The fragile peace of the Royal Palace, built on a foundation of unlimited instant noodles and a sturdy new laundry line, was predicated on one simple, flawed assumption: that the world would wait patiently for Saitama to get bored. But the world, especially the shadowy parts of it, was not patient. The ripples from Saitama's arrival had stirred the depths, and now, things were beginning to crawl up from the abyss.
The first sign of the crumbling facade came not as a roar or a tremor, but as a whisper. A series of strange, unsettling incidents began to occur in the lower districts of Midgar, far from the gilded cage of the Royal Precinct. A night watchman found dead in a locked alley, his body strangely desiccated, as if all moisture had been drawn from him. A wealthy merchant's vault, protected by the finest mechanical locks, found empty, its thick steel door warped and corroded as if by a powerful acid. A small, back-alley gambling den, known for its unsavory clientele, discovered silent and empty, its occupants vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a faint, lingering scent of ozone and something vaguely reptilian.
Individually, they were crimes, albeit strange ones, the sort of grim business that was not entirely unheard of in a bustling capital city. But Knight-Commander Kristoph, tasked by the King to monitor any and all unusual activity, saw a pattern. The incidents were precise, almost surgical. The targets, while seemingly random, all had subtle, indirect ties to suspected Cult of Diablos financiers or sympathizers. It wasn't random violence. It was a targeted, silent purge.
"This is not the Cult's usual methodology," Kristoph reported to the King's Small Council, his voice grim. He laid out a map of the city, marking the locations of the incidents. "Their typical operations involve brute force, demonic summoning, overt terror. This is… clean. Efficient. Almost professional."
Archmagus Theron peered at the map, his ancient eyes narrowed. "The residual energy signatures at each location are… baffling. The desiccated guard showed traces of advanced bio-arcane draining. The corroded vault door, a sophisticated alchemical compound. The vanished gamblers… faint traces of spatial distortion, a teleportation signature, but one that is deliberately scrambled, almost impossible to trace." He shook his head. "This is the work of multiple, highly specialized agents, each a master in their field. And they are working in concert."
Lord Valerius slammed a fist on the table. "Shadow's warning! 'Older eyes, hungrier eyes'! Is this it? Have these… other forces… already begun to operate within our very walls?"
The King felt a familiar, cold dread. He had been so focused on managing the Tempest within his palace, he had neglected the subtler threats creeping in from outside. "Are these incidents related to Saitama?"
Kristoph considered this. "Indirectly, Your Majesty. It feels… opportunistic. As if Saitama's presence, and the chaos it caused within the Cult's regional leadership, has created a power vacuum, a moment of weakness. And this new group is exploiting it, cleaning house, perhaps pursuing their own agenda against the Cult while everyone is looking the other way."
The implications were chilling. Midgar was no longer just dealing with the Cult and the unpredictable Tempest. A third, unknown, and highly sophisticated faction was now operating within the capital, conducting a silent, deadly shadow war right under their noses.
Saitama, of course, was completely unaware of any of this. His world, for the moment, revolved around a new and fascinating challenge: he was trying to learn how to knit. Princess Iris, in a desperate attempt to find a "calm and constructive" hobby for him that didn't involve punching things, had brought him a set of large, sturdy knitting needles and a ball of thick, bright yellow yarn.
He sat on the plush carpet of his suite, a look of profound concentration on his face, his powerful fingers fumbling with the needles, trying to master the intricate "knit one, purl two" technique Iris had patiently demonstrated. The result so far was less a scarf and more a tangled, lumpy yellow knot that looked like a bird's nest after a hurricane.
"Man, this is hard," he grumbled, dropping a stitch for the tenth time. "Way harder than fighting monsters. The little loops keep falling off."
Sir Kaelan watched from a safe distance, a small, hopeful part of him praying that this new hobby would keep Saitama occupied for the foreseeable future. A knitting-related incident seemed marginally less likely to cause structural damage than a boredom-related one.
It was into this scene of domestic tranquility and yarn-based frustration that Princess Alexia swept, her expression a mixture of excitement and concern.
"Saitama! Stop mangling that poor yarn! I have news!" she announced, her crimson eyes sparkling.
Saitama looked up, grateful for the distraction. "News? Did they find a new noodle flavor? 'Extra-Spicy Dragon's Breath,' maybe?"
"Even better," Alexia said, leaning conspiratorially closer. "Something is happening in the city. People are disappearing. Strange crimes. Whispers of… assassins in the dark. Monsters in the alleys." She was, of course, embellishing slightly, but she knew how to frame a story to capture his interest. "It sounds… heroic. A job for a 'hero for fun,' wouldn't you say?"
Saitama's eyes widened slightly. "Assassins? Monsters? In the city? For real?" His knitting was forgotten, the tangled yellow knot dropping to the floor. The familiar itch of boredom was suddenly replaced by a flicker of genuine heroic interest. "Why didn't anyone tell me? I've just been sitting here, making this… weird… lumpy rope thing."
"The Royal Guard is handling it, of course," Alexia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But they are… slow. Methodical. By the time they figure anything out, who knows how many more people might… disappear?" She watched him, her gaze sharp, knowing precisely which buttons to push. "A true hero wouldn't wait for permission, would they? A true hero would go out and find the bad guys themselves. For fun."
Saitama stood up, a new energy buzzing around him. "You're right! This is way better than knitting!" He looked around. "Okay! Time for some hero work! I just need to get changed!" He started to head for his hero suit, which was neatly folded in a drawer.
"Wait!" Alexia stopped him. "You can't go out like that." She pointed at his bright yellow jumpsuit. "They'll recognize you instantly. The King would have a fit. You're supposed to be staying in the palace, remember?"
Saitama deflated. "Oh. Right. The… uh… 'guest' thing." He looked disappointed. "So I can't go?"
Alexia smiled, a slow, conspiratorial grin. "I didn't say that. I said you can't go out like that." She tossed him a bundle she had been carrying. "You need a disguise."
Saitama caught the bundle. It was a simple, unassuming set of clothes: a dark, hooded cloak, a plain tunic and trousers of a nondescript grey color, and a simple cloth mask to cover the lower half of his face. It was the generic, anonymous garb of a common adventurer, or perhaps, a low-level rogue.
"A disguise?" Saitama said, holding up the cloak. "Cool! Like a secret identity! So I'll be… 'Mysterious Cloak Guy'?"
"Something like that," Alexia replied, her eyes dancing. "Now, there are… rumors… of strange activities in the 'Old Sewers' beneath the Merchant's District tonight. A perfect place for a hero in disguise to start his investigation, wouldn't you say?" She was, of course, feeding him a lead she had acquired from her own network of informants, a lead that pointed directly towards one of the recent incident sites. She wanted to see what would happen when she pointed the Tempest at a problem and let him off the leash, just for a little while. The potential for chaos, and for answers, was irresistible.
"The sewers, huh?" Saitama said, already pulling on the plain tunic over his pajamas. "Probably smells bad. But if there are monsters and assassins down there…" A genuine, almost boyish, grin spread across his face. "This is gonna be awesome! It's been ages since I got to do some proper, sneaky hero work!"
Sir Kaelan, who had been listening to this entire exchange in silent, mounting horror, finally found his voice. "Your Highness! Mister Saitama! I must protest! This is highly irregular! And against the King's express wishes! The sewers are dangerous! And… and what about his dinner?!"
Saitama, now fully clad in his "Mysterious Cloak Guy" disguise, slung the hood over his bald head, shadowing his face. "Don't worry, Kaelan. This'll be quick. I'll just punch the bad guys, solve the mystery, and be back in time for the late-night noodle special." He gave Kaelan a thumbs-up. "It'll be fun!"
With that, he walked to his balcony. He gave Princess Alexia a final, grateful nod, then leaped silently into the evening shadows, disappearing over the palace walls with an ease that belied his usual clumsy landings. He was, for the first time since arriving in this world, off the leash.
Alexia watched him go, a triumphant, dangerous smile on her face. The crumbling facade of peace had just developed a very large, bald, hero-shaped hole in it. She had just unleashed the kingdom's greatest weapon upon its hidden underworld, all without official sanction. The consequences would be… spectacular. She couldn't wait.
Sir Kaelan, however, just slowly sank to the floor, put his head in his hands, and began to quietly weep. His nice, predictable, noodle-and-laundry-based containment strategy had just been utterly, completely, and royally ruined. The Tempest was loose in the city. And he was probably still going to be late for dinner.