologize," she said. "And owe me a favor."
"I am sorry," he said, bowing. "And the favor?"
"Some other time," she said devilishly. "Now come, my dear student. You have much to get caught up on."
She led him outside, where her smugness wouldn't clash with the dour atmosphere of the building.
.
"… And that's when I left," Fubuki finished.
"So you met them the very same day…"
"As you refused to answer my questions," she said. "And again, today."
The cyborg jotted it down.
"Now you tell me," she said. "What did they do at Saitama's apartment afterwards?"
"What?"
"You know," the girl gestured in discomfort. "When they left before meeting again the next day. Did they hug goodbye? Or… you know… k-kiss, or anything?"
"Sensei slept at Tornado's apartment that day."
"WHAT?!"
It took a few minutes for the esper to calm down.
.
"S-So that's how Saitama was able to invite her to this place so early in the morning…" Fubuki spoke, face red. "You don't suppose they… you know?"
"If by 'you know,' you mean intercou—"
"Yes! This is a public area! Shut up!"
"Tornado denied it," Genos shook his head. "She said that sensei and her played video games until they fell asleep."
"Video games…?" Fubuki hung her head. "She doesn't even do that with me…"
They were so close. Way too close.
"If Tornado did not share this information with you," Genos said. "It may be due to her holding you in high regard."
"Huh?"
"Tornado does not wish to compromise your relationship or views of her," he explained. "Which inherently promotes omission of personal matters Tornado finds detrimental to her bond with you."
"She could just be embarrassed," Fubuki said dully. "Or… you could just be making an excuse for yourself."
"I am perfectly fine sharing information with you at this point," Genos said. "For example, Tornado almost destroyed sensei's apartment on two separate occasions — because of you."
Fubuki raised an eyebrow.
"First was when Tornado had thought you found out about her injuries and location after fighting aboard the ship during the alien invasion," he said. "And second was when she heard of your battle with sensei. She thought he was the one who had hurt you."
"Wha…"
"It is obvious who trumps who between you and sensei in her eyes," he said. "Although afterw—"
"Don't ruin the moment," Fubuki said.
.
"By the way, do you know the process to move up to A-Class, Blizzard?"
"Of course. I've been offered the promotion multiple times," she said.
"You declined them multiple times as well," Genos said. "The logic of which eludes me."
Fubuki didn't respond.
"Why do you want me to tell you anyway?" she asked. "You're in S-Class. And Saitama is dozens of kills away from reachi—"
Genos brought out Saitama's certificate of promotion.
"Oh…" At that point, Fubuki felt like she shouldn't be surprised.
.
.
Tatsumaki woke up in a haze.
The sky outside was dark. The light and soft sounds of the TV were the only signs of life in the room.
She sat up, pushing a blanket down her legs, and a futon underneath her.
Unconsciously, she scanned her surroundings. Looking for Saitama.
For a moment, she wondered if he'd gone off without her.
The sound of stirring blankets assured her otherwise.
Saitama was asleep. His back was pressed against her.
The haze in her head quickly dissipated.
.
His sleeping face looked… the same, actually. Like if she'd caught him mid-blink.
His breaths were steady and slow.
And despite having run around everywhere the whole day, he still smelled like her soap.
Tatsumaki leaned forward, carefully placing her hands on either side of Saitama's shoulders, careful not to graze him. She found herself leaning on top of him. The ends of her curled hair barely missed his face.
'So close.'
Flashes; memories — their hug at the hot spring and in her apartment… and what happened earlier in the day — creeped into her mind.
She wondered what Saitama thought then. Seeing her asleep. Being fine with it.
The feelings she'd been careful to control slowly seeped through.
Tatsumaki glanced at Saitama's lips.
She felt a familiar heat slowly rise to her face, but somehow it didn't bother her as much as it did before.
Not even if Saitama opened his eyes right then.
Tatsumaki took a deep breath.
'Not yet. He still doesn't…'
She wasn't sure. About his thoughts; his feelings. Hell, she wasn't even sure she knew her own.
Well no. There was one thing Tatsumaki was certain of.
She had to get back at the baldy for always waking up before her.
"Sai…" she whispered. "It's getting late…"
Tatsumaki watched as his eyes fluttered under his eyelids.
She leaned further down. Her hair settled on his forehead.
"Saitama," she said, a little more firmly. "Wake up."
After a few moments, the baldy squeezed his eyes and blinked awake.
"T-Tats…"
He blinked.
"Tats?!"
He sat up, slipping through the esper's carefully positioned arms.
"Morning, Sai," she said, tilting her head.
The baldy raised an eyebrow.
'Sai…?'
His face was blazing red.
"Wh— I-I fell asleep?" he asked.
"Like a log," she replied.
Tatsumaki smirked.
"I can see why you wouldn't be mad now," she said offhandedly. "That was pretty funny."
Saitama held his chest, trying to steady his breathing.
"I tried to wake you up properly," she said, eyes sparkling in amusement. "And you get surprised? My, I thought you were strong! A fearless hero!"
"Ugh…"
Tatsumaki laughed.
.
Saitama stood up, shaking his head. The sky was dark, he noted. His clock read eight thirty in the evening. He'd fallen asleep beside Tatsumaki for hours.
And he'd woken up to her smiling on top of him.
Her eyes shone a brilliant emerald, piercing straight through the evening light.
It was burned into his memory.
Saitama closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I'm gonna wash my face," he said.
"Hurry up," Tatsumaki replied. "We gotta go."
Saitama nodded and walked to the bathroom.
The lights clicked on. The faucet began to run. Saitama splashed water onto his face.
Freezing cold.
Using soap and rinsing it off took a few more moments. But it did nothing to stave off the icy feeling.
Looking up at the mirror confirmed his suspicions.
His face was red.
.
'What is she to you?'
.
A friend. That's what she was.
But not a friend like Genos, who he felt responsible for; or King, who he had mixed feelings about.
Tatsumaki was a really good friend.
He never felt as if he needed to be responsible for her. She never really asked anything unreasonable from him, nor did she expect anything from him, either. The time they spent was free of any sense of obligation, at least excluding having to take care of her while she was injured. But even then, it didn't feel all that tiring.
Any mixed feelings had long since vanished. Her annoying, brash side seemed at its worst when she was recovering, which was fair. Now she was happier. And her bright mood always seemed to affect his own.
His idea of friendship had expanded because of her.
She set the bar way too high.
Best friend, then.
Maybe?
He had given no real thought to the idea. After all, he'd never really had any experience with such connections in years.
But now — after what Fubuki said — after Tatsumaki's intimate wakeup call.
It was all he could think about.
.
"Sai!"
.
The bald man jumped.
"You fell asleep in the sink or what?"
"No," he called. Since when had she started calling him that? "I-I'm done."
"Let's go, then!"
.
.
"I wonder where Genos went," Saitama said, locking the apartment door.
"He's probably still interviewing those poor saps at the hospital," Tatsumaki said.
"It's like he finds a way to take the most amount of time possible," Saitama chuckled.
They made their way down the steps.
"Just like Fubuki," the esper replied, shaking her head. "The amount of time she spends just pacing around, putting on makeup or thinking about what to do — it's kind of aggravating."
"Fubuki, huh…" Saitama looked thoughtful.
Tatsumai turned to look at him.
"Sai— er. Saitama," the esper began. Her mellow mood had worn off, it seemed. Having a pet name for the baldy suddenly felt embarrassing. "Um. About Fubuki. What do you think of her?"
"Hm?"
"Does she come off as interesting to you?"
"Hmm… Yeah," Saitama replied. Tatsumaki's ears perked up.
"How so?"
"I mean," the baldy scratched his head. "Where do I start…?"
"After your first impression," Tatsumaki said it for him. "At the park and in the hospital."
"I mean," Saitama looked thoughtful. "I didn't like how she handled her group before but… she seems set on improving. I think my opinion of her has definitely gone higher."
They reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Anything else?"
"Uh. She speaks elegantly, I guess?"
"Fubuki does come across like that," Tatsumaki said, heading for the gated ghost-town's exit. "Always thinking, that girl."
She turned to Saitama.
"Do you know that some people think she's the older one?" she asked incredulously.
"Just because she's bigg— taller?" Saitama asked.
Tatsumaki immediately frowned.
"What. Was that?"
'Never call her small.' A piece of advice from the best source available.
Oh no.
"It makes sense in terms of appeara— I can see how other people would think that," the baldy said, looking away. "But you're definitely the more mature one. A hundred percent."
He was met with silence.
It was the truth; Saitama meant it.
But even still…
He turned around, grimacing — ready to get verbally assaulted.
.
He was met with surprised eyes. Appreciation. Happiness.
Adoration?
Saitama's eyes widened.
"You bet I am," she said, folding her arms. "And that goes for you, too. I'm mature as hell."
With how she reacted, he had to give it to her.
He just hoped she didn't catch his own reaction.
"So rude," Tatsumaki huffed.
"Sorry," Saitama said.
"You're lucky you talk smooth," she said.
"I am."
"Smooth," Tatsumaki admitted. "Just like your head."
Saitama felt himself die a little inside as she snickered at him.
.
.
"Tch." Garou clicked his tongue as he kicked the Association member to the edge of the street.
'What a way to ruin my mood,' he thought, trudging through the crowded street. Not a single person batted an eye as he beat down the piece of scum.
A good sign, he shrugged. As much as the public wrongfully adored heroes, at the very least they didn't care for the grimy Association moneybags that were worse than the heroes they funded.
That, or they were used to seeing violence break out in the streets.
'The satisfaction is gone.' Garou growled. 'After my hard-earned victory over those two A-Class brutes, too.'
It was the worst.
'And here I thought I could find wherever she ran off to.'
Turning back to glance at the knocked-out man, he sighed.
'I ran into that instead.'
.
"Hey, are you the A-Class hero, 'Golden Ball?'"
"First that Blizzard girl with her weird questions, now—" The hero turned around, frowning.
Garou's ear perked. But he shook his head.
"I've got business with you. Step outside."
.
Garou had almost forgotten amidst the excitement of his brawl, but he knew that name.
The Blizzard of Hell. The queen of rookie crushing. The leader of one of the Association's most influential groups and a target to strike fear into the hearts of the heroes.
She had — for reasons he didn't care to learn — spoken to Golden Ball just moments before.
And she slipped right past his fingers.
Damn!
It was an unlucky coincidence, he figured. Next time he'd have a plan.
Fubuki had a younger sister, no?
The Tornado of Terror.
It might have just been musing, but the image of him capturing Blizzard's sister to force her out of hiding seemed perfect.
He'd beaten an S-Class hero already. The thrill was there, but he had his eyes set on impact. All the Fubuki Group's members unconscious beneath his feet, just like the Tank-Toppers.
The image of a single, beaten esper — S-Class or not — just wasn't the same. Hell, it might even be easier than taking on a B-Class esper with lackeys!
He could already imagine it. Confronting the Tornado of Terror would be child's play. The moment he—
"You picking a fight or something?" a voice called from behind him.
"Hm?" He turned around.
And was face-to-face with the Tornado of Terror.
The esper continued to speak, but Garou was already on the offensive.
The air crackled with his bloodlust.
A chop that could split steel rocketed straight for the esper's collarbone.
Unfortunately, his hand made contact with something a tad bit harder than steel.
Angrier, too.
"Hey."
A bald man had taken the place of his target. His attack had no effect in the slightest.
The bald man's eyes were dead serious.
It was the last thing Garou saw before he blacked out.
.
Tatsumaki found herself pressed against Saitama. His arm was wrapped protectively around her.
The esper frowned.
"I could've handl—"
"Dumbass," Saitama muttered, staring at the knocked-out teenager at his feet.
Tatsumaki's eyes widened.
Saitama cleared his expression before turning to her.
"Sorry. What did you say?"
"Ah," Tatsumaki looked up at him. "T-Thanks."
"No prob. He didn't hurt you, did he?"
The esper shook her head.
"He was just standing there like an idiot," Tatsumaki said. "With a stupid grin on his face."
"Do you think he wanted to buy wigs ahead of us?" Saitama gestured to the store Garou had been blocking the entrance to.
"Definitely."
.
.
"His hair was orange, right?"
"You don't need to get it exactly right."
"But what if he knows someone in that tournament?"
"Just tell them you dyed i— actually, who cares?! Why not just take his place?!"
"He says an unavailable slot is immediately forfeit."
"Your Bang's friend. He's a martial arts guy, right? Can't they make an exception?"
"Dunno. Maybe?"
Tatsumaki watched as Saitama shrugged and tried on another spiky orange wig.
It had been fifteen minutes since they'd entered the store. It was quite empty, save for the cashier. And Saitama had spent most of the time putting things on and asking if the color was right.
He seemed really focused on how he looked.
She didn't miss the glances he took at the black wigs, too.
"Hey, Saitama," she said.
"Hm?"
"You weren't born bald, right?"
"Haahh!? What kind of question is that?!"
"That's a no, then?"
"Yes it's a no! I was born with hair!"
"Yeesh, you don't have to get defensive about it."
"If you can't tell, being bald's been a big issue for me," he said. "I sacrificed my hair to be strong."
"You're worried about how you look?"
"I mean yeah," Saitama said, pulling the orange wig off. "Don't you think it's a little weird that I'm younger than you and bald already?"
"No." Tatsumaki frowned. "You look fine."
"Easy for you to say," Saitama shook his head. "You and Genos don't need to worry about all this."
"C'mon," she nudged him. "We're here. I'm kinda curious."
"You're gonna make fun of me," Saitama said, pouting.
"I won't! When have I ever?"
Saitama didn't respond, and Tatsumaki snickered.
"Fine," he said, walking up to a row of dark-haired wigs.
"Ohh, black hair?" She tilted her head.
Saitama nodded. He looked around at the mannequin heads, and picked one out as soon as he saw it. It was a spiky, pure black wig with decently short hair.
'Really?' Tatsumaki put a hand to her chin. 'That doesn't look like it'll suit him at—'
He put it on.
And the esper's jaw dropped.
.
She had never been one to care about looks. She took it that the external aspects of people were only there to serve as a distraction. The most value one could give to a person's looks was how much they took care of themself. Whether that be in vanity or the simple want to look good was up to interpretation.
Saitama was a perfect example.
He was plain. He let his actions speak for him. He wasn't looking for attention.
Sure, he took care of himself — but it wasn't vain at all. The shirts he liked, in her opinion. looked… questionable at best. He liked the things that he liked. His style and way of carrying himself was very much in-line with his personality.
And she'd grown to like that about him.
Unlike typically 'beautiful' heroes like Amai Mask, Saitama had a charm all unto his own. She very much preferred it, in fact.
.
Seeing Saitama like this, however…
It was unfair.
Somehow, his features seemed to sharpen. His eyes especially. Matching his dark hair, his already lively brown eyes had suddenly been introduced to a complement.
He seemed more youthful. Energetic. Passionate.
Was this how he was when he had trained? Had those feelings been lost along with his hair?
And why did she feel like she'd seen it before?
Saitama pushed some hair away from his face and caught her staring.
Tatsumaki gulped, looking away.
"Ah…!" She hurriedly put a hand up to cover her mouth and chin.
She was half-sure that she'd been drooling.
.
"How does it look?" Saitama asked dejectedly.
"A-Al… ehrm! It looks alright…"
"Better, right?"
"N—! Er— no…! It's all the same to me."
That's what her set of ideals told her. And she knew it really shouldn't matter.
With hair or without, Saitama was Saitama. Nothing would change that.
Tatsumaki nodded to redouble her statement.
The black-haired man smiled.
And Tatsumaki felt her heart flutter — just as much as any other time.
"Thanks," he said, laughing softly. "I know you don't mean it, but thanks."
"Just be happy I didn't hate it," Tatsumaki said, face red. "That might've hurt you more than if I liked your look with hair."
"Ah…" he said, looking mortified. "Wait— you don't really think that, do you?!"
"Of course not." The esper rolled her eyes. "You look fine either way."
Tatsumaki lifted a finger and the black wig floated off Saitama's head.
"Take an orange wig," she said, putting the wig back on its mannequin. "Let's see if we'll need it tomorrow."
"Gotcha," he said, sighing in relief.
As Saitama walked away, the esper clutched her chest.
It really was a good thing he decided not to go back to his old look.
There was only so much control the esper had over herself.
.
.
Tatsumaki glanced around while Saitama paid for his wig.
While it was mostly wigs, there was a decent selection of costumes, cosplay materials, or even regular streetwear at the far end of the store.
"You need a gi, right?" Tatsumaki called.
"Maybe," Saitama replied. "But this store's kinda expensive."
The esper walked over to the racks of clothes.
.
She'd have to wear something to go and watch, right?
.
The public eye was never a good thing. If she cheered for Saitama without a disguise, people would come to conclusions.
Fubuki already knew about them, so she wouldn't be taking a risk in that regard, but…
Her outings with Saitama were very personal. Quiet moments where nobody outside could look into and scrutinize and blow way out of proportion.
Being able to cheer her heart out as Saitama competed.
That would be really nice.
.
"Hey, Tat— bfgh!?"
The esper was wearing a qipao. Psychic bands held her hair up in two buns.
"I figured I wanted to dress for the occasion," she said, raising one leg in a fighting stance. "Too on the nose?"
Saitama's eyes were completely directed to where she wanted them to be.
"A-A little bit, yeah," Saitama looked away. "But you look good."
Tatsumaki realized what she'd just done.
"I-I know!" she stammered, quickly setting her foot down. "But I should probably wear something more casual for the event."
"What's this for, exactly?" the baldy asked.
"The tournament."
"Huh?! Wait, hold on…" Saitama raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna be going with me?"
"Duh," Tatsumaki said, pulling a few outfits from the shelves. "Why would I not want to watch you fight?"
Saitama blinked.
"Anyway," she said. "I'll go change."
Tatsumaki walked off, leaving the baldy standing in silence.
.
"How do I look?"
The esper asked thrice. Once when she wore a black shoulderless top and high-waisted pants, sporting a ponytail. Another when she sported a sky-blue sundress and a straw hat. And finally when she changed into a simple white blouse and black buttoned skirt.
"Cute," Saitama said. All three times.
The first time he said it, she felt like exploding. The second time, she felt like exploding him.
"Do you not have anything else to add?" she said, more than a little miffed.
"You look like you could pull all those off," Saitama said. "I'm surprised you managed to put such nice clothes together with such a small selection."
"I…!"
The baldy was making it difficult to be mad.
"Which one do you like the most, then?" she huffed, pinching her skirt with both hands.
"All of them," he said.
"Gah! I knew I shouldn't have asked you!"
The esper leaned forward, pushing him out of the dressing area.
"So you're not gonna—"
"I'm picking without you, baldy!"
She went back inside one of the stalls.
.
.
The two exited the store, each with a bag in hand.
"So what'd you end up getting?"
"I'm not telling you. Stupid Saitama."
"I guess I'll find out tomorrow."
"You better say more than just 'cute,' when you see me, got it?"
"Of course."
.
The nighttime crowd had fully set in. People streamed from all about, paying the two little attention, if any at all.
Even still, Tatsumaki felt herself shifting away from any excessively packed areas.
"Did you want to eat dinner?" Saitama asked.
"Not here."
"My place or yours, then?"
"Your place. It's nearer."
"Gotcha."
.
.
Genos opened the door. Much to his expectations, he found the esper there. She was munching on their limited supply of ham.
"Tornado. Please refrain from sticking to sensei like a lost puppy all day," the cyborg said, removing his shoes as he entered. "He is a very busy man."
"He was the one who invited me, scrap pile," Tatsumaki replied.
"Yes is not the only available option in that scenario," he said, closing the door.
Genos eyed the two paper bags near the entrance.
"And compelling sensei to spend? I had thought you would know of his finan—"
He pulled out the orange wig.
Saitama stood up.
"It's not what it looks like!"
"Excuse me, sensei," Genos said, opening the door again. "I need to make a call."
Tatsumaki watched, amused, as the cyborg stepped out, wig in hand.
She laughed as Saitama ran outside.
It was a few minutes before the baldy convinced Genos that he didn't make up the story about going to a tournament, and a few more that — no — he did not want hair implants.
.
The sound of water and washed dishes rang through the apartment.
"What kept you so late anyways, Genos?" Saitama asked.
The cyborg scrubbed the plates the two had eaten on.
"Ah. I had an errand to attend to," he said nonchalantly. "You are now A-Class rank 39, sensei."
"Oh that's— WHAT?!"
Tatsumaki tilted her head.
"Isn't there a whole process for that?" she asked.
"Yes," Genos nodded. "But in the case of a Hero's unavailability, their emergency contact and/or a permissed third party is able to answer and accept in their place."
"Really?" Saitama asked.
"No. But I had the rule made on the spot — it is now official Hero Association protocol," Genos said. "Do not worry. I answered your interview questions impeccably. My deepest congratulations, sensei."
"Uh… thanks."
Genos bowed, faucet water accidentally splashing onto his hair.
.
.
"So you're A-Class now," Tatsumaki said, paper bag in hand. Aside from clothes, it had been filled with new manga as well.
The two were on the balcony. It was midnight.
"Yep. Thanks to you and Genos," he said. "And that zombie guy, too."
"An unprecedented S-Class team-up," she smirked. "And for what? A measly little A-Class promotion?"
"I'll catch up," Saitama said.
"You better."
Tatsumaki smiled, eyes twinkling.
With a soft glow, the esper began to hover in the air.
"I'll be waiting."
And she was off.
.
Wind blew as Saitama watched Tatsumaki leave.
Freezing cold.
Just like the water he splashed onto his face hours ago.
.
.
Ah. The two-day date comes to an end. Sisters and sunsets, a mess of a morning, psychics and cyclists. A day off, things left unsaid, questions, answers.
Things have changed.
Finally!
.
Stay warm and stay tuned.
-bb