Chapter Text
Saitama wasn't completely sure how it all happened.
All he remembered was chasing after his nemesis, the mosquito, with all of the various techniques he had learned in his years as a salaryman. He brought out the fly swatter, the bug spray; hell, he even requested Fubuki (via phone call) to crush the mosquito with her esper abilities (which she refused, by the way). Saitama was stumped, completely stumped at how to approach the problem, and all while the mosquito continued to buzz annoyingly in his ear.
On a normal day, perhaps he would have controlled himself. But this was no ordinary day. Today was an absolute shitty day, enough to make his usual emotionless self scream in utter frustration. Three things happened:
1) He lost an important sale at the supermarket. For hotpot, no less.
2) King once again beat him in their video game competition, using only one finger from each hand yet again. Damn him.
3) He and Genos went out to eat and he didn't get the long, soft French fry that he liked.
These three things made rational Saitama into an irrational Saitama.
And irrational Saitama liked to punch things. Really hard.
In summation, that was how he ended up punching the vicinity around the mosquito with a slight bit more force than he usually used around monsters.
Saitama was aware of an explosion, at first, a pretty big one at that. When the air stopped buzzing and the wind died down, however, Saitama found himself in the middle of some kind of village. He was aware of the shift from day to night, with the crickets chirping and the bright blue moon hanging like a polished mirror from the sky. Saitama blinked once. Twice.
He could feel something off about the atmosphere of this place. Maybe it was the gigantic, orange puppy/ fox? thing roaring in the middle of the village for attention or the strangely-garbed men and women who clutched really sharp-looking butter knives in their hands. He couldn't seem to place it.
Shrugging it off, Saitama strolled around the village, hearing screams and explosions in the distance.
It was all probably a dream, after all. Maybe he had fallen asleep after reading his favorite fantasy manga; it was a completely plausible theory. Maybe the scenes from the colorfully printed pages somehow wormed themselves into his mind.
Saitama whistled cheerfully, trying to remember what scene from the manga this was.
He couldn't remember.
A sudden growl of his stomach reminded Saitama that he was hungry and was sorely reminded of the good deal he had lost. What he would give for hotpot right about now...
Lost in thought, Saitama realized that he didn't really know where he was going. He stopped abruptly, taking a glance at his surroundings.
The quarter was quiet, eerily so. No people in sight.
Saitama turned back to the commotion with the fox with eight? Nine? He looked at the fox with nine orange tails, who clawed at every building in sight.
He was already bored. Maybe it was a monster? But it looked too cute to punch. And Saitama didn't condone animal cruelty.
Saitama surveyed the unmoving bodies on the ground.
Say it was a dream. Would this make any difference at all?
Saitama paused. Or maybe because it was a dream...maybe it would take more than one punch.
While he was pondering this, the gigantic fox suddenly disappeared, as if it just poofed out of existence.
Saitama blinked in disappointment, before lowering his fist.
"God damn it."