The 7-time tournament entrant, cheered on by the crowd, took a deep, settled breath. The sounds of the world muted as he closed his eyes.
He exhaled, allowing his thoughts to flow empty, then inhaled again.
Haaaaaah…
He felt the warm air enter his lungs. Flexed his arms, nodding at the responsiveness of each individual finger. The fighter took two steps in place. Light as a feather. Each of his techniques sprang into mind. Muscle memory.
Again, the fighter nodded.
Zakkos was ready. Physically and mentally.
He had to win this.
Because only then could he propose to the love of his life. The rush of victory would be the perfect electric shock to grant him the courage to ask.
'Will you marry me?'
The very words set his heart abound with joy. He could already imagine it. The altar, the crowd, their kiss.
He—
Zakkos shook his head.
First. First and foremost — he had to win.
His opponent, Charanko, looked astonishingly ridiculous, but he knew better than to underestimate his enemies. There was a way he carried himself that felt uncanny. And as if to remind Zakkos of the man's potential, his green-haired coach looked sternly at him from behind. Her eyes brimmed with confidence.
She bore a striking resemblance to the strongest active S-Class hero, he noted. The level of power he was searching for. The level of power he knew he was so close to reaching.
All he had to do was win. And everything would be perfect.
'Thank you for this reminder,' he muttered to himself as he stared at the orange-haired man head-on. 'I will carry on your resolve to the finals. Mark my words.'
Martial arts was in his blood. And it had chosen today to bless him with the perfect mindset, the perfect physical condition, and the perfect stage to finally triumph.
Nothing could make this day better.
.
"BEGIN!"
.
Zakkos' vision instantly snapped to black.
.
.
"A single hiiiiit!" the announcer screamed. "As soon as the match began, Charanko snuffed out Zakkos' hopes of winning in a single, perfect strike! Incredible!"
The people in the crowd spent a single, quiet silent second in disbelief.
And then they went ravenous.
It was well worth the fee. Worth the wait in line and the heat of the sun. They had expected only the best matches from the martial artists competing in such a large tournament, after all. Slugfests, close, drawn-out battles and showcases of athleticism and quick-thinking were the standard they held for these fights. But a one-hit first round? From a fighter that wasn't even seeded?
It was more than enough to get the blood flowing.
What a perfect first round!
Tatsumaki smiled to herself as the crowd erupted into cheers, awed by the sight in front of them.
'Finally! Finally they can see him,' she thought smugly. Accustomed to the usual bald shine that Saitama produced, her pleased smile drooped. Her eyes landed quietly on the wig. 'Well, almost.'
It seemed he was posing as someone else.
The idea of someone else stealing Saitama's credit yet again was unappealing. But it was inevitable. The martial artist nobody had his name listed down on the ticket, after all. Nothing they could do about it.
Yet.
Tatsumaki glanced at the stage, wondering if Saitama was enjoying the sight as much as she did.
"Ah," was all the baldy said. He stared at his knocked-out opponent, a small frown on his face.
Tatsumaki shook her head, smiling.
He didn't even celebrate his victory yet. Typical Saitama.
The orange-haired baldy was currently on one knee, checking to see if his competitor was fine.
"Yo, dude, are you good?" he asked, slapping the man's cheek softly. "Hello?"
With a soft groan, the man woke back up. He lay on the floor limply, staring at the sky.
Saitama held a hand out.
"Whew. I was worried that I used too mu—"
"AAAAND ZAKKOS IS OUT AT LAST PLACE ONCE MORE!"
A few respectful claps drizzled down from the crowd, but it did little to stifle the disappointment rising in the martial artist's chest.
He took Saitama's hand and sat up dejectedly. Nothing could make this day worse.
"Our dear Zakkos! Oh, such a shame! He'd invited his sweetheart to propose, but now he can kiss his hopes goodbye!" the announcer said, promptly proving the martial artist's assumption wrong.
Now nothing could make his day worse.
Zakkos narrowed his eyes as he saw his opponent flounder awkwardly at the news. He didn't need this man's pity. Next year. Next year for sure.
"Listen here, Charan—"
"Wait! Hold on!" The announcer cut the fighter off. "We're receiving some new information! Turns out, Zakkos' sweetheart didn't attend the tournament! What a relief! His moment of shame, completely missed!"
Zakkos let himself fall back onto the ground.
He closed his eyes.
.
Saitama nodded, no longer feeling awkward about ruining his opponent's chances at proposing. Seeing as to how Zakkos seemed to enjoy laying on the ground — so much so he was crying tears of joy — it was safe to say that he wasn't taking the loss too badly.
"Saitama…" Tatsumaki called softly.
The orange-haired baldy turned instantly to face her.
Tatsumaki gave him two thumbs up, smiling meekly.
Her eyes darted about. Her legs shifted awkwardly.
"G-Good job…"
She wasn't used to giving praise. Or smiling. Or wearing a qipao in front of a stadium of thousands, for that matter.
But she was doing it for him.
Saitama just stood there, blinking.
"WAIT!" the announcer exclaimed, causing the wigged baldy to flinch. "We've received some more new information! It— oh… oh! It seems we'll leave it for Charanko to say."
Evil laughter echoed throughout the arena.
A voice in Saitama's earpiece spoke right as the announcer went quiet.
"Press the red button to connect to the arena's speakers, please," Ona said. "And…"
.
Tatsumaki tilted her head as she watched Saitama's face drain of all its color.
She frowned, walking to the edge of the raised arena platform and holding out a hand.
"Saitama… are you oka— ah?!"
The man leaned down and placed his hands on her shoulders.
He dropped down, the movement forcing the esper to press against him.
Did he get a message from his earpiece?
She took a step back, fearing that she might lose her balance.
Why was he so close?
Saitama's hands were gentle. A little cold.
Was he nervous?
Tatsumaki turned her head up to look at him.
Why was his face red?
"Maki."
His voice made her stand stiffly. It echoed around the arena. Firm, but…
Only Tatsumaki could hear the slightest of tremors as he called her name.
'Sorry,' he mouthed.
Why was he apologizing?
Saitama took a deep breath.
Took her hand.
And pressed it against his heart.
.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
.
.
Tatsumaki blinked once. Twice.
"A—Ah. Haah?!"
She covered her mouth, tried to reel back or turn around — but wherever she looked, the crowd was there. There was no hiding. Not from the question that pierced her very soul.
'This… it has to be THEIR doing…' she thought frantically. The businessmen who put them up to the ridiculous master-and-student bit.
She was sure. It had to be. There was no other way to rationalize Saitama… the baldy. Confessi— no. She couldn't even finish that thought.
It was a setup. A sham! For the crowd and the cameras and the people watching the broadcast — it was all for show. For viewership. For money.
Her feelings were being toyed with, for absolutely everyone to see.
The realization made Tatsumaki furious.
It should have, at the very least.
'Will you be my girlfriend?'
But it was Saitama saying those words. His voice that called out to her so tenderly — completely uncharacteristic to his usual monotone demeanor — that caught her off guard in the best, worst, way possible.
It was his hand on hers. His grip was softer than she could've imagined. She was completely free to let go. Cover her face with the hand he was touching and pull away from the unfunny, stupid bit the men in their earpiece made Saitama commit — without any sort of warning on her end.
But her hand felt glued to his.
She could feel his heart hammering.
Those stupid sponsors were lucky she had to keep up appearances.
They were lucky she didn't know where they were hiding.
But she wasn't going to let everyone simply get away with it. Oh, no. No, no, no.
.
Tatsumaki leaned forward, fighting the burning hot flush on her face, and pulled Saitama's hand to her cheek.
She placed her head squarely on his shoulder; her mouth was right where his ear was.
"If you win…" she whispered sweetly. Her breath chilled Saitama's flushed ear. "I'll…"
Everyone in the crowd leaned forward, on the edge of their seats.
Then collectively groaned as the signal cut short.
Tatsumaki's earpiece shattered to pieces, its shards glowing the lightest green under her command.
Saitama was the only one who heard her.
And whatever she said caused him to reel back. Almost trip over himself and leave his hands waving wildly in the air.
Tatsumaki watched as he caught himself roughly against the arena's platform, staring at her like he'd seen a ghost.
His face was blazing hot.
"That's what you get for teasing me, dummy," Tatsumaki said, walking towards him.
She flicked his forehead angrily.
"It wasn't funny," she said. "Come back to me when you're ready to apologize."
She huffed and walked away.
The crowd roared — in complaint and in excitement. What in the world had she said?!
The only one who heard Tatsumaki stared at her receding form. In a few moments, she had disappeared behind the shadows of the arena hallways.
.
Zakkos layed back down on the hard arena floor.
At least they'd forgotten all about his humiliating loss.
"Please vacate the arena," the announcer said. "Losers are requested to stay in the lounges or food courts until the awarding ceremony."
Ah.
Okay.
.
.
'Why did I SAY that!?'
Alone in the room they occupied earlier, Tatsumaki smacked her head against a locker, hoping the loud noise and sudden pain would be enough to drive the… embarrassment? No. The… heat? Not quite. The l– no! Nonononono. Whatever it was! She slammed her forehead again, hoping to drive the 'whatever it was' away from her body.
'If you win, I'll—'
CLANG!
The locker did not appreciate the esper's self-violence one bit.
Why? Why?!
She meant it as a joke, but… that seemed a tad too far.
A tad too meant.
But at least he was the only one who heard it.
He'd take it as a joke. What else could there be to expect from the thick-headed baldy? He was quick on the uptake when it came to her insecurities, but not with matters like this. He had to take it as a joke.
The esper sat down, raising her aching head to the bright ceiling lights.
"Haah…"
It was an unusual feeling.
The warmth in her chest, despite the embarrassment.
The faint smile on her face, even if she knew it was just a setup.
'Will you be my girlfriend?'
It was unfair for them to have him say that. They had no clue what those words would mean to her.
She'd never, not in a million years, have thought that Saitama would say that.
She wasn't prepared.
Not in the slightest.
.
Embarrassing — unthinkable — prefix aside, what even was a friend to her in the first place?
Tatsumaki didn't know. At least, she'd never had to think about it before. She never had friends before — her sister excluded.
She had a notion of what they were supposed to be, at least.
Friends were… supportive. Supportive and dependable. They were an investment in time that was more than worthwhile. That's what she saw on TV and in movies, at least. The notions of friendship in the media were consistent and reasonable. And the only thing she really knew about the matter.
But if Tatsumaki was being honest with herself, she wasn't sure if she really agreed with everyone else. Dependable? Supportive? Those words seemed so vague. Superficial. Baseless.
Tatsumaki touched her chin.
Friends were supposed to be equals. Strong, physically and mentally. And, specifically, someone who could stand both her anger — and her silence — in comfort.
Tatsumaki held a higher standard for friends than most people. And actively antagonized anyone, shutting them down before they could even try to get close. It was a vicious, unforgiving challenge that, truthfully, no one had the will to take on.
She was the strongest, after all.
But it was a useless endeavor, either way.
If she wanted a friend in the first place, she wouldn't have chosen to live the life she did.
There was too much solitude in being… her. Too much violence. Too much discipline.
She knew that. She'd had her whole life to get used to it. But still…
Friends were a concept she never truly got to terms with.
That was probably why she never made any.
.
Aside from, y'know… him.
Saitama showed up out of nowhere. Literally whisked her off her feet.
And she had to get to terms with the whole 'friend' concept fast.
Saitama helped her through her injuries. He never took advantage of her rank and status in any way she found unsavory. Spent hours upon hours whiling away the time with her.
She never thought she'd have fun shopping.
She never considered that she could care so much about manga or video games.
He was all those things that everyone else expected of a friend. And honestly? She would have been satisfied with just that. The media was right for once. Good on them.
But it didn't stop there.
Saitama never looked down on her — in a metaphorical sense, at least. In fact, he looked up to her. Not in any way a creepy, obsessed fan would — but genuinely saw her hard work as something worthy of his awe and appreciation. And wasn't afraid to say as much to her face.
He was strong, too. Beyond strength.
And his ideals as a hero never wavered. Even despite her outbursts and their petty arguments.
They shared silence together effortlessly.
.
He was her friend. The only one she had. The only one she really needed.
It was perfect, really.
So why?
'Will you be my girlfriend?'
So why did they have to make him say that?
Bring the comfort crashing down into… something else. Not bad, but… just… different.
Worry rose within her. But a warm kind of worry.
She was breathless. But it was electric.
It wasn't real. Those words meant nothing. It was all an act.
But even still.
It was unfair.
It was unfair.
.
He was her dear friend. Her best friend. And she was sure he thought the same.
The thing he'd just said — and the thing she said in reply… It was acting. Banter with some very odd context. A playful farce, at best.
But still…
Tatsumaki groaned.
The already-dented locker looked as fine a place as any to bash her head against.
It was better than thinking of these things, at the very least.
.
.
Saitama walked silently back to the waiting rooms. Despite his victory — where one would expect a hint of elation or resolve to continue — his expression was one of deep thought.
'Should I have said that?'
It was worrying, to say the least. The way Tatsumaki walked off.
Despite teasing him, she seemed much more caught off-guard than she let on.
Or was it something else that bothered him…?
He expected her to be mad. He apologized to her in advance.
But in that moment, where she would usually have chosen to make a scene — an outburst, an angry scolding at him for playing with words like that — he received none of those. She simply teased him back.
And left.
As positive as it seemed, he felt that he'd struck a nerve with her. And he couldn't blame her in the slightest.
.
Standing in the arena, a few moments before his 'confession.'
"Press the red button to connect to the arena's speakers, please," the voice in his ears said. "And confess to Maki. A bonus to the original agreement will be issued. Rest assured."
The voice cut off.
And he was left with a choice.
.
Walking back from the arena, Saitama couldn't help but feel he made the wrong one.
He was dense, but even he knew confessions like that weren't to be said with nonchalance.
She did say she knew it was a hollow confession afterwards — simple teasing — but it didn't change the fact that, for a moment, he saw it.
The flash of surprise.
Confusion.
And something else he couldn't quite describe.
He toyed with her. If even for a moment.
And for what? The promise of lining his pockets? After agreeing to so much already?
He pushed it too far.
She was his friend, dammit! His best friend!
He didn't come here for the money. If he hadn't realized it before, he resolved to remind himself now.
Three million, a bonus, and a bonus on top of a bonus. They could all be damned.
He just wanted to spend time with her. Quality time.
"Grh!" Saitama slapped his forehead.
And he just had to let his greed ruin it, even for just a moment.
It was unfair to her.
It was unfair.
.
.
Saitama opened the door to their waiting room.
Tatsumaki was staring at the lockers intently.
Was she angry?
Metal was very easy to crumple, after all. It would take barely a thought from the esper to turn the storage units into modern art.
She seemed frozen in place.
He opened his mouth, but decided against talking. He knew that she heard the door open. And it felt like he had no right to speak at the moment.
The esper raised a glowing hand, making Saitama jump. The locker made a loud 'POP!'
It seemed she fixed a small dent on the locker, perfectly aligned with her forehead. A little odd, but now wasn't really the right time to comment.
She took a seat. Turned her head towards him for a moment. Then turned back.
She let out a quick puff of air through her nose.
Saitama took a deep breath.
Yep. She was mad.
The baldy closed the door quietly, trying to settle his thoughts. For a while, he decided whether to sit next to her or stand awkwardly with his hand on the door handle.
She stared at him.
Awkward handle-holding it was.
"Tats," he began.
The esper folded her arms.
Her eyebrows were furrowed.
He opened his mouth, and for the second time, decided against talking.
Tatsumaki broke the silence first.
"It was a skit, right?" The words came out softer than she would have liked. "For more people to tune in. And more money for you."
There was quite a bit of emphasis put into her question. It was soft, but weighty.
"Yeah," he breathed. "I—"
"Mm…"
Tatsumaki walked over to him. The ribbons around her hair flowed gently. Her steps were clear and steady.
She placed her head on his chest.
"I'm no good with people," she said quietly. "Thick-headed as it seems… I don't like it when people say things but mean something else."
Shame welled up within Saitama.
"Tats, I— I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."
Tatsumaki shifted her head to the side.
"I know you are," she nodded. "So… next time… Don't say those things unless you really mean them."
After a moment's pause, she pushed away. Turned around. Folded her arms once more.
It was quiet for a moment. Not quite uncomfortable, but not quite resolved, either.
A question hung in the air.
But they both felt it wasn't the time to talk about it.
It was too new. Too big a shift from the perfect air they'd been sharing for the past few days.
Things were fine as they were. For now.
After all, they had a tourney to win.
Tatsumaki glanced at Saitama.
And if he did win… Well…
She placed a finger against her lips, deep in thought.
Unlike a certain someone, who only said things for the sake of money or teasing — she was a woman of her word.
.
.
"Bakuzan's the second seed for this tournament, right?"
"Mhmm."
"So he must be pretty strong."
"Mhmm."
"What flavor is that again?"
"Caramehl— ehrm. Caramel apple," Tatsumaki said, wiping a bit of ice cream off her mouth. She looked like she'd just been snapped from a trance. "You look worried. Stop it."
"He might—"
"Unless the next word is 'lose,'" she said, continuing to lick her ice cream. "You're absolutely wrong."
Saitama's eyes strayed on her face for a while. But he quickly shook his head — then nodded hastily — to confirm Tatsumaki's assurances.
He couldn't help but notice that she really liked ice cream.
.
The two were strolling around the rather empty arena food court. A few more fights were going on, and they had decided to make the most of the privileges given to them as participants.
The strange air had quickly petered out, and it was replaced by Saitama's worries. First, at how quickly they managed to find such an obscure flavor for Tatsumaki and their absolute ineptness at giving him a proper scoop of vanilla. Second, at how his nervousness was messing with his stomach (he promptly gave the rest of his ice cream to a red-faced Tatsumaki — was she afraid of germs, or something?). And third at his upcoming opponent.
He wasn't really used to feeling nervous anymore.
And it wasn't like he wasn't confident in his abilities.
So… what was going on?
"I wonder what you can do with three mil — and a bit extra," Tatsumaki muttered in-between bites. "Maybe a nice car. Do you drive? Ah, but you can run anywhere anyways. Invest in the Hero Association? I hear they're doing some sketchy rank-for-cash things behind the scenes. Oh! How 'bout a…"
Saitama listened contentedly as she continued talking.
She was treating the money as a given. So great was her confidence in him that she was already considering the best way to use his yet-unearned cash. It was adorable. But also—
Ah. That's why he was nervous.
Her.
He could not let her down.
.
"AAAAAND NEXT UP, BAKUZAN. VERSUS. CHARANKO!"
The arena rumbled.
.
.
Tickets were quite expensive. Especially if they were minutes before the event.
Genos was pretty sure he'd just been scammed by a scalper.
However, it was worth the effort to watch his master's exploits.
.
"I'll be going to the tourney with Tats," Saitama said that morning, looking quite nervous. "Wish me luck."
"This is news to me. I shall attend with you two!" Genos insisted, making a move to walk out of the door as well.
Saitama stopped him gently.
"It's supposed—" he paused. "Er, you're gonna have to buy your own ticket, you know that?"
"Indeed. I am assuming that Tornado will be buying hers as well. I will strive to find a seat closer to the arena than her."
"Ah. Sure," Saitama said. "You really don't have to. I'm really glad you'd want to watch at all, honestly."
"But of course," Genos tilted his head. "Why would I want to miss a chance to see you in battle?"
Saitama rubbed his head, chuckling.
"I'm honestly hoping they'll put up a fight," he said, putting up a fist. "They train hard, after all. What do you think?"
"I think you will beat them in a single punch," Genos said.
"Then why would you even attend? Save your money, man."
The cyborg shook his head
"I am not there to analyze your opponent's tactics," he said. "I simply want to see you win. Your punches have a certain elegance to them. They are impossible to look away from. I'm sure the audience will agree."
Saitama nodded appreciatively, but didn't say more. Genos knew his master was never good with compliments.
"I assume Tornado will want to watch for the same reasons," Genos said.
At that, Saitama jumped. His heart rate spiked for a moment.
"A-Ah, yeah!" he said. "Why… Why bring her up, though?"
"You seemed worried," Genos replied simply. "And there is nothing to worry about tomorrow but her."
"Ah."
"She is troublesome, after all."
"Mhm."
"Well then, shall we be off?"
Saitama paused.
And ruin his alone time with Tats?
"Ah— can you," Saitama thought quickly. "Can you make sure the apartment's secure? Check around for any monsters or something? We'll be leaving the house unguarded, after all. Oh— and stock up on some veggies while you're at it?"
"You will see me in the stands with a grocery bag full of discounted greens," Genos bowed. "And rest assured. I will personally ensure there are no living beings within a mile from our home."
"Atta boy."
The man rubbed the cyborg's head fondly, put on his wig, then left.
.
So there Genos was — around two hours later — with a bag of celery and lettuce and ticket in hand, barely having arrived in time for the tournament. He was currently sitting beside some curious onlookers, hearing them mutter about his seeming interest in martial combat. At the beginning, it seemed his status as a hero was detracting from the attention given to the fighters.
But it didn't matter. Once his master went onstage and beat the pathetic fighter Zakkos in a single punch, the attention of the crowd was wholly on him.
It was satisfying.
At least for a few moments.
Genos was quickly reminded of the irksome attention thief that had come along with Saitama. He had been able to purchase front-row tickets — which he was sure was enough to beat out the esper's seating arrangements — but she was standing right by the arena. It was utterly unplanned for.
To make matters worse, it seemed that his sensei and Tatsumaki had participated in an utterly degrading skit of master-and-student — with the esper as his master's master! It was outrageous!
He would've spoken up if only Saitama didn't look so unbothered with the situation. Genos quickly assumed it was for advertising purposes. Which meant his master was using Tatsumaki for monetary benefit.
Excellent.
The rest of his worries — that being of his master's seduction by the esper, and the possible inklings of actual romance — were quickly washed away. Tatsumaki's utter incompetence at acting like Saitama's master was hilarious and not at all appealing. It was honestly quizzical how un-masterlike she was. In fact, she seemed quite meek in her role. The crowd loved it, however. That was something he could not quite understand.
Had she been her usual, prideful self, he would not have tolerated the act for even a second — but it seemed the embarrassing outfit had kept that pride down. What he found truly odd was the demeanor that replaced it.
The cyborg didn't miss her smiling at every cheer directed at his master. He did not ignore her words of encouragement every time Saitama seemed nervous.
She was a proper supporter. Doing as he would in her place.
It kept the cyborg's annoyance at a minimum.
.
'Will you be my girlfriend?'
.
Then that happened. The handrail in front of Genos might have been melted after he'd heard it, but he quickly chalked the confession down to — once again — his master's profit. After all, it had been broadcast throughout the arena. Genos found that the two were so inept at faking it — all blustery and shy. It was quite funny. A real confession from Saitama would have the full confidence Genos associated with him. And Tatsumaki would gratefully accept his affection. As two heroes did.
Well, not that the notion of the two together was something he had been considering.
Ugh.
This was all Fubuki's fault.
.
Genos' phone buzzed.
'Monster reports?' his eyes scanned the screen. 'Dozens of them…'
He stood up.
'Is this worth telling sensei about? Or Tatsumaki, perhaps?'
Visions of the two heroes playing the go-karting video game flashed in his mind. 'Virtual training,' he recalled. It had consumed his free time, trying to understand it. But it was still incomprehensible to him.
If he could not even match them in virtual training, what more was there to say about his abilities in physical reality?!
'To truly be able to stand at their level,' he thought fiercely. 'I must take this on myself.'
.
As Genos rushed out of the stadium, he wondered if any of the fighters would actually prove interesting for his master.
The cyborg distinctly remembered that Saitama was interested in Garou — and likely following that, wanted to experience martial arts himself, as a way to prepare.
With the caliber of opponents Genos witnessed, most would not pose much of a threat at all. From weak combination attacks to the use of relatively meager zaps of electricity, it seemed that the participants were not quite as proficient in martial arts as the tournament had advertised. A spectacle to behold, Genos admitted, since many of them were of equal skill, but nothing that would give his master a fight.
Although…
There was one man that seemed more skilled than the rest.
.
.
Suiryu smiled as Bakuzan walked past him in the hallway.
"G'luck out there, champ," the cheery martial artist said. His posture was relaxed, slumped against a wall with crossed arms.
Bakuzan stopped mid-stride, turning his head slowly to look at him.
The young man's smile was beaming, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"It's my first round," Bakuzan said, voice gravelly. "I don't need luck."
Suiryu laughed.
"Ahaha! Of course not."
The cheery fighter walked over and placed his elbow on the bulky man's shoulder.
"Say, I haven't really seen you fight," Suiryu said, leaning forward. "Tell me, was the competition for the past few years intense?"
"Did you not even bother to watch the tournaments you didn't attend?" Bakuzan scoffed. "Seven years away — and only now coming back. Have you no discipline?"
"Ah. Yeah, I guess you could say that," Suiryu said. "But I did watch a bunch of the previous tourneys!"
The cheery martist pulled away from Bakuzan.
In an instant, he appeared at the bulky man's other side.
"But most of it was pretty boring," he said, feigning a yawn. "Guess I skipped over you."
Before Bakuzan could even open his mouth in outrage, Suiryu patted the man's back and walked away.
"Looks like this Charanko fella's your next bout, right?" the young man said. "Good luck."
"I—"
"You'll need it."
Suiryu rounded a corner, and he was gone.
.
'I'll kill him,' Bakuzan thought, fists clenched. 'I swear it.'
.
.
Bakuzan flew into the air like a ragdoll, completely knocked-out.
"Oops," Saitama said, clutching his wig. "That was supposed to be a warning hit."
Nevertheless, the crowd cheered.
Tatsumaki's eyes shined proudly.
Saitama gave her a small, questioning thumbs-up. And she returned it with an enthusiastic double thumb raise.
The wigged man dropped down.
"That was close," Saitama said, hand still on his 'hair.'
"Close? As if," Tatsumaki scoffed, purposefully misinterpreting his statement. "You destroyed him!"
"I thought he'd pull my wig off for sure," Saitama laughed.
"Fat good a demonstration of his techniques did," the esper chuckled. "He should've just fought you. And lose, either way. But at least it would've been quick."
"I would've preferred that, actually," the baldy said, walking back out of the main arena. The esper followed quickly behind. "I kinda feel bad about interrupting his demo."
"It's his fault for being so disappointing," Tatsumaki clicked her tongue. "Second seed. Hah!"
Despite the ease of his victory, Saitama let out a relieved breath.
.
.
The two found themselves in the waiting rooms yet again.
.
"It's crazy how big the prize money is for the tourney," Tatsumaki said, legs placed lazily atop the table. "I don't think even A-Class heroes make that much in a year."
"If someone really wanted to, they could live off that money," Saitama said thoughtfully. "Tourney by tourney, huh… what a lifestyle."
But…
"That wouldn't sit right with me," Tatsumaki said.
The wigged baldy nodded.
Doing their job was worth more than the pay. People needed them, after all.
.
There was a bustle outside, but it was muffled. Their conversation carried on peacefully. As peacefully as they could, that is.
.
"So what's the bucket of bolts doing?"
"Genos?" Saitama tilted his head. "He said he'd be watching. I think I might've seen him in the crowd. Near the front row."
"I'm surprised he's watching peacefully. What with me being front, front row and all."
"Yeah. He can get kinda jealous. But I told him to make peace with you."
"Well if he's not starting anything, I'm not, either," Tatsumaki said, crossing her arms.
"I really don't get why you two don't get along," Saitama muttered.
Tatsumaki shook her head.
'If only you knew how obsessed we—'
She shook her head even harder.
.
Cheers from the arena could be heard again. It seemed another fighter had won. The challengers were getting stronger.
But for the two heroes, it barely even registered.
.
"We're in a crazy situation right now," Tatsumaki said, giggling to herself. "I'm in a qipao. You're dressed up as Silverfang's disciple. We look ridiculous! Ehehe!"
Her twinkling laughter was infectious.
"Playing master-and-student, too?" Saitama said, grinning. "I honestly thought I'd be sitting here by myself while you watched from far away. How boring would that have been?"
Tatsumaki beamed.
"Honestly," Saitama looked at her, turning his smile down for a few moments and replacing it with warmth. Wistful genuineness. "It feels a bit too good to be true."
A familiar, heart-pounding heat crept back up the esper's face.
"W-Well you better be thankful…!" she said, turning away. "D'you know how embarrassing this outfit is?"
"I mean, you picked it out," Saitama said.
"Because you couldn't think of a damn proper compliment for any of the other outfits I chose!" she huffed.
"Well…" His tone had drastically shifted. His voice had gone soft. "If that's what made… this… happen…"
Tatsumaki looked at him, curious. But he'd hidden his face.
"I'm kinda glad I couldn't think of anything to say, then," he said quietly. "It looks too good on you. For real."
Tatsumaki's eyes widened.
How many times had this guy gotten her heart to flutter in one day?
And this time, his words weren't scripted.
Tatsumaki moved closer. Pulled her legs from the table and scooched over to him in her seat.
Touched his shoulder with hers.
He flinched.
She nearly reeled back. He never flinched.
She felt a pang of excitement. Electricity.
"Does it, now?" she asked. "Then why are you facing away, hmm?"
"Ah," Saitama shrugged. "You said it was embarrassing, so… I'm kinda embarrassed now, too."
Tatsumaki would have given anything to see his expression at that moment. She wanted to lean over. To see. If he…
"Um, Tats…"
She stopped.
His voice was…
No.
No… she didn't want to prod.
If she found out that he was uncomfortable, if he wasn't making a face she wanted to see…
If there was even a tiny chance of that happening.
It would be unbearable.
She'd just been over this, dammit! Things were fine. As they were. Without any of those distracting thoughts going around in her head.
Tatsumaki sat back in her seat.
"I'm wearing this because I want to," she said gently. "I wasn't expecting to be in front of everybody while doing it, but… that's on me, I guess."
"No, no."
Saitama shook his head.
"The situation we're in is crazy. Just about as ridiculous as it can get," he said, glancing at her. His expression was, as usual, unreadable.
Save for the faintest of smiles.
"But I wouldn't have it any other way."
.
.
"JUST HOW MANY TIMES WILL CHARANKO IMPRESS US TODAY?! THE MAN'S ON A ROOOOOOLLLL!"
His enemy had been punched in the face, knocked completely unconscious.
Saitama let out a focused breath. Just a few more.
The sight of the crowd was fulfilling, at the very least.
Thousands of people cheering for him. Not jeering, nor making fun of his performance. Maybe they were making fun of his blank expression a little bit, but that was fine. More than fine, if it meant they were looking. Just a bit.
When had he ever really felt like this before?
It would have been much easier to say 'never.'
But for a few moments, he'd felt this. The adoration of the crowd. The cheering. Those precious few moments that were burned into his head. Those precious few moments he'd tried so hard to forget.
.
Blankets of rain blown away by his punch. A hole left in the torso of the monster he'd just killed.
Genos lay there, unmoving. As was Mumen Rider.
The clapping started slowly.
People were in disbelief.
He'd just saved them — in a snap. Just like that.
Saitama could still remember the first wave of cheers that erupted from the evacuation center.
It was surreal. Three years of training. Of beating monsters in secret. And only now had he received such gratitude.
He felt emotions well up inside. Happiness. Pride. Relief.
And then he heard the muttering.
The dark words that disrespected his peers. The words of the ungrateful masses. Utterly wrong.
It was a hero's job to beat monsters. And if they couldn't do that, then they were useless.
'But they worked hard. They fought hard. To save you.'
It was pathetic for regular people to act heroic. It was better left to the strong. Anyone can risk their lives, after all.
'But if they hadn't fought, I wouldn't have anyone left to save.'
Maybe the monster wasn't even all that tough?
'…'
It was then that he decided. The cheering didn't matter. The laughter and joy he brought wasn't worth the fact that other heroes were brought down. It meant nothing coming from them. The crowd, whose words pierced his heart and the hearts of his fellow heroes.
So he closed himself off. Shut the heart that might feel pain.
And just laugh at the unfairness of the whole damn thing.
"Today's my lucky day!" Saitama cackled. He made sure his words were audible. Loud enough to be heard. Loud enough to silence anybody in the crowd. "The other heroes wore the monster down, so beating it was kid's play! Good thing I was late. I barely did a thing and now I get all the credit."
He felt like a puppet.
As strong as he was — this was something else. Something he couldn't punch away. Something he couldn't fight.
"Hahahahaha!"
All he could really do was laugh.
.
And now that all-consuming, tempting, cheering — was back.
He wanted, more than anything else, to receive it as he was. Without shame or guilt. Without duty to hold him accountable.
But they were cheering for the wrong guy.
They saw his strength. Lauded his skill.
But he wasn't the fighter that was supposed to be here.
.
People called him a cheat back then, too.
His opponent just now — Sour Face, was it? — had even recognized him. Called himself an ex-disciple of Bang's. They weren't too close, apparently, but even he could tell something was off.
It reminded him that he didn't really deserve to win. It wasn't his discipline to Bang's teachings that got him here. It was through a sleazy deal. Autographs for the chance at cash.
He half-wanted to give up after such a reminder.
He really was a cheat.
.
If he won, maybe he could give the money to Charanko. Or give it to a good cause. It was an inordinate amount of money, after all. The most he could take without his conscience eating away at him was probably the exact amount Genos gave away 'for rent' on the first day he arrived.
A-Class paid well anyway. And if he wanted to experience luxury treatment, he was sure Tatsumaki would allow him over. Just not overnight, probably.
He'd probably still need to pay for her broken furniture, too.
.
"AND CHARANKO'S OFF TO THE SEMI-FINALS!"
.
As much as he wanted to think of anything else, however.
More than the money. Or the victory.
It all went back to the crowd.
The raucous applause. The glimpse of the recognition he so desperately wanted but didn't yet deserve.
As much as his heart wanted to accept it, he knew it was best to remain as before. He didn't belong on this stage, after all. Strong as he was, the attention was undeserved.
It was better to shut his h—
.
"G-Great job…!"
.
Saitama turned.
Tatsumaki — blushing, yet again — clapped shyly at his victory.
Just one.
One out of thousands.
Who saw him as he was.
Whose cheering mattered.
Saitama stepped forward, match completely forgotten. He heard his earpiece buzz. Someone spoke through it. It was congratulatory. Another 'act' to do, he figured.
Saitama continued walking.
He wasn't listening at all.
.
He stepped down from the raised platform, exchanged smiles with Tatsumaki.
And hugged her.
.
The esper stiffened.
She wanted to get mad.
She'd just told him not to do things unless he meant it.
Was this an act? A farce?
She felt his arms tighten.
Oh dear.
The feeling.
It was the same as that night.
His promotion. His words of gratitude.
Even if the two places he'd hugged her were as different as they could get — his feelings came through all the same.
This wasn't an act. It was a genuine embrace from the baldy.
And Tatsumaki melted.
The crowd cheered — practically went feral — over the unexpected show of affection between the supposed master-and-student. It was tumultuous, deafening.
But the two couldn't hear a thing.
It was just them.
.
Tatsumaki didn't quite know the occasion.
It was their third hug. She kept track. Memorized the dates. The time and place. The feeling.
Saitama was gentle with her. He always was.
She wrapped her arms around his back.
The crowd erupted at that.
Everyone could see them. The fight was being broadcast.
Everyone could see them.
Did she care?
Saitama tightened his hug for a moment.
"Sorry," he said softly.
The esper felt her stomach churn.
"Is this…" she whispered, afraid she'd gotten it all wrong. That this was yet another act. That—
"No," he said, pulling away a bit. "It's just…"
That look in his eyes.
.
"Is it the crowd?" she asked.
.
"Yeah," Saitama nodded, a little surprised. When had she…?
Tatsumaki tilted her head towards the hallway. Away from the eyes and the sights and the sounds.
"I'm not much for crowds, either," she said, smiling. "C'mon."
.
.
The waiting rooms were a welcome solace for the two. After they'd recovered from the awkward, post-embrace silence that would surely have killed any attempts at conversation about it — the two settled into a comfortable air.
.
"They haven't replaced your ear-thingy yet, Tats?" Saitama asked, scratching his head.
"Eh. Whatever," she said.
"I hope it wasn't too expensive," Saitama replied cautiously.
The two were sitting side-by-side. Faint, relaxing music was playing on the speakers inside.
"I'm kinda worried they found out it was me after breaking it. Like, me, me," the esper said. "I might've broken it a bit too easily. And. Uh. Without using my hands."
"Then they'd know not to mess with you," the baldy replied easily. "And that you're undercover."
"All and well until they find out why I'm in disguise," she chuckled. "I don't think they'd take 'on a date,' too well, hm?"
Saitama nearly choked on the air.
"A da— ack!" the bald man gulped down, trying very hard to push down another bout of coughing.
"I— Is this not?" Tatsumaki stammered. "I mean, we aren't… But…! I thought! A-Ah… was I mistaken?"
"No! No, no, no," Saitama shook his head, hoping the movement would cool his face down. "I guess not. We scheduled it and everything."
"A date between friends!" Tatsumaki blurted. "That makes sense, right?"
"Exactly. Yep. Mhm."
Both of them nodded to each other, breathing an inward sigh of relief.
It was a date.
The revelation didn't change much. It was more a confirmation of the situation, more than anything. Nothing was new. They were still sure to act as they always did.
But still.
Tatsumaki held her cheeks and turned away.
'Ehehe!'
Saitama pinched his leg.
'This can't be real…'
.
The two were sitting contentedly together. The air felt fresh.
.
"D'you think I should keep the money?" Saitama asked out of the blue.
"If you win, I'd say you earned it," Tatsumaki said. "Is the whole 'identity theft' thing still bothering you?"
"Ah." Figured out. She was getting a little too good at that. "A little."
There was a notable pause as the esper considered her next words.
"Just win," she said, poking him. "I'll worry for the both of us."
"But—"
"I'm your master, aren't I?" she smirked.
Tatsumaki stood up, placing both hands on her back. She walked sagely.
"Listen here, boy," Tatsumaki said. "If you think about the leaf," she made the universal, finger-rubbing gesture for money at the word. "You'll miss the tree. And if you think about the tree, you'll miss the forest."
Saitama stifled a smile. That sounded awfully manga-esque.
He stood up and bowed.
"Then I will think only of victory," he said, trying hard not to laugh. "And become invincible under the sun."
"Atta boy," Tatsumaki giggled.
.
Playing as a martial arts duo, the two felt an unusual freeness that they couldn't ignore.
Saitama and Tatsumaki.
The bald hero with stunted emotions, looked down upon and spoken down to — weighed heavily groundward by his duties and sacrifices. Someone who bore with the burden stoically. But cracking inch by inch. Letting the weight of people's words chip away at whatever was left of his heart.
The esper at the pinnacle. Her image, pristine. Not a single person could ever hope to match her in strength, elegance, pride — or aloneness. The weapon. The unloved older sibling.
Those two were gone, for just a few moments. Replaced completely by master and student. Coach and coachee. Two happy people.
They both wondered if they could simply… stay like that for just a bit longer.
.
"I wonder if the next guy'll be tough…"
"There you go again, Sai."
"Okay fine," he said, putting his hands up. "You believe in me. But I can't help but be a little nervous, either way."
"Trying to look cool for your master?" she teased.
"Trying to make her proud."
"O-Oh." Tatsumaki blinked. She coughed and looked to the side. "Well. Just k-keep doing what you're doing. I'm sure she'll be proud either way."
Saitama smiled.
"I'll do my best."
.
.
'After this,' Saitama thought, walking up to meet his opponent. 'It's time for the finals.'
He took a deep breath. Felt the warm air fill his lungs.
Maybe it was the aura surrounding the martial arts tournament. Maybe it was the snacks he and Tatsumaki had — he was neither too full nor too hungry. Maybe it was Tatsumaki having such unwavering faith in him.
It was exactly what he needed. His nervousness was gone, replaced with a locked-on feeling.
It was rare for him to be this focused.
.
"Next up — a match requiring your full attention!" the announcer stated, silencing the crowd. "The man whose fists boil with bloodlust and strength, a savage, smug fighter that seems dead-set on beating down every last opponent with no mercy… A wielder of the fist of the pure blood master race — CHOZE!"
The man adjusted his collar to the crowd's cheering.
"And for his semifinals opponent, the man who effortlessly broke through Bakuzan's reign of terror — and won every bout so far in a single, staggering punch, all with his precious coach by his side… The master of the Water Beam Lock-Bashing Fist — CHAAARAAANKO!"
It was clear who the crowd was rooting for. The applause 'Charanko' received was earth-shaking.
.
Saitama eyed his competitor.
Quite the tall fellow. Scary-looking to boot.
"Every match in a single punch?" Choze scoffed. "You and that Suiryu are much too eager to please the crowd. The masses of ravenous idiots don't deserve such a petty, flowery show. They need to see who's in charge. They need to kneel."
"Um, are you good, dude?" Saitama asked, rubbing his ears. He sounded like some villain plotting to take over the world.
"More than good," Choze responded, cackling. "Dating back to my earliest ancestors, my clan has been keeping our lineage pure, breeding only using the best genes. And among even those pure creations… I am their greatest! A masterpiece! A shining diamond in the coal that is humanity!"
Saitama scratched his head, letting the words sink in for a moment.
"So like domesticating bananas, or something?" he said. "Bananas are bananas. People are people, no matter how else you put it."
He pointed a finger at the smug fighter.
"You're crazy, dude."
Choze felt a vein pop in his perfect temple.
"I'm going to kill you."
.
"START!"
Saitama ducked under a punch from Choze, holding carefully onto his wig.
Tatsumaki flinched, putting her hands to her mouth.
The baldy hadn't ever needed to dodge before. Could this guy actually be… strong?
Saitama stifled a yawn as he jumped up, dodging a sweeping leg blow from Choze.
'I did want to see what martial arts is all about,' he thought. 'But this is just like when I fought that ninja dude — Tonic, or something. Actually, it's quite a bit more boring than even that.'
Tatsumaki tried not to jump as Saitama barely blocked a hammering punch to his stomach.
Why wasn't he fighting back?
'I mean, I guess he moves like he's dancing,' Saitama admitted. 'Kinda smoothly for a tall guy. Is that what martial arts is?'
He ducked below yet another punch that whistled through the air.
"Scared?!" Choze said, laughing. "That look on your ill-formed face — I can't tell whether it's fear or despair!"
Tatsumaki gripped the side of the stage anxiously. Saitama's face did look a bit different. He was deep in thought. That was never a good sign.
'C'mon…' she said, tapping her fingers against the stage.
'How come he's faking attacks?' Saitama wondered. 'It's kinda throwing me off. Is that what martial arts is?'
Saitama misread a punch and stepped the wrong way, headed straight for Choze's screaming hook.
"Fight back!" Tatsumaki shouted at Saitama, completely confused.
And the baldy snapped immediately into action.
.
"ANOTHER! ANOTHER, SINGLE HIIIIIIT! CHARANKO IS ON THE MOST UNPRECEDENTED DOMINANT STREAK OF A LAST SEED IN TOURNAMENT HISTORY!"
.
Choze soared through the sky like a bean bag, completely knocked out.
'Well that was boring…' Saitama said.
The bald man jumped down, meeting face-to-face with an annoyedTatsumaki.
"What were you doing?!" the esper
"I wanted to see if he was tough," Saitama said. "It's the semifinals, so I thought—"
"Don't worry me like that!"
"Huh?"
"Dodging by a hair, blocking — just beat him, dammit! Like you did with everyone else!"
"I told you already, Tats. I wanted to see if…" Saitama stopped as she saw her pouty expression. "Were you worried or something?"
"No." The esper looked away angrily.
"I'm fine, I promise," he said, patting her head.
The esper's shoulders shot up as he touched her hair buns.
"A-As long as you're okay," she whispered.
"I know my master's got my back, either way," Saitama smiled.
"Ugh…"
.
The two raised a fist towards the stands, receiving their well-earned praise.
"Crowd bothering you still?" Tatsumaki said discreetly, pointing for the orange-haired baldy to be cheered on.
"Nah. Sorry about earlier, again," Saitama said through a smile, bowing gratefully.
"Don't worry about it," the esper elbowed him. "Your hugs are tolerable."
The two waved one last time for the crowd, and went off to the waiting room.
"I haven't seen Genos," Tatsumaki said as they walked.
"Wonder if he forgot to buy veggies."
"He wouldn't miss this for anything, though…" The esper frowned.
"I'm sure he's fine."
"If you say so," Tatsumaki shrugged.
The two reached the door, sighing. Despite their enjoyment, the day had been quite long. The heat, though not scorching, had worn their energy more than they'd liked to admit. Tatsumaki especially.
The esper held the handle, ready for another calming one-on-one chat with Saita—
"Mister Charanko!"
The voice belonged to Ponso, rushing towards the two breathlessly.
"And miss T— erm, Miss Maki!"
Tatsumaki narrowed her eyes.
"What's up?" Saitama asked, oblivious to the esper's expression.
"Well, honestly, we were supposed to give you a summary on ways to improve your interactions for the media, but viewership seems to have skyrocketed," he said. "I'm just here to say 'well done,' don't change a thing you've been doing, and — ah! Here. Miss Maki gets a new earpiece. We'll be quite a bit more hands-on as we near the finals. Please stay tuned."
The wigged baldy nodded, turning for the door as Ponso left.
Tatsumaki placed a hand on his chest.
"Go ahead," she said softly, briskly following the older man.
"Gotcha," Saitama said. "I might take a nap."
Talking was fun, but a good midday rest had its charms, too.
.
"Oi."
About to turn a corner, Ponso jumped as he caught a view of the esper from the side of his eye.
"A-Ah, yes?!"
"You know." It wasn't a question.
"Whatever do you mean, Mi— ack!"
Tatsumaki grabbed the man by the collar, using her powers to pull the man effortlessly close.
"You're a big-shot here, right? Someone who's used to talking to people," she said. "No way you'd slip up like that for no reason, hm?"
"Hm? I'm not quite sure I—"
She stared him dead-on. Her glare was ice.
"Shut up. I know what you're thinking. I know what everyone's thinking. You used that. I know you did," Tatsumaki said. "And yet, you're still willing to work with us."
The man nodded slowly.
"Then you must know how much you're pushing your luck with these stunts of yours," the esper growled. "I'd say it's worth much more than what you were willing to give. So. I'm here to even the deal out. Non-negotiably."
Ponso gulped.
.
'We're risking quite a lot for this — after all, both 'Charanko' and 'Maki' are not supposed to be here,' Ona had told him. Apparently, some resources had told him of the actual location of Bang's so-called 'best' student — and that they were dealing with much more than they had signed up for. 'But so far, it's looking to be a spectacular investment. Assure them it's fine one way or another — but don't be too obvious.'
.
He was sure he'd given the two 'martial artists' the OK to continue their little charade.
But it seems he had been a little too discreet.
"Let's you and me have a little chat," Tatsumaki said.
Oh how he hated people who couldn't take a hint.
It was no wonder why Ona refused to do this himself. He'd been played!
.
.
Knock, knock.
Saitama blinked awake.
Was that Tatsumaki?
Hmm.
Would she even knock, though?
Saitama went to open the door.
"How's it going, buddy?" A man in a navy blue fighter's uniform greeted him, smiling. "You alone right now?"
"Um, do I know you?"
The martial artist laughed.
"Probably not," he chuckled. "You've been pretty preoccupied during your little win streak. A little distracted for such a great fighter, honestly!"
He held out a hand.
"I'm Suiryu."
Saitama frowned, trying to recall the name. He shook the fighter's hand.
"The, um… first seed, right?"
The cheery man winked.
"I'm flattered you remembered that," Suiryu said. "But let's put all that stuff aside, hm?"
"Um, okay," Saitama said, trying not to yawn."What'd you come knocking for?"
"Ah, well — I kinda thought you'd have a bit more company," Suiryu replied. "Say buddy… is your cute coach not here?"
"Ta— You mean Maki?" Saitama said slowly. "Why?"
Suiryu put a hand over his mouth. "Oh my, isn't it a little rude to call your respected sensei by her first name?"
"Why."
"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just business between me and her."
"Business?" Saitama tilted his head. "I don't think she'd—"
"Ah, there she is!" Suiryu said, beaming.
True to his word, Tatsumaki was walking towards them from the hallway. Her expression was neutral. But it immediately changed to a guarded one after taking note of a certain unwelcome presence.
"Maki!" Suiryu waved easily. "Or should I call you sensei?"
"Or just not call me anything at all," she said flatly.
The man was in the way between her and Saitama.
And he moved closer.
"Aw, c'mon, sensei!" Suiryu said, putting his hands together. "This guy's fighting style? It's kinda crazy. You can at least admit that right?"
Tatsumaki glanced at Saitama. He glanced back.
"Yeah," she said finally. "What about it?"
"You're his master," the cheery fighter continued.
"So?" Her tone was quickly darkening.
"Well I wanna know if you've got a school! A dojo!" Suiryu said, leaning forward even more. He pointed a thumb lazily towards Saitama. "For that guy to be so tough, you've got to have taught him something crazy. So what'd you say? Does taking in another student sound good? Name your price."
Tatsumaki wanted to punt the man into the ceiling. But she couldn't use her powers. Few as they might be, there were still people roaming around. Complete disinterest didn't seem to be working, so maybe something a little more poisonous would suffice.
"I've—"
In an instant, Saitama appeared between her and Suiryu.
"She's not looking for students, buddy," the wigged baldy said, forcing the man to step back.
"Easy," Suiryu said, raising his hands calmly. "All I wanted was some networking. I'm sure we'd all like to learn from one another! Friendly competition. That's the spirit of martial arts, isn't it?"
"You'll learn more than enough next round," Saitama said quietly.
Suiryu smiled, sensing some hostility.
"I feel like I came off a little coarsely here," he said. "But I think we've got a bit more in common than you think. I can see it in your eyes," he looked over to Tatsumaki "Yours too."
The two were silent.
"You guys are bored. Like me," Suiryu explained. "Your little lovey-dovey act might fool everyone else, but it's obviously just for show. You came here expecting some fun, some challenge — didn't find any — and decided to play it up for the crowd instead."
Suiryu raised his palms helplessly to the sky.
"Figured you might not get it," he said. "It's obvious you're new to the scene." The cheery fighter clapped his hands together. "All I'm saying is if you're looking for some excitement, you won't find it in this arena. You've gotta make some for yourselves."
He patted Saitama's shoulder and gave Tatsumaki a thumbs-up.
"Offer's still on the table, sensei!"
With that, he left.
.
"What an ass," Tatsumaki said.
That pretty much summed it up completely.
"Yup."
.
.
"These earpieces can kinda get in the way of a fight," Tatsumaki said as they walked to the arena.
"Were they hard to break with your powers?"
"Not even a little," Tatsumaki said.
"Hmm. I'll keep them safe, I guess," he said. "But honestly, what are they even for?"
"Probably to broadcast some after-fight words we shared — or record the things we've been saying in the waiting rooms," Tatsumaki said. She shook her head as Saitama's expression turned into one of horror. "It's just a suspicion. Don't worry about it too much. Your master's got it all handled."
"Um…" Saitama didn't quite know what to say. Tatsumaki's certainty, paired with her calm expression — it felt eerily familiar. "Sure."
Whatever it was, he was glad not to be part of it.
"Focus," Tatsumaki said.
The two stepped out into the light and the crowd.
"HERE COMES THE DUO!" the announcer said, speakers blaring as ever, even despite the crowd's excitement. "Throughout the tournament, they seem to have had quite the budding relationship, one-punching competitors left and right! We all remember their little exchange during the beginning — it's a will they, won't they situation that's become more like when they! And we definitely wouldn't forget little Miss Maki's words to our dear fighter, 'if you win, I'll—' well, we never got to hear! I'm sure whatever it is has got Charanko riled up! And there's only one way for him to make it reality!"
Whistles and excited cheering from the crowd sent Saitama's heart hammering.
He remembered the esper's words as if she'd just whispered them in his ear seconds ago. Although he was sure it was just Tatsumaki teasing…
He glanced at the green-haired girl.
She stared back, expression neutral.
She was getting quite good at doing that.
"Ready?" she asked.
The baldy with a wig nodded, stepping up to the arena.
Unlike his first few matches, his nervousness and indifference were replaced with a dull sense of duty.
He kind of wanted to destroy this Suiryu fella.
'If you win, I'll…' Tatsumaki's words echoed in his head.
And that, too, of course.
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The crowd hushed as the announcer introduced his opponent.
"And Charanko's opponent — who put on a show worthy of his seeding — has also beaten every single opponent in a single strike, but this time, using kicks instead! It's as if he took the orange-haired fighter's victories as a challenge! The statements these two have made are bold — but now is no time for statements. The master of the Void Fist. Out to claim his fifth title in our prestigious tournament. THE ONE. THE ONLY. SUIRYU!"
Saitama had never heard a crowd cheer so wildly.
The cheerful fighter stepped up to the arena, waving at the crowd all around him.
Eventually his gaze settled on Saitama.
"Fancy seeing you here." Suiryu smiled.
"You're pretty talkative."
"Whoa," the man held his hands up, faking offense. "So hostile! It's like I didn't try to explain myself a while ago. Did nothing I said get through to you?"
"Eh."
The baldy hated to admit it, but the man's parting words were still floating about in his head.
"There's still time," Suiryu said, looking at the impatient crowd. He waved once, struck a fighting pose while facing Saitama, and it seemed to revitalize them a bit. "It's not like people like us get the chance to really talk, no?"
"Mm…"
The cheery fighter's confidence was hard to ignore. He carried himself as if he had absolute belief in his body and mind.
"You're strong," Suiryu said. "And that's why you feel unfulfilled. Right? You and sensei over there."
He stepped forward, completely without the intention to fight.
"Why'd you enter the tourney?" he asked. "Personally, I came for the money."
'I think everyone was here for the money…' Saitama thought to himself.
"But also," Suiryu continued. "I wanted to feel some sort of thrill again. The type you can't get from living day-to-day life as someone with overwhelming power."
Saitama's ears perked up.
"At least I hoped so," Suiryu said. "So I decided to have a go at the tourney this year. And boy am I glad I did! I can tell, after all the small fry, this will be a fun fight."
'Fun, huh…' the baldy thought. 'When's the last time I put 'fun' and 'fight' together…'
"I came here to see what was so strong about martial arts," Saitama said. "I thought a tournament like this would be the best place to do it — but it's just like you said. I didn't find any excitement at all."
Suiryu raised an eyebrow. Had his words finally gotten through to the odd fellow?
"Well, how 'bout I cut you a deal, bud?" he said, beginning to stretch his arms and neck. "You give me a fun fight, and I'll show you some real martial arts."
Saitama had to give it to Suiryu — the cheery fighter's confidence in martial arts was beginning to get to him.
The orange-haired baldy held up a fist.
"Let's go."
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A thunderous kick rocketed through the arena air.
It stopped just short of Saitama, sending a blast of wind straight for his head.
The bald man held his wig to keep it from flying off.
'This guy…' Saitama thought, anxiety beginning to creep in. 'Has he seen through it?'
"What's wrong, bud?" Suiryu asked. "I know you saw that kick, clear as day!"
The martial artist sent a barrage of kicks ripping around Saitama.
It was all the wigged baldy could do to keep from turning into just a plain old baldy. His hands were glued to his head.
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'He moves kinda like Silverfang,' Tatsumaki noted. The ease in which Suiryu attacked could only be described as flow-like. It was plain to see he was a talented fighter.
After seeing Saitama fight the very first day they met, the esper should've been completely fine watching him stand there as Suiryu sent kick after kick flying at him.
But she wanted to blow the cocky martial artist away. Put Saitama in a protective bubble — anything but watch helplessly on the sidelines.
'This has to be his fight…' Tatsumaki berated herself. 'It's Saitama, dammit.'
It seemed like they were talking about something beforehand. It would be very like Saitama to mull over something while taking blows from an opponent.
'Was it about being bored?' Tatsumaki recalled Suiryu's words in the hallway.
'I'm too strong.' And those words were not ones she'd ever forget.
Saitama must've felt some sort of connection to the annoying guy.
'So this Suiryu fella thinks he's 'too strong,' huh?' Tatsumaki smirked. Her grip on the stage loosened.
It was very like Saitama to let those kinds of people down gently.
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After another kick — one that Suiryu was sure would get the odd man to move, counterattack, anything at all — he jumped back, confused.
"What's going on, Charanko? Not gonna fight back?"
"You weren't going for me," Saitama replied. "What's that about?"
"Ah," Suiryu smiled. "That's what I like to hear."
And the real fight began.
.
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Lightning Max watched as Suiryu practically vanished into thin air, appearing an instant later right in front of Charanko's face.
A kick that sounded like thunder connected with the orange-haired fighter's arm and sent him skidding to the edge of the raised arena platform, making the hero wince.
He turned to Snek, knowing full well the strength of Suiryu's attacks.
"That lunatic was holding back on us!" Max said incredulously.
Snek looked completely distracted.
"Say… doesn't that fighter look like…"
"You mean the coach lady over there?" the higher-ranked A-Class pointed. "Yeah. She definitely looks like Miss Tornado."
Snek shook his head.
"That guy… the one with a plain face taking Suiryu's hits like it's nothing," the lower-ranked A-Class said. "I feel like I've seen him somewhere before."
Lightning Max frowned, leaning over to whisper to Snek.
"You think there's a conspiracy going on? Something to do with the Association?"
"But with Tornado — acting like that?" Snek said, pointing to the woman watching the fight closely. "It seems impossible."
"All the more reason to believe it," Max said, shrugging. "At least, if you've got a good reason in mind."
Snek shook his head. "No… no. Just a weird feeling in my gut that something's off."
Max patted his back.
"If there is shady business going on here that needs the attention of the Tornado of Terror," he said. "I'm sure we A-Class heroes should just stay out of it."
Snek nodded, hoping to convince himself that his colleague was right.
The Tornado of Terror going on a date with Saitama — it was incomprehensible.
.
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"You're tough," Suiryu said, jumping back.
Saitama was buried waist-deep in the arena, his forehead smoking from a vicious knee.
"But if all you can do is block or dodge," Suiryu said. "That would be a bit disappointing."
Saitama stood up easily, pulling himself out of the ground with ease. A small smile appeared on his face.
"That was pretty good," he said, rubbing his head. "I got that weird tingly forehead feeling! Did you aim there on purpose?"
Suiryu frowned for a moment.
Everything about the man felt… odd.
Charanko was holding back. And Suiryu just didn't know why.
It made him want to go all-out.
.
"Rah!"
Saitama dodged.
"Hah!"
Saitama blocked.
"Grh!"
Saitama jumped away.
Suiryu growled.
"Fight back!"
The baldy tilted his head.
"I thought you wanted to have a bit of fun?"
"What… What part of this is your idea of fun?!" the martial artist spat. "Are you looking down on me?"
Suiryu felt as if he was trying to hit a mountain. The orange-haired man didn't seem tired in the slightest. Nor did he seem to have taken damage at all.
His pride was slowly shattering. And he didn't know why.
"I was checking your martial arts out," Saitama said. "And let you whale on me while doing it. Is that not good?"
"And not hit back? This is a fight, not a performance!"
"I'm just trying to be nice," Saitama raised his hands.
"Nice?! Is this some sick sense of justice you have? Are you one of those people?" Suiryu said icily. "There are heroes I beat that tried harder than you! With more drive to win!"
"Those people…?"
The martial artist shook his head.
"You're the type to go out of your way to be 'nice,' aren't you?" he stated, more than asked. "An idealist fighter."
Suiryu shook his head.
"You're not bored," he continued. "You're boring. We aren't alike at all."
Saitama frowned.
"These ideals will get you nowhere, you know?" Suiryu said, walking towards Saitama. "You're not having fun because you've stopped trying. You're strong. Even though you refuse to fight, that fact is clear as day. You can do whatever you want. Live life without a care in the world. And you choose to be like this."
Saitama flew several feet in the air as Suiryu punched him in the stomach. The floor of the arena shattered under the strength of his strike.
Suiryu felt his knuckles ringing.
He watched in disbelief as Saitama shrugged the attack off. His gi was ripped, showing the man's muscle underneath.
"You and I really aren't alike," Saitama said. "When you said you were bored, I thought you and I were talking about the same thing." The wigged baldy walked towards the martial artist. "You're young. Figuring out what you want to do. Living life day-by-day as you like, with a crowd cheering you on. You're bored because you don't know what it's like to struggle. Really struggle."
Suiryu was frozen the moment Saitama raised his fist.
"Finding your purpose, and then feeling empty. That's a whole different kind of boredom altogether," he said. "And finding a way out of it — be that through a challenge, an inspiration… a person." Saitama glanced at Tatsumaki. "Bit by bit. That's how to go about things. Not through some stupid tournament. Not through a single fight. This kind of boredom? It takes a different kind of strength to overcome."
.
"That's probably why you aren't all that strong."
.
Suiryu didn't even see the punch coming.
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Happy Valentine's everybody~
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And merry Christmas, happy new year, happy lunar new year, etc., etc. I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE. AGAIN. I had known and planned for this chapter for quite a while, and STILL ended up churning it out at an absolute snail's pace. Moping, pain, headaches, and all that fun stuff definitely DID NOT HELP. But excuses aside, please accept this extra lengthy chapter as an apology! It took a lot of going insane to get a work I was happy with, so I do hope you enjoyed — despite how different the tone is from canon.
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Special thanks to a guy with allergies and a lady with very hectic appointment scheduling for helping me through the last stretches of this chapter. And thanks to absolutely everyone else who cheered me on! Plans for the next few chapters are already outlined, so I DO HOPE my slow bum will actually do something about it.
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Stay warm as always. Caramel apple ice cream for everyone.
-bb
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P.S. If you win, I'll—