Z-City.
My inaugural S-class mission had devolved into this desolate tableau: a rescue operation, not the glorious debut against a worthy foe I'd envisioned. Golden Ball and Spring Mustache, two A-class heroes, lay sprawled on the cracked asphalt, their vibrant costumes shredded and soaked with a horrifying crimson. Their breaths were shallow gasps, their skin a sickening white.
Kombu Infinity. The Demon-level pest with his relentless seaweed and surprising strength. The severity of their injuries, the faint, briny tang in the air – it all pointed to him. A knot of guilt tightened in my chest. S-class. I should have been faster. Prevented this. The familiar sting of inadequacy, always a step behind.
Kneeling beside Golden Ball, I found a weak pulse. Spring Mustache fared slightly better, but both teetered on the brink. As I assessed their wounds, a disquieting note struck me. The scene was undeniably violent, the evidence of a brutal attack clear. Yet, the chaotic destruction I associated with a prolonged fight against Kombu Infinity was absent. No tangled seaweed, no trace of the creature.
Confusion morphed into a sudden, exasperated understanding. The utter lack of monster remains was unusual, even for a swift defeat. Then it hit me. Saitama. The bald anomaly. I'd witnessed his… unique methods. The casual annihilation, the equally casual disregard for protocol. And his peculiar habit of… not wasting anything.
A wave of weary resignation washed over me. "Looks like Saitama got here," I muttered, my gaze sweeping the unnervingly clean surroundings. "And knowing him…" The absurdity almost made me laugh. "...he probably took the whole kombu home to cook." The ridiculous image of Saitama stir-frying seaweed tentacles flashed in my mind. Utterly ridiculous, and yet, with Saitama, entirely possible.
My inaugural S-class mission. No epic battle, no heroic triumph. Just the familiar cleanup after Saitama's unintentionally thorough – and apparently gastronomic – interventions.
The focus shifted. The monster was gone, dealt with in Saitama's bizarre fashion. My priority: the two bleeding heroes. I reached for my communicator, my voice firm despite the anticlimactic turn. "This is Sneck," I stated into the eerie silence. "Requesting immediate medical evacuation for two severely injured A-class heroes at the designated coordinates in Z-City. The threat, Kombu Infinity, has been… thoroughly dealt with. There are no remains present at the scene."
Another day in the life of a hero. Or, more accurately, another day in the bizarre orbit of Saitama. The weight on my chest hadn't lessened, but its nature had shifted. Not the pressure of expectation, but the weariness of the utterly unexpected.
The weight of Golden Ball and Spring Mustache being hauled away still sat heavy. Seeing them like that, after that damn monster, had stirred something… inconvenient. Not friendship, exactly. More like a grudging acknowledgment of shared absurdity. I'd even considered a gruff word of encouragement.
But then, as always, my thoughts drifted to the bald bastard. Saitama. He'd been there, done the heavy lifting. And a strange urge nudged at me – a need to acknowledge his contribution. However late.
The image of his dump in that ghost town flickered. A desolate sprawl. Pinpointing his exact unit felt impossible amidst the monster's rampage. Debris was everywhere, landmarks gone. It was a testament to the destruction that I'd even found Golden Ball and Spring Mustache.
A blind search was pointless. Grudgingly, I reached for my phone. Scrolling past self-important and overly enthusiastic names, I landed on Busho's. The dial tone dragged, each buzz grating, before his impatient grunt answered.
"Yeah?"
"It's Sneck," I snapped, skipping pleasantries. "I need Genos's phone number."
A beat of silence. "Genos? The cyborg kid? What for?" Suspicion dripped from his tone.
"That's none of your damn business," I retorted. "Just give me the number."
Busho sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright, no need to get your scales in a twist. Hold on." Keys clattered. "It's 090-XXXX-YYYY. Happy now?"
"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled, the word foreign, before hanging up. I stared at the number. I'd given both Saitama and that tin can my own number ages ago. The fact that neither had ever used it… it pricked, a small, irritating sting. Not about wanting friendship, gods no. Practicality. I needed to get in touch.
Taking a deep breath, I punched in the number. It rang twice. "This is Genos." A crisp, mechanical voice.
"It's Sneck," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "I… I wanted to visit Saitama's place."
"Sneck-san?" A hint of surprise. "Very well. Are you familiar with the location?"
"No," I admitted, the word like gravel. "I'm in the ghost town now, but it's a mess. I can't pinpoint his house."
"I understand," Genos replied. "Please wait there for one moment."
One moment? Impatience churned. The silence of the ruined city pressed in, broken only by the wind.
Then, a distinct whirring sliced the air. A metallic figure descended rapidly. Genos, sleek and powerful. What a damn show-off.
A sheepish smile felt plastered on my face as Genos approached. "Genos-san, I apologize for causing you trouble earlier," I mumbled, bowing slightly.
He gave a curt nod, his metallic eyes unwavering. Then, suspicion flickered across his face. "Sneck-san," he began, his voice sharper, "your appearance… it bears a striking resemblance to Amai Mask. Are you attempting to impersonate him?"
My eyes widened in surprise and indignation. "What? No! Why would I…?" I trailed off, realizing the bizarre situation. My new hero suit aped Sweet Mask's style, and that vain bastard had sent his barber to give me a deliberately less attractive version of his immaculate look. The sheer audacity was almost comical, if not for the humiliation.
Genos's eyes narrowed, a faint whirring emanating from his frame. "Scanning visual data…" After a tense moment, his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. "Analysis complete. While the resemblance is… significant, distinct biometric signatures confirm your identity as Sneck-san." He paused, his metallic gaze scrutinizing me. "However, the stylistic choices are… perplexing."
He gave a curt nod. "My apologies for the misidentification. Your new appearance was… unexpected." It always felt like he was analyzing your very soul.
"My latest mission is actually quite close to Saitama-san's residence. I was hoping to... well, I wanted to stop by and see how he was doing." The lie felt weak given my off-brand Sweet Mask aesthetic.
I shuffled my feet as we walked, the silence of the ghost town pressing in. It was unnerving.
Finally, Genos broke the quiet. "May I inquire as to your mission in this location, Sneck-san? It is not a common area for hero activity, especially since no one other than Saitama-sensei and me lives here."
I sighed, rubbing my neck. "Right, well, the Hero Association tasked me with checking out this ghost town and searching for the monster that attacked those A-Class heroes recently. It was initially considered a Tiger-level threat, but after it managed to beat those A-Class heroes, it was reclassified as Demon-level." Frustration crept into my voice. "But, as usually happens, it seems Saitama-san got to it first. There wasn't even a trace left."
Honestly, it was becoming a running gag. You get all hyped up, strategize, maybe even lose sleep worrying, and then… poof. Saitama.
Genos's head tilted. "Saitama-sensei was in this vicinity?"
"Must have been," I said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.
"Honestly, it's almost comical. You get all geared up, strategize, and then... nothing. Just another monster vanished without a trace. It's always Saitama-san." I chuckled softly, a touch of self-deprecation.
A few more minutes passed in comfortable silence, though my thoughts raced. Would Saitama even remember me? It had been a while. And what would I even say, looking like a discount Sweet Mask?
Then, the familiar, slightly modern apartment building came into view. It looked exactly as I remembered it, and he lived there for free. Genos approached the door of one of the apartments and pressed the doorbell. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Saitama in his usual casual attire – that yellow jumpsuit and his perpetually bored expression.
Saitama blinked, taking in the sight of Genos and me. He squinted slightly, like he was trying to place me.
"Huh? Oh, hey, Genos. And... you're...?" He paused, his gaze drifting over my hero suit and, no doubt, my deliberately less-than-perfect Sweet Mask haircut.
"Did you... try to look like Sweet Mask?"
I straightened up, forcing a slightly more confident smile, though I could feel the strain. "Saitama-san, good to see you too. It's Sneck. And no, not exactly by choice. It's a long story. My mission brought me nearby, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello." Please remember me, please remember me… and please don't dwell on the hair.
Genos, ever helpful, interjected smoothly, "Sneck-san was also assigned to investigate the monster that was initially thought to be Tiger-level but reclassified as Demon-level after defeating A-Class heroes in this area and is Sensei lied to me about kombu lied to me about kombu."
Saitama scratched his bald head. "Oh, right, Sneck! Yeah, it has been a while. You got a new suit... and a new... thing." He gestured vaguely towards my head. "Looks... uh... different. Almost like... nah." He shook his head. "Oh, yeah, there was some weird Kombu monster earlier. Didn't really punch it, just kind of... ripped all the kombu off of it. It just sort of deflated after that." He looked from Genos to me, a hint of genuine, if fleeting, curiosity in his eyes. "So, Sneck, just a friendly visit then?"
A friendly visit. Right. That's what I'd tell myself too, while silently cursing Sweet Mask's vanity.