S-Class. Sweet Mask's cryptic pronouncements during our brief, chaotic encounter echoed in my thoughts. Sitch's wide-eyed surprise upon hearing the news had mirrored my own bewildered elation. Yet, the tangible weight of that coveted rank remained just beyond my grasp, a shimmering mirage in the bureaucratic desert of the Hero Association.
Sitch's words about the formal registration at Hero Headquarters played like a mantra in my mind. Soon, I will traverse those hallowed halls.The very thought sent a nervous flutter through my chest. His office, usually a haven of organized chaos, hummed with an almost palpable anticipation, the unspoken enormity of the news filling the air like static electricity. Sitch, ever the meticulous bureaucrat, adjusted his spectacles, the movement catching the light in a way that seemed almost significant, a peculiar glint residing in his eyes.
"Sneck," he had begun, his voice unusually grave, drawing me from my reverie, "I have… extraordinary news regarding your rank."
A jolt of pure anticipation shot through me, banishing the lingering doubts. Official recognition at last? "Yes, Sitch-san?" I leaned forward, every nerve ending tingling with expectation.
He had paused, the silence stretching taut. "The Hero Association has received a direct recommendation for your promotion to S-Class."
S-Class? Just like that? But the registration… it feels crucial, the very foundation of legitimacy. "A recommendation? From whom?" The question tumbled out before I could fully process the implications.
Sitch's gaze met mine, his expression unreadable. "From Sweet Mask."
Sweet Mask? But the registration… it felt inextricably linked to legitimacy, the official stamp that validated everything. "Sweet Mask… recommended me? We barely exchanged blows last week!" The memory of his almost dismissive assessment still stung slightly.
Sitch merely shrugged, a gesture that spoke volumes about the enigmatic nature of the A-Class hero. "Apparently, that was sufficient. He cited your 'unconventional spirit' and 'hidden potential.' The official registration will formalize everything."
Unconventional spirit? Hidden potential? And the registration… that felt like the linchpin, the final piece of the puzzle. "So… I'm going to be S-Class?" The words felt foreign on my tongue, a dream teetering on the edge of reality.
"The necessary paperwork has been initiated. Your formal registration at Hero Headquarters will complete the process. Effective upon completion," Sitch confirmed, his usual crisp tone returning, anchoring me to the present.
Hero Association HQ swam in my mind, a towering edifice of power and prestige. S-Class. Because of a fleeting encounter, a perceived spark in the chaotic whirlwind of battle. But the registration… that was the anchor, the undeniable proof.
Our conversation had then drifted, the initial shock giving way to a hesitant curiosity about the logistics. "About the new hero orientation," I had ventured, the mundane question a stark contrast to the seismic shift in my rank. "Now that I'm… about to be S-Class, can I still assist before I officially register?" A part of me still clings to the familiar, the ground-level interactions.
Sitch's brow had furrowed slightly. "Sneck, once you are officially designated as S-Class, your priorities will undergo a significant shift. Orientation duties will no longer be within your purview. Your immediate focus should be your registration." His words were firm, brooking no argument.
A pang of disappointment pierced my elation. The opportunity to perhaps catch a glimpse of Saitama, the enigma whose power defied all logic, slipping away. "Actually," I had countered, a sudden idea sparking in my mind, "Genos might be undergoing his registry exam today. Perhaps I could observe his orientation before my own registration? A… preliminary familiarization?" Genos's presence felt like a gravitational pull towards Saitama. And perhaps I could subtly introduce myself, gauge the extent of his abilities firsthand.
Sitch had paused, considering my request, a flicker of something akin to amusement in his eyes. "That… might be acceptable, given the… unusual circumstances surrounding your expedited promotion. However, your registration remains the priority upon your arrival at Headquarters. Busho will be expecting you to finalize the necessary procedures."
"Understood, Sitch. Thank you," I had replied, a surge of nervous excitement bubbling beneath the surface. Busho. The final steps. That was the true north, the official validation. But the lure of a pre-registration encounter with Saitama remained a powerful undercurrent.
Saitama. His dismal written exam score, a fact that had become almost legendary within the lower ranks, yet his fitness results… they'd shattered every record, a testament to a strength that defied comprehension. This pre-registration orientation viewing… it was an opportunity too tantalizing to ignore.
Finally, the moment arrived. I navigated the bustling streets of A-City, the imposing silhouette of Hero Headquarters growing larger with each passing block. A bastion of heroism, soon to be my professional home, a place where I would stand amongst the elite. But first, a detour, a brief divergence from the path of officialdom to meeting hall 3. The automatic doors hissed open, and the atmosphere within the sterile room shifted, the air thick with a silent tension.
And there he was. Saitama, the figure of unbelievable strength despite his abysmal performance on the written exam, looked… utterly ordinary. His features were unremarkable, almost bland. His posture was relaxed, bordering on nonchalant. It was a perplexing contradiction, a puzzle wrapped in an enigma.
Standing beside him was Genos, a breathtaking spectacle of polished chrome and intricate engineering. A faint, almost imperceptible hum emanated from his core, a testament to the powerful energy contained within. His golden eyes were intensely focused, absorbing every detail of the room.
"Welcome, welcome!" I chirped, forcing an enthusiastic tone that felt slightly out of place in the quiet room. I extended a hand, my gaze sweeping between them. "I am Sneck, and I will be conducting your initial orientation. It's a genuine pleasure to finally meet the heroes who have been causing such a… significant stir within the Association." A nervous chuckle escaped my lips, the weight of my impending promotion and my clandestine intentions creating a strange internal dissonance.
I launched into my prepared spiel, the standard introductory remarks for newly registered heroes. "As you embark on your heroic careers," I began, my gaze sweeping between them, trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism while my mind raced with observations about Saitama, "it is crucial to understand the responsibilities that come with this esteemed title. The Hero Association operates on a framework of collaboration and adherence to protocol. We expect all our heroes, regardless of their rank or demonstrated aptitude, to uphold the highest standards of conduct." The irony wasn't lost on me. Here stood a man who could likely obliterate monsters with a single punch, yet he probably struggled with the complexities of a basic threat assessment form. "Teamwork is paramount in facing the myriad threats that plague our world. While individual prowess is undoubtedly valuable, the ability to coordinate and cooperate with fellow heroes can often be the deciding factor in a successful mission."
My focus kept fracturing, drawn back to Saitama. His expression remained resolutely neutral, a blank canvas that offered no clues to the immense power he possessed. His occasional nods felt perfunctory, as if he were politely tolerating the proceedings.
A mental image flashed: Saitama effortlessly deflecting a meteor with a casual flick of his wrist, followed by him struggling to fill out a simple expense report, his brow furrowed in concentration. The contrast was so absurd it was almost comical.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of platitudes and protocol, the orientation concluded. I presented them with my card, a small rectangular piece of laminated paper that suddenly felt inadequate in the presence of such raw power. "Please do not hesitate to contact me should any questions arise."
Turning to Saitama, I forced a polite smile, trying to project an air of approachable seniority. "Saitama-san, your… performance on the written portion of the exam was… quite unique. However," I continued, carefully choosing my words, wanting to acknowledge his strength without sounding condescending, "your physical scores were, shall we say, unprecedented. While C-Class represents the initial step, your… potential in practical application is clearly significant. Perhaps we will find ourselves working together at a considerably higher level in the near future, subsequent to my official registration." I couldn't resist the subtle reminder of my impending S-Class status.
Saitama's reply was characteristically flat, devoid of any discernible emotion. "Okay."
As they departed, Genos with a respectful nod and Saitama with a barely perceptible inclination of his head, I exhaled slowly, the tension slowly draining from my shoulders.
And with the clandestine orientation viewing concluded, my curiosity piqued but my understanding of Saitama no clearer, I made my way back towards the exit, the path to Busho and the official registration beckoning. In my preoccupation with observing Saitama, with my clandestine pre-registration reconnaissance, I had completely forgotten. The S-Class registration.
A wave of sheepish embarrassment washed over me, the weight of my oversight a sudden, unwelcome burden.