Chapter Text
Genos had steeled himself with conviction, was typically more collected than this, but anything involving his sensei tended to set him off. How DARE they disclude master Saitama in this self-serving bullshit stunt of theirs. At this point, he’d sooner put his trust in Sonic than the Hero Association.
“I will not live here under such an ill-conceived notion.”
“As all heroes have been made aware, it is mandatory for S-class heroes to remain on site until otherwise instructed. Any heroes that fail to comply will be at risk for demotion; even those who have been granted exceptions in the past.”
“Then what excuse do you incompetent bugs have to evict all of class A?”
The executive in charge of reinforcing the new orders sighed. Since his debut from independent heroism to class S, Demon Cyborg had been nothing short of incredibly difficult in the participational co-operation department. Prior, their largest issues were the cyborg’s lack of social etiquette… but it was like a switch had flipped with the announcement that class A heroes vacate their rooms by the end of the day.
“We have acquired ownership of condominiums and apartment complexes throughout the surrounding cities. They will be sent to live in these lodgings and protect designated cities, which will more than make up for S-class unavailability. There is no need to fret, Demon Cyborg. No one is evicted, this is a temporary arrangement.”
The only ones ‘fretting’ were the executives, fear of the cyborg’s glowing irises rising by the second. Saitama - who had been unceremoniously dragged through hallways, up elevators and down stairs - finally spoke up.
“C’mon Genos, this is more trouble than it’s worth. It’s not for long, anyways.” He hadn’t a damned clue how long it would actually be, but the last thing he wanted to deal with was an overheated cyborg. He needed to pack his necessities before they shoved him out of headquarters with nothing but the clothes on his back.
“If this arrangement is to last longer than a day, then that is TOO LONG.” His glare returned to the staff, “make an exception for master Saitama.”
“That isn’t up to any of us here. Please understand that your insistence will not change the Hero Association’s course of action. Rest assured that as soon as this arrangement is no longer deemed necessary, you will be notified immediately, and all heroes will be free to return to their homes.”
Externally, present staff were as much the image of collected as could be, but Genos could see the microscopic beads of sweat on their greedy foreheads. They were SCARED and Genos would make sure they had GOOD reason–
A hand on his shoulder stilled his blazing train of thought. Were it anyone else, that would have sent him flying off the handle, but the hand belonged to none other than the strongest man in the world. The man that he admired most, and would do his utmost to stay next to. That hand could destroy him with an accidental flick of a finger, but instead it delivered just enough pressure to quell his artificial nervous system.
“Come on. It’s better to drop it, Genos.” He leaned closer and - at a volume quiet enough for the employees to miss - whispered into Genos’ ear. “For now, anyways.”
For just a split second, the bald man wore his prized serious face. Genos was placated for the moment and knew to back down, crushed as he was not knowing when he’d be fixed with so much of Saitama-sensei’s attention again.
“I will be checking in regularly for an estimated time of culmination for this preposterously classist ‘mission’ if that is what you lot insist on calling it.” The cyborg’s expression turned sharp and vicious as he scrutinized the executives for a fleeting moment, “I’ve got my eyes AND sensors on you all.”
Genos’ shoulder was suddenly barren of his sensei’s touch, and he actively schooled his expression to conceal his disappointment. With a firm mechanical grip on the bald man that hadn’t eased at any point, Saitama was dragged out of the meeting room. Genos glanced back, eyes still narrowed dangerously, before they widened when he realized what he was doing.
“I’m so sorry, sensei!” he released the older man’s arm and bowed deeply. Saitama waived the rest of his monologing apology away with a wave and a hum.
“I could’ve freed myself any time if it bothered me. I dunno how much any of these association guys like or trust us, so as my disciple, your assignment is to find whatever information you can while you’re stuck in Lame-O HQ. We don’t wanna make more enemies by going against the association without knowing what we’re getting into; God knows I’ve already pissed them off more times than I even know.”
Genos took a second to analyze his master’s words. He’d spoken approximately… forty seven percent more than average. Sensei looked serious, and he was as righteous as always. Despite the urgency of the situation, Genos tugged his notebook from a hidden compartment on his person and furiously jotted down everything the man said. His cooling systems left him feeling dread as he realized this may be the last lesson from his master for some time.
“Yes, sensei! I will pour every resource at my disposal and all of my time into this goal!”
Saitama’s expression was one of exhaustion, but despite the sweat that had appeared on his brow, he wore the smallest wry smile.
“I know you will, dude. But take some time to chill out and relax too. Y’know, since you’re overheating right now, and you kinda overheat all the time… well anyways, sometimes you’re too tense. I feel like I need be more worried about you being stuck here than me getting kicked out.”
“Please do not worry for me, master,” although it warmed his core to think about, “I will put a stop to this.”
He did have a myriad of notebooks he’d been wanting to reference, alter, or polish up, but it still hurt his core that he’d be going without any new content of his sensei for some time. The Hero Association had gone too far. Genos couldn’t help but fear their time apart after everything they’d been through.
Genos loathed the lack of privacy in their final moments together before sensei left the headquarters, but all class A heroes were gathered and corralled into vehicles designated to their respective new posts, just as the last of the other S-class heroes arrived. It had left him with no time to say much other than goodbye, although he’d still been scolded by sensei for holding everyone up.
He was already listless from the solitude, and considered that a good enough reason to grab his copy of the key to the older man’s space. It was just like sensei to leave his text unanswered, but right now it bothered him. The cyborg needed some type of contact from master Saitama. This was not only a tremendous blow to his study regimen, it was a complete breach to their schedule and everyday lives.
Opening the bald man’s door after fumbling for his key - complete with the mangled giraffe keycharm - Genos breathed deeply as he entered the older hero’s space. It still smelled faintly like the man’s floral detergent - the brand always went on sale, and so it was what Genos always washed their clothes in. The cyborg sent him another message to verify that he’d made it to City Q, and decided to wait around in sensei’s space until he received a response. Genos spent far more time here than in his own room, regardless.
A light source on the coffee table caught his attention. Genos’ black sclera were more visible than ever as his eyes widened in mortification: sensei had forgotten the phone he’d purchased for him!!!
Genos lunged - knees hitting the ground with destructive force - for the device, and stared at the screen with a feeling of rising tragedy. In retrospect, it hadn’t made any sense for him to rush for it; Saitama had been ushered out of HQ with the other A-class heroes just shy of fifty minutes ago.
His lone message sat there, never to be opened by his master. While he was forced to perform task management from his analytics identifying his emotional state as problematic to his overall functionability - courtesy of his unchecked rage and worry - Genos cradled the bald man’s phone, a wry smile managing to replace his more commonplace scowl for just a moment. Air escaped his nostrils as he found comfort from the phone’s screensaver: a picture of sensei after the man had cracked a lame joke that he found endearing, and not to mention ‘sensei-like’.
Genos had already pestered the executives once again in the same day, insistent that there was absolutely NO viable reason why a drone couldn’t simply deliver it. Why were they authorized to receive mail, but not send any? Genos knew why. The resignation of Child Emperor had seemingly cast widespread mistrust towards all other S-class heroes, and this was the association’s way of keeping them all under their command while also keeping them under surveillance. It was nothing short of audacious in the cyborg’s mind; who else would resign as a result of the mistreatment towards everyone on the hero registry? The Hero Association had officially chosen to step on a lot of toes they really couldn’t afford to lose.
He would take his free time and translate it into efforts towards breaching what he could only call the Hero Association’s corrupt form of martial law. There were endless things he wanted to tell the bald man, as well as many questions he needed to ask; things that sensei would never think to inform Genos of on his own. He was in the middle of conducting six different studies of master Saitama, and this forced arrangement did not bode well for data consistency.
This would not be the last that these pissants heard of him on the matter. With a sigh of resignation that contained enough ire to produce steam, the blond pulled an unused notebook from his collection of art and office supplies. This absolute offense of events was in need of its own archive.