Chapter Text
The silence inside Saitama’s apartment wasn’t the usual, peaceful quiet of a lazy night. It wasn’t the comfortable lull that came after a cheap hotpot dinner, nor was it the heavy stillness that preceded a monster attack.
It was a thick, suffocating, intensely awkward silence, where the kind that made the air feel like wet cement.
Saitama sat cross-legged on his tatami mat, his eyes fixed with unnatural intensity on the chipped ceramic rim of his teacup. He was wearing his favorite "Oppai" hoodie, the fabric slightly frayed at the cuffs. Opposite him, sitting on a plush cushion she had brought herself because she refused to let her dress touch his "filthy floor," was Tatsumaki. Usually, she hovered, using her psychic powers to look down literally on everyone.
But today, she had deliberately chosen to sit on the floor, an aggressive attempt to act "normal." Because she was so petite, the arrangement left them much closer than intended. The faint, high-end scent of her lily perfume mixed with the sharp, crisp smell from her latent psychic energy, completely filling the cramped room.
The unexpected newly couple, who usually remained utterly oblivious to their surroundings, found themselves intensely distracted. They were both breathing too heavily for a quiet room. Every time a muscle twitched, the other flinch-hovered.
They were dating. Officially.
It had happened three weeks ago, following an incredibly destructive argument that had leveled a small mountain range, ended in a bizarrely aggressive mutual confession, and resulted in a very brief, very clumsy kiss that left Saitama’s lips tasting like static electricity and Tatsumaki’s face matching the color of a ripe tomato.
The problem wasn't the attraction. The problem was everything that came after.
For starters, neither of them possessed anything about dating anyone particular. Saitama’s brain had been entirely rewired for survival, budgeting, and fighting; the last time he had even thought about a girl, he was a teenager with a full head of hair and a crumbling sense of self-worth.
Tatsumaki was worse. She had spent her childhood trapped in a sterile laboratory and her adulthood weaponized by the Hero Association. Her only concept of "intimacy" was knowing exactly how much physical force it took to crush a monster's skull or explode them inside out.
So, when they suddenly found themselves labeled as a "couple," the universe (or the author) didn't magically hand them a guidebook. Instead, it left them stranded in a minefield of hyper-awareness.
Every little details they observed was suddenly magnified tenfold.
Saitama found himself fixated on how absurdly small she actually was when she wasn't actively trying to level a city block. He could see the faint pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, her chest rising and falling beneath the tight fabric. It made a weird, heavy heat pool low in his stomach, a sensation far more terrifying than facing Boros or Garou.
Tatsumaki, meanwhile, was entirely paralyzed by his sheer physical presence and even when he makes a serious facial expression. Without his goofy cape and gloves, his whole body looked broad and wide. He has this raw, unadulterated strength radiating off his large frame made her skin prickle with static electricity. Just like from three weeks ago, it was rough, clumsy, and so intensely hot it had nearly made her faint.
The memory made her throat dry. She wanted to yell at him to stop looking at her like that, but her tongue felt like lead. They were two nuclear warheads trapped in his tiny apartment room, completely terrified of making the first move.
"So," Saitama finally broke the silence, his voice flat, though his thumb nervously traced the edge of his cup. "We've been... doing this for three weeks."
"If by 'doing this' you mean wasting my valuable time sitting in this dump while you stare at a grocery flyer, then yes," Tatsumaki snapped. Her voice lifted into that sharp, piercing register that usually signaled an impending telekinetic storm. A faint green aura flickered around her shoulders, making the loose papers on Saitama's low table flutter. "Are you going to say something useful, or am I going to have to throw you through the ceiling again?"
Saitama swallowed hard, feeling a sudden wave of heat creeping up his own neck. He decided to try a line he vaguely remembered from a late-night romance manga commercial. He cleared his throat, leaning forward across the table until his face was just inches from hers.
"You know... King said about a boyfriend is supposed to tell his girlfriend... she looks nice," Saitama mumbled, his deadpan eyes suddenly focusing on her with an unfamiliar intensity. "So... your hair looks extra green today. Like a really healthy head of broccoli. It’s... kind of hot."
Tatsumaki’s brain completely short-circuited. Did he just call me... hot? Did he just compare me to a vegetable?!
Her entire face flushed a violent, brilliant burgundy, the heat radiating off her cheeks so intensely it felt like a localized heater. Her aura flared in a panic, instantly lifting the low wooden table three inches into the air. Desperate to hide her shyness, she attempted to flirt back aggressively, leaning in until her nose almost brushed his.
"O-Oh yeah?!" she shrieked, sounding more like a mob boss demanding a tribute than a blushing girlfriend. "Well, your bald head is extra shiny today! It’s so reflective I can see my own beautiful reflection in it! You should be honored, you egg!"
As they glared at each other, the comical rage suddenly wavered. Their faces were too close.
Saitama’s dark eyes dropped instinctively to her lips, and Tatsumaki’s breath caught in her throat. The air grew heavy, thick with a sudden, mature tension. For a split second, the comedy dropped entirely. They both remembered exactly what those lips felt like three weeks ago—soft, fierce, and entirely addictive.
Tatsumaki jerked backward, her heart hammering against her ribs, looking away as she shoved her hands into the folds of her dress. "A-Anyway, what are you even talking about? I am the Tornado of Terror! I don't do mundane civilian activities like... like holding hands or walking in parks!"
"Have you ever been on a real date?" Saitama asked bluntly, trying to steady his own racing pulse.
"Of course I have!" she lied instantly, her voice rising an octave. "I've been on hundreds! Thousands! Look at me! Men and women are constantly begging for my time!"
Saitama blinked his dot-eyed blink. "Really? Because Fubuki told me you once threw a guy through a skyscraper because he asked for your number at a Hero Association gala."
Tatsumaki choked on her own breath, her teeth grinding together. “That brat spreads nothing but lies! He was—he was a spy! Probably! Besides, what about you? I bet you've never even spoken to a woman before me!"
"Hey, I've spoken to plenty of women," Saitama defended himself, crossing his arms. "The lady at the supermarket checkout talks to me all the time. She gave me a discount on cabbage last Tuesday."
"That doesn't count, you absolute moron!"
"Well, what do you want from me?" Saitama’s own irritation flared, a rare spark of heat entering his voice. He leaned back over the table, capturing her gaze. "I don't know how to do this, okay? I haven't exactly had time to think about romance when I've been trying to find a fight that makes me feel alive for the last few years. And now I'm... with you. And you're just screaming at me."
Tatsumaki’s breath hitched. The sudden shift in his tone, from completely detached to intensely focused, always caught her off guard. She looked away, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress until her knuckles turned white.
"I'm not screaming," she mumbled, her voice suddenly small, her pride fighting a losing battle against the sheer, overwhelming awkwardness of her own feelings. "I just... I don't know what to do either, okay? I've been protecting people my whole life. I've been trapped... in a lab, or trapped in my own head, or fighting monsters. I don't know how to be... normal."
The moment hung in the air, heavy and fragile.
Saitama’s expression softened. The deadpan look vanished, replaced by a rare, gentle understanding. He reached a hand across the table, his large, calloused palm resting open on the wood. He didn't force her, just left it there as an invitation.
Tatsumaki stared at his hand. She slowly lowered herself until her feet touched the tatami, her hand trembling slightly as she moved it toward his.
Her small, pale fingers hovered over his large palm. The contrast between them was stark, she looked so delicate, yet held the power to rip cities apart; he looked so ordinary, yet possessed the strength to shatter stars.
Saitama didn't wait. Sliding his palm forward, he gently slipped his fingers beneath hers. When their skin finally met, a jolt surged through them that had absolutely nothing to do with power or strength.
Saitama’s fingers closing around hers, pulling her just an inch closer. Tatsumaki leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut instinctively, anticipating a kiss—
CREAK.
The fragile, romantic tension snapped like a dry twig.
Instantly, Tatsumaki levitated completely upside down out of pure startle-panic, her dress flaring wildly. Saitama jumped backward so hard he cracked the tatami mat beneath his feet.
They both snapped their heads toward the corner of the room, bright red, sweating, and looking guilty as sin.
Standing in the narrow entryway of the kitchen, frozen mid-stride with one metallic leg lifted awkwardly in the air, was Genos.
In his highly advanced, reinforced hands, he was holding a plain porcelain tray containing a teapot and a small plate of butter biscuits. His yellow mechanical eyes were glowing faintly, his expression entirely blank, though a subtle hiss of steam escaping from his shoulder vents betrayed his immense internal panic.
"Genos," Saitama said, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, flat register. "...What are you doing?"
Genos slowly lowered his foot, his gears whirring with a nervous, high-pitched hum. He pulled the tray closer to his chest like a shield.
"Sensei... Miss Tornado... I was merely attempting to provide refreshments to facilitate your domestic negotiations. However, upon analyzing the atmospheric pressure, localized gravitational anomalies, and elevated vocal frequencies in the room, I have concluded that my presence is an impediment."
Tatsumaki flipped right-side up, a raging torrent of emerald energy erupting around her. The sheer force shattered the glass of a nearby empty soy sauce bottle. "How long have you been standing there, sparky?!"
"Approximately fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds," Genos replied instantly, salutes at her. "I witnessed the discussion regarding the cabbage discount, as well as the transition into emotional vulnerability. Furthermore, my biological sensors indicate that Sensei’s heart rate has spiked to 140 beats per minute, and his core body temperature has risen by two degrees. Miss Tornado's cheek capillaries are severely dilated, indicating extreme facial flushing. According to my database, these physiological responses heavily correlate with the human state of being 'horny' or 'caught red-handed'—"
"SHUT UP, GENOS/SPARK PLUG!"
"Wait—" Genos stammered, backing up until his metal back hit the front door. "I would like to deeply apologize, I am just a combat cyborg! I am equipped for tactical annihilation, tactical scouting, and domestic chores! I am not an expert on human courtship or emotional synchronization! I mean no such thing to offend—"
"Well, you're the one who brought it up!" Tatsumaki shrieked, pivoting in mid-air to point an accusing, trembling finger at the cyborg. "Who asked for a medical breakdown of my capillaries?! You're invading my privacy, sparky!"
"Well, she's right though, buddy..." Saitama chimed in, crossing his arms and glaring. "And what do you mean my heart rate is 140? Your sensors are probably broken, Genos. I don't get worked up over... over stuff like this. You're making me look bad!"
"My internal diagnostic tools are calibrated daily to a 99.9% accuracy standard, Sensei," Genos replied mechanically, though his shoulders dropped an inch. "Furthermore, the localized heat signatures radiating from both of your faces are currently mimicking a small thermal reactor. If you are not experiencing... romantic arousal, I must log this as a biological anomaly."
"Arousal?!" Tatsumaki’s voice cracked, her face turning so violently red it looked like it might actually catch fire. She whipped around to face Saitama, projecting all of her immense shame onto him. "See?! Look what you did! You and your stupid broccoli comment! You ruined the atmosphere and now the silly toaster is analyzing my feelings!"
"My comment was fine! It was a compliment!" Saitama yelled back, his deadpan face finally shattering into annoyance.
"You're the one who started floating me upside down like a broken balloon! You're the one making this weird!" Tatsumaki barked back.
"Oh really?!" Saitama yelled, a comical, ridiculous anime vein bulging on his bald head. He stepped forward, his posture twisting into an absurdly exaggerated, hyper-intense martial arts stance. "My heart rate is only high because you were hovering too close, you oversized flashlight! I was experiencing claustrophobia! It's an environmental hazard!"
"OH YES!" Tatsumaki echoed, her voice a literal screech of fury. She copied his stance perfectly, her aura flaring so high it began to melt the plastic casing of the ceiling light fixture above them. "Don't blame my proximity for your own disgusting, bald perversion! You were staring at my collarbone! I have flawless peripheral vision, egghead, I saw where your eyes were glued!"
"You're the one who was leaning in!" Saitama fired back, his teeth comically sharp in his rage. "Genos said your face was flushing! You're the one who got completely short-circuited by a compliment about broccoli!"
"I was not short-circuited!" Tatsumaki bellowed, floating a foot higher as the sheer force of her embarrassment threatened to rip the roof off the building. "And I am not the one who was being... what that tin can said! You're the one who wanted to kiss me! Admit it, you're a horny fraud!"
"Are you sure about that?!" Saitama roared, his pure, physical pressure, exploding outward, rattling the windowpanes of the entire ghost town. "I was looking at your dress by the way, because it looks like...uhh.. a ripped trash bag! And for the record, I am not the one Genos called 'horny'! You're the one who almost look like fell asleep waiting for a kiss!"
"NAH AH AH!" Tatsumaki bellowed back, her psychic energy intertwining with his force, sending a vortex of green wind ripping through the tiny living room. "I was NOT waiting for a kiss! I was blinking in slow motion because your shiny head was blinding me! You're the one who wants a piece of the Tornado of Terror!"
"YEAH?!"
"YEAHHH!"
"AAAHHHHHH!"
Their power auras flowed higher and wilder, the sheer absurdity of their hyper-dramatic, over-the-top anime expressions making them look like two cosmic final bosses having a mid-life crisis... over a completely middle-school love dispute.
So this is what they called "The Denial". Genos held the tray tighter, his internal processors screaming as the drywall began to crack behind him. "I would like to suggest..." he shouted over the roaring wind of their mutual embarrassment, "...looking for possible solutions on the internet?!"
Pop. Like a bubble.
The word 'internet' acted as a kill-switch. Instantly, the wind died down. The sheer aura vanished. Saitama and Tatsumaki both slumped forward, their ridiculous, hyper-muscular faces melting back into their normal, slightly exhausted expressions.
Saitama blinked, scratching the back of his head. "The internet, huh?"
Tatsumaki crossed her arms, huffing loudly as she floated back down to her cushion. "As if a bunch of pathetic losers online know anything about dating a Class-S hero. But... I suppose it's better than listening to a cyborg who stores grease in his joints."
Genos silently set the tray on the counter, thoroughly relieved his chassis hadn't been turned into scrap metal. He pulled out his high-tech smartphone, his mechanical fingers flying across the screen with blinding speed.
"Searching databases for relationship stabilization protocols..." Genos muttered. His optical sensors flashed. "An algorithm has flagged a highly trending civilian phenomenon. It is called the 'Alphabet Date Challenge' trend. According to the parameters, the partners must engage in twenty-six consecutive or scheduled dates, with each date corresponding to a sequential letter of the English alphabet. 'A' must represent the first date, followed by 'B,' and so forth, concluding at 'Z.' It is designed to force participants out of their comfort zones and foster absolute adaptation."
Tatsumaki floated over, pushing Saitama out of the way with a small telekinetic shove so she could look at the screen. Her eyes scanned the text from the robot's.
A for Aquarium. B for Bowling. C for Cooking. D for...
"Twenty-six dates?" Tatsumaki scoffed, though her eyes lingered on the colorful pictures of smiling couples. "That sounds incredibly tedious. Why would I want to spend twenty-six days doing things with this bald egg?"
"Hey, who are you calling an egg?" Saitama complained. "Besides, it gives us a plan. Right now, our only plan is sitting here until one of us gets mad and throws a refrigerator. Wait, my refrigerator!"
Tatsumaki glared at him, her lips pulling into a tight, stubborn pout. She noted the casual, almost challenged glint in his eyes. He didn't think she could do it.
Her pride, as always, took the bait.
"Fine!" Tatsumaki yelled, pointing a dramatic finger at his face. "You think I can't handle a stupid challenge?! I can clear this in my sleep! We're doing it! Every single letter, from A to Z! And by the end of it, you're going to admit that I am the absolute best girlfriend in the entire world, you got that?!"
Saitama's lazy, bored expression vanished. A slow, playful smirk spread across his face, the kind of expression he wore when a monster actually managed to survive his first punch.
He straightening his back, stepping directly into her personal space, closing the distance until he was floating right up in her face.
"Fine. Letter 'A' tomorrow," Saitama murmured, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone that made her heart do a violent backflip. "But let's make a bet, Terror of Tsunami. Whoever blushes first during the date has to pay for dinner."
Tatsumaki’s cheeks burned instantly, but she shoved his chest away, her hands lingering on his hoodie for a second too long before snapping them back.
"It's 'Tornado' and you're going to go bankrupt, handicap baldy," she barked, turning around in a flurry of green light to hide her smile. "Prepare to buy me the most expensive steak in A-City."
Twenty-six dates with the most volatile, strangely endearing woman on the planet. He had a feeling his life was never going to be the same.
"Letter 'A'," Saitama muttered to himself, a genuine smile breaking through. "Let's see what you've got."