Work Text:
If someone asked him why he decided to start doing this for a living, his answer would be plain and simple: money.
To live, you need money, and to have money, you must work (or being born as a rich boy). Being a hero didn’t leave him with much money to pay the rent and buy groceries; after spending some time looking for part-time jobs and getting rejected by all of them, he decided to try his luck at a job he saw in an ad: working as a maid at a café.
The pay wasn’t the best in the world, but it was the best he could get at the time, plus it left him time to train and become a hero. He wouldn’t complain.
At first, when he was just starting his training, he didn’t understand a thing; he had to be clever enough to grab customers’ attention and keep it on him. It wasn’t common for a man who wasn’t seeking that kind of service to be working in a place like that, which made some customers look at him strangely and with some discomfort, not to mention disgust. However, like everything in life, he decided to ignore it, since he needed the money and was willing to do whatever it took to become a hero, even if it meant his pride was being crushed inside.
Putting on the maid’s uniform was a bit uncomfortable, as it was clear the fabric wasn’t the best the market had to offer—though he’d tried worse. That said, the skirt wasn’t short and fell well past his knees, and he could perhaps admit it was somewhat pretty with its bows and ruffles.
So, a maid it is.
It’s not like he had many regular customers. At most, he helped clear away the debris the monsters left behind after he defeated them. But one thing was certain: he had to always wear the maid’s uniform, since the manager considered it crucial that he always played the part.
(Back when he was just starting to train, he had a few regular customers; he was a dull, unremarkable person, so it was rare for people to take notice of someone like him. As he gained muscle and lost his hair, even those customers lost interest in him—)
Three years have passed since he started training, and about the same amount of time since he became a maid. He gained colossal strength and went bald; he defeated countless kaijin, but soon that stopped giving him any thrill. The only constant in his life is working as a maid at this café, and he can’t really be considered much of a maid since he has no customers. The lack of excitement doesn’t help much in that regard.
That said, he felt like he was being watched. A customer? Unlikely. He hasn’t had a customer in months, and that didn’t seem like it was going to change. Maybe someone was trying to harm him—or the café, since Saitama was their maid-bodyguard; were they trying to get rid of him? That would be the most plausible explanation.
Maybe he was just imagining it.
“See you tomorrow, Saitama-kun!”
Saitama says goodbye to the manager and his coworkers and heads to his apartment in the abandoned city. He’s no longer wearing his maid outfit; instead, he has it packed away in a bag. Right now, he’s wearing street clothes, which is a good thing, since it would be embarrassing if a bald man dressed as a maid were seen walking around town.
Oh, right, that guy who asked to be his disciple… he wonders what happened to him?
Five days have passed since the start of his investigation. He has been observing Saitama-sensei closely, jotting down every bit of information he could gather—which isn’t much: the food he ate was completely ordinary, with standard ingredients and nutrients, and at no point was he seen training in any way.
Saitama-sensei seemed like a normal person with normal behavior and a normal appearance that could be sketched in three strokes. But he couldn’t be, because a normal person wouldn’t possess such colossal strength.
To find out more about Sensei, he’ll have to approach him.
Saitama-sensei comes to this place from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. every day except weekends. Does he allow himself the luxury of enjoying the atmosphere of this kind of café? But it’s strange—unless you were a man trying to fill the void he feels with a false sense of comfort, no one would stay in this kind of place for so many hours straight.
Genos takes a deep breath before entering. He is instantly greeted by the scent of sweet pastries and roasted coffee. If he were still human, he would feel hungry.
A waitress-maid approaches him and asks in a sweet tone, her cheeks slightly flushed (he can’t tell if it’s real or part of an act), “Good morning, young Master,” her eyes sparkling, “please, have a seat here,” and she tries to guide him to one of the empty tables, but Genos doesn’t move.
Instead, he says in a neutral, serious tone, “I’m looking for Saitama-sensei. Do you know where he is?”
The young woman’s eyes shine, not in a fake way, but with recognition, “Saitama-kun?”
Saitama-kun?
Is Saitama-sensei a regular, so much so that he’s recognized by the staff who see dozens of faces a day?
The young woman, ignoring his thoughts, says, “Follow me,” and starts walking toward the back of the café, with Genos following her. Genos glances sideways at customers being served by waitresses and simply can’t imagine Sensei being the customer being served.
However, he figures he doesn’t know him well enough. Though that will change very soon.
The waitress-customer who was guiding him stops in front of a door and tells him, “Saitama-kun is in here. Young Master, please don’t bother him.” And she leaves.
… Was it his imagination, or did that last bit sound like a threat?
It doesn’t matter; he’ll finally get to meet his Sensei. He knocks on the door and his Sensei’s recognizable voice (safely stored in his internal memory) sounds muffled: “Come in.”
Genos opens the door and…
“Oh, it’s you.”
His internal fans struggle to keep his core at a comfortable temperature. His mind gets stuck on one thing and one thing only:
the way he’s dressed.
The man in front of him is dressed in a black-and-white Victorian maid’s outfit: the skirt falls past his knees, and though, from the way Saitama-sensei is sitting, he can see a pair of black heels slightly peeking out from under the skirt; his hands, covered in pure white gloves, are holding a manga; and to top it all off, his skin-colored metal helmet is adorned with a white headpiece.
His Sensei stands up straight and looks him in the eyes; they are at the same height, but that is explained by him wearing heels. Genos’s mind is filled with every possible scenario, but one resonates most strongly, and it is this:
Saitama-sensei… is… a… maid…
!!!
That would explain the way that waitress-maid spoke about his Sensei—with such familiarity and closeness. Because Saitama spent most of his day at this establishment, and that’s why, when he hung his clothes out to dry, there was a Victorian maid’s uniform hanging there.
Saitama-sensei works at this place as a waitress-maid. And Genos has just realized it.
Could this be the secret behind Sensei’s strength?
…
Of course! Having to put up with disgusting customers required commendable willpower!
Dealing with the young man he had saved wasn’t part of his plan.
Things had been quiet at the café lately; they hadn’t encountered any strange or repulsive customers, and no monsters had appeared in this part of town, so Saitama had nothing to do. He was determined to finish reading the cheap manga volume he’d bought—until he heard his coworker’s voice muffled through the door.
Someone opened the door, but it wasn’t his coworker. It was a young man of average height with blond hair, golden eyes, and black sclera. The young man was conventionally attractive and would be the ideal client for his coworkers—but not for him.
How does one handle this kind of situation? He doesn’t remember the protocols to follow, and his last client was months ago. He wasn’t prepared for this.
“Uh, am I supposed to call you Young Master?” Saitama stammered and could swear he saw a spark flash in the corner of his eye.
Saitama sighs and looks at the young man in front of him. Young—he doesn’t look like a day over twenty-five.
“Go home, kid.”
This young man didn’t seem like the type of person who would frequent these places. The men who visit these places aren’t usually attractive and have somewhat… peculiar hobbies; the blond didn’t seem to be one of them.
The young man reacts and exclaims, “Saitama-sensei!”
“Don’t call me sensei.”
“Professor!”
“Don’t call me that either!”
He’d love to say he managed to get the blond to leave—but he didn’t.
It’s been days since he took Genos into his home, and while it’s nice not to be alone, the blond is a bit… intense, to say the least.
Even though there’s absolutely no need for it, Genos follows him to work from the moment he clocks in until he clocks out. Without fail. And he doesn’t wait for him in an area near the shop—no, he goes inside and stays right by Saitama’s side the whole time. Sometimes he waits with Saitama in the area where they met; other times he’s in the area where all the customers are.
As mentioned before, Saitama is more of a bodyguard-maid than a waitress-maid. For some reason, the place is busier than usual today, and the more people there are, the higher the chance of running into someone unpleasant. He found himself facing an unpleasant customer after his coworker called him over to deal with them. The unpleasant customer was about to hit him when…
Genos walked by.
The young man who calls himself his disciple grabbed the customer’s hand and pinned it behind their back, immobilizing him. He escorted them out of the establishment and, in Genos’s words, advised them not to return to this establishment anytime soon.
Oh, right.
His coworkers teased him good-naturedly, saying he finally had a regular customer, since Genos was hogging all his attention both inside and outside the workplace.
What a life.
And everything became even more annoying with the patronage of that ninja with the strange name…
What was his name? Jack-O’-Lantern?
Anyway, now he can say he’s a professional hero (which he never imagined he’d be), a mentor to a disciple eager to please, and a rival to that ninja. But nothing could top the fact that…
...he had to destroy the meteorite in his maid outfit!! He didn’t have time to change because the city was in danger of being destroyed, and he had to get there as fast as possible.
He hopes that old man doesn’t tell anyone. Hopefully, the meteorite’s glow overshadowed the sight of his maid outfit.
