Chapter Text
Saitama let out a sigh. It had been a long time since he’d been this bored.
Last time hadn’t ended well.
After reaching his ultimate power, he had wanted to kill time by being a hero for fun. That was a childhood dream. He hadn’t expected much, but at least he thought it would occupy him. Distract him.
It had depressed him instead.
Days, weeks, months then years had passed, identical, useless. He had not encountered any challenge. So he’d fixed himself a goal: this Mumen Rider guy had told him about the Hero Association and he had subscribed. Had easily succeeded physical tests. Had wanted to reach the top ranking. A challenge that had seemed almost too simple at first, but hey, one had to start small.
He never achieved it. Had even never been above B class. And, God, had he tried.
He’d been in the streets every day and all day long, had killed so many monsters he had lost count, had removed so many threats he had actually impressed himself. That hadn’t been enough.
Nothing was ever enough.
Most of his achievements had gone unnoticed, or had been put on other’s behalf. At a time, it was kind of his fault. He’d thought he was totally insensitive to the world’s opinion on him, he had erased himself to highlight other heroes, to let them shine. He’d thought he could get used to the ungrateful position of unknown hero. He’d believed he was indifferent to the glory his colleagues craved for.
In fact, somewhere deep inside him, and without being able to admit it, he’d told himself the truth would eventually come out on its own and justice would be done to him.
He’d been oh, so wrong.
Deeper and deeper gone in a spiral he had lost control on, he’d understood: the world would never offer him the recognition he was seeking in spite of himself.
The recognition he deserved.
Yes, his hero years had been mortally boring.
Last months, on the other hand, had been quite fun.
He had only needed a click. The Hero Association denied him the first rank. He was gonna take it by force. And he wasn’t gonna content himself by being first in their stupid ranking. He’d be the very first.
It had been an organized slaughter.
He hadn’t wanted to begin with the Hero Association HQ. He kept it for the end, on the contrary. Meanwhile, he had to build a suspense, a crescendo. He’d kept killing monsters and villains. But he had also started killing C-class on his way.
He remembered laughing in front of the lifeless body of Mumen Rider. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.
At first, the Association hadn’t wanted to believe it. Disappeared heroes were considered killed in action. Simple, unfortunate collateral damages. According to official reports, Caped Baldy had been so focused on his fights he hadn’t been able to save them.
It was the beginning of the end, and they still managed to underestimate him.
They had asked his B-class colleagues to watch him. Saitama had carefully made them disappear in ambiguous conditions. It had amused him.
Still unaware of his real strength, A-class hadn’t hesitated to chase him. The Association hadn’t even needed to put a price on his head. They hated him, and were not afraid of him enough to avoid him. They had split in groups, had thought their number and strategies would make up for his surprising power. That guy was only human, after all.
The first open fights had proved them wrong. In daylight, not hiding anymore, Saitama had executed them without blinking an eye. And had, in the same time, ruined most of the city centres. He wasn’t interested in civilian victims, but there was something definitely enjoyable in not restraining his strength anymore. In really not thinking about the consequences.
That had finally forced the Association to react. Every S-class had been commanded to take part in the battle. Few of them had obliged. And all had come to regret it. This was how Metal Bat, Puri-Puri Prisoner, and even rank 1 Tatsumaki, amongst others, had disappeared, without glory and without a chance. And the last A-class heroes had scattered around, terrified. The Association had at last accorded him the God level threat status, and the remaining heroes had stopped coming dumbly to him on a silver plate. They were hiding.
That is when his hunt had begun.
This second phase had been most entertaining. He’d found an almanac under a bench, next to a kid’s corpse, probably killed by the shockwave of one of his punches or intoxicated by the smoke from the burning city centre. It has turned out to be very useful. He didn’t want to let any single hero behind.
He’d found most of the missing heroes out of pure luck, while running errands or going out to eat. He’d made sure of letting a few parts of the city intact so that he could keep on shopping, which he’d always liked. He’d even had a new cape made for him. More sinister than his original one. Closer to his current state of mind.
The number of urban centres having dramatically decreased, he’d found some of the remaining heroes in the last still habitable areas. And by torturing them just a little, he’d been able to track many others. Watchdog Man, Kamikaze, King were amongst them. King. The strongest man on Earth had been quite the disappointment.
He’d been surprised at how few they had been to hide in the countryside. Their so-called sense of honour had probably kept them in the cities. Or maybe it was the presence of their family and close ones.
At last, he’d had to face reality: he was reaching the end. There were only two heroes left, and they were undoubtedly stashed in the Association’s HQ. But Saitama was hesitating. Destroying it was supposed to be the apotheosis of his big game, something he’d been eager to do, but also something he was dreading. What then? What was he gonna do once his goal reached? Was he gonna reign on what was left of the world as a dictator? Attack the monsters that probably swarmed under the surface, not anymore daring to show up?
Saitama let out a sigh.
He’d been sitting on a pile of concretes in front of the Association HQ for a solid hour. He was facing the peak of his project, and suddenly felt bored. The excitement his new life had lit inside him was ultimately fading. He didn’t even want to finish his self-assigned job anymore. That would take him a few minutes, then he’d be alone to face his empty existence again. After all, what would it change to destroy the Association? It was already down. It wouldn’t ever recover.
Or maybe it would recover, and get back to him…?
Now that was an idea. Giving the Association a chance to heal. So that later on, he could start all over again. Getting himself busy waiting for it to reconstruct. That would take some time, but maybe that’d be worth it.
He only had to make sure the Association would reborn of its ashes. Would rebuild itself. That was uncertain, to say the least. He was afraid he’d scared it too much for it to seize any opportunity of striking back. How could he enhance it to start again after he put it to its knees?
A grin appeared at the corner of his mouth.
A hope.
He had to offer them a hope.
If he let a weakness show, if he let an open door, they wouldn’t be able to surpass their desire for revenge. They wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of making him pay for his treason and his ignominy.
Saitama stood up with a feral smile. He had to play comedy. To go in, begin his slaughter, then show himself getting tired, diminished. He had to make them believe it.
He could make it work.
***
His fist still stuck in an employee’s stomach, Saitama noticed with satisfaction Metal Knight’s presence in the offices. He’d just come out of a corridor and was now talking to him. Was proposing him a fight outside of the tower. How presumptuous. As if the idea of a duel with Bofoy’s distance-controlled robot were interesting enough for him to let go of the HQ.
And anyway, he was planning on keeping his public. An audience was essential to his plan. He needed witnesses. Here, inside, there were still some members of the administration, and more importantly, Saitama knew he was filmed, observed by the directors. So he began his play.
“I have a better idea. You attack me in the next ten seconds or I tear the entire building apart all at once.”
A twitch runs through the Association members still there, kneeled behind broken pieces of furniture, hidden under desks, shadowed in the corners of the room. As Metal Knight was seemingly hesitating, Saitama pressed the hero to come at him right here and now with a finger’s gesture.
The attack was dazzling. Saitama dodged slower than his usual, letting the hero brush him. Made a move as to strike back, touching his armour in the slightest, sent him to the wall without causing much damage. Metal Knight came back to him as fast as he could. Now was the time. Saitama subtly started to slow down, to hold even more back, to let himself get touched. He tried to control his face expressions, to look focused, then troubled. He avoided to be too obvious and to raise suspicion, and negligently killed some spectators, as if he hadn’t meant to.
He was astonished by the lack of reaction of the robot, which didn’t seem to make any move to go for the kill nor to save those Association members.
In fact, he didn’t even seem to give it his best shot. By intentionally letting his guard down, the former hero had expected to receive more hits than that. Perhaps even to bleed a little. He was letting openings wide enough for him to be at least punched once.
But none of this was happening. Metal Knight stayed strangely out of reach, without risking to approach him close enough to attack seriously.
Saitama frowned.
It didn’t make sense.
In such a situation, a S-class hero was supposed to risk everything. To give it all.
Was Metal Knight so afraid for his life he didn’t try to protect civilians?
Or… was he, too, hiding something?
Saitama froze, totally oblivious to the shots of the robot which didn’t seem to hit him.
He had almost forgotten: Bofoy wasn’t even physically in this armour. What could he possibly lose to give it his best shot? He had no reason to protect his bot, and didn’t seem to want to protect the employees either.
What was Metal Knight’s deal? None of his attacks seemed meant to kill him. It would probably have been impossible anyway, but why in the world didn’t him even bother to try?
It was almost as if he only wanted to… buy time.
The idea piqued his curiosity.
He resumed the fight with a closer look to his opponent. Yes, that was it. He refused to put his armour in danger, but not in fear of dying nor of being no longer able to protect the HQ. If he was keeping his robot as intact as possible, it was only to keep him busy. And the bald man, focused on appearing tired and weak, almost hadn’t noticed it.
A few more minutes of this duel and he finally observed that, when being given the opportunity, Metal Knight systematically placed himself in fight posture in the exact same spot. Right between himself and the corridor he came from.
Saitama let out a wild laugh.
He dodged another dash from the hero and sprinted towards that direction.
***
The corridor led to stairs going underground. Saitama hesitated, but Metal Knight’s reaction behind him, far more aggressive all of a sudden, confirmed his guess: he was getting close. To what, he didn’t know yet. But it promised to be interesting.
Ignoring the threats and provocations of the S-class hero, who was without a doubt desperately trying to stop him, he crashed the reinforced door that had appeared at the end of another corridor and paused. He was standing slightly elevated at the entry of a large room bathed in an intense, unnatural golden glow. The crème de la crème was there: Sitch, the beard guy and the glasses guy he had often seen in meetings when he was still a hero, the Child Emperor and… two old men in white jackets, one of which was presumably Bofoy himself. All of them had been caught while working, bent over humming, vibrating screens, monitors, consoles, machines that made the air warm and stick.
Upon the wall at the other end of the room was shining the source of that golden light, an irregular, vaguely circular shape seemingly not larger than a human’s chest, but its dark edges were slowly widening. The shape seemed slightly moving, the yellow colour was brightening until it reached a white-hot centre, and Saitama had to blink, a little blinded.
An order focused his attention back to the room.
“You all know what to do!”
Then everything went fast. The robot, which was coming from the tunnel, and the Child Emperor dashed towards him, while the three Association representatives rushed to a control panel on a wall near him, and the two scientists worked harder on their consoles. The bald man ducked to avoid Metal Knight’s charge – his combat style was decidedly not very original – and seized the Child Emperor’s head in both hands before crushing it to the ground. The boy didn’t get up.
The robot was on him again when a red, translucid, luminous wall erupted between them and the rest of the room. Probably in result of something the three Association men had done by pushing some levers appeared from seemingly nowhere. Curious, the former hero sent Metal Knight on this new obstacle, and wasn’t disappointed by the effects: the robot violently exploded, without anything passing the bloody veil, no metal debris nor flame. With a fierce smile, Saitama stood up from all his height and looked down to the five men remaining behind the barrier.
Sitch and the other two suited up guys were busying themselves without efficiency, on the verge of a panic crisis. One of the two scientists, frowned eyebrows and clenched jaw, was furiously typing on his keyboard: him, at least, looked like he knew what he was doing. Behind him, the luminous spot had reached a human’s size.
The last occupant of the room, white jacket, long teeth, was standing, stoical, and staring right into Saitama’s eyes. Apparently both nervous and confident.
Daring.
That is Bofoy.
The villain’s smile widened, more sincere. The last S-class was here, in his reach. He supported his glare without flinching, tranquilly undressed himself, and took two steps forward, going through the protection barrier as if it wasn’t there.
He heard a few gasps of stupor from the three Association administrators, but his glance stayed fixed on Bofoy, who had frozen, eyes wide, breathless. Like struck by lightning.
Saitama took advantage of the general confusion to crush his fist on the control panel in the wall, and the red curtain fell. He picked up his clothes, dressed up, and had only one jump to do to get close to Bofoy and grab him by the collar of his shirt.
His smirk could almost be heard in his voice as he asked:
“You thought you could stop me with a light effect, Metal Knight? I’m kinda disappointed.”
He didn’t let him the chance to answer and shot his clenched fist on top of his skull. He liked disfiguring his former allies.
The moment Bofoy’s inert body touched the ground, a cry shot out:
“Everything is lost! CANCELLATION PROCEDURE!”
Saitama observed, intrigued. It was the same voice than a few instants prior: it came from the last scientist. Sitch rushed to a terminal close to the shape on the wall, but was pushed aside by the two others.
“We can still do it!” growled one of them.
“NO! CLOSE THAT PORTAL IMMEDIAT—”
Saitama had gotten in movement. Had liquidated in a single gesture the three men who were dashing to the --
-- the portal?
Which was… getting smaller.
He turned to face the last living man. Examined him.
The guy had his grey hair gathered in an awful bowl cut. And a very big nose. Drops of sweat were running down his temples. He shot a fast glance to the console where Sitch was standing a few seconds sooner.
Saitama wasn’t sure he understood.
“Well, well, well… I guess you don’t have any intention of telling me what’s going on here.”
The old man opened his mouth, closed it, forced himself to answer, throat hoarse.
“C-Caped Baldy, sir…”
The mention of his former hero name made him lift an eyebrow.
“You really do wanna suffer.”
“I-I’m sorry!” he shouted. “Please pardon me! I… I did not mean to disrespect y--”
A hard grip tightened on his throat, keeping him from finishing his sentence. He lifted his hands to his neck, desperately trying to get free of this clasp. Suddenly he couldn’t feel the ground under his feet.
“Cut the crap. What were y’all doing?”
Saitama had kept his voice quiet and cold, holding the other in the air with all the care he was capable of. He needed the guy to breathe so that he could talk.
And he needed to avoid breaking his neck by accident.
The other man was taking jerky, painful breaths, his whole body was shaking, his hands were clinging to the red glove. His worried eyes went to the opposite wall once more.
Saitama followed his gaze. The portal, if that was one, was still shrinking.
What did that mean? He had no idea. But the Association had tried really hard to keep him far from this portal. Even now, the man in his hand looked like he wanted to slow him down.
He had to make a choice. Quickly.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to go and see for myself.”
He let the scientist down, who collapsed to the ground, breathing in sharply. He went to the wall at the end of the room. The golden light had dimmed, and still managed to dazzle him. The spot was reduced to half its previous size, but he could still pass through.
Only moments ago, he was wondering what to do with his life. Now, he was facing the unknown. And man, didn’t that sound fun.
He had taken his decision.
“What have I got to lose, anyway?”
He dove into the golden circle.
***
“NO!!!”
Dr. Kuseno’s cry rang out in the now empty, quiet room for a long time.
The enemy was gone. He’d had this damned carnivorous smile on his face while going through the portal, which had closed a moment later.
With difficulty, the doctor tried to sat up against the still hot computers in his back.
The sound of machines powering down one after another around him echoed the last spark of hope that had just been blew off inside him.
They had been so stupid.
He had been so stupid.
The Association, at first, hadn’t wanted to believe the rumour that said Saitama had turned bad. But Shibabawa’s last prediction was made not six months ago, and the hypothesis had been worrying enough for the direction to launch a secret program.
The doctor had joined the hero organization a few years sooner, while searching for the mad cyborg who had destroyed so many cities. He had decided to put his brains at the service of justice. And he had been chosen to be part of the confidential team.
He had been working in this lab for months with the Child Emperor and Metal Knight. Together, they had studied the crazy project of a time machine. If only they could go back to the time when Saitama wasn’t bad yet, try and talk to him, reason with him… Or maybe learn more about his power, find his weakness… Put him out of harm’s way, whatever it took.
Their experiments had led to something unexpected. Instead of a bridge in time, they had discovered a bridge between dimensions. The implications of that discovery were enormous. Maybe infinite. But they had no time to waste in theorical considerations.
Because that was all that mattered: to buy time. If they didn’t try anything, this world, their world, was doomed. The scientific team had to keep working somewhere safe. Out of reach of that God level threat. Maybe elsewhere, in another dimension, with all the time they needed, they would be able to come up with a way to go back home, to go back in time, to start it all over. To give themselves another chance.
Their science allowed them to create a portal to just a single other dimension, the closest one. It was risky. Maybe another Saitama was destroying that universe too. Maybe something even worse was happening there.
And even if that dimension miraculously was in a better situation than theirs, they would maybe, against their will, bring there their own Saitama.
But they were cornered. Terrified. So, they decided it was worth a try. They had organized defensive lines thanks to Metal Knight’s devastating technology. They had set up emergency stop protocols, just in case. Their portal wasn’t ready yet, but one day it would be, and that day they would have to be sure they could close it instantaneously.
They hadn’t expected the threat to come to them so soon. Saitama was done exterminating heroes of all classes and had entered the HQ. He’d been through every single defensive line without any difficulty. He probably hadn’t even noticed half the traps and devices that had been created to stop him.
The portal was finally ready, but it was taking some time to open. And, once Saitama was in the lab, it was already too late. They had to do as planned: had to install the last obstacle, which the Child Emperor and Metal Knight had both put so much work on; most of all, had to close the portal. To keep him from using it. At any price.
Yet, Kuseno had hesitated.
He’d wanted to believe in Bofoy’s last barrier. If it had been able to contain him, even just for a few minutes, maybe the team could have pass through the portal before it closed, before Saitama joined them…
That had been a terrible mistake. The threat had traversed the red screen as if it was nothing. Obviously. The portal was closing too slowly; he would have the time to take it. They needed to manually activate the urgency panel.
Sitch almost did.
If only the two Association morons hadn’t wanted to save their life so bad…
The doctor shook his head. He had, too, made errors. And it was too late, anyway.
Saitama had gone to this other world no one knew anything about. And he had a priori no way of coming back.
That he had survived didn’t bother him. That he finally had a chance to live in a destroyed, Saitama-free world was of no importance.
The other world was doomed.
And it was all his fault.