Chapter Text
King lay on the stones, feeling his very essence dissolving under the scorching cosmic radiation emitted by Garou's new divine power. The air crackled with energy, darkness blotted out the sun, and the ground beneath him was turning into a glassy crust. Unbearable pain shot through his entire body.
The last conscious effort his desperate mind was still capable of was the desire to protect.
He saw Fubuki, pressed against her, trying to use his broad torso and his plaid shirt, already smoldering at the edges, to create some kind of barrier between her and the reality-destroying force. The last thing he managed to do was cover the Fubuki with his plaid shirt and his body, hoping his bones would become at least some kind of shield.
The darkness thickened, the pain receded, giving way to an icy numbness spreading from his limbs towards his heart. In King's foggy mind, losing its grip on reality, fragments of memories surfaced, vivid and crystal clear, as if illuminated from within. They began with the words of Sekingal, spoken with that imperturbable and slightly weary wisdom that was characteristic of him.
— It doesn't matter if you're a cobblestone or a diamond. Both are precious stones if used in the right place at the right time.
In the right place... At the right time.
The irony of fate was too obvious and too cruel. He, the greatest fraud, pretending to be the strongest, found himself at the epicenter of the battle to preserve humanity, where his luck and fearsome reputation as the strongest man were utterly useless.
— So even an unremarkable cobblestone like me can prove its worth.
This thought, this weak, desperate consolation, accidentally escaped King's lips in a whisper, barely audible over the roar of the battle. But Metal Bat heard it.
The guy turned around, and a faint smile flickered across his face.
— Modesty is your middle name, I see. Counting on you, King.
— Ha-ha...
He let out a restrained, low chuckle, which everyone around took for the confident smirk of a titan observing the storm. Inside, however, it was just a spasm of panic, a convulsive attempt to force out any sound to hide the paralyzing terror.
— Mr. King...
A thin, uncertain voice made him flinch. It was Tareo. The boy he had just saved from the Monster Association's clutches. The very boy whose faith in him was absolute and unshakable, like a rock. And that faith now was heavier than any monster.
King, still trying to maintain his mask of composure, turned his head forty-five degrees to the left.
— Hmm?
— Please, rescue that other man who saved me too! He's still in the hideout!
Continuing with a titanic effort to hide the panic churning inside, the greatest hero fully turned his torso towards Tareo. His face feigned surprise.
— Huh? How awful! And who is he anyway, this man of yours? A hero?
Tareo, unable to hold back the tears now streaming down his dirty cheeks, tried to voice his request through sobs:
— I don't know... B-but... When you find him... Please don't hurt him!
This request, so childish and so sincere, crashed down on King with renewed force.
The surprise on King's face was not feigned in that moment. A heavy, cold drop of sweat rolled down his temple, overcoming the aura of invincibility. What could he promise? He couldn't save anyone. He was a sham. But he saw Tareo's eyes.
— O... Okay. We'll definitely save him. And we won't hurt him... Of course.
The words hung in the scorching air, and at that moment King's mind, as if breaking free from its anchor, abruptly returned from the past to the fading present.
I came out here, aware of all my risks, and yet... Because of my loud name, increasingly vicious monsters kept pushing themselves as my opponents. I knew perfectly well my end would come sooner or later. A 29-year-old otaku, ten times more cowardly than the average man, cannot be a hero. Forgive me for being an ordinary man who just pretended to be strong! Saitama is here! He's the real hero, not like me. Saitama will save them all...
With these thoughts, full of despair, shame, and a strange relief that the mask could finally be dropped, King closed his eyes.
Suddenly, his eyelids flew open on their own, and his pupils received a sharp, painful blow from the bright, almost merciless sunlight.
King instinctively screwed his eyes shut with all his might and raised his hand to shield his face. His palm hit his forehead.
Carefully, through the gap between his fingers, he allowed himself to look. Before him was not a hellish landscape, but... a blue sky with a couple of fluffy clouds.
The damage from being irradiated by Garou's power... As if it never existed.
He carefully felt himself over. His usual white t-shirt, pants, and the plaid shirt that was supposed to cover Fubuki. The clothes were intact and clean, without a single stain or hole.
No heroes who took part in the operation nearby. And when did I manage to get into a standing position?
He lowered his head, and his gaze fell to his feet. The ground was paved with rough, uneven stones, worn smooth in places by many feet, covered in moss in others. The workmanship was rough, primitive, having nothing in common with the usual neat asphalt.
A sharp, unfamiliar sound made him flinch and raise his head. Before his eyes, swaying gently, a wagon on massive wheels passed by. And it was being pulled by a strange creature. A huge, scaled, lizard-like being. It lazily moved its paws, and puffs of steam escaped its nostrils.
King instinctively braced for the worst. But... No one screamed. Passersby in strange clothes calmly made way for the wagon, paying no special attention to the lizard. One man even patted the monster's side as if it were an ordinary horse.
King slowly, with mounting horror, surveyed the surroundings. He was standing on a spacious square, with a fountain in the center. Houses with pointed tiled roofs towered around. The air smelled of fresh baking, hay, and something alien, unknown. There wasn't a single familiar building, not a single wire, not a hint of modern technology.
A stifled, raspy sigh escaped his chest. Unable to stand under this foreign sun any longer, feeling the ground literally and figuratively slipping away from under his feet, King walked, almost ran, off the square. His legs carried him into the first narrow, dark alley he came across.
Here, in the cool shade that smelled of dampness and rotten vegetables, he finally leaned against a rough stone wall and, almost without control, slid down it, sinking to the ground.
And then his heart, which had frozen in stupor until that moment, struck with such force that King thought the echo bounced off the alley walls.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD.
A dull, powerful, rhythmic roar, like the sound of an engine, tore through the silence.
It was the sound the public recognized as the "King Engine" — the last thing monsters heard in King's presence before their death.
The heroes should have come and killed that lizard-like monster by now, but... Even ordinary people aren't afraid of them... They use them instead of horses. Wagons, unpaved roads, this architecture...
He clenched his fists, felt the familiar weakness in his muscles. No cosmic energy, no hidden power. Everything the same.
This is like that manga I read. It can't be that I...
— Ended up in another world... — finally escaped his lips, quietly and desperately.
— What are you mumbling about?