Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I'm not a superhero," Genos protested. He wouldn't have been so upset about it, but it felt like he was being patronized. Just because he was fifteen, he was supposed to want to be a hero? All he wanted was revenge. That wasn't a heroic attribute.

"And," the doctor added, "your face is the most delicate part of your body now. The skin has to be, to look realistic, your hair isn't fireproof, and your eyes are very sophisticated machinery. A helmet will protect all that." He triggered something on Genos' neck, making the hidden plates snap over his skull. Well, what he had for a skull, now. "Not to mention your brain."

His brain. All he really was anymore.

"Okay," Genos said quietly. "I'll use it."

The mask changed a few times over the years. Usually to match updates on the rest of his body, but Genos made requests once or twice out of style concerns. Dr. Kuseno never mentioned the way Genos had complained about it at first. But he never called him a hero again either.

He wasn't, not really. Not like the registered ones that started popping up a year after Genos became... this. He fought monsters and stopped crimes when he ran into them, but most of his effort was focused on the mad cyborg. Following leads, finding scientists, questioning everyone who might know something. He had no higher calling, and no mercy for those who couldn't help him.

It wasn't like he was that mysterious One Punch Man everyone was talking about.

Four years into his search, Genos was on the trail of a group called the House of Evolution. Mostly they specialized in genetic engineering, but mad scientists talked to each other. If Genos could find them, maybe...

But things went wrong, as they often did. The enemy was too strong and Genos was so tired. Tired of the lack of results. Tired of disappointment. It was with little more than resignation that he primed his self-destruct sequence.

When he shut it off, a moment later, it felt like a rebirth.

"Mosquitoes suck," the naked civilian said, sounding far more proud of the joke than the fact that he'd just splattered a murderous mutant again a building.

"Please," Genos said, struggling to sit upright, seeing the guy with his bare eyes, his helmet having cracked open in the conflict. "You're a hero, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Ah." The guy looked at him. He was completely unbothered by the fact Genos had burned all his clothes off, but with a body like that, Genos couldn't blame him. "It's Saitama."

That didn't sound like a hero name. But it had to be; the Hero Association was very strict about the secret identity policy. There was no way this man would give out his real name to a stranger.

A few days later, Genos discovered that was exactly what he'd done. And it was only fair to return the favor (after he'd exhausted the indirect method of figuring out the source of his strength, that is). When Saitama-sensei brushed off Genos' attempts at sharing, Genos realized someone as strong as him didn't need to worry about preserving his identity. After all, his enemies didn't live long enough to come for revenge.

He didn't seem to have any family or friends to protect, anyway. A lot like Genos in that regard.

"Sensei," Genos asked, ignoring the way Saitama's eyebrow twitched, "what is your hero name?"

"My what?"

Before Genos could clarify, his sensors picked up an approaching threat, and then things got too busy to talk about it.

After the fight, after questioning the cyborg gorilla, Genos followed Saitama out of his neighborhood and toward the coordinates they'd been given. Genos had triggered his helmet as soon as the fighting started, but it was only now that he noticed Saitama was bare-faced.

"Sensei, shouldn't you put on your mask? That's why the House of Evolution came after you."

"It's too late anyway." Saitama shrugged.

"But we're going to pass through the city. Anyone could see you."

"Hm. I guess." Tucked into his belt, Saitama pulled out a little red plastic mask, like you might buy at a 100 yen shop for a costume party you didn't care much about. He pulled the elastic around his head, only the tiniest bit of his face covered around his eyes and nose. It looked ridiculous.

Genos made a mental note to learn how other heroes kept their masks on without an elastic strap and teach it to him.

Something about it made his brain itch. The yellow costume, white cape, and red mask. It was like a cheap version of the fabled One Punch Man's costume. Was Saitama deliberately copying the look? No one really knew what the One Punch Man looked like; even  the few eyewitness accounts were from a distance. It could be a coincidence.

The events of the rest of the day put the thought out of his head. It wasn't until hours later, helping Saitama carry his groceries home, helmet shattered and hair frizzed, that Genos thought to repeat his earlier question.

"I still don't know your hero name."

"That again? I don't have one."

"You don't? But how do you get credit for your actions?"

"I don't know, I don't worry about that." Saitama tried to shrug, ended up juggling the bags in his arms. "I became a hero because I wanted to. Because I was tired of doing things I didn't care about, just because it was expected of me."

Genos felt the phantom of his heart swell in his chest. This man, it wasn't just that he was strong. He was... He was...

When they got back to the apartment, Genos helped unpack the groceries, the two of them bumping into each other in the small kitchen. They ended up face-to-face at one point, so close Genos could smell him. For a second, Saitama's fingers reached toward Genos' face, where cracks ran down his cheek, but he pulled his hand back.

"You can get that fixed, right?" There was a tiny crease between his eyebrows.

"Yes, sensei, it's only artificial."

Genos was very happy for the artificial skin right now. It wouldn't do to be blushing furiously over his teacher almost touching him.

He left not long after. It was getting dark, and he needed to get his helmet replaced and skin patched. When he told Dr. Kuseno about everything, the doctor gave him an odd look.

"If that's really how he got his power, do you think he can help you?"

"I don't know," Genos admitted. "But it can't have been just an exercise regimen. There must be something special that happened, or about him."

There was something special about Saitama all right. Genos was endlessly surprised over his strength, over the things he could do. He got the feeling, after a few days, that it wore on Saitama a bit, being so much stronger than everyone else. He said he was a hero for fun, but after he defeated something, he looked... disappointed. Tired.

It made Genos' chest ache.

"I'm not famous."

Genos stared at him. It had only been a couple weeks since he met Saitama, but he'd already learned more about being a hero than he had in three years of idly observing the professionals.

"Sensei, are you not registered with the Hero Association?"

"The what?"

Genos found himself explaining what he knew (things he thought were common knowledge), looking up the website, and agreeing to register with Saitama that weekend.

The forms they printed off and filled out had a space for "preferred hero name." Saitama tapped his pen on it.

"Do I have to have one? I don't have any family left to protect or anything."

Struggling with the urge to ask more, Genos said, "All professional heroes work under a pseudonym. It's for the sake of their privacy as well as their loved ones. And... the Association makes most of its money off selling merchandise of the popular heroes. If they didn't, they'd have to rely on donations."

"Hmm," Saitama perked up. "Heroes get some of that, don't they?"

"Yes. All heroes get a salary, as well as a percentage of their sales."

"But you have to be popular." Saitama leaned back, balancing his pen between lip and nose like someone ten years younger. "Do you think I could be popular, Genos?"

As fond as Genos was of him already, privately he had to admit Saitama was lacking social skills and polish, and any kind of dress sense.

But he was strong. Strong enough to jump to the top of the rankings as soon as the Association realized what he'd done without receiving credit before. And he had a kind of unconscious intelligence when it came to reading people, whether it was Genos, or that ninja, or random children in the park. Saitama could see right through them without knowing he was doing it.

"Yes, sensei," Genos said with one hundred percent confidence. "I think you'll be very popular."

In the end they both left the "hero name" box empty. The Association would give them names and, optionally, media coaching. Genos didn't care about getting popular, though he was starting to care more and more about being a true hero, and he didn't need the money. If Saitama wanted to work at getting fans, Genos would support him. He deserved more recognition for how many people he'd saved.

Genos would be more than happy to start a fan club for him.

"What the hell is this?" Saitama demanded of the letter he was holding. Genos knew better than to answer right away. If Saitama needed help with it, he'd ask.

It had been a week since they joined the Hero Association. Genos still fumed about the unfairness of Saitama being the bottom of C Class when he thought about it, but catching that ninja had earned him some points, and Saitama was at least putting on a good show of having gotten over it. They didn't have hero names yet; referred to by their ranks on the website.

"Genos, what is this? Did you get a letter like this?"

Genos put the dish he was scrubbing back in the sink and dried off his hands before coming to look. It was businesslike and formal, dropped off on the balcony (their balcony, Genos was still reveling in the feeling of living with his sensei) by one of the Association's drones.

At the top it congratulated Saitama on his rise in rank, but after that immediately got into suggestions for masks. There were a few drawings, all of them covering the entire head, like Genos' helmet, or a Kamen Rider. There was even one that looked like a luchador.

"Maybe they don't think your mask covers enough of your face to protect your identity?"

"Plenty of heroes wear little masks! That blue-haired guy on the website did."

"Amai Mask? He's a special case."

Before Genos could get into detail, his phone began buzzing on the table. Only two people had the number; Kuseno and the Hero Association.

"I'm sorry sensei, do you mind if I answer that?"

"Go ahead," Saitama said, frowning at the letter.

It was the Association. Genos listened to the young woman introduce herself and what she was offering, his patience decreasing by the second.

"I don't care about merchandising my persona," Genos said. "And I can't change my mask, it's part of my body."

"But if you stuck to a small domino mask while in public, only wearing the helmet during fights-"

"I'm not interested," Genos said. "Goodbye."

Saitama was watching him, completely unashamed of eavesdropping. "Same thing?" He asked.

"More or less. They want me to wear a small mask, like your red one."

A thundercloud passed over Saitama's face. "So they want me to cover more of my face, and you to cover less of it?"

"Um..." The reason was obvious, though Genos was going to deny it up and down. "I'm sure it's just so people don't think I'm a robot. I'd be more empathetic that way."

"What's that mean?"

"Oh. Easier for people to care about me."

"Hm." Saitama crossed his arms. "It's not like I don't know, you know?"

"Know what, sensei?"

"How I look! My face is okay, but my ears are too big and my head looks ridiculous without hair, which only makes the ear thing worse, and-"

"Sensei!" Genos interrupted. Unfathomably rude, but he had no choice. "You're very handsome!"

Saitama shrugged. "Thanks for trying, but it's obviously not true. The Association doesn't think so."

"They're a bunch of idiots," Genos spat. "You shouldn't care what they think."

"I don't," Saitama said, sounding surprised. Genos was pretty sure this was the first time he'd heard Genos raise his voice since that time at the House of Evolution when he'd questioned his training story. Genos regretted that immensely.

"Good," Genos said. He hesitated. "Sensei, this is unrelated, but I found out where the heroes who wear small masks get them. Would you like to have one professionally fitted?"

The new domino mask debuted the day Saitama broke the meteor over Z City. It stuck on with a couple dabs of spirit gum, easy enough to apply, and the shop had made some recommendations about his eyes and cheekbones that, now that Genos saw it in action, were well worth the consultation fee.

Genos watched him, supported by Bang, as he strode across the roof in what could only be called a strut, jumped into the air, and saved thousands of lives in a single punch.

If his battery reserves had been higher, Genos was sure he would have sprung an erection.

Genos could no longer deny that his feelings for Saitama were more than mere admiration. He'd been attracted to him from the start, of course, but physical attraction was easy enough to ignore. But the more time he spent with Saitama the more he cared about him. The more he...

The next few weeks only drove it in deeper. The way Saitama handled the fallout from the meteor, the way he took all the scorn after he defeated the Sea King, the way he brushed aside hate mail. Saitama wasn't only strong physically, but emotionally as well. He was everything Genos had always imagined of a hero.

And Genos was hopelessly, helplessly in love with him.

It didn't take long for Genos to get used to this new status quo. If anything, it was kind of nice. Knowing he loved him made taking care of Saitama more fulfilling somehow. Genos could admit a lot of things he'd been trying not to think about. Like how much Saitama's apartment felt like home. Like how living only for revenge had been slowly eating away at him. Like how he wasn't sure anymore how many of his memories of his family were real.

And though he never said any of this to Saitama, not wanting to burden him, something in his attitude must have changed, because Saitama started being more open too. The day he confessed to Genos that he felt empty and was worried he was losing his humanity, Genos cried for the first time in years, outside of the occasional PTSD flashback.

To think someone as amazing as Saitama, someone that strong, could be so human.

Knowing this, some of Saitama's actions made more sense. He was always interested when he heard about someone else who was extremely strong. Genos knew he wanted someone to commiserate with, someone to really understand. Genos tried, but he wanted to be stronger. To be as strong as Saitama, get his revenge, and then... then...

So it wasn't a surprise at all when they encountered a robot threatening a man on the street and calling him King, that Saitama was more interested in following King (after Genos reminded him who that was) than in taking out the robot.

King, in his hero persona, wore a vaguely leonine mask that covered half his face, including the rather distinctive scars that were visible now. It wasn't clear how the robot recognized him in civvies, but it had most likely been tracking his body signature or something along those lines. The robot was of more interest to Genos; if the lab where it was made had produced cyborgs at some time this could be a decisive lead.

So Saitama went to figure out why King hadn't come back, and Genos fought to nearly his last breath.

He didn't make it home from repairs until the next day. It was a basic job; Dr. Kuseno said he was preparing a big upgrade already, and might as well wait until he could incorporate the parts from the robot and do a full overhaul.

Saitama was playing a new video game, struggling to beat a high score, he said. But he shut it down as soon as he saved and gave Genos his full attention. This was rare. Genos told himself Saitama was worried because it was natural to be concerned about one's roommate, but it was hard not to read more into it.

"How was it with King?" Genos asked, to distract himself.

"Weird," Saitama shrugged. "He's kind of a nerd. Good at video games."

"Is he as strong as you?"

Saitama hesitated. "No."

"I'm sorry to say, but I'm not surprised. No one is as strong as sensei."

"Sure looks that way," Saitama agreed, shoulders sagging. He looked as blank-faced as ever, but Genos knew him well enough now to see how let down he was. "Are there any other heroes who are supposed to be like, physically strong?"

"Well, yes, a lot. But King is regarded as the strongest man in the world."

"Yeaaaah." Saitama made a face like there was more to this story, but Genos didn't pry.

"Aside from the Association heroes, there's also the One Punch Man."

Another face. "The who?"

"A vigilante. He only appeared about two years ago. No one knows much about him; he just shows up, destroys giant monsters in a single punch, and vanishes again."

"What's he look like? Where's he usually seen?"

"He wears a white cape and yellow costume, some kind of helmet, and a red mask. But that's all anyone's been able to determine from cell phone photos. He's been seen all over the world, but actually, there haven't been any sightings in months."

Saitama was carefully blank-faced again. "You... know a lot about this guy."

Genos nodded, sheepish. "I followed the sightings before I met you. I... liked the idea of a hero who simply did what needed to be done, without seeking glory."

"Is there a website or something?"

"Yes, sensei."

They brought it up and Saitama flipped through the gallery, expression getting more and more stony. The strange thing was, looking at these pictures again made Genos feel itchy. Like he was forgetting to take the garbage out.

"That big naked guy," Saitama said. "And the purple one with the antennas."

"Yes, sensei?"

Saitama pointed at the screen. "This one was like a big cartoon star with a human body. And," he scrolled down, to a picture that was mostly blood and guts, "these were like pig cavemen."

Realization dawned at a glacial pace. After all this time, after being a fan of both of them, it didn't seem possible.

"These... they were all you, sensei?"

He nodded. Then shook his head in disbelief. "So I was famous after all."

"It can't be," Genos blurted, immediately regretting it.

Saitama fixed him with a sharp glare that, despite everything, made Genos have to force-shutdown his sex subroutine. "Are you saying I'm lying?"

"No! Of course not, sensei. It's just... the One Punch Man shuns the spotlight. He only cares about the good of the world. Everyone knows that."

The glare only sharpened. "Is it bad to want to be appreciated?"

"No!"

"It's not like I want praise all the time."

"Sensei, I'd be happy to praise you, but you tell me not to."

Saitama started to look guilty. "That's because you make it sound like I'm perfect or something. I'm not."

"No, sensei, you're not perfect. You're human like anyone else. You have bad taste and make bad jokes, and you're insecure about your looks-"

"Oy!"

"But that's normal! It doesn't make you any less amazing. If you were truly selfless and flawless and without desire, you'd be inapproachable."

Saitama was blushing a little. From discomfort or embarrassment or flattery, Genos couldn't tell. "What, so my flaws are really plusses? I have no idea where you're going with this."

"I don't either," Genos admitted. "I think I... built up the One Punch Man as an unattainable ideal. I should have realized it was you the first time I saw your costume."

"I'm glad you didn't," Saitama muttered. "The disappointment probably would have made you hate me."

Genos tried very very hard not to read into that. It was enough that Saitama was admitting he wanted him around.

"I could never hate you," Genos said. He could hear the tenderness in his own voice, and not even Saitama was thick enough to miss it. Luckily all he did was blush harder.

"Y- you want to try this video game?"

Genos didn't, but he said, "Sure."

A few days later, Genos and Saitama finally got their hero names. With King having been outed by a robot, the Hero Association started pressing for everyone to put extra care into their secret identities, and having names to easily refer to them by helped with that.

At least, that was Genos' explanation for why Saitama had been dubbed "Caped Baldy."

"Many of the hero names are simplistic and based on appearance."

"But why 'Baldy?' Why not, like, 'White Cape?'" Saitama groaned. "They're trying to punish me for not wearing a whole head mask."

"I'm sure that's not why," Genos said. "I think that's far more thought than they put into it."

"Are they still trying to convince you to show most of your face?"

"Ah... yes." The pressure had only increased since his overhaul. Kuseno developed new artificial hair and skin for him, and Genos now looked fully human from the collarbone up (except for his eyes; those were especially susceptible to the "uncanny valley" effect, ironically meaning he looked less creepy the more artificial his eyes were).

"Maybe you should do it." Saitama sounded only a little bitter. "It's a good opportunity, right? And they're not dicks about it, I mean, you own the rights to your look."

"I don't need the money, sensei."

"But you'd have a lot more fans. Girl fans."

"I don't care about fans. And I wouldn't take advantage of someone who had a crush on me just for being a little famous."

"Right right, advantage," Saitama said quickly. "Haha! Who would do that?"

"You're really awful at bluffing, do you know that sensei?"

Along with the other heroes in the area, Saitama and Genos were invited to a meeting about secret identities. Saitama didn't want to go, but allowed King to guilt him into it, and in turn convinced Genos to come along. The three of them sat in the very back of the classroom, the rest of it filled with a couple of Tank Tops, some representatives of the Blizzard Group, and a handful of assorted weirdos. And Mumen Rider, front and center, prepared to take notes.

"Do you know him?" King asked when Rider waved at them. He was wearing his lion mask, despite being the reason for this meeting in the first place. The Hero Association had jumped on any phone pictures or videos of him online, but word had still gotten out, especially here in Z City, about the scars on his face. There weren't a lot of gigantic blond men, and even fewer with such distinctive marks. The good news was that the rumor mill was out of control; Genos had already seen "eyewitnesses" claiming that the entire side of his head was scar tissue, or cybernetic, or that he really was part lion.

"That's Mumen Rider," Genos said. "C Class, Rank 1. He's a good man."

"He takes this hero stuff really seriously," Saitama added.

Like Genos, Mumen wore a helmet instead of a mask, an off-the-rack motorcycle one. For the sake of the meeting he'd pushed the visor back, but all that was visible were his glasses.

After a few minutes of everyone sitting around, Saitama was fidgeting. King pulled out a gaming device and started playing. The various conversations around the room increased in volume from polite whispers to loud coffee shop.

Finally, a guy in a wolf mask stood up and said, "Nobody's coming."

"Someone must be," Mumen Rider said. "They made this meeting sound so important."

"They shouldn't keep us fucking waiting then!" The wolf snapped. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stormed off, muttering, "Waste of goddamn time."

"I'm with him," Saitama whispered to Genos. "Wanna take off?"

"It's strange," Genos said. "Mumen is right, the Association really stressed this meeting. Something must have happened."

The door slammed open and the wolf returned, hauling a guy in a snake-patterned suit by the collar. "Found him!"

Genos recognized the snake. A Class, rank... something low. He was the one who'd given he and Saitama a lecture the day they officially became heroes.

Behind his custom mask, matching the suit and glued to his face, the man's eyes kept darting toward Saitama. Who was currently watching King play a game about anime characters at war.

"Well," the man coughed. "I apologize for the delay. Important business."

"He was hiding in the bathroom," the wolf said.

"I'm only human!" He pulled himself up to his full height. "My name is Sneck. A Class, rank 37, which means I outrank most of you animals."

Sneck's eyes darted to the back again, where Saitama was leaning over King's shoulder, pointing at the game screen.

"You should marry that werewolf."

"I'm playing a guy, I can't marry him."

"That's bullshit!"

Sneck started on his lecture without reprimanding them. It sounded pretty generic so far, so Genos leaned over to murmur to Saitama.

"I think he's afraid of you, sensei."

"Mm, probably." Saitama agreed. "I did beat his face in last time."

"You did? Why?"

"He started it. Something about rookie-crushing. I wasn't in the mood so I ended it fast."

Sneck mentioned King by name, so the three of them looked up. He was talking about the robot incident.

"Even with masks, a high ranking hero can still be a target. So it's especially important you don't share your identity with anyone outside the Hero Association. Find a secure place to change, have a cover for your career. If you go on regular patrols, for example, you could claim to work at a convenience store or something equally boring so no one asks more. Or if you only go out when called, you could say you're a web designer whose clients need a lot of help."

Saitama had lost interest again, but Genos was thinking about the mindset this fostered. Paranoia, lying to friends and family. Did it really make a difference? It hadn't for King. And Amai Mask barely made an effort to hide who he was; the supermarket tabloids often reported him going shopping or running errands in his mask, and he appeared on TV often enough that there was an extensive record of his face to compare civilians to.

Genos didn't want the hassle, but it didn't matter. If you couldn't protect your loved ones, you shouldn't be a hero at all.

"Anyone can slip up," Sneck said. He clicked a device and some pictures were projected on the wall behind him. "Masks can come off in a fight."

There was Stinger, an A Class, his domino slipping down his cheek. There was the guy in the wolf mask, trying to shove it over spiky blond hair. There was Genos, his helmet cracked and over half his face exposed.

"Is this online?" Genos snapped.

"The Hero Association has excellent legal and technological departments. All photos like this are wiped from the web." Sneck hesitated. "As much as possible."

Which wasn't much.

"So this is all pointless." Genos reached up and triggered the switch at the back of his neck, making the helmet snap off and away.

Saitama glanced up from backseat gaming. "What are we doing, are we revealing our faces?"

"I am."

"Solidarity!" he exclaimed, and ripped his own mask off. " Ow.  Forgot that was glued."

A few other heroes did the same, the one in the wolf mask laughing madly. King didn't, ignoring the whole thing in favor of his game, and Mumen joined Sneck in trying to restore order. The meeting quickly dissolved into chaos.

"Let's go," King hissed.

"Yep," Saitama agreed. He shoved his mask back on, the spirit gum tacky enough to hold it, at least for now. "Good job Genos, I think you started a movement."

Genos wasn't sure if Saitama meant it as a real compliment, but he felt proud anyway.

The next day he got an angry call from the Hero Association, and he apologized as sincerely as he could fake. He'd still be wearing his helmet in fights, since it was, after all, a helmet. But he didn't see the point in hiding his face otherwise.

At least, not until the day's mail arrived and his take was suddenly twice as big as Saitama's.

"What's all that?"

There were pink envelopes, floral ones, ones with little drawings on the back. Genos opened one, cautiously, and got a whiff of perfume. The contents of the letters were all the same. The writer had seen his picture online and decided they admired him. After half a dozen like this, Genos gathered up the others to recycle without reading them.

"What are you doing?" Saitama demanded.

"Getting rid of some garbage, sensei."

"You have fangirls. And you're not even going to enjoy it?"

"I don't," he said. "I suppose I don't mind it, but these girls don't know anything about me except what half my face looks like. Their opinion means very little."

Saitama gave him a suspicious look. Like he thought Genos was trying to make a joke but wasn't succeeding. "You don't care what girls think?"

"No, not really."

"Like, at all?"

"I don't have any female friends, so, no. I don't care what any girls think of me."

The confusion drained away, and Saitama looked like he understood. " Ohh.  Okay. No problem, gotcha." He sighed. "What a waste."

"Sensei?"

Before he could ask for clarification, someone knocked on the door. The sound wasn't as foreign as it had been, since King started coming by, but he always called ahead. Which meant a stranger was out there. More importantly, a stranger Genos hadn't sensed coming.

"Better answer it," Saitama said, "It's that Handsome Mask guy."

"It is?" Genos stared at him. "How do you know, sensei?"

"He was spying on us when we picked up the mail drop."

With a sinking feeling in the memory of his stomach, Genos got up and opened the door. Sure enough, Amai Mask was standing there, hair perfect, hips canted. Posing for no one's benefit but his own.

"Demon Cyborg. Good to see you again."

"What do you want?"

"Just to talk." He smiled. "May I come in?"

Genos stepped out instead. "This is my sensei's apartment."

"Fair enough." He leaned back against the railing, looking dramatically out at the sky. "You've noticed by now, haven't you? Your face has gotten out."

"I wonder how that happened," Genos said coldly.

Amai's smile didn't falter. "You see what a difference a beautiful face can make? You've already jumped to near the top of the popularity rankings."

"I don't care about that."

"Let me put it in a way you'll understand." Suddenly Genos was pinned to the wall, Amai leaning over him with a single finger jabbed in his chest. "You need to get with the fucking program. You need to give me a reason to keep you alive. Because if you keep starting shit? You can be replaced. That's the nice thing about a full helmet like yours. It could be anyone under there."

Genos had never been threatened so blatantly, at least not by someone he wasn't already fighting. And the way Amai had overpowered him so easily, snuck up on them without Genos detecting him... He could back it up.

The door cracked open next to them, and Saitama leaned out, costumed but unmasked. "Hey. Genos, you need a hand?"

"No, sensei. Thank you."

Amai leaned back. There were cracks in the wall where his fingers had been. "I think we understand each other, right, Genos?"

Using his real name. "We do," Genos said.

"Good. See you later."

He strode off, one hand in his pocket, waving casually like he was saying goodbye to friends. Genos felt ill.

"I don't like that guy," Saitama said, standing back from the door to let Genos in. "What was that about? Was he threatening you or hitting on you?"

"Threatening," Genos answered. Saitama's expression got serious, the way it did during fights sometimes, and the unsettled churning in Genos' gut was replaced by arousal.

"I really don't like that guy."

"Neither do I," Genos agreed. "But he's not worth the time to fight." He'd gain nothing, and no doubt be severely damaged, if he even survived. "Tomorrow I think I'll go get fitted for a domino."

The mask was matte black, with a thin stripe of gold around the edge and enough of a gap around his eyes to preserve the contrast of his sclera. It stuck on with magnets rather than spirit gum, since he didn't know what the glue would do to his artificial skin.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he felt more like someone who'd gotten lazy with a party costume than a real hero. But... he'd never felt like a hero. Not really.

Saitama sat up and whistled when Genos walked out with it. "Wow, you look cool."

Genos felt his cooling fans kick on. "Really?"

"Yeah! Dang. Your fans are gonna lose their shit."

Saitama wasn't wrong. The day after Genos officially revealed his face (still masked, but less so) he got three times the letters he had from even the accidental reveal last week. Once again, while sorting through it, someone knocked on the door. This time however, Genos had sensed them coming well outside the perimeter.

"I think it's for you, sensei."

"Yeah?"

He hopped up to get it, keeping a finger in his book to hold his place. Genos turned to watch, expecting King, only to see a much shorter and less intimidating specimen. He didn't look familiar, until Genos recognized the motorcycle helmet under his arm.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Mumen Rider said, "but Saitama-san, can we talk?"

He let Mumen in and Genos brought him a cup of tea. He liked Mumen; the man had saved his life once, and he was the first person to send Saitama a thank you letter. In fact, he was the only person, so far.

"Sorry for the intrusion," Mumen said again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, flipping through screens until he came to a photo. "I know how you feel about the masks, but I thought someone had to tell you." He held out his phone, and Saitama and Genos both squinted at the small screen.

It was them. Unmasked, uncostumed, grocery shopping. From the sale posters in the background, it looked like it was taken yesterday evening.

"That was fast," Saitama said mildly.

"I'm sorry sensei," Genos said, clasping his hands in his lap. "Since I decided to cave to peer pressure, you're now the subject of scrutiny as well."

"It's not your fault."

"Indeed," Mumen said, a hint of reproach in his voice. "It's yours, Saitama-san."

"Yeaaaah, kinda, sorry."

"What?" That didn't make sense. Saitama's appearance was distinctive, but so was Genos'. And Genos was far more popular, despite all logic.

"I've been going out without my mask. Since that meeting where you said it was pointless."

"For a whole week? Sensei, you've destroyed two monsters and stopped three robberies in that time."

"Well you were right! I only added the mask to my costume because the guy who made it for me said I should. 'Heroes wear masks,' he said. I don't care about protecting my privacy, I'm not popular enough to get stopped on the street or anything. I only had a vengeful stalker once, and he learned his lesson, believe me."

Mumen frowned a little. "You're very strong Saitama-san. Have you never had someone try to track you down because of that?"

Saitama pulled a face. "Kinda. Couple times, if you count Genos."

Genos smiled. "You told me your name, sensei, I don't think that counts."

Mumen tried again. "If someone tracked you down, they could do the same to your loved ones."

"My only loved one is Genos."

For a moment, the apartment was so quiet Genos could hear the fridge running. Then his own fans kicked into overgear, and he exclaimed, "Sensei!"

"I, uh." Saitama's face was slowly turning red from the neck up. "Shit."

Mumen coughed and climbed to his feet. "You know, I completely forgot I had a... an appointment. So, thank you for having me, but I should get going."

"Yep, yep, okay." Saitama followed him to the door, where he whispered something even Genos couldn't hear. He stood there until Mumen's footsteps faded, holding onto the doorknob, making no move to come back to the table.

"Sensei?"

"Sorry," he muttered.

Genos took a breath he didn't need. "Sensei, please tell me what you meant by that."

"I- I meant what I said." He hunched his shoulders.

"That's not enough!" Genos said it louder than he intended. He was afraid to stand up, he didn't know what he would do if he tried to approach Saitama now. "What did you mean, please, sensei, I need to know."

Saitama's shoulders were shaking, his forearm trembling from gripping the knob. Genos had never seen him like this. "Promise me something first?"

"Anything."

"Promise you won't leave? No matter what I say."

Genos stood up so fast he actually got a little dizzy. "Sensei I will never leave you." He heard himself say it, and added, "Unless you ask me to."

"Okay." Saitama finally let go of the doorknob. Even from across the apartment, Genos could see the finger marks in it. His face was calm, but his hands were still shaking.

Genos felt like a villain.

"I'm in love with you. You know. Romantically." Saitama gave half a smile. "Sorry. I don't know how it happened. I didn't think I could swing both ways, but... I'm totally in love with you." Genos took a step toward him, but stopped when Saitama held up his hands. "I promise, I won't do anything to you. I was never going to tell you. I know you'll find somebody someday, and-"

"Sensei!" Genos realized he was smiling. "I love you too!"

Saitama blinked. "You. You do?"

"Yes!  You thought I didn't?"

"Of course! Why would I-"

Genos crossed the room in three steps, grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. For a second he was afraid he'd be pushed away, but instead Saitama shoved him against the wall and kissed harder. Genos found his head tilting back and his knees bending, instinctively pressing his body into Saitama's to deepen the contact.

When Saitama pulled back, Genos was panting, and had to brace his hand against the wall to stay upright. He'd kissed before, a few times, a lifetime ago. But never felt like this.

"You're not worried about my enemies coming after you, are you?" Saitama asked, teasing, confidence returned.

"It's worth it."