One Punch Shop: Saitama in Orario

by nlaj1

Saitama gets teleported to the world of Danmachi on his way to the supermarket. Armed with a system that lets him summon modern items, he opens a shop in Orario—because why not sell energy drinks to adventurers while casually being the strongest?

4. Chapter 4

The night air of Orario had long since cooled by the time Saitama finished chatting with Hephaestus. She'd surprised him with how straightforward she could be once the awkwardness passed—a rare tomboyish charm wrapped up in godhood and soot-stained gloves. They'd agreed to meet again soon for a casual date. For someone like Saitama, who once forgot the word "romance" even existed, this was... new. Not difficult. Just new.

Over the next three days, he was a blur of movement—literally. With his usual lightning-speed dashes, Saitama had been traveling to several neighboring towns and cities, selling and installing heavy machinery. Most of the buyers were merchants, factories, or Familia-backed enterprises looking to modernize their workflows. His system's logistics helped with tracking each contract, and tablets ensured even the most muscle-headed guildmaster could follow the setup instructions.

At his own expense, he bought five more humanoid repair robots for five million valis. These ones had metal tentacles behind their backs that moved independently like an extra set of arms—perfect for handling delicate electronic or mechanical repairs. To protect these valuable assets, he assigned ten adventurers to each as bodyguards, already equipped and on payroll.

Saitama also occasionally popped in during installations. Not because the AI inside the robots wasn't doing its job, but because his system would ping him if any installation required his signature override or special intervention. Plus, watching people's jaws drop when he casually crushed a jammed steel part with his bare hand never got old.

Meanwhile, back in Orario, Bell and Hestia were enjoying some time at the market. The goddess had recently received a custom-forged, enchanted dagger from Hephaestus herself—a gift for Bell, in hopes it would help him reach even greater heights. He had looked at it like it was the most important weapon in the world, holding it gently as though afraid it might break if handled wrong.

Elsewhere, hidden from everyone's notice, Freya's mood had soured. Her curiosity over Bell had grown into a hunger to test his limits. So, using her unique charm—her seductive command that could ensnare even monsters—she reached out with divine will toward a creature locked within Ganesha Familia's underground arena. The annual monster fights were underway, a tradition in Orario, with Ganesha hosting the event to showcase adventurer skill and dungeon beasts.

But this time, Freya didn't just want a show. She wanted chaos. A test.

First, she twisted the will of a single male monster. Then, emboldened by the thrill of meddling, she sent a larger stream of monsters toward a different target—not Bell, not the arena, but Saitama's base. A better challenge, in her mind. Something real.

The monsters she chose weren't extreme dungeon horrors, but they were nothing to laugh at either—beasts and magical creatures roughly around the 20th floor in strength. Intelligent, dangerous, and mobile.

They moved quickly, some slithering, others flying low, all with purpose.

At the base, merchants and travelers on the road nearby were the first to see the incoming threat. Panicked screams broke the calm afternoon. People dropped goods and carts, racing away as fast as they could, dust rising behind them. The shop's entrance screens still flashed images of new household appliances and power tools—but now, it looked surreal against the backdrop of what was approaching.

Within moments, the defense kicked in.

Three tracked robot tanks, each standing like metal beasts of war, powered up simultaneously. Their lights glowed red as they calculated trajectories. Acting under full AI autonomy, they drove in formation, positioning themselves in a triangle near the front perimeter. Their goal: lure the monsters, scatter them, and begin containment.

The lead tank opened fire first—its twin cannons launching explosive payloads. The explosions rocked the field, sending some creatures flying. Auto turrets rotated, tracking fast-moving targets and firing with precision that adventurers couldn't match.

Some monsters, however, were quick and magically enhanced. They darted through fire, hurling spells or using unnatural movement to close the gap. One tank took the brunt—bitten, clawed, and finally skewered by a leaping armored beast. Sparks flew. The metal screamed.

Still, the AI adjusted. The remaining two tanks spread out, drawing fire and targeting with ruthless efficiency. Despite taking some hits, they managed to bring down the remaining monsters one by one, finishing the final wave with their auto-tracking turrets.

The battlefield quieted, with smoke and charred earth as the only witnesses.

Half an hour later, a familiar gust of wind tore through the clearing.

Saitama landed in the middle of the wreckage, one hand carrying a bag of croquettes he bought on the way, the other scratching his head.

He looked at the scorched tank. Its side was shredded, turret barely hanging.

He took a step closer, crouched down, and frowned.

"Who the hell... damaged my hot and cool-looking futuristic tanks?"

He muttered it like he was talking about a spilled drink. But inside, he was genuinely annoyed. Those tanks weren't just machines—they were sleek. They had style. Now one looked like a crumpled soda can.

He stood up, glancing toward the direction the monsters had come from.

Somewhere far off, Freya smiled.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Bell collapsed onto one knee, panting, the wind knocked from his lungs. The large ape-like monster lay crumpled nearby, steaming from deep gashes left by the divine dagger gifted to him by Hestia. Its powerful arms, which could bend trees with a slap, now twitched faintly before going still.

The alley had been quiet just moments ago, but now charred stones and claw marks traced the monster's path. Bell wiped the sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand, glancing down at the dagger. Its magic still hummed faintly—proof of how close he'd come to being overpowered.

That monster wasn't supposed to be here. And it had been heading in a very clear direction—toward the fields near Orario's western gate.

"Saitama's shop…" Bell murmured, realization setting in.

Not far away, hidden behind an arched terrace overlooking the city, Freya's divine eyes twinkled.

Her soft voice echoed like silk in the ears of Ottar, standing silently beside her. "He handled it better than I expected. That dagger worked wonders. Hestia's gift… but his heart—that was all him."

Freya gently tilted a wine glass in her hand, the red liquid swirling lazily. "Still," she said, almost whispering, "that monster wasn't supposed to turn. It should've gone straight for the merchant's fortress."

Ottar didn't speak. He understood. This wasn't frustration. It was interest. Growing fascination.

She leaned against the balcony rail, her gaze shifting from Bell to the faint smoke rising on the horizon near Saitama's base. A few moments earlier, she'd watched his defensive tanks spring to life and crush a coordinated monster wave like ants underfoot. She'd seen golems tear through thick hides and scale armor without slowing, their movements fluid and precise—inhumanly so.

Even her oldest advisors, those who'd studied mortal and divine technology for centuries, had called them "devices a thousand years ahead of current progress."

And if those were his creations, his servants—then what did that say about Saitama himself?

"No one's seen him in Tenkai," she murmured. "Not even whispers in the halls of heaven. But all of us agree… he's no ordinary mortal. Perhaps a god, stranded or wandering. Maybe something else."

Still, no divine action was taken. Why? Because every interaction with him had been... oddly peaceful. Business-minded. Simple. There were no threats, no boasts, no divine flares. Just the sound of sandals slapping dirt roads, and the smell of croquettes he often carried in his bag.

Freya smiled softly. "How strange it would be… if the quietest man turned out to be the most dangerous of all."

---

Back near the western gate, Saitama stood beside the mangled tank, rubbing his chin. The AI inside reported 37 minor external scratches, 1 heavy structural breach, and possible motor damage. The robot requested maintenance or replacement.

He tapped a button on his wrist tablet, and the system opened the diagnostics.

"Okay, okay…" he mumbled. "You're not dead. You're just lazy."

With a flick, he opened his Merchant System's storage and pulled out a full spare part module. Within seconds, he slid the heavy metal into the tank's side like a guy replacing printer ink.

The tank whirred and gave a light chirp in response.

From behind, a group of guards approached. One of them, a brawny ex-adventurer with a broken nose and a big smile, scratched his head.

"Boss, that last wave was real nasty. You sure you don't want us to put in a few more towers around the south side?"

Saitama shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. If I feel like it."

He walked past them, his flip-flops slapping audibly, holding a convenience-store bag with another dozen croquettes inside.

"By the way," he added over his shoulder, "if you guys see any monsters heading here again, try yelling louder. Might help."

The guards blinked, unsure if that was sarcasm or not.

As he strolled back to the shop's main entrance, the large TV screens were already playing the latest advertisements. A charismatic, pre-recorded female voice explained the benefits of a new rice cooker that not only steamed rice but also could grill meat with built-in temperature control. Background music played softly, catchy but not annoying.

Near the entrance, customers lined up as usual, clutching their order slips. Each one held a number generated by the system's queue manager. Dozens of workers bustled inside, all outfitted with clean uniforms—basic vests with "Saitama's Shop" neatly stitched on the back.

Behind the counters, tablets lit up constantly with new orders, which were instantly synced to the wrist device on Saitama's arm. When he wasn't away dealing with external sales or monster raids, he simply strolled around the shop, refilling shelves or watching as people picked up boxes of portable air coolers and charcoal-powered heating stones.

A merchant from Daedalus Street finished negotiating a bulk purchase with one of the new sales staff—six full sets of advanced farming tools and two water-purifying filters. As the sale was finalized, a nearby robot quietly packed the items, and a transport cart was scheduled for delivery.

Out back, just behind the tall broadcast antenna, one of the coal shipments from the mine rolled in. Automated loaders began moving crates toward the power station. The AI supervising the power station pinged Saitama for confirmation—he gave it a lazy thumbs-up while sipping on a canned fruit drink.

He looked toward the horizon.

The world was slowly adjusting to him.

And somewhere out there, someone would come knocking again—either with a trade deal, or with a challenge.

Either way, Saitama would be ready.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The skies above Saitama's base were now dotted with the low, steady hum of two newly deployed drones—each a marvel of modern engineering. With four wide rotors each and sleek armored shells gleaming under Orario's sun, they hovered and glided with eerie precision. Every few seconds, their red sensors would pulse faintly as they swept over the vast fields surrounding the base, analyzing movement signatures and tracking potential threats with advanced AI-guided algorithms. These drones weren't just a defensive measure—they were a statement.

Below, townsfolk and passing adventurers couldn't help but stare. Flying golems weren't a thing in their world. Even magical flight was rare and usually limited to top-tier mages. These mechanical watchers, smoothly patrolling the skies, looked like something out of a divine workshop.

"Are those… flying metal birds?" one boy asked his father while pointing up.

"Not birds. Some kind of new golem," the father murmured, eyes wide. "From that bald merchant's place."

Meanwhile, back at Saitama's base, the tanks—newly delivered from the Merchant System—rumbled gently as they took formation at key defensive spots around the perimeter. These weren't the same as his earlier ones. The newest models had slightly heavier armor, enhanced traction for any terrain, and deployable mini-drones of their own hidden within compartments. Their design had been optimized by the system based on "modern battlefield protocols," which meant they looked unnecessarily cool, even if they might never fire a single round thanks to Saitama's overwhelming presence.

Saitama, still in his plain T-shirt, shorts, and sandals, leaned on one of the tanks with a popsicle in his mouth, watching a nearby monitor that displayed real-time feeds from the new drones.

"Hm. Seems to work."

The AI on his wrist tablet spoke up softly. "Drone One has detected large movement in Sector B—likely a herd of docile grazers. No threat. Shall I alert security patrol?"

Saitama tapped "No" lazily with his finger. "Let the cows do cow stuff."

Behind him, a group of local farmers from Orario gathered near the fence, murmuring in awe at the patrols and air coverage.

"That's the safest field in the entire continent now," one muttered. "Even monsters with wings can't sneak up anymore…"

The reputation of Saitama's Shop and its bizarre but awe-inspiring defenses grew rapidly. Some called him a divine merchant. Others whispered about how his flying watchers never blinked. A few paranoid nobles speculated he might be a machine god. Meanwhile, Saitama just made a mental note to restock on ice cream.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Hephaestus was already waiting near the gates of Orario, her usual confident posture softened just a little by the light breeze brushing through her red hair. She wore her smithing coat loosely today, trading the forge heat for something new—time with Saitama. Not that she'd admit it felt like a "date." Not out loud anyway.

Saitama appeared without warning. One second, the road was empty. The next, he was just there, standing with his hands behind his head, a bag of snack chips tucked under one arm.

"Yo."

Hephaestus raised an eyebrow, managing a faint smile. "You're late."

He blinked. "I got here early. Just waited behind that wall. I didn't want to look like I was waiting."

"...Right."

Without much more talk, he gestured for her to follow, and soon they were at the edge of the green field where his base sprawled—an organized fortress of tech that still made some of the locals rub their eyes in disbelief.

The first thing that caught Hephaestus's attention were the drones. Four of them flew high above like silent sentinels. Saitama casually pointed up.

"These guys cost a million each. Sensors so sharp they can spot someone picking their nose from a mile away."

She snorted. "Lovely mental image."

He grinned. "But cool, right?"

The tour continued. The robot tank-track bots rumbled along a dedicated path, metal glinting in the sun. Then came the massive builder robots still working on some outer infrastructure, welding and assembling under the direction of smaller helper bots.

"They respond to AI instructions and work without breaks. I gave 'em all nicknames but forgot which is which," Saitama said, scratching his head.

The TV displays at the shop's front flashed ads for multi-purpose toolkits, instant heaters, snack boxes, and mini-massagers—one even featured a dramatically animated potato puff doing a backflip.

Hephaestus lingered near one display, observing it longer than the rest. "I like the layout. Clean, purposeful."

"Thanks. That one's running off the new coal station. Power's stable now."

She turned to him, tilting her head slightly. "You built all of this... in what, a few weeks?"

"More or less. Plus a few lightning-speed delivery runs to other cities." He shrugged like it was nothing.

As he showed her the AI-assisted repair bots with extra arms—who nodded politely at her while tightening bolts on a busted antenna—Hephaestus looked genuinely impressed. Her pride in craftsmanship didn't come easily, but this... this was something.

"You really don't do anything halfway, huh?"

"I usually just punch stuff," he replied with a smile. "But sometimes you gotta do a little extra."

The sun dipped low by the time they made it to Orario's most expensive restaurant, a lavish place built into a tower with crystal windows and silver chandeliers. The servers nearly dropped their trays when Saitama walked in dressed in his sandals and T-shirt.

Hephaestus, by contrast, seemed completely at ease beside him. She watched him scan the menu, expression unreadable.

"You're ordering the meat mountain, aren't you?"

"Yup."

"Figured."

Dinner went quietly at first. Hephaestus spoke about crafting commissions and how she was considering a new line of armor for newer adventurers. Saitama shared a strange story about a merchant guild asking if he could sell them a machine that made snow on command. Somehow, it worked.

When dessert arrived, Saitama pointed at a spoon and asked, "Hey, ever seen one that stirs itself?" He pulled one from his pocket and dropped it in her teacup. It spun lazily.

Her eye twitched. "...I want twelve."

They left under the stars, strolling slowly. For once, neither of them rushed to fill the silence.

At the gate, Saitama gave her a slight nod. "So… I'm not great at this date stuff. Did you, uh, have a good time?"

Hephaestus looked at him for a long second. Then she smirked.

"You're weird. But yeah… I did."

He watched her walk off, then glanced at the sky. One of the drones dipped slightly in acknowledgement, probably recognizing the end of a good patrol—or a good date.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The Orario Guild headquarters was buzzing with activity as usual. Adventurers filled the lobby, submitting reports, taking quests, and arguing over dropped loot. Among them walked Saitama, calm as ever in his T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He held nothing but a tablet under one arm, strolling behind the young receptionist escorting him.

Eina Tulle walked briskly at his side. She was used to dealing with greenhorns and overconfident rookies. But Saitama? There was a strange weightless confidence about him—like a man who'd already won the game and just liked walking through the levels again for fun.

She peeked at his shirt. It was plain white with bold black letters:

"I Came, I Saw, I Forgot Why I Walked In."

Despite herself, Eina giggled.

He looked over. "Something wrong?"

"No—no, it's just your shirt," she replied, covering her mouth. "It's... unexpectedly accurate."

"Yeah. I've done that like six times this week."

They reached the top floor where Royman Mardeel, the elderly elven head of the Guild, waited in a grand office decorated with polished stone walls and shelves of old books. Despite his age, Royman's eyes were sharp. He stood when Saitama entered.

"You must be the Merchant," Royman said, voice formal.

"Hey. Thanks for the invite," Saitama replied casually, giving a small wave.

The guild head raised an eyebrow but gestured to the nearby wall. "You requested presentation space?"

"Yup."

Saitama tapped his wrist tablet. From a portable device he brought, a projection flickered to life on the wall. An AI voice began speaking—cheerful, slow, and clear like it was explaining shapes to toddlers.

"Hello! Let's learn about emergency rescue golems!"

Eina blinked.

The AI continued. "When adventurers are in big, big trouble and say, 'Help!'—they can push a distress device! That device sends a hidden magic-tech signal to Saitama's super-fast golems, who fly just above the ground with hover boosters! Zoom! They come quickly to fight off monsters and bring the adventurers back safely!"

The slides included exaggerated cartoon images of adventurers screaming and golems zooming in like superhero statues with glowing eyes.

Saitama tapped the side. "They're programmed to prioritize based on threat level. Built-in monster classifiers, auto-stabilization, shield fields, minor healing packs, and evac seats. One press. You're outta there."

Royman steepled his fingers. "And the cost?"

Saitama looked straight at him. "High. Real high. Adventurers go into danger for profit—so they pay for rescue. Based on party level and danger zone, prices scale. If they can't pay... system flags them, and they work for me. Might lose possessions. Might be a few years of labor."

Eina winced.

Royman narrowed his eyes. "So if they wish to be saved, they must accept a long debt?"

Saitama nodded. "Yup."

"But... for adventurers misbehaving—attacking others, stealing, causing chaos?"

"Free call-in. They hit the button, my golems come break it up. No charge."

That made Royman sit back, stroking his long white beard.

"I do like that part," he admitted. "Adventurers harming one another ruins our balance. Having a neutral responder we don't fund… it's efficient."

Saitama shrugged. "The tech's solid. You've seen my other stuff already. I'll give you a test demo soon. I'll let one of the golems loose in the training grounds."

"I look forward to that," Royman said. "Your methods are… unorthodox. But you've delivered so far."

Eina remained quiet, still thinking about that ridiculous shirt, then glanced back at the projection where the cartoon golem was now giving a thumbs up to the screen.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next day, Saitama stood in the center of the expansive training grounds owned by the Orario Adventurers Guild. It was a wide, open arena with dust-marked stone tiles, elevated spectator platforms, and reinforced observation towers.

Beside him stood Eina Tulle, her notepad in hand and eyes sharp with curiosity. To her right was the Guild Head, Royman Mardeel, arms behind his back as he silently observed.

And next to Royman stood the Guild's head trainer—a broad-chested, scar-covered human named Garmund Kray. His short beard looked like it had been trimmed with a blade and fire. He wore a black tank top stretched over a thick neck and shoulders like boulders. A longsword rested on his back, though from his posture, it was more for tradition than use.

"Training field is cleared," Garmund announced in a gravelly voice. "Let's see what your toys can do."

Saitama gave a slight nod and tapped his wrist tablet. Above them, the sky was clear.

Then—like lightning—two dark gray hovercrafts screamed into view from opposite ends of the field. Low hums turned into roaring whooshes as they cut across the open air, their boosters pushing them just a meter above the ground. The hovercrafts decelerated smoothly and stopped in perfect sync at the demonstration zone.

Their sleek chassis gleamed under the sun, each mounted with compact dual-barreled railgun turrets on their sides.

Suddenly, the side hatches slid open—and three humanoid robots stepped out from each craft. Tall, plated in black-blue composite alloy, each robot carried a railgun rifle on its shoulder and a medical kit on its waist.

Their AI voices chimed from a built-in speaker system.

"Simulation Start. Objective: Rescue."

Wooden "monster" targets—crudely carved but placed strategically—stood beyond the supposed "adventurers" in distress, which were actually several heavy bags of stones stacked like collapsed bodies.

Without hesitation, the hovercrafts opened fire.

THUNK–THUNK–THUNK.

The railgun turrets shot high-velocity bursts. Each wooden target exploded in a spray of splinters and sawdust. Precision. No wasted movement. No missed shots.

The humanoid robots sprinted forward at incredible speed, picked up the stone bags—each weighing nearly a hundred kilos—and carried them effortlessly back into the crafts. Meanwhile, two remaining robots fired at additional targets while shielding their cargo.

Eina watched, wide-eyed. "That... is very efficient."

One hovercraft started pulling away, a bit slower now due to the extra weight. Its turret still rotated, firing suppressive shots at targets behind them. The other followed, also fully loaded, its back hatch shutting with a mechanical hiss.

The entire demonstration was over in less than a minute.

Viewers behind a soundproof barrier—wearing enchanted headgear for sound dampening—removed their gear and began murmuring excitedly. Royman looked impressed, and even Garmund scratched his beard with a grunt of approval.

"They're fast," the trainer said. "Too fast for most monsters to counter."

"And strong," Eina added. "Those stone bags weren't light…"

Royman nodded slowly. "Impressive. Precise. Merciless."

Saitama yawned and stretched his arms behind his head. "Yeah, and they haven't even used their voice command threat dispersers yet. That's just the basic show."

Royman gave a rare, small smile. "I look forward to the full performance. You've outdone yourself again, Merchant."

Saitama shrugged. "Cool. Want to try lifting those stone bags yourself?"

Garmund stepped forward.

"I'll bite."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The day after the successful demonstration, a new wave of activity swept across Orario.

At the Guild headquarters, adventurers formed long queues in front of designated reception counters, each counter overseen by staff like Eina Tulle, who patiently explained the details of Saitama's freshly inked contract. Large posters with simple diagrams and large font—automatically generated by Saitama's Merchant System—lined the guild walls.

"Clause one," Eina recited in her smooth, practiced voice. "Monster-related rescues are subject to payment based on party level. Failure to pay within the time limit results in assignment to merchant labor contracts, which may involve transportation, heavy lifting, factory work, or promotional services."

A proud, well-dressed adventurer from a wealthy Familia snorted. "Promotional services? What, does he make people dance in his shop windows too?"

Behind her, a poorer duo from a lower-ranked Familia stared at the contract nervously, until one of them sighed. "Well, dead people don't get paid. Where do we sign?"

Eina nodded solemnly and handed them a distress device along with a small instruction manual. "Push the red button if you're in danger. One of the patrol squads will come to your location, assuming you're still alive by the time they get there."

Outside, the city of Orario had never seen such strange movement. Hovercrafts—slim, silent, and slightly intimidating—glided across main streets, avoiding foot traffic with eerie grace. Citizens craned their necks to watch the mechanical police squads make their debut. Each squad was made up of a sleek hover unit that gleamed like obsidian, and three humanoid robots riding calmly inside, eyes glowing faint blue.

A little girl clung to her mother's sleeve and whispered, "Mama, are they gonna shoot monsters in the city?"

"No, dear," her mother said. "Only if monsters come out of the dungeon."

A nearby old man muttered, "...Or if adventurers start brawling again. About time someone puts a cap on those kids…"

Near the dungeon entrance, a large new structure had been installed overnight—an angular refueling and repair station, its polished black panels accented with blinking green lights. Engineers walked around it, adjusting hoses and robotic limbs. A flat digital sign blinked in bright letters:

"SAITAMA RESCUE OPS — REFUEL/REPAIR CENTER — DO NOT OBSTRUCT."

Inside the Guild, things weren't as smooth.

Royman Mardeel was rubbing his temple as he listened to yet another complaint from a prideful party leader—this one from Loki Familia.

"I'm not signing a contract that says I'll end up scrubbing toilets in some merchant camp because a lizard bit my leg in the dungeon!" he barked.

Royman let out a long breath through his nose. "Then don't get rescued."

"I won't! I'd rather die!"

"Many have," Royman said calmly, then gestured to the next adventurer in line.

The very next adventurer, a scrawny Level 1 from a nameless Familia, grabbed the pen without hesitation. "Name? Here? Good. I like breathing."

As the sun rose higher, more and more parties from smaller or newer Familia began accepting the terms. A quiet, mutual understanding formed among the less fortunate: it was humiliating, yes. But better debt than death.

Meanwhile, Saitama sat outside his shop, sandals kicked off, sipping something that looked suspiciously like cold tea. His shirt read, "My Power Level Is Yes." A few adventurers passing by chuckled under their breath.

One young girl pointed and said, "Hey! That's the bald guy who saves people with robots!"

Saitama glanced over and gave her a nod.

Then he yawned.

"Man… might need to automate even more of this soon."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Loki stood near the outer edge of Babel Tower, arms crossed, her crimson eyes squinting in the direction of the Dungeon entrance. One of the new police hovercrafts had just returned from patrol, its smooth, matte-black surface catching the light in a way that made it look freshly summoned from some divine forge.

It hovered gracefully into the docking platform near the repair station, released a subtle hiss of compressed air, and powered down with mechanical precision. The side panel opened, and three humanoid robots stepped out with synchronized movements. They scanned the area for threats, weapons slung over their shoulders like modern paladins.

Loki clicked her tongue.

"Tch. Overcompensating bucketheads," she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly as the turret swiveled smoothly and auto-retracted into the hovercraft. The entire process was… sleek. Professional. Unnecessarily attractive for a squad of soulless machines.

Ais stood beside her, silently observing.

"Those things do look strong," Ais said, watching a robot squat down and perform what appeared to be a diagnostic check on itself. "Faster than most rescue teams. I heard they reached the 18th floor in three minutes."

Loki's eye twitched. "Three minutes? What, were they flying through the walls?"

"No," Ais replied, completely serious. "Through the tunnel."

Loki nearly choked on her own spit.

She turned away sharply, hair whipping with the motion. "Don't care. Not impressed. I bet they can't even smile. Not like real adventurers. Not like you." She gave Ais a firm pat on the back that somehow felt more like a grounding slap.

Ais blinked, confused. "Do they need to smile if they're rescuing people?"

Loki froze. "You askin' the big questions, huh…"

She stared up at the tower's side wall to avoid watching another hovercraft glide by like a predator in the sky. Her mind wandered—unfortunately—to Hephaestus.

The forge goddess had been strangely radiant lately. Happier. Relaxed. Rumors had swirled, as they always did among the gods, until Freya casually dropped it in a meeting: "Hephaestus is dating Saitama."

The memory stabbed at Loki like a railgun to the gut.

Why him?! Bald, plain, has zero fashion sense… wears sandals with socks!

But her mind involuntarily pictured him holding two giant boulders like they were beach balls, crushing coal with one hand while sipping tea with the other, looking blankly into the distance like the world was just mildly annoying background noise.

Cool. Effortless. Frustrating.

Loki shook her head violently. "No. Nope. I'm not into that. I'm not into blank stares and sandals and giant robot police squads."

She peeked again.

The squad had taken off silently, soaring into the sky with turbine hiss and faint blue contrails. A child below waved at them, and one of the robots saluted back before disappearing over the horizon.

A very tiny part of Loki's chest tightened.

"I hate those things," she muttered.

"You've said that four times now," Ais said, eyes still following the patrol in the sky.

"W-Well I do!" Loki snapped, flustered. "And I don't care if he's got flying deathbots, a literal shop empire, or every goddess swooning over him—he's not my type!"

Ais tilted her head slightly. "You glared at Hephaestus for five minutes yesterday."

Loki turned completely red.

"THAT WAS UNRELATED."

She stormed off toward the Guild in a huff, cloak fluttering behind her.

Ais watched her leave, then looked back up at the distant shimmer of hovercraft wings.

"…They are kind of cool."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The Dungeon trembled slightly as the War Shadows closed in. Razor-sharp claws shimmered in the torchlight, and the sound of rapid slithering dungeon lizards echoed down the corridor. The party of five — all newbies from a minor Familia no one paid much attention to — had pushed too far, too fast. One of their members was already unconscious, slung over the shoulder of their strongest fighter like a sack of potatoes.

"We shouldn't have gone this deep!" the archer shouted, trying to keep the War Shadows at bay with weak, panicked shots.

"No one asked your opinion now, Kallie!" yelled the swordsman, swinging at a shadow too fast to hit.

Behind them, dungeon lizards crept from the cracks of the wall, their jaws gaping with hunger.

The mage was hyperventilating. "Signal! Use the signal now!"

The leader slapped the glowing red crystal embedded in a small metallic rectangle hanging from his belt. It beeped once, softly. That was it.

Silence.

Then — a faint humming. The sound grew louder and deeper, rumbling like a storm trapped in a jar.

And then, light flooded the corridor as two sleek, matte-black hovercrafts burst into view from an upper floor shaft, engines kicking up dust and wind. Railgun turrets rotated with machine precision. From the crafts, six humanoid rescue bots leapt down mid-motion like trained adventurers, landing with mechanical grace.

The first bot opened fire, railgun rifle emitting soft fwip-fwip-fwip sounds — every shot skewering a War Shadow cleanly through the core. The second squad swept the flanks, shredding lizards in a disciplined formation. Screeching, the monsters tried to retreat — they didn't get the chance.

Thirty seconds later, nothing moved on the 6th floor but scorched stone and dead monsters.

One rescue bot knelt beside the unconscious adventurer, ran a scan, and injected a stabilizing agent. The rest hustled the group onto the hovercraft.

As they hovered up the tunnel, the party stared in awe. The mage actually sobbed from relief. The archer just repeated, "We're alive. We're alive," like a broken record.

When they reached the surface and were offloaded near the Dungeon entrance, the medics were already waiting. The leader blinked up at one of the bots, now powering down.

"Thank you... really. That was... that was amazing."

The rescue bot turned slightly. Its voice box buzzed to life.

"You have been rescued. A payment schedule will be transmitted to your Familia representative. Estimated debt term: three years, manual labor. Please avoid unnecessary near-death experiences in the future."

The party collectively froze.

The mage gave a nervous chuckle. "I mean... better debt than dead, right?"

"Shut up, Kallie," the swordsman muttered.

One of the bots handed them a pamphlet: Welcome to Saitama's Work Program.

They were too tired to argue.

Behind them, one of the hovercrafts quietly lifted back into the air and disappeared into the city skyline.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The five newbie adventurers stood in a line in front of Saitama, who lazily lounged on a crate near the entrance of his coal station, sipping juice from a modern-looking carton with a straw. His T-shirt had a print of a frowning cartoon crab, and one of his sandals was half off his foot.

The recently healed adventurer, a young archer girl with patched-up armor and a slightly paler complexion, gave a nervous bow. "Thank you for saving us, sir. We'll work hard."

"Sure," Saitama said, shrugging. "You're on the worker list now. Shelter's free, food's free, you're paid in debt reduction. Try not to die, or whatever."

A cheerful humanoid robot with a clipboard arm and rotating eyes stepped up.

"Welcome, debt-workers! I'm BOLT-23, your friendly assignment facilitator! Please choose your two-week cycle role from the following options: Basic Monster Catching, Shop Guard Duty, Heavy Labor, or Sanitation Patrol! You may switch roles at any job checkpoint!"

The party looked at each other.

"I guess I'll do monster catching," mumbled the tank of the group, gripping his chipped shield. "Might as well get stronger…"

"I'll try guarding," said the healer. "Just no more dungeons for now."

They each picked their starting roles with varying levels of resignation. The robot nodded approvingly and handed out digital badges that tracked their time and progress.

"You're allowed breaks, holidays every 10th cycle, and morale bonuses if you don't complain on record!"

Saitama tilted his head.

"Wait, what's a morale bonus again?"

"It's a free Jagamarukun, sir."

"…Right."

As they were escorted off to their orientation area — which was surprisingly clean and well-managed, with decent food smells drifting from the mess hall — the mood among them lightened just slightly.

Still, the rogue of the group looked back over his shoulder at Saitama, who was now scratching his bald head and poking a small bot with a stick for fun.

"I can't believe that bald guy owns half the town," he muttered.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Hermes adjusted his feathered hat, the wind tugging at his coat as the cart bounced slightly on the cobbled path leading toward Saitama's base. Asfi sat beside him, arms crossed, face unreadable as usual.

"I'm telling you, Asfi," Hermes said, waving his hand casually, "this new merchant god is very interesting. I haven't seen the Guild this excited in years."

"I'm more interested in how that 'magical notepad' system works. We placed our order while still in our manor... and it actually worked." She glanced at the delivery confirmation glowing faintly on her own enchanted pad.

The two soon reached the outskirts of Saitama's base, and their casual curiosity turned into wide-eyed silence.

Massive tank-like golems slowly rolled by the outer perimeter, each humming with power and heavily armored. High above, drone-like flying golems with four propellers glided through the sky before landing and taking off again in smooth, near-silent rhythms.

The shop building itself was like nothing they'd ever seen—sleek lines, large glass panels, and shining metal that gleamed under the sun. Workers—humanoid golems with unnaturally smooth movements—stood in perfect formation, managing deliveries, assisting customers, and patrolling without a word.

Hermes let out a low whistle. "Not Orario craftsmanship… not even from the gods. This is something else."

"Alien," Asfi murmured. "Too precise. Too clean. It doesn't feel like it belongs in Gekai."

Their cart was guided to a numbered station where two humanoid golems approached and scanned their code slip. With mechanical efficiency, they verified the payment and fetched large sealed crates from a nearby storage unit.

Hermes leaned in, tapping one of the golems on the shoulder. "Tell your god I'm impressed."

The golem stared for a split second before walking off without a word. Hermes chuckled.

Asfi loaded the goods onto their cart with some help. She checked the items, all neatly packed and labeled in perfect Common Script.

As they turned the cart to leave, Hermes looked back once more. "It's not just a merchant god," he said softly, almost to himself. "It's a god from a different world… and they brought their world with them."

Asfi nodded, a rare seriousness in her expression. "And now it's mixing with ours."

They drove off, their cart heavier than when they came—but their minds heavier still, burdened by the realization that the age of gods might be shifting into something new, something forged from metal and lightning.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

It started with a casual glance at a map of the area. Saitama squinted at the empty patches of land surrounding his already-bustling base and scratched his head.

"So much land just doing nothing…" he muttered.

The next morning, the air around Orario buzzed—literally—as a trail of dust and motion streaked across the landscape. One moment, empty plains. The next, freshly turned soil, neat rows being dug with comically rapid precision. Birds scattered, workers at Saitama's Shop paused mid-task, and adventurers nearby stopped in confusion as a blur zigzagged across the horizon.

In less than an hour, the once-unused wasteland began to resemble organized farmland.

Saitama stood at the edge of it all, wearing his usual T-shirt and shorts, a small bag of seeds slung casually over his shoulder.

"I guess this is how farming works, right?" he shrugged, dumping the contents of the bag with a wide sweep of his arm, trusting the Merchant System to label and plant them accordingly. The earth shimmered faintly as the system responded—rows of labeled markers popped up with magical precision, denoting different herbs and plants known across Orario.

Meanwhile, at the top of Babel Tower, Freya looked out from her balcony, her divine senses easily picking up the high-speed movement below.

For a moment, she forgot about her Familia, her responsibilities, even her wine. Her silver eyes followed the blur as it moved with impossible grace and speed across the soil, her lips parting in open intrigue.

"So, he's expanding again," Freya said casually, watching the streak of dust and wind carve new patterns into the empty land far below.

She rested her chin on her hand, golden eyes following the blur that was Saitama reshaping acres of wilderness like it was nothing more than loose cloth. She wasn't surprised—just mildly entertained. She had seen him crush boulders with a flick, haul power lines on his shoulders like festival ribbons, and now he was turning Orario's outer lands into something useful. Again.

"He doesn't stop," she murmured. "No ambition, no glory… and yet the world bends around him like he's the center of it."

A small, pleased hum left her lips.

"I knew he'd be interesting the moment that shop opened. And now…" Her gaze softened—not out of affection, but satisfaction. "He's already mine in spirit. Like Bell. He just doesn't realize it yet."

Behind her, Ottar remained silent, but she caught the flicker of unease in his posture. She smiled.

"Don't worry," she added. "I'm not rushing. After all—Saitama's not the kind you chase. He's the kind you make a place for, until he walks in on his own."

She looked back down toward the fields, where drones buzzed and farmbots rolled into place around him.

"I'll be ready when he does."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The land outside Orario looked like it had been hit by a divine windstorm. But instead of destruction, it left behind tidy rows of furrowed fields, irrigation lines, and fencing—all crafted at blinding speeds by a man in sandals, a plain T-shirt, and shorts.

For four days straight, Saitama zipped across the newly purchased farmland, leveling soil, planting seeds, adjusting irrigation bots, and scaring the living daylights out of any bird or critter too slow to get out of the way. To onlookers, it looked like the world itself bent just to keep up with him.

Crowds gathered every day, ranging from awestruck farmers to wide-eyed adventurers to gods trying very hard not to act impressed.

"He's still going?" one elf whispered, clutching a bag of Jagamarukun.

"Farming at Mach speed," muttered another adventurer. "What even is this guy?"

A group of Ganesha Familia members tried to "organize" the crowd with little success. Some of them were just standing and cheering like they were watching the Monsterphilia.

"LOOK AT HIM GO! HE PLANTED TWELVE HECTARES IN ONE MINUTE!"

"HE'S TURNING OVER A WHOLE FIELD—WHILE EATING A SANDWICH!"

Indeed, Saitama chomped on a baguette while casually dragging what looked like a massive iron plow behind him like it was a toy. Occasionally, he stopped, frowned, and squatted to adjust the angle of a seedling—only to rocket off again in a blur.

People whispered, laughed, and pointed. But all of them watched. No one could look away.

Even from the top floor of Babel, Freya sat with a smile playing at the corner of her lips, holding a cup of tea she hadn't touched in over ten minutes.

"He's greedy," she murmured, amused. "Not for wealth… but for purpose. For something to do. He acts like he's bored of being unstoppable."

Her golden eyes sparkled with intrigue as Saitama zipped by in the distance, leaving behind perfectly squared fields.

"Good," she said softly. "Let the world watch. Let them stare. That just makes it more fun when he ends up where I want him."

She sipped her tea.

It had gone cold. But for once, she didn't mind.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Inside Orario, the streets buzzed with merchants shouting, adventurers bragging, and the usual sounds of a city constantly preparing to fight monsters or each other.

But today, Hestia was storming down the road, clutching a receipt. A very long receipt. It fluttered behind her like a battle banner.

"Bell! Welf! Liliruca!" she snapped as she stomped toward a tall, steel-framed building with massive glass windows. The front display read SAITAMA'S SHOP in glowing letters, while a drone hovered overhead flashing New Arrival: UltraSoft Comfy Pillow 2.0 – 25 Valis Off Today!

"Oh, they're dead," Hestia muttered under her breath.

She slammed the shop's front door open like she was kicking in a dungeon gate.

Inside, workers in matching shirts were helping customers at lightning speed. Massive TV screens showed product demonstrations: a rice cooker exploding with glittering steam, a lawn mower slicing weeds on Level 17, and—wait, was that a robot doing yoga?

Hestia ignored it all and made a beeline to the Customer Support Desk, slamming the receipt down like a declaration of war.

The receptionist blinked. "Uh… Welcome to Saitama's Shop?"

"Where is he!?" Hestia growled. "I know this was his fault!"

"Do you have an appointment—?"

"Do I look like I need one!?"

Before the poor receptionist could answer, the back door hissed open. Out walked a bald man in a T-shirt that said "SALE = PEACE," holding a massive bag of fertilizer in one hand and a half-eaten rice ball in the other.

"Oh. The ribbon goddess," Saitama said, blinking slowly. "What's up?"

"You! That's what's up!" Hestia marched over, waving the receipt like a sword. "My kids just spent over 2,000 valis here in two days! Pillows! Snacks! A portable mini-heater! Lili's backpack has a fold-out dining set in it now! Why are you selling things they clearly don't need!?"

Saitama scratched his cheek. "Maybe they needed it emotionally?"

She almost popped a vein.

"Don't give me your laid-back nonsense! Do you know how hard it is to budget a Familia when your strongest member is a cinnamon roll who gives all his money away to monster children!?"

At that exact moment, Bell, Welf, and Lili entered the store.

"Uh… Goddess?" Bell blinked.

"Don't 'Goddess' me!" she spun to point at them. "You three—this is where all our valis went, huh!?"

Lili instantly backed up behind Welf like she was using him as a meat shield. "Technically, Lili filed the orders through group approval."

"You bought eight pillows, Lili!"

"They're for nighttime watch rotations! And one is memory foam."

Welf crossed his arms. "Those portable stoves were useful, okay? You weren't complaining when we cooked that yakisoba on Level 17."

"It was delicious, but that's not the point!"

Bell tried to help. "I, um… I only bought the herbal shampoo because Eina said I should take better care of my hair—"

"I KNOW. I SAW THE DEEP CONDITIONER TOO."

Saitama, still holding the rice ball, looked over at the massage chairs on display.

"You look stressed," he said bluntly.

Hestia turned back to him with a glare. "I am stressed, thank you."

He casually walked over to one of the larger chairs, pressed a few buttons, and gestured.

"Try this."

"I'm not—"

The chair whirred. A soft glow lit up from the headrest. It purred.

Hestia narrowed her eyes. "...Fine. Just for one second. I swear, if this is another scam—"

She sat down.

The chair melted around her. Her eyes widened. Her jaw slackened.

"O-Oh… ohhh no…"

Thirty seconds in, she was slouched so deep into the chair her feet weren't even touching the ground anymore. A robotic voice purred, "Spinal relief mode: active."

Welf leaned to Bell. "We've lost her."

Bell nodded solemnly.

Hestia half-muttered through a daze, "...We're buying this."

"Thought we were low on valis?" Lili said dryly.

"It's an investment in morale."

Saitama took a bite of his rice ball and held up a receipt pad. "I'll give you the combo deal. Buy two massage chairs, get a neck fan and a heated foot massager free."

Hestia, eyes still closed, said, "Make it three."

Bell blinked. "We don't even have room for three—"

"Make it fit."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next two days in Orario were… loud. And confusing.

Near the main gate, a long, flat stretch of land had transformed in ways the gods themselves hadn't expected. The once patchy field now glistened with leveled soil, freshly dug irrigation channels, and straight rows of tiny green sprouts under protective mesh canopies. Some older gods whispered rumors of a divine miracle. The Guild confirmed it was just Saitama farming. Which didn't actually help clear things up.

Saitama stood in the middle of the vast field in shorts and a hoodie, silently yanking weeds out of the ground at speeds so fast, the eye couldn't track him. Every few seconds, there was a sound like pft! and another pile of weeds shot up into a distant trash heap like cannonballs. Birds that had come to rest scattered. Farmers from nearby villages stood at the fence line in slack-jawed awe, shading their eyes.

"Is… is he vacuuming the land with his bare hands?" one whispered.

A sprout of something vaguely medicinal peeked out of the dirt. Saitama paused to flick a label stake into the ground beside it.

"Chamomile. Huh," he muttered, then zipped five hundred meters to his left to start tilling the next plot.

His humanoid robots followed behind him slowly, watering seeds and adjusting row spacing according to the automated farming plan. One of them beeped as it nearly tripped on a discarded sandal.

Back near his coal plant, Saitama returned later that day for mining. The bots were drilling deep into the rocky vein, but it was slow-going. As usual, he jumped in to help. Literally.

He leapt into the tunnel, landed next to a stubborn rock formation, and just punched it.

The stone exploded into dust and pebbles, shooting back up the shaft in a controlled column.

"Cracked that one too fast," he mumbled, casually flattening another boulder into fine gravel with an open palm. "Might need a gentler slap next time."

His robots, watching from their side, chirped affirmative tones and continued scooping debris into powered minecarts. The coal was refined in the same hour. By evening, the main depot near the power plant had already processed half a week's worth of energy.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

On the way back, Saitama stopped for deliveries.

He zipped to a small mountain village just outside Orario's reach, dropped off six large crates of clean power modules and low-cost heaters, scribbled a confirmation note, and disappeared before the local lord's advisor could even ask his name.

"Was that… a courier?" the old man asked, adjusting his glasses.

"No," said the village girl beside him, "that was the merchant god."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Back in Orario, workers at Saitama's Shop were rotating shifts to keep up with increased orders. The new agricultural partnership announcement—posted just that morning—had spiked demand for long-term herbal goods. The tablets at the front desk now included "Expected harvest ETA" updates for interested Familia and guild agents.

Inside the shop, a worker held up a delivery receipt. "Uh… Boss?"

Saitama, sitting at the breakroom table and poking a vending machine sandwich, looked up.

"We just sold 80 units of chamomile and aloe future-reservations to Loki Familia. And… they paid in advance."

Saitama blinked. "Didn't they threaten to blow us up last week?"

The worker nodded. "But apparently their Healer tried one of our pain patches and now wants exclusive supply."

"Huh. Okay." He went back to the sandwich.

"Also, one of your herbs started glowing."

"Just mark it as magical and triple the price."

"Yes sir."

The worker walked off. Saitama finished his sandwich and looked out the back window at his glowing farm under the moonlight.

He yawned.

"Guess I'll finish the north field in the morning."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The first to arrive at the grand marble steps of Hephaestus Familia wasn't a noble, nor a renowned adventurer. It was a slow-gliding, sleek, impossibly polished vehicle with a chrome-metallic body that shifted through hues of deep blue, obsidian black, and golden red depending on the light.

The street paused.

Literally, foot traffic stopped. Conversations stalled mid-word.

"H-hey… is that… some kind of magic chariot?"

"No, idiot. There aren't any wheels. It's just floating!"

"Did it just parallel park by itself?!"

Out of the shimmering car stepped Saitama, who was completely unfazed by the crowd.

He adjusted the cuffs of his suit—an otherworldly material that shimmered faintly, the colors bending with every move like some enchanted silk. It looked tasteful yet surreal, a level of fashion that screamed both "filthy rich" and "I don't care what I wear, but somehow it works."

Saitama looked at the Hephaestus Familia gate and knocked twice on the steel-reinforced door like it was a neighbor's shed.

The door creaked open, revealing Hephaestus herself, pausing mid-step.

She stared at the man in the glowing suit.

Then she stared at the levitating car with smooth curves and embedded crystal lights that softly pulsed with energy. She noticed the interior cushions—seats so plush they looked illegal. And the music playing softly from inside? That wasn't Orario music. It had bass. Actual bass.

"…you bought it?" she asked, blinking.

Saitama gave a thumbs-up. "Yeah. It was expensive. The sales guy cried a little."

"…of course he did." She sighed, pushing her glasses up. "Whatever. Let's just go."

He opened the door for her with a casual wave. It slid open sideways with a whispering psshhh and lowered slightly for her to step in. The moment she sat, she froze.

"…this chair is… massaging my spine?"

Saitama nodded. "It adjusts to your posture too. AI says your shoulders are tense."

Hephaestus turned, expression blank. "You know I make swords for people who slay dragons, right? I am tense."

The car slowly lifted and glided off through the streets of Orario toward Apollon Familia's estate, moving with such silence and grace that even the gods watching from rooftops leaned in closer.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

By the time the car touched down at the Apollon Familia courtyard, the party was in full swing.

Lavish lights. Wine. Harps. Servants. Nobles and gods in fine robes.

But the moment Saitama's AI car hovered in and did a perfect rotation landing mid-air before setting down without even a sound, everyone stopped.

Gasps echoed across the marble halls.

"Is that—?!"

"Who brought a flying fortress to a party?!"

"It's not flying. It's… FLOATING. There's no noise! Look at that finish!"

"And the shimmer… I want that suit…"

Apollon himself, laughing with a wine glass in hand, faltered slightly as Saitama stepped out. His godly instincts told him one thing:

He had just been outflexed.

Hestia, who had just finished chewing out a smug Apollon for the earlier incident, spotted Saitama entering with Hephaestus and immediately bolted over. Her party was in tow—Bell, Lili with her backpack, and Welf who was already whispering to a blacksmith friend: "Is that real metal? What the hell is that alloy?!"

"Saitama!" Hestia hissed. "You didn't say you had that kind of ride!"

"You never asked."

"Is that real gemstone on the headlights?!"

"Dunno. AI said it was standard."

Apollon approached, smile frozen.

"Well, well, Saitama. I must say… I'm quite impressed. What is that contraption?"

Saitama turned. "A car."

"…a what?"

"Car. It moves around. Doesn't poop like a horse."

There was an awkward pause.

"Ah," Apollon said, trying to recover. "Very… efficient. But of course, such extravagance is expected from a merchant of your caliber. I must admit, I hadn't anticipated this… flex."

He forced a laugh.

The nobles around him tensed. Even his own Familia whispered.

"His ego's cracking…"

Saitama, meanwhile, turned to Hephaestus. "Wanna eat something?"

She nodded, clearly enjoying the social chaos more than she should. "As long as I don't have to explain your suit to anyone."

"No promises."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As the night went on, Saitama remained the center of whispered attention. Wherever he went, nobles edged closer, trying to figure out what he was wearing, what he was driving, or how he made money.

He stood near the buffet table, completely ignoring it.

Bell approached him awkwardly. "U-uh… Mister Saitama?"

"Yo."

"…Do you think… do you think I could borrow your car… someday?"

"No."

Bell slumped.

Lili stood on her toes beside him. "How much does something like that cost?"

"A million valis."

She choked on air.

Welf stared. "How is it even powered?"

"Dunno. AI knows."

Everyone fell silent again.

And then Hephaestus, sipping from her wine glass, leaned toward Hestia and whispered: "You know, I kind of want one now."

Hestia nodded blankly, unable to speak.

Apollon stood across the room, drinking heavily, watching his entire party's attention slip further away with each second the car glowed softly under the chandelier lights.

His jaw tightened.

"I should've invited him last…"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As the music from Apollon Familia's elegant string quartet drifted through the air, Saitama stood near the edge of the party courtyard, sipping from a fancy glass of apple juice like he was judging a wine contest. The crowd that had followed him from his car landing hadn't really gone anywhere. Instead, they hovered at a polite distance, clearly itching to ask more about his suit, the car, his store—his existence.

After a minute, Saitama glanced around, unimpressed.

"…Kinda boring."

A small voice in the crowd dared to ask, "Sir Merchant… is your suit… made of monster hide?"

"Nope. Dunno what it's made of. AI picked it."

That, somehow, just made it more impressive.

A murmur spread.

Another bolder adventurer leaned forward. "Is it enchanted?"

Saitama shrugged. "Does changing color count?"

More murmuring.

Apollon, nearby and pretending not to watch while very much watching, tensed when Saitama suddenly turned to one of his guards and said, "Hey, gimme your sword."

The armored guard blinked. "Uh… what?"

"Just for a sec. You'll get it back. Well… parts of it."

Without really waiting, Saitama reached forward and plucked the sword from the surprised man's grip. The guard didn't resist—not out of respect, but from raw confusion.

Saitama held it up and looked around. "Any mages? I don't want to get sword shards in people's snacks."

One mage—part of a noble group from Hermes Familia—gulped, then raised a trembling hand. "I-I can… cast a transparency barrier."

"Cool."

With a flash of light, a magical dome sealed around him, clear as glass.

Saitama gripped the sword with both hands, paused dramatically, and then slowly, deliberately, started crushing the blade between his fingers.

Crack.

Crinkle.

Snap.

By the time the hilt dropped to the ground, the blade was a pile of metallic flakes.

The crowd gasped.

One nobleman clapped without realizing it.

A random elf girl whispered, "Is this... a new kind of martial art?"

But Saitama wasn't done. "Alright. Next test."

He turned to a second guard, who flinched when he realized Saitama was pointing at his sword.

"Y-You want this one too?"

"Yep."

This time, the guard hesitantly handed it over like it was a sacred relic being sacrificed.

Saitama held the new blade loosely, stepped back inside the magic dome, and then, under everyone's stunned gaze, lifted his eyelid.

"What is he—wait—is he really—?!"

He pressed the sharp tip of the blade directly onto his exposed eyeball.

Gasps and half-screams echoed through the courtyard.

Hestia covered her face. "Oh gods, he's insane!"

The tip of the sword… snapped. The crack raced down the blade's length, and with a twinkle of metal and magic sparks, it shattered completely into fragments.

Saitama blinked once. No damage. He brushed a tiny flake off his cheek.

He looked at the stunned crowd.

"Guess it wasn't that sharp."

Silence.

And then—

A cheer burst out. Small at first, then swelling into claps and whoops from the adventurers and younger gods. A gnome tried to start a "Saitama" chant. A dwarf banged his tankard on a bench in approval. A werewolf whistled so loud a servant dropped their tray.

Apollon just sipped his wine with a plastic smile and muttered into his glass, "Show off."

Meanwhile, across the courtyard, Loki leaned on a stone column, arms crossed, chewing the tip of her nail with narrowed eyes.

"…Tch. Overpowered… flashy… that stupid glowing suit," she muttered.

She watched the way the nobles circled around him now. The way even gods like Hermes and Miach were approaching, curious smiles on their faces.

Her gaze dropped to the way Saitama casually stepped out of the barrier like it was nothing, helping himself to a slice of lemon cake from the buffet.

"…And he's got no idea how perfect he looks, does he?" she mumbled.

Finn walked up beside her, sipping from a cup. "Something bothering you?"

"Nothing," Loki snapped.

Finn gave her a knowing smile. "Jealous?"

Loki's face turned red. "Shut up."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The clapping hadn't even died down when Saitama, still munching on lemon cake, casually glanced at the gathering that refused to disperse. People were whispering, watching him like he might spontaneously lift a mountain just to see if he could.

He chewed thoughtfully. Then swallowed.

"Alright, you guys like fast stuff, right?" he asked the crowd, brushing cake crumbs off his jacket.

A dozen heads nodded rapidly.

"I'll show you something else. But I need… hmm." He raised his hand and flagged down a nearby waitress. "Hey, can I get, like, a hundred small glass cups?"

The poor girl blinked. "A h-hundred?"

"Yup. Doesn't have to be fancy. Just glass."

She paused. Then bolted inside the mansion in a panic sprint only known to kitchen staff told by powerful guests to do impossible things.

About five minutes later, a group of Apollon Familia servants came out struggling with trays stacked with small, round glass cups. They placed them gently on a wide patch of marble flooring where Saitama was already standing, casually rotating his shoulders.

He flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles. "Alright. I'm gonna build some stuff. Fast. But not so fast I break 'em. That would ruin the point."

Someone in the crowd asked, "Wait… like buildings?"

Saitama gave a small nod. "Structures. Shapes. Geometry stuff."

Someone else whispered, "I heard he built three miles of power lines in two hours and crushed the rocks with his fists."

Another added, "He tilled an entire herb field before lunch and was back in Orario like nothing happened."

The buzz quieted when Saitama crouched, placed the first cup, and then—

Zhhh!

He vanished in a blur.

The only sound was a soft click click click click of glass touching glass.

Within three seconds, there was a pyramid.

Another blur. Now a cube stack, perfectly even.

Then a low-arching bridge shape. Then a swirling spiral tower, one cup balancing impossibly on another at a diagonal angle.

He paused.

"Okay, that one was fun."

Before the gasps could start, he zipped again—this time weaving the cups into a wide triangle base, rising up into a twin-spired arrangement that resembled Orario's tower, complete with a glass "elevator shaft" made from a spiral of tiny cups.

A chorus of "Whoa"s rippled out.

The structure didn't even wobble.

By the time he finished, dozens of shapes decorated the floor like a miniature city of fragile glass art. He'd even done a row that spelled out, in cursive Common: Still Bored.

Saitama stood, dusted his hands off, and took another bite of cake he somehow already had in hand again.

A tall, noble-looking mage leaned in, adjusting his monocle. "A-And none of them broke?"

A waitress, mouth agape, leaned close to one of the towers and gently tapped a cup. It rang perfectly.

Not a single chip.

Not even a scratch.

"He didn't even use magic…" a rogue whispered.

"I couldn't do this with magic," a gnome muttered.

A pallum girl was already sketching the display on a scroll labeled: Merchant God's Sacred Symbols – Part I.

Saitama looked down at his work, yawned slightly, then turned to the crowd. "Alright. Who wants me to un-stack 'em even faster?"

Apollon groaned from his balcony seat. "Someone please distract him with a dance or a dragon. Anything."

Loki, still watching from her corner, bit her lip and muttered, "Unfair. That's just unfair."

Hermes—who had at some point climbed a statue just to get a better view—whistled and laughed. "I think we've officially reached the point where even the gods are jealous!"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Away from the crowd's excited murmurs and the sound of clinking glasses, Hephaestus stood near one of the lesser-used corners of the Apollon estate. She was speaking with a fellow smith about alloy combinations when Loki suddenly appeared beside her, drink in hand and a too-casual grin plastered on her face.

"Heya, Red," Loki said, elbowing her lightly. "Mind if I steal you for a bit? Girl talk."

Hephaestus narrowed her eye. "Is this going to be another one of your awful jokes?"

Loki's smile faltered for just a second, then returned softer. "Nope. Dead serious this time. Just… private."

Hephaestus studied her. "Fine."

The two goddesses moved away from the buzzing event hall, up to a higher balcony lined with curtains and gold leaf trim. The sounds below faded beneath the evening wind.

Loki leaned over the railing for a moment, her face unusually thoughtful. Then she said, "So… I've got a problem."

"Let me guess," Hephaestus said, arms crossed, "it's bald and eats like a bear?"

Loki gave a tiny laugh. "Guilty. I didn't expect it. But I've got feelings. For him."

Hephaestus said nothing, just stared at her flatly.

Loki continued, "I know you're probably already halfway into something with him. But this isn't Earth. This is Orario. It's normal to share a lover. Gods do it. Mortals do it. No rules saying it has to be just one."

Hephaestus sighed, brushing her red hair behind her shoulder. "You want to share Saitama."

Loki nodded, quieter now. "Yeah. If you'd let me."

The forge goddess's expression hardened, jaw clenching just slightly. "Let's be clear. I'm not stepping aside. I've never had anyone who made me feel like he does. He's… bizarre. Honest. Powerful. And still somehow the most grounded man I've met in thousands of years."

Loki looked away. "I know."

"But…" Hephaestus finally said, letting the word hang, "if he agrees, you can be second."

Loki's mouth opened. Then closed. "…Second?"

"Yes. I'm number one."

Loki winced slightly, but her pride didn't flare the way it usually did. Instead, she gave a weak nod. "I get it. He chose you first." She paused, her voice quieter. "Then… can I ask him myself? Not here. Later. When we're not surrounded by half the city."

Hephaestus exhaled slowly and nodded once. "Fine. But if he says no, I don't want you sulking or throwing tantrums."

"I don't sulk," Loki muttered. "I scheme."

"That's worse."

Loki didn't deny it.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Meanwhile, near one of the enormous buffet tables absolutely stacked with delicacies from five countries, Saitama and Hestia were sitting on the edge of a small stone fountain, both looking mildly stuffed.

"Hey, you gonna eat that?" Saitama asked, pointing to the last skewer on her plate.

Hestia glared. "You've eaten twelve."

"You're small. It's just going to make you sleepy."

"…Fine."

He picked it up and bit into it.

They sat in peaceful, slightly bloated silence for a while. Hestia's legs dangled over the edge of the fountain. Saitama's jacket shimmered in a dozen colors under the glow of enchanted lanterns.

From a distance, a couple nobles whispered, "Is that really how the merchant god behaves?"

"I heard he owns tanks."

"…Is he wiping his fingers on his suit?"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The celebration had reached its golden hour, laughter and clinking glasses echoing throughout the grand estate. Nobles, gods, adventurers, and guests mingled in colorful groups, but one presence now drew a subtle yet undeniable shift in the atmosphere.

Freya, the Goddess of Beauty, glided across the polished marble floor with otherworldly grace. Her silvery gown sparkled like stardust, her every step like an enchantment laid upon the senses of those who watched. Eyes followed her, but hers were locked onto a single figure — the bald merchant eating like he'd just run a marathon.

Saitama was mid-bite into a skewer of grilled meat beside Hestia, the two of them quietly sampling every plate they could get their hands on.

"Merchant," Freya greeted smoothly, her tone warm, yet laced with something curious. "Or should I call you something else, Saitama?"

He turned, chewing slowly, and blinked. "Huh? Nah, that's fine."

"I've seen many kinds of power… but yours…" She smiled subtly. "It doesn't feel mortal."

Saitama licked some sauce off his finger, then casually looked at her. There was no reaction to her beauty, no intimidation, no awe.

"I come from another world," he said flatly. "Things were different there."

"Oh?" Her smile remained, but her eyes sharpened. "Do tell."

He looked off into the sky as if remembering something far, far away. "One time I hit an enemy so hard, I cracked the moon."

Freya blinked. "...Pardon?"

"The moon. Our planet's moon. It had craters before, sure, but after that guy made me go all out? I left a crack running across the whole surface. Like a broken plate."

He paused. "We had to look at that thing every night after that. Kinda ruined the mood for stargazing."

Freya's lips parted slightly. Her divine instincts were screaming—this wasn't a bluff. The lack of drama in his words made it worse. There was no arrogance, no grandstanding. Just… fact.

"And the enemy?" she asked softly.

"Had the power to erase cities. Whole cities, gone in one blast. We fought in mid-air for a bit." He scratched his head. "Got a little too excited, I guess."

"You destroyed a city?" she asked.

"Nah. I dodged. But when I punched back…" He gave a shrug, and for a brief moment, the marble under his feet let out a faint crack. "Nothing left."

Freya stared, her divine heart pounding in her chest. Not from fear, exactly… but from awe.

She stepped slightly closer. "That… is beyond even divine war."

Saitama picked up a cream-filled pastry and nodded. "Yeah. Your world's nice, though. Chill. Way less monsters the size of skyscrapers."

Freya smiled again, slower this time. "You're far more than I expected."

"I get that a lot," he said, biting into the pastry.

And just like that, she turned, walking away with an entirely new expression on her face — still graceful, but no longer in control. This man wasn't just strong. He was something else.

Something terrifying.

Hestia looked at Saitama after Freya left. "You… cracked your moon?"

Saitama nodded. "Kinda made the tides weird for a few weeks."

She just stared at him.

He blinked. "You gonna eat that?"

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As the music drifted into a soft, elegant tune, Hermes spotted Bell standing near a snack table, nervously clutching a cup of juice like it was a life vest. His eyes kept darting toward Ais, who stood calmly on the other side of the hall, quiet and unreadable as ever.

Hermes walked up behind him with a relaxed grin. "Bell, my boy. What's the worst that could happen? Ais slays monsters with a smile. I'm sure she can survive a little dancing."

Bell turned red instantly. "I-I wasn't going to ask! I mean, maybe I was thinking about it but—"

"Exactly," Hermes said, already patting his back and gently nudging him toward the girl. "Heroism begins with small steps. Or in this case—dance steps."

Bell froze for a heartbeat. Then, gulping, he crossed the room in stiff, mechanical strides. Ais turned her head, watching him approach like one might observe a curious woodland creature.

"Um, Ais," Bell said, "would you… want to dance?"

She blinked once. "Okay."

Without hesitation, she took his hand.

Back near the buffet, Hestia dropped a dumpling in midair. "EH?!"

Next to her, Loki crushed her wine glass in her grip, wine spilling down her arm like blood. "THAT LITTLE…!"

Both goddesses stormed forward several steps before nearly tripping over each other, then pointed accusingly at the dancing duo.

"That's my Bell-kun!" Hestia growled. "How dare he grow up without me noticing!"

"THAT'S MY AIS!" Loki barked, flames practically dancing in her red eyes. "I don't care how sparkly that rabbit is!"

"And Hermes?!"

They both spun around and locked eyes on the god of mischief, who was now pretending to read a fruit label while slowly backing into the crowd. "He planned this! He encouraged this!"

"I'm going to kick him so hard, his hat spins!" Hestia muttered.

"Get in line," Loki said, cracking her knuckles.

Meanwhile, on the floor, Bell and Ais moved stiffly at first. But slowly, Ais began to guide him with a surprising grace, her expression unreadable but calm. Bell focused with the intensity of someone trying not to step on a landmine.

Saitama stood nearby, lazily munching on skewers with Hestia's discarded plate now in his hand, watching everything with an amused glint in his eye. "This place is way more entertaining than a hero ranking tournament," he said to no one in particular.

Then, just as things seemed to settle down, the crowd stirred again as Apollo strutted dramatically to the center of the ballroom, wine goblet in hand, a smirk plastered across his face.

"Well then," Apollo said, raising his voice. "I believe now is the perfect time to officially challenge the Hestia Familia… to a War Game."

Gasps rippled through the guests. Hestia spun toward him with a look of pure disbelief.

Apollo gestured smugly, and a man limped forward with exaggerated groans, his shoulder wrapped in a thick sling, despite clearly being able to move it a second ago. "One of my precious children was brutally assaulted by a member of your Familia. The gods demand justice!"

Hestia opened her mouth to yell something, but stopped herself. Her familia was still small—just a few members. A War Game against Apollo's numbers was suicide.

Saitama stepped beside her.

Leaning in casually, he whispered, "Say yes. I'll give you my best golems, weapons, armor, and that ultra-smart spirit I built to help plan battles. Totally free. I've heard gods enjoy watching these matches, so why not have some fun?"

Hestia blinked. Then smirked.

She stepped forward confidently. "Fine. The Hestia Familia accepts your War Game, Apollo."

Apollo blinked, caught off guard.

Hestia turned her head just slightly and added with a grin, "Hope you're ready to lose in front of everyone."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

At the towering courtroom atop Babel, the divine assembly had gathered in full. Gods and goddesses lounged in ornate chairs that hovered slightly above the gleaming floor, their eyes occasionally glancing toward the mortal guest standing near the center—Saitama, who wore his usual unimpressed expression, though today he had one motive: to flex a little.

The proceedings were formal, but not overly tense—this was a court of gods, after all. Everyone was already half-arguing or gossiping before the actual discussion began.

At the heart of the chamber, a soft chime echoed, and a glowing hologram flickered to life above the marble dais. Saitama's AI, polite and poised, projected a dazzling presentation that made even jaded deities lean forward.

One by one, the models of Saitama's metal golems spun slowly in mid-air—sleek, angular designs, bristling with potential energy and technological elegance. Their basic capabilities—defensive maneuvers, offensive modules, strategic coordination—were narrated in a clear, matter-of-fact tone by the AI. The demonstration wasn't flashy or loud, but something about the precision and quiet confidence behind it made a strong impression.

From every divine seat, the holograms were perfectly visible, making it feel as if the courtroom itself had transformed into a tactical operations briefing. A few gods exchanged curious glances. Others, including those more militarily inclined like Ares and Takemikazuchi, nodded in clear approval.

Apollon, however, sat with his chin resting on one hand, eyes narrowing more with every passing moment. The more that was revealed about these golems, the less confident he looked.

"No real units? Just a display?" Hermes asked playfully.

"Didn't want them stomping around and cracking the floor," Saitama answered flatly, scratching the side of his head.

Loki snorted from her seat. "Tch. That's surprisingly considerate of you."

"Yeah," Hestia added with crossed arms. "Also, they wouldn't even fit in here."

Once the presentation concluded, the AI added, "The proposed number of units shall be balanced according to agreed terms, ensuring fair play. Strategic value is prioritized over brute force."

The gods began to vote after brief but lively discussion. It was a clear majority. The golems, under specific limitations and numbers, would be allowed for the War Game.

Apollon slouched deeper in his seat. His smirk twitched with unease.

"Not what I was hoping for," he muttered under his breath.

Too late. The divine consensus had spoken—and those shining projections of Saitama's machines had already stolen the spotlight.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Besides his team, Bell also had help from a former adventurer—Ryuu, the stoic, sharp-eyed elf with sky-blue eyes and flowing green hair. Once a feared force in the Dungeon, now a waitress at the Hostess of Fertility, she had chosen to pick up her blade again for this special battle. Though her expression remained calm as ever, her very presence added a cold edge of discipline and experience to Bell's squad. Every member of the team understood instantly—this was someone who had seen true combat.

Apollon, smug and assured by his familia's superior numbers, had fortified himself within a large castle-style stronghold. He had stationed his entire familia inside the walls, expecting an easy victory through raw manpower and layered defenses. But that confidence began to shift once he saw what Hestia Familia would bring to the field.

As per the agreed-upon rules set by the divine council, and after Saitama's AI delivered a clean, holographic breakdown of what could and couldn't be used, the gods allowed the deployment of one robot tank and two APC units. Their sleek, angular forms shimmered under magical tarp near the battlefield. Though only a few in number, the presence of these futuristic siege units changed the tone completely.

The vehicles stood cold and silent, yet carried a presence that unnerved even Apollon's commanders. Unlike anything from Orario, their smooth movements and quiet power hinted at devastating precision. All three were guided by internal AIs that had already been synced with Bell's squad's strategies.

To ensure Bell's party could make use of them properly, Saitama's AI had provided days of hyper-condensed siege warfare training. Though time was short, the knowledge was deep—how to exploit structural weaknesses, where to apply pressure, when to bait defenders out. Even Ryuu, once skeptical of "magic machines," had to admit that the instruction was top-tier.

Saitama also didn't stop at tactics. Bell's team had received custom-fitted armor and melee weapons—crafted from lightweight yet durable materials and designed with speed, strength, and maneuverability in mind. The red-haired blacksmith in Bell's party took particular pride in fine-tuning them. The samurai girl tested the sharpness of her new katana with a single clean swipe through a training dummy's armor. The beastfolk girl practically bounced from excitement, her newly enhanced daggers glittering in the sun.

All of this unfolded under the eyes of a continent.

Hermes, full of flair and drama, stood atop a magically amplified broadcast spire. With a divine gesture, he activated the War Game's full coverage, projecting the event in real-time to taverns, city plazas, temples, and even mountain villages. Divine mirrors shimmered to life everywhere. Crowds gathered. Bets were placed. Children sat wide-eyed. Warriors leaned in with arms crossed.

The War Game was about to begin.

Saitama, standing beside the idle APCs, cracked open a roasted nut and casually popped it into his mouth. He didn't seem concerned in the slightest.

"Hope the walls hold out long enough to be fun," he said.

Ryuu, standing near him, blinked slowly. "You say that like you're hoping they won't."

Saitama didn't answer. He just smiled a little and watched the sun gleam off the tank's smooth plating.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

While Hermes broadcasted the war game across the continent using divine magic, giant floating magical screens shimmered into existence in every city, town, and village. Marketplaces paused. Inns froze mid-laughter. Adventurers halted their brawls in taverns as the image of the battlefield flickered into place—crisp, grand, and narrated with flair by a booming voice belonging to a member of the Ganesha Familia.

"Gooooood morning, Orario! You're watching Live War Games! I'm your host, Bacho the Bold, and today's a big one: Apollo Familia defends the grand stone castle they built just for this event, while the tiny but unpredictable Hestia Familia is on the offense—with some very unconventional help!"

Back in Babel, the gods crowded the great divine hall. Some sat sipping divine wine, others stood leaning on the balcony rails, eyes fixed on the broadcast screens lining the walls. Loki smirked, Hestia pouted with tense fists, and even Ouranos cracked the faintest smile. All were eager to see what Saitama's "help" would bring.

At the battlefield's edge, Bell's team stood ready in sleek, custom armor crafted from lightweight alloys mixed with dungeon monster materials, designed by the AI and forged under Welf's careful supervision. Their melee weapons were modernized versions of traditional tools—energy-assisted blades, vibration-enhanced spears, and dense composite shields. Ryuu, the elegant elf with green hair and piercing blue eyes, stood among them, adjusting her armored gloves and nodding silently.

Behind them, the support squad stood in a tight formation: two matte-gray AI-operated APCs with thick wheels and turret slots, one robust tank with a railgun cannon, and a supply truck with retractable solar panels and small arm-mounted cranes. The truck's AI had a monotone but helpful voice and existed purely to resupply ammo and energy cells if needed.

"Beginning fire test," the tank's AI said plainly.

A second later, the tank's railgun charged with a resonating hum that buzzed across the battlefield. Then—FWOOM—a streak of light shot out, and a thunderous shockwave echoed as the round smashed directly into the castle wall. Dust and debris exploded outward as a chunk of the outer defense collapsed under the sheer kinetic force. The crowd watching in Orario, and even in distant cities, erupted in cheers and gasps. Fireworks? No. This was better.

But the defenders weren't amateurs. From atop the crumbling wall, five mages in Apollo Familia robes raised their staffs in unison. Bright runes flared into existence as they chanted together, their voices rising in harmony. A shimmering golden barrier flared up around the remaining parts of the wall—an enchanted shield to stall further destruction.

The second round from the tank struck—but this time it only cracked the surface of the magical barrier, sparking with energy. The crowd let out a collective "Oooooh!" and Bacho the Bold shouted, "Looks like Apollo's shield team isn't just for show! Can the Hestia Familia break through, or will they have to get clever?"

Inside one of the APCs, the AI quietly announced, "Secondary bombardment protocol ready. Awaiting commander input."

Bell looked to Ryuu, Welf, and his team. Saitama stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, watching calmly like a man observing his laundry finishing. The excitement in the air was thick. The siege had just begun.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The mages of Apollo Familia, seeing the damage caused by the first shot of the railgun tank, refused to let the mechanical "golem" get another chance. As their chant reached a crescendo, glowing sigils spun through the air. Bright beams of long-range magic attacks soared toward the tank's position, their heat distorting the air as they closed the distance.

The AI tank responded before its operators even had time to blink.

"Hostile magic detected. Evade and counterfire engaged," the tank's voice said in an almost bored tone.

FWOOM!

Another rail round fired from the gauss cannon, faster than sound, piercing through the golden dome that protected the castle. The combined force field maintained by Apollo's frontline mages fractured like glass hit by a hammer—exploding in dazzling shards of magical residue. The Ganesha Familia commentator on the broadcast was practically bouncing in place.

"Whoooa! That's not a golem! That's a magical crossbow on wheels! Can I buy one?!"

From within one of the AI-operated APCs, Bell and his four teammates—Ryuu the elf, the red-haired smith Welf, the stoic samurai girl Mikoto, and the small beastfolk girl Lili—sat strapped in. Their armor hummed quietly, reinforced with dungeon materials and engineered components. All eyes were on the display screen as the APC's onboard AI showed a top-down battlefield view with constantly updating enemy locations.

"Redirecting units. Evasion pattern: snake run," the APC AI announced.

The entire convoy jerked to life. Both APCs and the tank rolled into motion, swerving away just seconds before magical blasts scorched the area they'd been parked in. Fire and light erupted behind them in a failed attempt to disable the steel monsters.

Lili yelped, gripping the side handle tightly. "H-hey! This thing moves like a drunk warhorse!"

The APC lurched again as it zig-zagged with almost unnatural precision, dodging more spells streaking in from castle battlements. From narrow side panels, gun turrets emerged and started firing back—short, rapid bursts of energy bolts and concussive rounds, each targeting mages who were still mid-chant.

The tank, slower but just as deadly, began to pivot along the castle wall, firing auxiliary weapons. A secondary gun mounted on its side thudded rhythmically, launching rounds that cratered the upper towers and forced defenders to duck for cover.

Inside the second APC, the AI pulled up targeting data.

"Castle gate partially damaged. Estimated breach time: 45 seconds if uninterrupted. Prioritizing anti-shield suppression."

Ryuu, gripping her upgraded sword and watching through the slits in the armor plating, narrowed her eyes. "They'll try again. Another magical barrier."

"They won't get the chance," the AI responded without flair, taking over a rear turret to blast an incoming shield caster mid-chant. The mage was knocked backward in a puff of smoke and sparks.

All three vehicles darted along the wall in a chaotic path that made spell targeting near-impossible. Bell's fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade, the air inside the APC thick with anticipation.

They were almost at the breach.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Two APCs rumbled into the shattered gap in the castle wall, their thick treads leaving heavy impressions in the broken stone. Without hesitation, hatches on the sides popped open, and several cylinder-shaped devices rolled out with soft clinks.

BOOM! PSSHHHH!

Smoke grenades detonated in synchronized bursts, billowing out thick, blinding fog across the courtyard like a fast-moving storm. The dense screen instantly obscured vision, swallowing entire squads of Apollon Familia defenders who had scrambled to intercept the invaders.

A moment later, the massive tank followed, smashing a few leftover chunks of rubble as it squeezed through the breach. Its sheer presence commanded attention—and exactly as the AI intended, the mages along the inner walls shifted their focus. Dozens of spells illuminated the haze with magical light, targeting the hulking beast rolling through their courtyard like it owned the place.

Inside the broadcast room high in Babel Tower, Ganesha Familia's chosen commentator practically stood on the console.

"YES! They're in! They're really in! Look at that tank! That thing just ate three fireballs and kept rolling! Incredible! The merchant god—Saitama!—has blessed us with machines of the next age!"

Hestia leaned forward in her seat, her fingers clenched in excitement. "That's my Bell-kun!"

Meanwhile, Apollon's face turned into something between a sneeze and a breakdown. "This… this isn't a war game. This is an industrial revolution with legs!"

Hephaestus, however, adjusted her monocle with a gleam in her eye. "That turret housing is molded carbon-alloy. Saitama didn't just skip ahead a few years… this is millennia ahead."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Inside the thick smoke, the battlefield became chaotic.

Bell's team—plus four humanoid support bots wielding sleek gauss rifles—charged forward. The AI-led assault group used data from the overhead drones to maneuver swiftly between choke points, outflanking defenders who were still dazed from the sudden intrusion.

"Target is in the central tower, confirmed," the AI relayed into their earpieces. "Projected resistance: dense. Adjusting route to avoid pincer."

Welf slammed a mechanical shield onto his forearm, blocking an incoming wind blade from a defending mage.

"These bastards brought everything they had!"

"Then we'll give it back!" shouted Mikoto, slicing through a spear-wielding enemy with a precise arc of her katana, the blade ringing out with a sharp hum.

Ryuu moved like a ghost, cutting through the edges of the battlefield. Her enchanted boots, a gift from the shop, made her almost silent as she dispatched stunned enemies who wandered too far from the group. Behind her, one of the robots calmly raised its rifle and fired—its railgun shot ripping through a chunk of enemy cover.

Lili, switching from bag-carrier to combat role, crouched low and fired rapid shots from a shoulder-mounted launcher. Each shot sent enemy defenders tumbling, caught completely off guard by the modern projectiles' erratic tracking curves.

"Keep pushing! The tower's just ahead!" Bell shouted, parrying a sword strike. He ducked low and countered with a fast upward strike, moving with the confidence of a captain backed by advanced tech and loyal teammates.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

At last, Bell's team burst through the final stairwell, lungs burning, uniforms scuffed, armor scratched and scorched. Blood stained the stone steps—some theirs, most not. They had fought tooth and nail up the entire tower, the smog of spellfire still clinging to the corridors behind them. Two of the humanoid support robots had already been torn apart by explosive traps and close-range spell barrages. The remaining two had been downed on the floor below, shielding Bell and the others from a coordinated ambush.

But now, they stood before a large, ornate double door—the heart of the tower. Its surface shimmered with a thick magical seal, glyphs dancing like stars under moonlight. It was more than just solid wood. This was an enchanted stronghold. A final defense.

Bell's hand began to glow.

Everyone stepped back as a white light built up in his palm, brighter than fire, cleaner than magic. His Argonaut skill had awakened again, stirred by the weight of the moment. His eyes widened in the light—he could feel the energy pooling into something more. The AI's drills, the harsh simulations, the punishing practice sessions against dummies reinforced with steel plating—it had all led to this.

He raised his hand. "This ends now."

The beam exploded forward like a lance of condensed starlight.

It ripped through the door, melted through the enchantment, and blasted straight into the wall behind it. There was a second of silence—then a roar. The blast shattered the upper part of the tower. The magical shield evaporated like mist. Stone, metal, and magic all vanished in the pulse of destruction. The very roof tore open from the shockwave, leaving debris raining down and the blue sky shining above.

Inside the room stood the enemy captain—tall, armored in shining blue scale-plate, with a long glaive crackling with wind magic in his grip. He had six guards around him, already in motion, trying to regroup. The explosion had dazed them, but not enough. Not completely.

Bell's team had no time to waste. They uncorked their health potions mid-sprint, glass bottles smashing at their feet as they charged in, refreshed and reinvigorated.

The enemy guards clashed with Welf, Mikoto, Ryuu, and Lili—blades on blades, fists against spell shields. Spells exploded in confined space. Arrows flew. Wind blasts tore tiles from the floor.

Bell dashed through the chaos, straight toward the enemy captain.

The two collided in a shock of magic and force. The enemy's glaive spun like a storm, striking fast and wide, while Bell countered with agility and precision. His dagger was small, but his footwork, honed in the AI gym and combat simulators, let him weave through deadly arcs that would've killed him months ago.

"You're just a boy!" the captain snarled, smashing a column with his missed strike. "You can't defeat me!"

Bell gritted his teeth, sparks crackling along his arms. "I'm not just a boy. I'm a hero!"

The glaive came down in a vertical arc—Bell rolled under, kicked off the shattered floor, and delivered a rising uppercut laced with magic to the man's chin. The captain stumbled, only for Bell to twist midair, slam his dagger into the side of his armor, and ignite a burst of raw magical energy.

The captain howled, spun, and flung Bell across the room. Bell hit the ground hard, gasping—but his grip on the dagger never loosened.

The captain charged.

Bell knelt, raised his hand again—and fired another blast of light, smaller this time, but point-blank. The energy punched into the captain's chest like a cannon.

His armor cracked.

His body hit the far wall.

And didn't get back up.

Bell dropped to one knee, panting.

Behind him, Ryuu had dropped two guards. Lili stood atop a downed enemy, launcher smoking. Mikoto's katana clashed with one last soldier before Welf came from the side and knocked him out cold with a swing of a heavy blade.

The battle was over.

Team Bell stood alone in the ruins of the top floor.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

In the broadcasting room, Ganesha's commentator practically exploded into a standing ovation.

"WOOOOOOO! He did it! They did it! Bell Cranel has defeated the enemy captain! His team has claimed the tower—Victory for the Hestia Familia! I repeat, VICTORY! This is history in the making, folks! Who even needs gods when you've got training AI, railgun robots, and heroes like this?!"

In the divine seating box above, Hestia jumped up and down, tears in her eyes.

"I knew he could do it! That's my Bell-kun! Take that, Apollon!"

Hephaestus, seated beside her, gave a proud smirk. "That was beautifully executed. Every swing, every spell, down to the timing of that Argonaut blast. Textbook."

Loki whistled low, raising a glass. "Guess that damn bald merchant's training actually works. Remind me to steal one of those AIs."

Apollon, seated further away, had slumped into his chair, face pale.

"…I need a drink."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The war game's conclusion hadn't just ended with cheering—it brought silence, heavy and expectant, as all eyes turned to the victor and the terms that had been promised.

Apollon, still slumped in his divine viewing chair, had no choice but to rise when Ganesha—serving as official overseer—cleared his throat and made the formal announcement.

"As per the agreed-upon conditions… Apollon, you must now fulfill any demand made by the Hestia Familia. Publicly."

The silence thickened.

All of Orario—nobles, adventurers, gods and goddesses alike—watched as the smug, always-smiling god stood tall, gaze flicking to the now-glowing goddess who practically bounced forward to the center stage.

Hestia didn't hesitate.

She pointed a finger straight at him. "First, your Familia—disbanded."

Gasps erupted through the audience.

Apollon's eye twitched. "You jest."

"I don't." Hestia's voice rose with unshakable determination. "You've abused your power for years. You force adventurers into your Familia with bribes, manipulation, and worse. You admitted yourself—Bell was your next target. I won't let another Familia suffer the way we almost did. You're done. It's over."

She let the moment sit, then added with sharp finality:

"Second—your entire estate, all your stored treasures, wealth, assets, everything—transferred to the Hestia Familia."

A few gods whistled. One god of commerce actually dropped his wine cup.

Apollon's face turned red. "You—"

"And third," she interrupted, voice now sweet as syrup, "you are never allowed to step foot in Orario again. Ever. Ganesha can confirm it's binding."

Ganesha gave a little wave. "Yup! It's official now. You agreed to the terms. Enjoy exile, friend!"

The entire arena thundered with laughter and disbelief. The once-proud Apollon, now disarmed and disgraced, had no choice but to bow—face burning with fury and humiliation.

And just like that, Apollon turned and walked away.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Two days later…

Hestia Familia stood before the gates of what had once been the most opulent mansion in Orario's upper ring. A towering marble estate filled with fountains, gilded windows, and more rooms than most nobles could count. The air even smelled rich.

Bell stood awkwardly beside her. "Um… this is ours now?"

Hestia had never smiled harder in her divine life.

"Ours!" She spun with open arms. "No more sleeping in a run-down church! We have hot baths! A garden! An actual kitchen! And look at that tile! It sparkles!"

Lili blinked up at a carved golden dragon at the doorframe. "Are we… really allowed to live here?"

Welf gave a low whistle. "I mean, I could forge stuff in one of the guest wings. This place has enough rooms to house three Familias."

Ryuu inspected the stone. "Elvish masonry. Imported. Expensive. And very, very well kept."

Mikoto, already holding her sandals respectfully in her hands before stepping onto the clean polished interior, nodded solemnly. "This is… perhaps divine reward."

Saitama, standing in the background in his usual T-shirt and sandals, scratched his bald head and looked at the giant fountain in the courtyard.

"…I still like my shop better."

But even he had to admit: the marble floor was nice.

Hestia took a deep breath, stepped up the wide golden stairwell, and dramatically spread her arms atop the balcony that overlooked the entire estate.

"From today onward—this will be the greatest Familia base in Orario!"

No one disagreed.

The grand dining hall of the former Apollon mansion—now Hestia Familia's new base—was alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of freshly roasted meat and sweet baked breads. The long polished table, made of some kind of rare darkwood, stretched nearly the length of the entire hall, lined with noble-style chairs now filled with gods, adventurers, and a few blinking ex-Apollon maids who hadn't quite adjusted to their new employers.

Hestia stood at the head of the table like a victorious queen, arms up, a wide grin stretched across her face as her dark twin-tails bounced.

"To our victory!" she cheered.

Everyone raised their mugs, glasses, and even a goblet that Ais had picked up but wasn't sure was hers. The cheers echoed off the marble pillars and high ceilings.

Hephaestus, seated nearby with a few of her own Familia smiths, sipped wine and chuckled at the extravagance. Loki sat across from her, legs up on another chair like she owned the place (even though Hestia had already chased her feet off twice).

"This place is overkill," Loki muttered, snacking on some grilled fish. "But damn if it isn't comfy."

"Hestia really went full divine tyrant," Hephaestus added, smiling sideways.

"I prefer the term justified justice goddess," Hestia said proudly, hands on her hips.

Bell, seated near the center of the table between Lili and Welf, smiled nervously. Haruhime, still wearing her elegant purple kimono, politely nibbled on a pastry nearby, while Ryuu stood at the wall like a quiet but ever-present guardian.

Then Hestia clapped twice and got everyone's attention.

"I have two important announcements!"

Everyone turned.

"First—after everything Bell has done, with his new strength, achievements in battle, and sheer determination... I hereby declare that Bell is now Level 3!"

The room exploded in applause.

"Woo! Way to go, Bell!" Welf cheered, clinking his mug against Bell's.

"Congratulations, Bell-sama," Haruhime said softly, bowing her head with a warm smile.

Lili smirked proudly. "Tch, took you long enough. I was starting to think I'd pass you."

"Ahaha… thanks, everyone," Bell laughed, scratching his cheek.

"Second!" Hestia called out again, her voice firm but affectionate. "As my first ever Familia member… Bell will now officially serve as our Familia Captain!"

More claps. Ais looked at him curiously but gave a subtle nod of approval.

Loki sighed dramatically. "Tch, another captain to chase monsters and hearts."

Hestia ignored her.

Welf raised his drink again. "To Captain Bell!"

Another cheer. Bell blushed harder than his hair.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Later into the night, the group had slowed into more relaxed conversations. Saitama was sitting casually on one side of the room, finishing a whole roast chicken by himself, with no plate, just holding it like it was an apple.

Hestia, refilling her wine goblet, suddenly turned toward him. "Hey, hey, Saitama. You always look like you just got back from a nap, but you're secretly running the biggest business empire Orario's ever seen."

He blinked at her with a bit of chicken still in his mouth. "...Yeah?"

"Come on, tell us." She leaned over the table, grinning. "How much do you actually make, hmm? Per month? Or day?"

Everyone turned to look.

Saitama shrugged and casually answered, "If I round up the numbers... around two million valis per day, on average."

Dead silence.

Even Loki sat upright. Ais blinked slowly. Welf choked on his drink. Lili dropped her fork.

"A DAY?!" Hestia yelled, knocking over her goblet.

Saitama nodded, chewing. "Yeah. Some days less, some more. Depends on bulk sales. Rescue service pays well, too. People panic a lot."

Hephaestus choked on her wine laughing. "You're not a merchant, you're a tsunami with receipts."

"I can't even count to a million without getting bored," Loki muttered.

"I am both proud of you and also deeply envious," Hestia pouted, crossing her arms. "But… I still have the bigger heart."

Saitama looked like he was about to say something but just nodded.

"Sure."

They partied long into the night, the warmth of victory, laughter, and good food filling every corner of their new home.

The morning after the wild celebration at the new Hestia Familia mansion, Saitama returned to his base near Orario's gates, strolling through the front checkpoint in sandals and a T-shirt like nothing had happened. The massive tanks were parked in formation, some still marked with light scorches from the war game. Robots were already cleaning and repainting. High above, drones buzzed in lazy arcs, scanning the surrounding fields and streets.

He headed straight to his main control room, casually sipping tea as he sat at his desk and stared at the holo-display projected by his wrist tablet.

He couldn't stop thinking about how awesome the gauss rifles, drones, and tanks had looked in the war game.

"Those things were cool," he muttered.

Then he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

"…Yeah, I want a party too."

His eyes narrowed slightly with that rare flicker of motivation.

"I need a team to go into the Dungeon. I want rare drops, monster parts, cool artifacts… whatever's in the lower floors. Too boring to go myself."

His Merchant System pinged at the thought, as if giving its blessing. He already had the money. So why not build something fun?

Saitama began planning immediately.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next day, his voice was playing across Orario's radio waves:

"Looking to become a Dungeon explorer? No prior experience? No Familia backing you? Saitama's Team is recruiting. We provide full equipment, housing, meals, and AI-guided combat training. No blessing, no stat boosts, but we've got gear and support better than most mid-tier familias. Posters up in all districts. Apply at the base near the west gate. Saitama's Team—because you don't need to be divine to be effective."

Wall posters followed soon after. They showed Saitama casually standing in front of tanks and robots with his arms crossed, looking totally unimpressed. In the background were silhouettes of adventurers marching into the Dungeon.

The fine print was clear: Saitama is not a god. No Falna. No divine power. This is not a Familia. This is a sponsored adventurer group.

Despite the flashy machines and promises of full support, the reaction was predictable.

Two days passed.

Barely any skilled adventurers applied.

Strong adventurers either already had backing from powerful gods or had no interest in joining a non-Familia group without divine Falna boosts. To them, it sounded like a joke. A weird merchant was trying to play god.

But—just as Saitama expected—there were plenty of newbies. All kinds. Farmers' sons, street rats with good attitudes, nervous girls with wood clubs, and even a few ex-laborers hoping for a new life.

He didn't mind. He had more than enough valis to take a risk on them.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

In the following days, interviews were held. One of Saitama's humanoid AI robots sat across from each applicant while Saitama monitored some interviews himself through his wrist tablet.

A lie detector system, shaped like a sleek black disk with blinking blue lights, scanned each applicant's micro-expressions and tone. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. A few fakers got booted immediately—some trying to sneak in as spies, others lying about experience.

But many were honest, wide-eyed, and willing to learn.

Eventually, after filtering through hundreds of forms and interviews, a selected group of about 80 promising newbies was chosen. Saitama didn't go for raw numbers—he wanted people with the potential to survive, people who would listen, train hard, and grow.

Training bots were already prepared.

Armored dummies, moving targets, simulated Dungeon terrain, and AI strategy instructors were loaded into training facilities.

Saitama leaned back again after the last list was finalized. "Alright. Let's see how they do."

Their new lives as Dungeon adventurers would begin soon—with weapons stronger than most C-rank adventurers, armor that could shrug off mid-tier monster blows, and robots that corrected their every swing.

Saitama just hoped they didn't die on floor two.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The training ground behind Saitama's main base was loud with the sound of clashing metal, robotic instructors barking out feedback, and the occasional yelp of a rookie getting knocked on their butt. The air was filled with dust, sweat, and the occasional static pop from shock-based parrying drills.

Saitama, standing off to the side in his usual sandals and blank expression, watched it all lazily. One of the AI drones hovered above his shoulder, offering a filtered scan feed of the field, but he wasn't really paying attention to that. His eyes wandered casually across the trainees swinging gauss training rifles, ducking beneath rubberized monster models, and occasionally panicking when robots moved too fast.

Then, out of nowhere, Saitama's head tilted slightly.

A young black man with short dreads and an athletic build was finishing a sparring match—if it could be called that. He was moving erratically, dodging with exaggerated head movements, throwing out strange phrases like:

"ON GAWD I'M HIM FOR REAL!"
"Y'ALL AIN'T EVEN COOKIN LIKE ME, FR FR!"
"DEMON MODE ACTIVATED! NO CAP!"

His motions were confident, if chaotic. Saitama raised an eyebrow.

The moment the young man spotted him, he paused mid-match, dropped his training weapon, and jogged toward Saitama like he'd just seen a long-lost brother.

"YOOOOOOO, NO WAY!" he yelled with wide eyes, voice full of excitement. "BIG BALD BRO?! YOU'RE ACTUALLY COOKIN' OUT HERE! THIS BASE? THESE TANKS? THIS WHOLE OP? BRO, YOU GOT THAT RIZZ!"

Saitama blinked.

Then smiled.

Because—somehow—he understood every word. Not just the basic meaning, but the vibe, thanks to the divine blessing that allowed him to comprehend all languages in this world… including the strange dialects of brainrot.

The young man put both hands on his hips and laughed proudly. "Name's Mike, man. Mike Freeman. I KNEW IT, BRO. The moment I saw the glocks, the snacks, the hover tanks—I said to myself, ain't no way this drip is native to Orario. You gotta be from the other side too!"

Saitama scratched his cheek. "Yeah… I'm from Earth."

Mike practically jumped. "NO CAP?! BRO, SAME! SAME! And when I saw the Jagamarukun packets in vending machines and those vending bots? BRO, I WAS IN SHAMBLES. It's just like back home—except here, I don't gotta pay taxes!"

Saitama gave a short laugh. "You talk weird. But I like it."

Mike puffed his chest a bit. "You already know, Sensei Saitama. That's how we talk when we've been cooked by the algorithm too long. Anyway—I applied 'cause this party got tech, got perks, and more importantly, got YOU. We Earthlings gotta stick together, fr fr. That dungeon? I'm tryna get that loot with no respawn penalties, you feel me?"

Saitama gave him a thumbs-up. "Sure. Just don't die."

Mike grinned wide. "I'm built different."

The two stood there for a moment, the sounds of training echoing around them. For the first time in a while, Saitama felt like he met someone from Earth who wasn't trying to act too serious or mysterious about being an isekai traveler. Just some kid with confidence and chaotic slang.

And that… was kinda refreshing.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

If you have good ideas for my fanfiction, feel free to PM me. I'm looking for detailed, raw scene scenarios—the more detail, the better. Funny scene ideas are especially welcome, but any interesting ones are great too. You can also join as a co-author and focus full-time on coming up with these scene concepts; I'll handle all the writing.