Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saitama ran down the hallway as fast as he could. He had to make it to the bathroom, and he had to make it fast.

Ten minutes previously, after finishing a very boring conference meeting, he and Genos had found a new drink machine in one of the Hero Association lobbies. When they found out how large the drinks in the machine actually were, their competitive spirit naturally reared its ugly head and demanded they find a way to use it as a competition.

Genos had used his "pocket change" (read: $40) to buy them both more than enough canned tea for a chugging contest. Obviously, Genos won. And Saitama really, really needed to pee.

"The nerve of that guy," Saitama gritted as he ran, "Accepting my ridiculous eating and drinking contests when he doesn't even have a stomach!... Or a bladder... Dammit, this is his fault!.. I guess it's a little bit my fault too, for coming up with the idea, but... Fucking Genos, man!!"

-----

Sweet Mask stepped into the Hero Association's bathroom and locked the door knob. For the third time that week. For a couple of years, he hadn't had to lock himself in a bathroom and force inspiration so often, but recently, he'd been making it a particularly bad habit, rather than a once-in-a-while ritual. He hated this, not being able to turn creativity on and off again.... Where was inspiration when you needed it??

Suddenly the door knocked. Sweet Mask jumped and turned around to face the door.

"Hey, is someone in there??"

Speak of the fucking devil.

Could it be... The Guy?? That one good samaritan who saved his ass on a deadline?? The miracle worker who helped him gain inspiration for his smash hit, "Beautiful Hero" in a matter of seconds?? That guy?? The Guy guy??? The the??? Guy??

No. Life was probably fucking with him again. Lots of people had high, yet attractive and masculine voices.

"Sorry... Please wait a bit longer." Sweet Mask said sadly.

"Eh?!" The voice said on the other side of the door, "Toilet-Dude, is that you?!!"

Toilet-Dude. This man either didn't know who he was, or... Or really, there wasn't any other explanation. But it did imply one thing. This might be The Guy!!!

----

"Yes!! Yes, and you must be the good samaritan who helped me through last time!" Toilet Dude called from the door.

A lot of words flew through Saitama's mind in that moment. The most prominent of which were "Shit" and "Fuck".

Saitama was about to say "Well, nice to run into you again, but I gotta go (Literally)!" But Toilet-Dude went on:

"Your words helped me so much last time, and I... I must ask you of your services again!"

Shit. Toilet Dude sounded like a pervert... Was he?

"My... My services??" Saitama asked, incredulously.

"I'll pay you a good amount!! Plus extra for last time!" Toilet Dude cried desperately.

"I-..." Was this prostitution?? No... It would only count as prostitution if something went in. And maybe this guy wasn't a pervert, he was just a random dude with really bad constipation.

"I'll hear you out, but you don't have to pay. Just make it quick.."Saitama crossed his legs, "Real quick."

"Oh, thank you, kind sir!!" Toilet Dude exclaimed.

"Uh. So what's the problem, nothing solid coming out?" Saitama asked, wincing a little bit.

"Well, you see," Toilet Dude started, "It's not so much as nothing solid. Solid things come out of me more often, thanks to you."

Oh, jeez.

"But my problem nowadays.. I don't just want to just squeeze anything out... I want to make a big splash!"

"S-... Splash?" Saitama squeaked out.

"Yes! I need to drain everything with potential from me and pour it into this world!"

"O-oh... Oh." Saitama moaned in a pained response. He crossed his legs tighter and peed a little out his eyes as a tear fell down his face.

"I have something hot flooding through me, and I just need it to gush out!"

"G-gush... Flood... I, ah.. See..." Saitama zipped across the hall to hit the elevator button. If the Hero Association had stairs like a normal fucking building, he could have sped out, peed in a bush, and maybe helped this guy with.... Whatever he was struggling with, but no. Elevators were "fancy" and "innovative". Meanwhile, if Saitama just punched through the wall, they'd know it was him and lower his rank... And pay..

"I don't want to just wet my feet here," Toilet Dude continued, "I want to shower everyone with what's in me. I'm ready to burst!"

Woah... Was he seriously thinking of pissing... On multiple civilians??

"Dude, don't you think that's a little uh... Ambitious?" Saitama reasoned, trying very hard not to pee his pants right there. Blood rushed to his head as the pressure of his own body fought against him.

"Ambitious? What do you mean?" Toilet Dude questioned.

Shit. Shit. Saitama was going past his limit. This was worse than last time.. He turned to se the fucking elevator STILL wasn't here!! Why did the drink machine have to be on the floor with one private bathroom?? Sweat dripped down his face as his body tried to compensate for not releaving his very full bladder while he tried to think of a way to bullshit his way to the toilet.

"Ahh.. A full rain storm can't come from one human! Just relax and let a gentle stream flow through you. Don't try to control it, but become it's vessel." Oh, man, of all the bullshit he bullshat, this took the cake. This guy would demand a better analogy and... Ohhhh, he had to pee. He had to pee RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!

"Your words are so inspiring, sir. Thank you.. For all this, I feel like... I can almost-"

"Dude. Dude, you have to open the door right now." Saitama interrupted.

"Hm?" Toilet Dude asked, "Why?"

"Because I am a pin-drop away from fucking bursting."

----

Bursting? Just like he wanted to right now. Did The Guy want to.. Brainstorm ideas with him? Without another question, Sweet Mask opened the door,

And barely registered the blur of yellow, red and white zip past him and to the urinal. The Guy was none other than Saitama, the B-Class who became well-known for stealing other heroe's credit. As goofy as he looked, Sweet Mask couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with that story. He had seen the footage, this guy seemed like he had amazing potential... If he stopped shaving his head and drew on some eyebrows, maybe. But at the moment, he had nothing going on for him besides his strength.

"Dammit!!" Saitama grunted, having taken off his cape and currently fiddling with his waistband, "That tailor... Why'd he make it so the shirt connects the pants??? I mean.. I can't get pants'd now, but at what cost when the belt gets stuck?!"

Saitama seemed to really have to go to the bathroom. But maybe that's what he'd approached the bathroom first anyway. Sweet Mask felt a little bad for hogging it now.

"I just.. I can't-! AAAAAAAAA!!!!" In a flash of impatience, Saitama forced the belt down his hips along with the rest of the suit, successfully stripping himself naked down to the knees, and wooooww, that was one big, beefy back.

The room blared with the sound of water rushing with the force of a pressured fire hydrant against the urinal, as the other man relieved himself and threw his head back.

"FFFFAAAAAAAAAAA~!!!!"

Saitama began to relax as he placed one hand on his (angular, well-toned) hip and aimed with the other. Sweet Mask had so many questions. Such as,

"What's the point of aiming when you've already destroyed the urinal?"

He watched Saitama look back down and jump in shock as he realized the porcelain had cracked on the stream's impact and sank into the crumbling wall. The... Indestructible wall made of alien spaceship material...

"Oops..." Saitama said, still staring down, "In my defense, you made me hold it for way too long."

"Don't say 'oops', like it's just an everyday event!" Sweet Mask berated, "How many public urinals have you destroyed because you couldn't control your power?"

"Hmmm..." Saitama reminisced, whilst still pissing, "There was this one time Z City herded me into a shelter. But it didn't have any bathrooms for some stupid reason so I had to punch my way out and... Well, the park bathroom I found didn't hold up as well as this one. And then the last time you hogged the bathroom while I was about to shit myself. Hah. I had to race down to the port-a-potty at my construction site... The impact caused the foundation to slant... Got me fired."

His story sounded insane, but Sweet Mask was forced to believe it. If the ever-growing hole in the impenetrable fortress of solitude they were in was anything to attest to.

"I am... Truly sorry for costing you your job, but- HOW ARE YOU STILL GOING, SAITAMA?!"

At that moment, the stream died down, and Saitama's reign of terror on the urinal was over. Saitama began to shake himself dry, as if he hadn't peed a urinal to death.

"Hey, you call me Saitama!" He said, happily. "It's kind of a relief to not hear someone call me 'Caped Baldy'. The H.A really screwed me over in the hero name department."

Oh, that was his hero name? Hm. Sweet Mask wouldn't have known. After watching the footage of Saitama punching the Sea King to death, he quickly faded into obscurity, and Sweet Mask lost interest. But Saitama really shouldn't badmouth the H.A like that, if he knew what was good for him. What ugly behavior..

"But to answer your question," Saitama continued, as he reached down (Sweet Mask tried not to stare) to tug up his uniform, "Genos-Erm.. Demon Cyborg and I got into a tea-drinking competition and.. Well, I kind of drank ten cans.... Ah.. This stupid belt.."

Sweet Mask remembered something... Saitama was at that udon shop too... When he tried to get Genos on the right path to being a beautiful hero!

"You got into an eating contest with him too at that udon shop..." Sweet Mask recalled.

"What are you, some kind of stalker?!" Saitama huffed, and turned around, forgetting to pull the rest of his suit over his chest.

What the fuck was up with this guy's muscles, Sweet Mask thought. Saitama looked like a dopey, slender otaku, but take off his clothes and he's suddenly ripped. He would have felt threatened, had not Saitama's eyes widen in recognition. He pointed a finger up to him.

"Hey, hey!" Saitama grinned,

Here it came, Sweet Mask thought bitter-sweetly. The hero worship would happen sooner or later, and he should have known that.

"You're that guy. Tasty-Face!"

What.

"Tasty-Face..." Sweet Mask echoed coldly.

"Yeah, the hero with a bunch of fan girls?" Saitama shrugged.

"I.. Yes, I'm.. First of all, the name's 'Sweet Mask', and I'm... Come on! I'm rated the most popular hero in the world! Do you even know what I do besides my hero work?"

"Nope!" Saitama said, grinning like some stupid baby devil.

"My.. My TV series, or music?" Sweet Mask nearly begged.

"Nah, I just watch emergency reports and anime." Saitama replied.

"Saitama," Sweet Mask said seriously, "Have you ever heard the hit pop song, 'Beautiful Hero'?"

"Eh, not that I recall." Saitama said, rubbing his chin.

A piece of Sweet Mask hurt and he didn't know what or why.

"Dude, why the long face?" Saitama said, noticing Sweet Mask's sudden agitation, "You're the most popular hero in the world, right? I'm sure lots of people have heard it. So what if I haven't? I live in an abandoned district-"

"I wrote that song because of you." Sweet Mask said in half-disbelief.

".. Okay, now I know you're fucking with me," Saitama said, "No one writes hit pop songs because I did anythi-"

"When I locked myself in the bathroom. I was feeling very stressed from an upcoming deadline for an album, and you helped me relax, and realize time wasn't fleeting as much as I thought it was. Ideas didn't feel forced anymore, I felt... Free." Sweet Mask admitted.

"Dude, is that what that was about? Creative ideas?" Saitama said, cocking his head, "I thought you were like, constipated."

"WHAT!!" Sweet Mask whipped his head forward to stare at Saitama with red eyes, and an expression usually reserved for children who just found out that their parents had to have had sex in order to bring them into this world.

"Uh, yeah, you were saying shit like, 'It seems like if I use force, something might come out', and 'when I’m alone nothing good comes out nicely', and 'there are much greater things inside of me just waiting to stir'!"

Sweet Mask shuddered. His face turned red.

"Dude, do you even listen to yourself when you're in a bathroom?" Saitama asked, finally zipping his outfit and clipping his cape back on.

"I... I thought you really understood me." Sweet Mask nearly sobbed.

Saitama's face switched to one of mild compassion at that moment.

"Look, man.. Uh.."

"SENSEI!" Metal clomping against metal got louder and louder until big, bad, blonde Genos came stomping into the bathroom. He took one look at the urinal encrusted in broken space metal. "What happened?"

"Well, Genos," Saitama said, looking smug all of a sudden, "I might never beat you in a drinking contest.. But I can clearly beat you in a pissing contest."

Genos stared blankly at him for exactly three seconds.

"Sensei, that makes no sense, my body doesn't have the ability to urinate, nor have I made the attempt-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Saitama rolled his eyes. Which caused him to catch sight of Sweet Mask in the corner and suddenly register his presence again. "Eh. Sweet Mask.."

"Forget it." Sweet Mask said, holding up a hand.

"What did I miss?" Genos asked, looking between the two men, "Did Sweet Mask say anything to you?"

"Genos. Or, Demon Cyborg, rather." Sweet Mask said. Genos turned his head, "Why do you follow Caped Baldy? Does he... Inspire you?"

"Yes!" Genos shouted far too loudly for a private bathroom, "Sensei inspires me every day to become a better hero tomorrow than I am today! I have written down countless quotes and mannerisms of his in hopes that I can learn something valuable from him daily!"

"You write it down, huh..." Sweet Mask said, walking past them and bumping into Saitama "Don't waste too much ink. Half the time, he probably just has to poop."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Genos asked, "And how dare you say something so vulgar about Sensei!"

Sweet Mask simply walked on.

-----

"Maybe Sensei says inspiring things when he has to poop because he does great under pressure, ever think about that?!" Genos called after him.

"Genos... Dude..." Saitama put a hand on Genos' shoulder arm and shook his head in disapproval.

"MY APOLOGIES, SENSEI!" Genos said, bowing deeply.

Saitama just sighed. He actually kinda felt bad about Sweet Mask's situation. Saitama could relate. When Genos told him he was "SO FULL OF SHIT" for believing that his hard work and dedication to his exercise regimen was the cause of his insane strength, he'd reflected on it for days. Eventually it had pulled him into another existential crisis. He hoped Sweet Mask wasn't having a similar experience right now... He'd have to be careful around that guy from now on...

Chapter Text

Genos was honored to be Saitama’s student. He loved learning from him, even if there was a slim, near-impossible chance he could actually learn about his incredible strength. He took notes, he cleaned his sensei’s house, he scrubbed the toilet he didn’t even need to use, and he invited him to secret S-class meetings just to have his teacher by his side at all times.

But there was something unprofessional about their relationship, something probably taboo in the world of teachers and students: Genos loved Saitama as if he were a father to him.

Saitama was like his father; Down-to-Earth, cheap, had a terrible sense of fashion, and found fun competition in every-day activities. But Saitama was also like his mother; Routine personality, an expert on coupons and sales, bad at cleaning, but great at cooking, and concerned about the well-being of the people around them. Both his parents didn’t have much, but they made sure to use what spare money they had to let Genos experience something new with them when they could. Saitama was poor, but he saved for moths to take Genos to festivals with him.

And although Saitama could never completely fill the hole Genos’ parents left in his life, he could fill the role of a loving mentor Genos didn’t know he needed until he became a disciple. After four years of going off on his own on his hunt for revenge, with limited, business trips to Kuseno’s every so often, he didn’t think he needed someone to prepare him a meal at the dinner table, someone to wake him up and comfort him when he was having a nightmare, someone to carry him when he was unable to stand. Even though he could previously survive without all of that before alone, he simply couldn’t go without it now. Saitama had become a very important person in his life. Maybe even more than Doctor Kuseno, who had pointed out that Genos had started to stay longer when he came in for repairs and make friendlier conversation, ever since he started living with Saitama.

He was a little embarrassed to bring it up. After all, how does someone tell their emotionally constipated mentor that they love them as a father? Especially when they were only a few years older, and self-conscious about their appearance? But then again, Genos believed Saitama somehow already knew. You can only accidentally almost call someone “Dad” so many times before causing suspicion. But Saitama didn’t seem bothered by it at all… If anything, he only became more caring as time went on. But Saitama was as bad as Genos addressing seemingly “unnecessary” things... Maybe he believed they came to a collected understanding about their dynamic.

One time, Saitama had caught Genos staring at a father and son playing catch in a park. The next day, Saitama had brought them to their training canyon to “test” how far Genos could throw a boulder. They ended up tossing it to each other across the canyon. Although it didn’t have any real educational value, Genos recorded it anyway, because it was a very memorable day for him.

Saitama was so important to him. So if something seemed to be bothering his sensei, it bothered him as well. So that’s why, as Saitama barely picked at his lunch as he watched his favorite anime with an upset look on his face, Genos was feeling a little unnerved at the moment. He’d been like this for the past two days. His encounter with Sweet Mask seemed to have really bothered his sensei. But Saitama never got bothered by what other people thought of him… Just what exactly did he miss? He didn’t want to bother Saitama about it when they got home, but the sad mood surrounding them was getting to be too much. Genos needed closure and peace in their house again.

“Sensei, is something wrong?” He asked.

“Hm? No, why?” Saitama said, contorting his face back to his stoic, milquetoast expression.

“You seem a little down,” Genos explained, “I thought beef and cabbage ramen while watching your favorite anime would cheer you up, but something still seems to be bothering you… Am I wrong?”

“Oh… Nah.” Saitama replied, “Dinner’s great. You know me, my face just looks like that.”

Now, that was a bold-headed lie. Genos needed to know what was bothering Saitama, but he was obviously hiding something. But the blonde had a trump card… Something he didn’t want to use against his amazing sensei, but he needed to know what his deal was…. It was a little bit of a gamble, but Genos was sure of the outcome…

“Does my… Presence bother you, Sensei? Should I leave for a while?”

“WHAT, DUDE, NO!!” Sensei shouted as he slammed his hands against the table, leaving a small indent, “You’re always welcome here!! I guess I just… Uh…”

“Just what?” Genos asked calmly.

“Have you ever heard of Sweet Mask’s song, Beautiful Hero?”

So it was about Sweet Mask… Genos’ eyes narrowed.

“Yes, it is his top hit. I hear it often on the radio, and my Pandora station.” Genos answered, “Why? Sensei is usually not concerned with pop music.”

“Aaaahh!!” Saitama moaned, curling in on himself in what seemed to be emotional pain.

“What is wrong, Sensei?” Genos asked.

“I kinda… Accidentally inspired that song two years ago…” Saitama answered from his fetal position.

“What? That is amazing!” Genos blurted out, “As expected of Sensei, to inspire the one song I enjoy from Sweet Mask… But… Why are you upset?”

Saitama then told him the story of how he accidentally came across Sweet Mask while waiting to use the toilet. How he confused Sweet Mask’s writers’ block with constipation. And as he did, Genos tried to keep his little smirk off his face.

“So Sweet Mask writes his songs on the toilet….” Genos tittered, once Saitama finished his story, “And his top hit was inspired by you thinking he had trouble defecating?” Genos gave out a little, muffled giggle, high-pitched, and incredibly creepy, having not laughed for quite a while.

“Yeah… Hey, don’t laugh!!” Saitama said, crossing his arms, “I mean, you should laugh more often, but this is serious!!”

“Serious?” Genos asked, sobering up.

“Hobbies and life passions are important. No matter how strange someone’s goals seem to be, you should never make fun of them, Genos. Our personal endeavors are what keep us sane.” Saitama said, sporting his trademark serious expression.

“I apologize, Sensei!!” Genos said, pulling out his notebook, suddenly inspired, “I must write this down, thank you for this important lesson!!”

“The thing is, this is what’s dragging my mood down,” Saitama continues, “He wrote this great song that got super popular because I helped him, but I never knew about it. And now he’s embarrassed of the inspiration now… I kinda ruined his magnum opus for him…”

“Sensei, you have not ruined anything!!” Genos assured, “No matter how he was inspired, Sweet Mask wrote that song. It came completely from him. All you did was help him find it in himself. Your methods of teaching are often unorthodox, but the result is always the same. You help people succeed!”

Saitama stared at him, mouth agape.

“Was I rambling, Sensei?”

“No, dude, that was just… Exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks.”

Saitama looked at his bowl of ramen, took a big bite, and continued to watch his anime with a smile on his face now.

Genos smiled as well. He loved it when he could be a help to his Sensei.

----------

One week later, Sweet Mask was pacing in his suite’s bathroom. Of course, the month his deadline is coming up, he had to have that dream-crushing encounter with Caped Baldy. From his first encounter with him, up until before last week, he came up with great ideas in the bathroom. Why couldn’t he now? Had Caped Baldy fixed, then ruined his bathroom idea experience for him? Would he have been better off in ignorance??

His cell phone rang from the top of the sink. He looked at the number and sighed, before picking it up.

“What do you want, Hiroto?” He grumbled into the receiver.

“Uh-oh. You sound stressed out,” Replied the voice of Sweet Mask’s agent, “I was gonna call to see if you were having trouble with your deadline, which, judging by how close the deadline is, as well as your tone, you are.”

“Yeah,” Sweet Mask answered, “I was actually going to request another month-“

“A MONTH?!” Sweet Mask held his phone away so the sounds of his angry agent would reach anywhere else in the room but his ear, “Listen, Sweet Mask, we’ve already generously extended your deadlines far more than anyone else in our company so you could continue with your hero endeavors. If you can’t handle this simple deadline by next week, you’re proving that you really can’t handle this much work to the both of us. You hear me?”

Silence, then, a defeated, “Yes…”

“Good. Let’s hope you can handle your job this week.”

*Click*

Sweet Mask felt the skin on his neck web and knot in anger, before calming himself down. He couldn’t stand around in the bathroom any longer and stew about his overbearing agent. He decided maybe taking a walk through the city might help his thinking process get back on track. After shedding his bathrobe and slipping into his ski-cap, aviator shades, and street clothes, he was out the door. He didn’t feel like running into any fans today.

It was a mostly uneventful walk. Children were playing in the street, a woman’s dog barked at him as he passed, and every so often, couples would argue about what they were going to eat later tonight as they walked by him. Thankfully, no one noticed who he was. He felt like he might have something resembling an idea for a last song, so he decided to turn back to his “Sweet Suite” in R city when he heard a loud guttural scream.

A monster!!

He rushed to the center of where people were running away from to see a giant, gelatinous looking octopus… But in front of the monster, there was someone standing in front picking his nose like an idiot.

Of course it had to be Saitama.

But what was he standing around for?

“I AM JELL-OCTOPUS!!!” The monster bellowed, “I USED TO REALLY LIKE THAT CHEWY CRUST THAT FORMED ON JELL-O WHEN YOU LEFT IT IN THE FRIDGE FOR TOO LONG!!! BUT NO ONE ELSE WANTED TO TOUCH IT!!! I COULDN’T HANDLE OTHER PEOPLE HAVING A DIFFERENT OPINION ON THIS SO I COOKED A BUNCH OF JELL-O AND LEFT IT IN THE FRIDGE SO IT WOULD FORM THAT SKIN, AND I TRIED TO SELL IT ON THE STREET TO GET IT POPULAR!!! BUT THEY CALLED ME WEIRD SO I JUST ATE ALL THAT JELL-O SKIN AND NOW I-“

A large *SQUISH* cut Jell-Octopus off as Sweet Mask dove in to punch the monster’s body, un-able to let this rambling… THING live another second. But on impact, Jell-Octopus’s thick, chewy, disgusting skin grew over Sweet Mask’s fist and pulled him in. Sweet Mask kicked and punched in every direction as he became surrounded in Jello-O crust.

“AND NOW I GIVE FREE SAMPLES!!!”

Jell-O crust formed around Sweet Mask’s nose and mouth, blocking off his airway faster than the rate he could pull it off. His eyes turned read as he suffocated. As Sweet Mask struggled and squirmed, he saw Saitama walk up calmly to the monster, reach for his body, and…

Pull the crusty skin clean off, as if it were a table cloth. In an instant, the Jell-Octopus’s softer, more gelatinous innards spilled out, as it lost what was holding its form together. Saitama wadded through the middle of the spilled Jell-O to reach Sweet Mask, and helped pull off the tough skin that had covered his body. Sweet Mask swatted his hand away to show that he could pull the crust off his own body, before doubling over and gagging up chunks of freakishly dry Jell-O.

“Hey, you okay, dude?” Saitama asked, patting his back as if he were an infant who needed to be burped.

“What the hell was that?!” Sweet Mask replied, “Why did you freeze up in front of that monster? You knew how to stop it, why were you just standing there? The Hero Association has no place for anyone who just… Stops on the battlefield!”

Saitama shrugged, “I dunno. I saw a giant octopus made of Jell-O and I wanted to know what his story was. You can’t just kill something right away before wondering what caused that. It probably would have bothered me if I just killed it.”

“THAT’S IT?!” Sweet Mask cried, “I would have been alright if you said you were studying the monster for a weakness… But you were just curious?? Do you know how much damage your hesitance could cause?!”

Saitama just stared blankly.

“AAAA, This is humiliating!!!” Sweet Mask cried, turning away from Saitama. Even rookie heroes who barely knew how to do their job were saving him now! Maybe his agent was right. Maybe he couldn’t do both… None of his accomplishments mattered at this moment.

“Don’t sweat it, you’re having a bad day, is all.” Saitama said, patting his back. Sweet Mask jerked away as if someone touched him with a cattle prod.

“I can’t have bad days! I’m a face of justice, an A-list actor, a writer and performer of top-ten hits… If I have a bad day, what does that make me? A mediocre nobody, that’s what!” Sweet Mask ranted, “I’m NOT mediocre! I’m… I’m…”

Saitama opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud shriek, followed by multiple murmuring. He reached to the top of his head to realize the monster had sucked his cap and shades from his head!

“Is that Sweet Mask?”

“AAAA! Is he hurt?”

“Boys, get those cameras up, we’ve got a new story to cover!”

“He’s covered in goo!”

“Caped Baldy has goo on him too… But he’s still standing?”

“Shit.” Sweet Mask hissed. In front of him, a reporter held up a microphone and began her story.

“People, I’m standing here in the middle of R City where a giant, Gelatin monster has recently been taken down. Videos recorded on cell phones by citizens who kept their distance from the fight show Sweet Mask, Class-A Rank One of the Hero Association, plunging his fist into the monster before getting sucked in. Sweet Mask looked as if he were finished for good, when he got help from an unlikely ally, Caped Baldy, Class B Rank Sixty-Three, who was seen ripping the skin off the monster, reducing it to a harmless pile of goop!”

The reporter turned to Saitama, holding her microphone to his face, “Caped Baldy, what were you feeling when you saw Sweet Mask in the middle of the monster?”

Saitama looked down to Sweet Mask, still on the floor. The celebrity made brief eye-contact with him before quickly looking away, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a long, quiet exhale.

“I was thinking… Wow, thanks for tenderizing the Jell-O inside, dude! Now this skin is way easy to pull off!”

Sweet Mask looked up, his eyes going wide. What was he doing?

“Caped Baldy… What do you mean by that? Can you elaborate?” The reporter said.

“Well, I mean,” Saitama went on, “The dude just jumped in, and started moving in such a way that broke up all the crusted goo on the inside. He was like a human blender! Pulling the skin off tenderized meat is way easier than tough meat! But since I actually took the monster down, I still get credit! Heheheheh… Ahahahahaha!!!”

Sweet Mask winced at Saitama’s fake villain laugh. He winced again as the crowd around them started booing the bald man. Was this really happening? Was Saitama really making himself look bad, for his sake? No one could possibly care that much about others to give up this much Hero credit. Especially not for Sweet Mask. Most heroes envied and despised the Class-A Rank-1 Hero. Why was Saitama standing up for him??

The reporter looked less than impressed. “Are you telling me that you’re mooching credit off of higher hero’s work?”

Saitama shrugged, holding his hands palm-up, smirking, “If not me, than who?”

“What!! Get him outta here!!”

“Booo!!! Boooooo!!!”

“Give it up, Baldy!”

As the crowd jeered him, Saitama’s expression became more and more smug. Was he some sort of a masochist? What was his game here? Before he could continue his train of thought, the reporter’s microphone was aimed at him. She asked him something, but he wasn’t paying attention. For the first time in his life, Sweet Mask was speechless!

“Oh, I wouldn’t talk to him right now!” Saitama said, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder, “He was spinning at such a great velocity, he made himself dizzy! He’s a little confused and disoriented right now, so I was gonna escort him to his suite.”

“But… I just saw you talking to him?” The reporter said.

Saitama covered her mic with his hand and whispered, “Yeah, but he was telling me about how he was hearing the color orange, and how the sidewalk started looking like a maze. Don’t report this, you don’t want Sweet Mask’s heroics to demean himself, do you?”

Unbeknownst to Saitama, the media, namely news reporters, were often warned by the H.A to portray class A and Class S heroes in a better light, especially Sweet Mask, the most popular man in the world currently. If someone aired a story on Sweet Mask acting unprofessional, the CEO’s at the station would give them hell!

“Oh… No,” The reporter said meekly, watching Saitama sling Sweet Mask’s arm around his shoulder and walk away, “Uh… Make sure he’s alright!”

“Will do. Thanks, Lady!” Saitama said, walking down a path the police blocked from the public.

Once they were out of sight, Sweet Mask shoved him away.

“Okay, what do you want?” He asked.

Saitama looked at him for a minute, one eyebrow raised, “Hah?”

“You couldn’t have just… Given up credit, good publicity, making me play the humiliating role of damsel in distress… Just so I could have my pride!” Sweet Mask answered, “Now what do you want? Money? Fame? It can’t be fame, judging by what happened…. Sex?? You want sex?”

“Dude.” Saitama said, holding a hand up, “You seem like you’ve been having a bad day. Bad week, if I think about it. I’m sorry I put you in a bad mood last time we met. I didn’t realize how important your music career was.”

Sweet Mask stared at Saitama, flabbergasted and covered in melting Jell-O. “What do you want??”

Saitama stared at him, looking slightly annoyed. Finally, he sighed.

“I want…” He started.

Sweet Mask knew it. No one did something like that without wanting something big in return!! But what could someone like Saitama want? Maybe he wanted money. According to Genos, they lived in the abandoned part of Z city. One could only imagine how shitty the housing was there. Did he want money to pay the rent, or would he go for the gold and ask for a suite in a nicer city. Or maybe it was sex. Even though Saitama had a perfect body, he was kind of a butter face. And he was bald. And thanks to his recent endeavors, not very popular. It would be… An experience, at least… Oh!!! He must want a good word at the Association! That had to be it! What did Caped Baldy seem to care about more than anything? Credit, that’s wha-

“A copy of your Beautiful Hero album on CD.” Saitama finished.

“You… What?” Sweet Mask balked, thoroughly confused now.

“I mean, I feel kinda bad, never hearing that one song I… Accidentally… Inspired.” Saitama explained.

“Why would you want to hear it now?” Sweet Mask asked, “Knowing it was just some shitty mistake, knowing it has no meaning now, why would you-“

“SHUT IT!”

“Huh?”

“You wrote that song. You did, not me!” Saitama said, jabbing a finger in Sweet Mask’s Jell-O soaked chest, “The source of inspiration takes nothing from that! In fact, it makes the song better because you took something so small and stupid and made something big out of it! Inspiration could come from sitting on a serene mountain, or watching cherry blossoms fall, or listening to frogs chirping at night, but it could also come from sitting in front of someone way too loud in a movie theater, getting coffee spilled on your favorite shirt, stepping in dog shit, it could come from anything at the right time! But whatever results in art, that’s credited to who was inspired! And that’s why I want to hear that freaking song!”

Saitama started to catch his breath as Sweet Mask mulled over his words. That might have been the single most up-lifting thing anyone could have said to him about his music career. But…

“Why would you care so much about my music if you’ve never even heard of it?”

Saitama stared at him with the blankest expression possible, and said, “It’s your thing. That’s what matters. It kinda makes me uneasy, seeing someone unsure of themselves about their own passion.”

“But it’s my passion!” Sweet Mask retorted, “Not yours! And it… Shouldn’t matter to you, it has nothing to do with the rising monster problem in our country! In fact, I ignore monsters when I’m scheduled for interviews, recording, and filming! I’m a hindrance to heroes!!”

Saitama gave him an odd look and didn’t respond immediately, “Do you believe that?”

Realizing what he just said, Sweet Mask reeled back. Did he just say what he thought he did out loud? Shit, he was too revealing during a bad mood. But he couldn’t let Saitama think he lost control!

“No, but you should.” He said, giving Saitama an unreadable, but ominous expression.

“Yeah, well, I don’t care as long as you’re not directly aiding a monster or whatever.” Saitama said, “No one needs a reason to do what they love. Don’t make anyone make you feel like shit for enjoying what you do.”

“Huh…” Sweet Mask mused, “Other heroes rarely say something like that to me… In fact, you’re the second.”

“Uh, hey.” Saitama said, “Could you let go of my hand? You’re kinda creeping me out.”

Flabbergasted, Sweet Mask looked down in horror to discover that somewhere along the way in their conversation, he had indeed reached out and grasped Saitama’s hand. Quite tightly in fact. He promptly pulled his hand away as if he realized his hand was in a big, slimy bowl of live eels.
“Right!” He said, wiping his hand off on his pants as if cleaning himself from Saitama cooties. “We just arrived at my place anyway. I’ll be off. Bye.”

He quickly sped into his building leaving a confused Saitama in the dust.

“Uh. Okay, bye.” The bald hero behind him half-called, waving.

Ignoring the onlookers pointing at the trail of orange goo left behind him, Sweet Mask sped down the hallway and into the elevator. Once he reached his penthouse, he took a quick shower and changed into his favorite bathrobe before taking out a blank notebook.

Sweet Mask was incredibly inspired that night.