Chapter Text
The first few times Mumen saw Genos aboveground – truly in his element for the first time since they'd met – he thought he looked great.
In the underworld, Saitama's realm, Genos was chalk-pale with his eyes shadowed by death. Here, in his own demesne, Genos had the flush of life back in his cheeks and his eyes were bright and sunny. If he seemed a little distracted, a little tired, Mumen couldn't blame him.
After a couple weeks of a damp but lively spring, Mumen came to report back to Genos and found him entertaining guests. Garou, and that young love god with the tall hair who always grinned at Mumen for some reason. Though “entertaining” might have been the wrong term, since they seemed to be putting all the effort in while Genos kept excusing himself to check on his plants.
Unfortunately Mumen didn't get to stay and socialize. As soon as he arrived Genos suggested he walk Garou back home, and Garou began to get to his feet.
“Thanks,” Garou said. Mumen started to reply until he saw he was addressing Genos. “I'm serious, okay? Hit the sack.”
“I will,” Genos said, leaning away as the love god tried to ruffle his hair. “See you guys later.”
Garou reached out for Mumen's arm, and they fell into step beside each other. The love god socked Garou's shoulder as he passed, and Garou swiped at him with his cane. They all looked like they were having a good time.
But as soon as the smell of rain and blossoms faded behind them, Garou sighed.
“Genos looks like shit.”
“Does he?” Mumen asked, surprised. “He looked fine to me. That is...”
Garou could see emotions, he knew, but only the surface ones. He couldn't read thoughts (A fact for which Mumen was eternally grateful).
“He's exhausted,” Garou said. “Stressed all to hell.”
As if on cue, the cool damp air of the entrance to the underworld greeted them. Genos had set up an exit for his demesne very close to the cave where Cerberus stood guard, to Mumen's complete lack of surprise.
“He's still being hard on himself, isn't he?” Mumen said.
“Mm-hm.” Garou shifted his shoulders. “I mean, I get it? I think we've all had a time where people told you you were doing fine, but you weren't living up to your own expectations.”
“That's true...” Mumen said. He had many times like that. He was living through one of them now.
“But he's a god. Not like you or Saitama neither. He's always been good at shit. I think it's hittin' him harder 'cuz it's a new feeling for him.”
“Most likely,” Mumen agreed. “I'll look out for that. Try to encourage him more.”
“Good,” Garou said, firmly. He was the youngest person among his friends, but he often spoke like he had a duty to look after them. “Uh... Is he doing okay, though? I mean, how's spring looking?”
“Wet,” Mumen admitted. “Half the time I can't see the ground through the clouds. It's making my other job a bit more difficult.”
“You gonna be able to keep it up? There must be somebody else who can take a day here and there. Bado would do it.”
That was probably his other friend's name. “Would you trust him behind the reins of the sun?”
Garou hesitated.
“That doesn't sound like a yes.”
Despite the serious conversation, Garou chuckled. “I mean, he's great and he's my bro, but... Not unsupervised. Nah.”
“We'll both – we'll all just keep an eye on Genos, then.”
“Yeah,” Garou said. “And if somebody's gotta blow him to get him to sleep, so be it.”
Mumen choked on nothing, then laughed as he noticed Garou's wicked grin. “I- I think we'll leave that up to Saitama.”
“So you have figured it out.”
“Well... I'm not quick, but I do see these things eventually.”
“I hope so,” Garou said. He sounded oddly serious.
Before Mumen could decide if he should ask about it, they'd reached Cerberus – who was happy as ever for an excuse to run to the palace and get a treat. With Garou holding tightly to his waist during the ride, all other thoughts flew out of Mumen's head.
Another week passed. A fourth. Mumen hadn't seen Garou again, though he often stopped by to check on Saitama. Ever since Genos departed he'd been sunk into a depression that he was barely bothering to hide. Garou was left working twice as hard with Nemesis to pick up the slack.
One day, as Mumen went to report in to Genos (and bring him some tea and a snack as he'd been doing lately), Genos actually started the conversation.
“Tatsumaki wants to hold a meeting of the Olympians tomorrow,” he said. “I know it's short notice, but I'm lucky she's even giving us a day.”
“Oh, so you need me to pilot the sun tomorrow too? That's fine, I don't mind.”
“No,” Genos said. “I want you to go to the meeting in my place.”
Mumen felt his lips part, but no sound came out.
“I have too much work to do here!” Genos continued. “It's still not coming easy. It's barely- I can't leave, that's all. Not even for an hour.”
“B- but-”
“And anyway I don't want to face those people.”
“But I'm not-”
“You're piloting the sun, that qualifies you to sit on the throne.”
“The throne?”
“It's still mine, you're just filling in, but no one should have a problem with it.”
“I'm certain they will!” Mumen finally exclaimed. “I'm a low-tier god! Son of a human priestess! I- I'm not-”
“Please?” Genos said. His eyes were so bright they looked feverish, and not even the warmth of his skin hid the shadows beneath them. Garou was right. He was exhausted. “And make Saitama go too.”
Mumen felt his shoulders slump, and nodded. “Okay. We'll both be there.”
“You're too nice,” Garou said, after Mumen told him the story. He'd come early – anticipating a difficult argument convincing Saitama – and couldn't resist seeing if Garou had a moment for once.
“It's... it's not that big of a deal.”
“Sure it is! Bado and Genos are both nuts in different ways, so the rest of them must be really nuts.”
He had a point, but Mumen wouldn't admit that. Out loud. “It's one meeting. I won't say much. If there's a vote I'll vote with Saitama.”
“Don't be a pushover! Saitama never pays attention to half of what people say to him! If anything, he should vote like you.”
Mumen felt his face getting hot at the implication of a compliment. He knew Garou well enough by now to know that the lack of an insult was the closest he would get.
“And Genos makes you drive the sun all the time too!”
“He doesn't make me,” Mumen said quickly. “He's half-dead, remember? For half the year, he can't leave the underworld. If I wasn't taking over every other day, he wouldn't be able to stay in the mortal realm for all of spring. He'd still have to come back at night, and have to try and do his spring duties while piloting.”
“Yeah, but still! You're doing this out of the goodness of your big soft heart, and he's sending you to meetings! You got a job of your own already!”
“I really don't mind the sun part,” Mumen said. He smiled to himself. “Brings back memories.”
There was a pause, and Mumen saw something unreadable flicker across Garou's face. Despite being blind, he still kept tight control over his body language.
“Yeah?” Garou asked. “Like what?”
Mumen smiled a little wider. They were friends now, or at least Mumen assumed so, but they hadn't talked much about their pasts. Sharing his was a chance to learn more about Garou's. If he could just know what would be waiting for him once he was healed, maybe Mumen could relax a little more.
“I used to do chariot races. In the amphitheater.”
“Really? You?”
“You don't have to sound so surprised!” Mumen laughed.
“You don't seem like the type. I mean, I know you used to be a hero so you're definitely into risks, but they're...” Garou's mouth twisted as he searched for the right words. “Attention whores.”
“The sport's changed since I was in it,” Mumen admitted. “Used to be more about skill than show. But it's kind of how I became a hero. In a roundabout way.”
“What, you got popular and people started asking for help?”
“Hardly,” Mumen shook his head, still smiling. “I got fired.”
“From racing?”
“From my job as a cartwright. After my mother... passed,” Mumen dropped his eyes, avoiding Garou's face, “I managed to get hired as an apprentice. And I did well for a long time, until I was about your age and my master finally noticed the parts I'd been taking for my chariots.”
“You built your own?” Garou exclaimed.
“You take me for an amateur?”
Garou laughed, loud and gleeful. “Not anymore! So you were stealing from the boss?”
“Not stealing! I paid for them with my own wages and hid the transactions in the books. I should have known he'd check my work once in a while.”
“So your boss noticed all these parts going missing, and that you also went missing on race days, and...”
Mumen sighed. “I was caught red-handed.”
“Surprised he fired you. You'd think it would be good advertising!”
“It would have been, if I won more often.”
“Oh. Ouch.”
“Don't get me wrong! I placed every race I finished. But I also... crashed. A lot.”
“Ouch.”
“Mm.” Mumen rubbed his eyelid beneath his glasses. “I couldn't wear my glasses under the helmet, and-”
“You wear glasses?” Garou blurted. “Wait, you had to wear a helmet? You're a demigod.”
“I was-” He wanted to say “mortal,” but he'd never been entirely sure of that. “I didn't trust my father. He abandoned my mother as soon as he got tired of her.”
“Huh,” Garou said, face suddenly expressionless. “We've got something in common then.”
Mumen opened his mouth and leaned forward, but Garou had already hopped to his feet.
“Hey, you're wasting too much time with me. Let's both gang up on Saitama so he'll go to that meeting.”
Mumen followed him, reluctantly. One day Garou would open up to him, and then...
And then?
Convincing Saitama took about as long as Mumen expected. Which is to say, they were so late that Bado showed up to check if they'd forgotten. And Mumen could tell that Bado had picked up on the changes to Saitama's demeanor right away.
He was quiet. Sullen. If he didn't want to talk to you he wouldn't bother making excuses anymore, he'd just keep walking. And he dressed all in black, head to toe. Even the bandages he wore on his wrists despite no longer needing them. It was as though the realm had reflected his mood and dyed all his clothes as soon as he put them on. Mumen had asked, but Saitama had only shrugged.
“The good news is it ain't all bad news,” Bado said as they walked up the mountainside.
“How much bad news is there?” Mumen asked.
“Uh... four. Four bad news.”
“How much good news is there?” Mumen asked, beginning to sweat.
“Zero.”
“Then what-”
“There's news that ain't bad, though!”
“What-”
Thunder cracked up ahead, and the sound of two raised female voices drifted down the path.
“Tatsumaki's sister is here,” Bado said.
“Is that bad news or just news?”
“Bad, definitely bad.”
Mumen wanted to pull out his hair. “Then what's the neutral news?”
“We're an odd number today! No voting ties!”
“That's good!”
“Except there's nothing to vote for.”
Mumen rubbed his forehead. “I see... Okay. Thank you, Bado.”
“No prob!”
For the first time since they'd left, Saitama spoke up. “Other three bad newses.”
“Oh, right, uh.” Bado counted off on his fingers. “Amai and Kamikaze are fighting again. Old man Bang didn't show up so we won't get to see 'em get slapped. And Buta brought snacks but not to share.”
Saitama started to turn around, and Mumen grabbed his collar. “We've already come this far!”
“Never too late to give up.”
“Not today.”
With a firm grip on Saitama's wrist, and Bado at the rear in case he tried to bolt, they entered the open air temple at the top of the mountain.
Tatsumaki and Fubuki (both of whom Mumen had met once or twice) were shouting at each other behind the Storm throne. Two men, neither of whom Mumen knew, were also shouting at each other on either side of the empty Wine throne. A very large man was eating biscuits and not paying attention to either argument, while Isamu (who Mumen crossed paths with fairly often) next to him fiddled with a small device made mostly of metal. None of them looked up as the three gods arrived.
Not until Mumen, carefully, took his seat in the Sun throne.
“Who the hell is that?” Tatsumaki snapped. She narrowed her bright green eyes. “Mumen? Travelers? “ She gestured vaguely, static crackling between her fingers. “Why?”
“I've been piloting the sun,” Mumen said, forcing himself to sit up straight and not cower. “Genos asked me to fill in, since he's busy with his season.”
“We needed Genos today!”
“I'm informed,” Mumen said. It wasn't entirely a lie. He was more informed than Saitama. “If we're going to vote on anything I'll be able to contribute.”
“But Genos is Spring,” Tatsumaki said, falling into her chair with a huff. Her sister scowled behind her, and Mumen could see frost spreading beneath her feet. “Well... You can still help. How's things going with sea travel?”
“Ah... Not... great.” He'd made overtures to the sea titan's subordinates, but so far gotten nothing back. “Attacks are down. People have figured out what kind of sacrifices make him happy – money and gems for travel, a percentage of the catch for fishing. But he wants a lot, and not many people can afford to keep giving up that much. It might not be long before the islands are cut off entirely, and if we have more storms, then...”
“I'm working on storms,” Tatsumaki said. “It's not easy. That's why I needed Genos, damn it all! We both have to work together to keep things mild.”
Fubuki slammed her hand on the back of her sister's throne. “And giving me more work! If you keep tamping down the winds I won't be able to hold them back in winter!”
“I know, gods, you think I don't-”
They both started shouting over each other, and the rest of the table went back to their own distractions. Mumen looked to Saitama for help, but he'd slunk down in his chair so deep only his eyes were visible above the table.
Mumen turned a little more, looking for someone – anyone – who might be able to pull this meeting back to some kind of order. And past the two empty chairs beside him, he saw Isamu. The god of smiths. Who really was only as young as he looked.
Okay. If things were so desperate he was actually thinking about leaning on a child for help, it had to be Mumen.
“Buta,” he said, since it wasn't fair to start with Isamu. “How have prayers been? Noticed anything?”
Buta looked at him, blinked, and straightened up. “Can't say for sure. I wasn't a harvest god last year. But the mortals seem hopeful, they're giving offerings instead of sacrifices for good crops.”
Mumen nodded, and turned to the next person he thought of. “Kamikaze, what about you?” He knew already that no one was at war at the moment, or travelers would ask for routes around the fighting. But if humans were thinking about war it might be an indication of the general mood.
“Oh, uh.” He looked startled to be included. “No, I mean... Mortals are always finding reasons to go to war. Been getting prayers for guidance in diplomacy – not really my specialty. I tried to shunt them along to somebody else, but they keep coming. Best I can do is general blessings.”
“I'm sure it's appreciated,” Mumen said.
Amai spoke up before Mumen could. “I'm getting as many prayers as ever.”
“That's good!” Mumen said. “Any, um, themes?”
“Oh, it varies.” He flapped a hand. “Some of my followers are inspired by rain and dreary weather, some are depressed by it. You know artists.”
Mumen nodded. Now that it wasn't so obvious what he was doing, he turned to Isamu. “I suppose smiths have a lot of work this time of year?”
“A lot,” Isamu agreed. “With planting and all, everybody is breaking tools or ordering new ones. And with rain comes rust.”
“Do you think they sound happy for the work, or overwhelmed?”
“Happy,” he said. “It's not like it was last year, when our fighting made everything so chaotic. Smiths and crafters are optimistic.”
“That's good! That says a lot, I think.” He next looked to Bado, whose eyes widened like a student who didn't want to be called on. “What kind of prayers do you get? You haven't taken over your mother's domain, have you?”
“No! Ugh, no. I wouldn't want to. I'm uh, familial love, you know? So I get stuff like, look out for my kid in his new school. Don't let my dad get hurt while farming.”
“Everything holding steady for you?”
“Pretty much,” he said. “Like how Isamu said. Optimistic. Stuff's normal again and people like that.”
Finally, Mumen looked to Saitama. “What about you?”
A long-suffering sigh escaped from Saitama's lips. “Drowning's are down. Lot down. More'n usual for this time of year.”
“That's good!”
“Mm. Suicide and starvation are down. Normal for spring. Winter's hard on folks.” He looked slight up, and nodded, and Mumen followed his line of sight to Fubuki.
She folded her arms, but said nothing.
“Farming accidents are up. Falls too. 'Specially in the mountains. People get cocky soon as it's not covered in snow.”
“Ah... that makes sense.”
“Mm,” Saitama said. He leaned forward, but only enough to reach back and pull his hood over his head. “That's it. Nothing notable.”
“Okay, thank you Saitama.”
Lastly, Mumen looked to Tatsumaki, who was watching him with narrowed eyes like she hadn't decided if he was joking or not.
“My lady? What about you? Anything you've noticed in the prayers you're getting?”
After a pause just long enough to acknowledge her disdain at being addressed, she said, “They want less rain. I don't bother telling them there's not a lot I can do there. I'm not getting more than the lowest tier of offerings so I think the mortals know that this is just how spring is going to be for now.”
Mumen nodded, and smiled as he turned to look at the rest of the gods, making sure he met each one's eyes (except Saitama who was hiding his). “That's mostly good news, I think! The mortals still trust us, or at least not any less. A general theme of optimism. Now we just need to stay the course.”
“Hang on,” Tatsumaki said, delicate hands slapping on the table. “Who's leading this meeting, me or you?”
“You, my lady,” Mumen said quickly. “But I'm new here, I wanted to get an idea of what's going on, that's all.”
“Oh. Well. Good.” She settled back in her throne again, and accepted a piece of parchment her sister handed her. “Okay then. Here's what we were supposed to cover.”
As feared, Mumen couldn't follow most of what was discussed. They were trying to find someone to replace the sea titan, but none of the gods brought up were suited to it, or at least not the ones Mumen knew. He tried to pay attention so he could tell Genos about it later, and tried (futilely) to wake Saitama up so he'd listen too.
Near the end of the hour Fubuki walked around the table and snatched Saitama's hood off. Which didn't work, so she leaned over and blew gently into his ear. Judging by his screams, the breath had been ice-cold.
“What?” Saitama said, glancing around. “What?”
“Stop being rude,” she said. “Nobody else wants to be here either.”
“I can't help!”
“You don't know that!”
“Believe me, I do.”
Fubuki exchanged a glance with her sister. “Okay then. Anything you want to bring to our attention?”
“No, I... Uh...” Saitama rubbed his ear and slumped his shoulders. “Well. One thing.”
“Yes?”
He took a breath. “Any of you guys seen a hero named Mizuki?”
They all shook their heads or muttered a negative, except for Amai.
“Athlete,” he said. “Multi-time champion at some of the more beautiful sports. Why?”
“She's cursed,” Saitama said. “Not my fault. But she's supposed to come to the underworld once a month.”
“And if she doesn't?”
Saitama shrugged. “The usual. Madness. Death.”
“Ah. Something your predecessor left behind.”
“No, it's to do with the way mortals interact with the underworld. She's got a bit too much death in her and it will never go away.”
Mumen's stomach sank.
“If she hasn't been by in two months – and she's not dead 'cuz I'd know – she must be a prisoner somewhere. Dunno how long it'll take for her compulsion to get so bad she stops eating.” Saitama flipped his hood back up. “Not you guys's problem.”
Amai was frowning, the others looked more uncomfortable than concerned.
“We'll keep our eyes open,” Tatsumaki said. Mumen wasn't sure if he believed her, but at least she'd made a token effort.
“Kay,” Saitama said.
Tatsumaki looked around the table, everyone starting to shift in their seats, preparing to rise. “Any other business?”
Mumen heard Buta clear his throat, but before he could speak Fubuki had cut in.
“I have a proposal.”
Her sister groaned. “Fubuki, nobody is going to agree.”
“You don't know that! You can't know until we put it to a vote!” She smiled at them all, one by one, as she sashayed down the length of the table and stopped across from Mumen, behind the Moon throne. “I'm volunteering,” Fubuki said. “It will be easier to overthrow that titan if we take away some of his control. And this council is a sausagefest. So I humbly offer to take on the Moon duty wh-”
“No,” Mumen blurted. Someone else had said it at the same time, loud enough that he was surprised to realize it was Saitama.
Fubuki looked back and forth between the two of them, her mouth open in silent outrage. Amai actually chuckled.
“Not without Genos," Saitama said. “That doesn't get decided without Genos.”
“Which is why I wanted him here,” Tatsumaki said. “Since he's not, I guess that's that.”
“That's not that!” Fubuki exclaimed. “We can at least take a vote and get his later!”
“No,” Saitama said again, and Mumen saw a few other minute shakes of heads. “Shouldn't even be debated without him here. He's the only one who knows what it takes.”
“Besides,” Mumen said, cautiously, “he might have someone else in mind for it.”
He wasn't sure if that was true. It seemed unlikely. No one but Mumen knew Garou had ulterior motives in sneaking into the stable. But Garou and Genos were friends. They trusted each other... probably. Maybe Garou would plead his case convincingly when – or if – he eventually brought it up.
“That's that,” Tatsumaki said again, not even bothering to hide her smirk. “Now let's get out of here and back to-”
“Buta?” Mumen said, smiling with as much feigned innocence as he could muster. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”
The large god's eyebrows rose slightly. He gave one slow nod. “Think you'd all want to know, the ambrosia will be ready next month.”
Tatsumaki wasn't the only one who jumped to her feet. Most of the table did, talking over each other and asking questions like “when exactly?” and “how much?” and “are you sure?”
Buta said nothing, just waited for the others to tire themselves out. “Don't know exactly when,” he said. “More than three weeks. Less than five. I'll know more once it's closer to time.”
“How much?” Amai said, shooting a glare at Kamikaze. “How many portions per person?”
“One. Or less. If anyone can go without, let me know.”
There was silence, even from Mumen. No one wanted to miss the opportunity to get back in top shape.
“We'll do what we can,” Buta said, and pushed himself up. Everyone else was standing now, and Mumen doubted there could be any bigger news than this, so he got up too and stepped off to the side to wait for Saitama.
Ambrosia. That would be nice. Gods were hard to harm, but they didn't need to sleep, and fatigue could build up before you noticed it. Especially with the added stress of his new job... and the guilt eating away at him because of Garou... From what he'd heard, it was like being new again.
But it required a lot of work from multiple gods. None had been made during the war, and even afterward it was hard to get everyone together. Buta must be more of a leader than he seemed.
“Oy.” Bado appeared at Mumen's side and grabbed his arm, pulling him along as if they were walking together like friends. “You're a maniac. I see why Garou likes you so much.”
“Does he?” Mumen said, twisting around to look for Saitama. He hadn't moved from his throne. “I don't know what you mean, though. And I've got to-”
“The way you took charge like that! Fuckin' amazing.”
“I- I didn't take charge. I only wanted to-”
“Whatever you did, it worked. You oughta come to these things more often.”
“Maybe,” Mumen said, finally extracting his arm. “I need to get Saitama, I think he fell asleep.”
“Man don't go back there. Tatsumaki might eat you.”
Mumen ignored him, though the breeze increased with every step he took back in. He didn't dare look at the Storm throne. He didn't have to, since Saitama was at the opposite end, though the cold coming off Fubuki was almost as bad.
She was perched on the arm of Saitama's chair, leaning over and speaking to him softly. She glanced up, once, as Mumen approached, but didn't acknowledge him otherwise.
“Saitama,” Mumen said. “Are you going to head back?”
“Mm.” Saitama brushed some frost off the cuff of his sleeve. “In a minute.”
“Do you want me to wait?”
“Nah,” he said.
Fubuki made a shooing motion, but her expression was gentle when she turned her attention to Saitama. As Mumen walked away, he thought he heard her say, “Are you sure you're okay?”
He had to remember. He wasn't Saitama's only friend.
One of those friends was waiting for Mumen to report back on the meeting, and Bado joined him to visit once again. The entrance to Genos' demesne was marked by a pair of trees with branches twisted to form a shape like a door frame, the scent of rain and flowers welcoming them like always. The main “room” was a shady glade with a large gazebo in the middle, but the gazebo's doors led to a lot of different places. So far Mumen had only seen a kitchen and a sitting room.
But there was something different today. It was much too quiet, even though the sun had been set long enough that Genos should be back. It seemed warmer than before too. And there was another scent, a new one, sharp and clear.
Mumen took a breath to call out, but Bado suddenly put his hand on Mumen's chest. “Shh.”
“What?”
“Wait, hang on.”
Bado walked around the outside of the gazebo, then gestured for Mumen to follow. When he saw bare feet lying on the ground his heart started to pound from fear. Had Genos been hurt? Had he been out of the underworld too long? Had-
But Bado was smiling, and when Mumen saw Genos' face he relaxed as well.
Eyes closed, lips parted, Genos was sound asleep beneath a lemon tree. He looked tired, but peaceful, for once. Mumen didn't remember any fruit trees this close to the gazebo, so Genos must have grown it today. And if he could grow an entire tree all the way to bearing fruit then they didn't need to worry about his powers at all.
“I got this,” Bado said. He squatted down and, slowly, carefully, scooped Genos up in his arms. Genos' breathing hitched for a moment, but he didn't wake.
Apparently Bado knew his way around. Through the gazebo and into a doorway that led to a bedroom not unlike the one Genos had back in the underworld. Very much like, in fact, complete with the tacky gold plating and silk upholstery he always complained about. It seemed he'd gotten used to it.
Bado lay Genos in his bed (big enough for four and covered in pillows) and tucked the closest blanket over him. With a nod of his head Bado indicated Mumen should follow him, and he did.
“That was smoothly done,” Mumen said, once they were back outside. “You can be quiet when you want to.”
Bado laughed. “I have so many siblings, you don't even know.”
“I can imagine.”
“You should meet 'em sometime!” He nudged Mumen with his elbow. “You'd be good at it too. Got that dad energy.”
“D- dad?” Mumen felt himself flush. “I don't- I'm not a... That's a long way off!”
“Hey, I know what I'm talking about. Familial love, remember? You're one of those people who just radiates Dad.”
“I- I don't know if that's a good thing or not.”
“It is,” Bado said, nodding. “That's why we need you at those meetings. You think any of those people had good parents?”
Mumen grimaced. “I don't have experience moderating anything like that. And I doubt they want to listen to someone so... low tier.”
“They will once they realize you get shit done!”
“But all I do is my duties!”
“And Genos's duties! And you're the most dedicated out of any of us when it comes to answering prayers.”
“Well...”
“Look, you already got me, Genos, and Saitama on your side.”
“I suppose...”
“And I'm sure the old man will take to you. All you need is one more.” Bado smirked, looking up at the night sky. “I think we both know who that's gonna be.”
Mumen swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Do we?”
“Don't you?”
The stars looked so bright with no moon to compete against. But without godly sight, Mumen knew walking like this would be dangerous. One particularly bad fall was all it took to kill most humans.
“That's not up to me. Either of us.”
“Guess it's not,” Bado agreed with a shrug. “I'd better get going. Nice seein' ya, Mumen!”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
Mumen was left alone, standing near the cave that led to the underworld. He could go there. See if Saitama had returned, see if Garou was working...
He gulped again, and shook his head. How could he lead meetings of gods when he couldn't even control his own thoughts?