opm f 2
Chapter 7: The Arena Awaits (Continued)
Kenshin drew her sword with ceremonial precision, the blade catching the light and seeming to hold it. The air around her shimmered with spiritual energy, and for a moment, those watching could have sworn they saw the silhouette of massive wings spreading behind her.
"Uesugi Kenshin," she announced formally, her voice carrying across the quarry with perfect clarity, "The God of War, stands ready."
Nobunaga's transformation was more dramatic. The ground beneath her boots began to smoke and crack, and flames that seemed to burn with the darkness between stars erupted around her form. Her crimson eyes glowed like coals, and her uniform rippled as though alive with infernal energy.
"Oda Nobunaga," she declared, voice resonant with power, "The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, stands ready."
Musashi drew her twin katanas with a flourish, the blades humming with energy that distorted the very air through which they moved. Her usual cheerful demeanor had been replaced by focused intensity, and as she moved into her stance, afterimages seemed to follow her movements as though reality itself couldn't fully contain her presence.
"Miyamoto Musashi," she intoned solemnly, "The Sword Saint, stands ready."
All eyes turned to Saitama, who was picking at his ear with his pinky finger, looking mostly bored.
"Uh, Saitama," he said after realizing they were waiting for him. "Standing here, I guess."
From the sidelines, Genos called out, "Sensei! Remember your proper hero introduction!"
Saitama sighed audibly. "Fine. Saitama, hero for fun... stands ready." He adopted his characteristic relaxed fighting stance—hands at his sides, expression neutral.
From the Hero Association's observation area, Atomic Samurai let out a snort. "Look at that pathetic stance. No guard, no balance, no intent. Who the hell is he fighting again?"
Silver Fang merely stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "Appearances can be deceiving, my friend. Watch carefully—this may prove... educational."
Tatsumaki floated closer, her diminutive form radiating irritation. "Why are we even wasting time observing Baldy? And who are these cosplayers he's facing?"
"Preliminary analysis suggests they are not human," replied a Hero Association analyst, eyes glued to monitoring equipment. "Energy readings are off the charts—patterns unlike anything in our database."
For a moment, nothing moved in the arena. Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath.
Then, as if responding to some invisible signal, all three warriors attacked simultaneously.
Kenshin moved like liquid light, her blade tracing patterns too fast for normal eyes to follow. She targeted pressure points and spiritual nodes with surgical precision, each strike calculated to disable rather than destroy.
"Heavenly Dragon Formation," she called out, her blade splitting into what appeared to be five simultaneous attacks from different angles.
Nobunaga's attack was the opposite—raw destructive power channeled through herself as a conduit for forces beyond mortal comprehension. The very air ignited around her hands as she launched a barrage of crimson energy bolts that screamed through the air like damned souls.
"Demon King's Inferno," she snarled, flames erupting from her eyes.
Musashi took a third approach, her blades creating dimensional rifts with each swing—attacks that bypassed physical space to strike directly at what lay beneath.
"Void Crossing Cut," she proclaimed, her twin katanas seeming to phase through reality itself.
The combined assault was a symphony of destruction, a perfect blend of precision, power, and transcendent technique that would have annihilated any normal opponent instantly.
And Saitama stood in the center of it all, calmly dodging.
Not blocking, not counter-attacking, just... moving. Each step perfectly timed, each shift of weight precisely calculated. To the observers, it looked almost like a dance, as though the four combatants had rehearsed this elaborate performance.
"Interesting," Saitama commented as he sidestepped one of Musashi's dimensional slashes while simultaneously leaning away from Kenshin's blade and stepping over a wave of Nobunaga's hellfire. "You guys are actually pretty good."
From the observation area, shocked gasps erupted from the Hero Association staff. Atomic Samurai's hand tightened on his sword hilt until his knuckles turned white. Silver Fang's eyes widened slightly—the equivalent of jaw-dropping amazement from the stoic master. Even Tatsumaki had fallen silent, her perpetual scowl replaced by grudging interest.
"He's not even trying," Atomic Samurai muttered, his expert eyes able to follow at least some of what was happening. "How is that possible?"
The first phase of the battle lasted nearly ten minutes—an eternity in combat terms—before the three legends disengaged in perfect coordination, retreating to their original positions. None of them showed obvious fatigue, but there was a new tension in their postures, a reassessment happening behind their eyes.
"Physical attacks are ineffective," Kenshin observed calmly, her blade lowered but ready. "His body defies conventional principles."
"He moves between my dimensional cuts," Musashi added, genuine wonder in her voice. "As if he exists in all potential spaces simultaneously."
"And my flames cannot touch him," Nobunaga growled, frustration evident. "Not even the fires that burn between realities."
Saitama stood relaxed, not even breathing hard. "You guys want to take a break or something? I think I saw a vending machine near the entrance."
This casual dismissal of their all-out assault seemed to ignite something new in the three warriors. They exchanged glances, and a silent agreement passed between them.
"Phase two," Nobunaga commanded, and the atmosphere in the quarry changed dramatically.
Power surged from the three legends, not as individual forces but as a unified field. Kenshin's spiritual energy interwove with Nobunaga's infernal might, which in turn melded with Musashi's dimensional manipulation. The result was something entirely new—a composite technique that transcended their individual abilities.
"The Dragon, the Demon, and the Void unite," Kenshin intoned, her voice echoing strangely as though coming from multiple sources.
"Three become one," Nobunaga continued, crimson flames now edged with spiritual light.
"Barriers fall, realms merge," Musashi completed, her blades now trailing both fire and divine energy.
"Wow," Saitama commented, genuinely impressed for the first time. "That looks pretty cool."
From the observation point, instruments began to malfunction, screens cracking and sensors overloading. The Hero Association staff scrambled to replace equipment, but it was a losing battle against the raw power now flooding the quarry.
"Impossible energy readings," one analyst shouted over the growing roar of power. "The combined output exceeds that of a nuclear detonation!"
"Everyone take cover!" Silver Fang ordered, his ancient face grave with concern. "This is beyond standard containment protocols!"
Only Tatsumaki remained unmoved, her small form still floating calmly above the chaos. Her eyes narrowed as she raised a hand, creating a swirling barrier of psychic energy around the observation area. "Idiots," she muttered. "All this fuss over Baldy..."
In the arena, the three warriors moved in perfect synchronization, no longer individual fighters but aspects of a single combat entity. Their combined attack, when it came, warped reality itself. The very foundations of the physical world seemed to buckle and strain as power beyond mortal comprehension was channeled through three legendary conduits and directed at a single target.
"TRINITARIAN OBLITERATION," they called out in perfect unison, their voices merging into something that transcended human speech.
Saitama met it with a punch.
Not his serious punch—just a regular one. The kind he might use to swat a fly.
The resulting collision created a moment of perfect stillness, as though the universe itself needed to take a breath before deciding what happened next.
Then, reality reasserted itself.
The combined attack of three legendary warriors—enough power to reshape continents—dissipated like mist in sunlight. Saitama stood unmoved, his fist extended, expression unchanged.
The three legends, however, were thrown backward by the shockwave, each landing with varying degrees of grace at the edges of the quarry.
Silence fell over the arena, broken only by the sound of small rocks and debris pattering down around them.
"Well," Saitama said into the stunned quiet. "That was something."
At the observation point, the Hero Association staff stared in disbelief. Monitoring equipment that had survived the energy surge displayed readings that made no scientific sense. Atomic Samurai's sword had fallen from nerveless fingers. Silver Fang's eternal composure had cracked enough to reveal open astonishment.
Tatsumaki's barrier wavered slightly as she processed what she had just witnessed. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice lacking its usual venom.
"That," Silver Fang replied softly, "was why ranks and titles mean nothing in the face of true power."
In the quarry, the three legendary warriors were slowly recovering. Kenshin rose first, her perfect composure somewhat diminished as she brushed dust from her armor. Nobunaga followed, her uniform singed at the edges, crimson eyes wide with something approaching religious awe. Musashi was the last to stand, her usual exuberance temporarily subdued as she retrieved her scattered swords.
They converged at the center of the arena, where Saitama waited patiently, hands in his pockets.
"So," he began awkwardly, "good match?"
Nobunaga was the first to speak, her imperial bearing shaken but not destroyed. "In my conquest of Japan, I faced armies numbering in the tens of thousands. I have commanded forces that reshaped the political landscape of a nation. I have communed with infernal powers that granted me strength beyond mortal reckoning." She paused, her crimson eyes meeting Saitama's. "And never, in all my existence, have I encountered power such as yours."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Saitama replied, scratching his head. "I tried to hold back."
"Hold back?" Musashi repeated incredulously. "That wasn't even your full strength?"
"Not even close," Genos interjected, approaching from the sidelines. "Sensei's power output during that exchange measured approximately 3.7% of his demonstrated maximum capabilities."
"Three-point-seven percent," Kenshin repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. The God of War looked strangely vulnerable in that moment, centuries of martial pride confronting an impossible truth. "We combined our strongest techniques, channeled power that could reshape reality itself, and you... you barely exerted yourself."
"I didn't want to hurt anyone," Saitama explained with genuine concern. "Or wreck the place too badly. The Hero Association gets really picky about collateral damage reports."
This simple statement hung in the air, its implications rippling through the gathering like a stone dropped in still water.
"Then it's true," Musashi said, wonder replacing disappointment in her voice. "You really are what the summoning circle sought—the ultimate warrior of this age. Perhaps of any age."
"I just wanted to be a hero," Saitama replied quietly.
Nobunaga surprised everyone by suddenly laughing—not her usual sardonic chuckle, but genuine, belly-deep laughter that echoed across the quarry. "Oh, the perfect irony! You've achieved what every warrior through history has sought—unmatched, absolute power—and found it empty! Worthless! A cosmic joke!"
"It's not worthless," Saitama countered with unexpected heat. "People are still alive because of it. Cities still standing. That matters."
"Of course it matters," Kenshin agreed, her composure returning. "But purpose and fulfillment are separate concerns from effectiveness. One can save the world and still feel hollow inside."
A thoughtful silence followed, broken by the approach of the Hero Association contingent. Silver Fang led the group, his ancient eyes fixed on Saitama with new appreciation.
"Most impressive, young man," the old master said, offering a respectful bow. "I believe I understand now why Bang speaks of you with such regard."
"It was nothing special," Saitama demurred, uncomfortable with the attention.
"Nothing special?" Atomic Samurai exclaimed, having recovered his voice if not his dignity. "You just withstood an attack that our sensors couldn't even properly measure! Who the hell are these people?" He gestured at the three legends, who regarded him with varying degrees of amusement.
"Historical figures, apparently," Saitama replied with a shrug. "They came out of a magic circle I poked yesterday."
"Magic circle," Tatsumaki repeated flatly, floating closer. Her diminutive form seemed even smaller next to the imposing figures of the legendary warriors. "You expect us to believe that?"
"Believe what you wish, little one," Nobunaga replied, looking down at the esper with imperial disdain. "Your belief—or lack thereof—changes nothing about reality."
Tatsumaki's face flushed dangerously. "Little one? Do you have any idea who I am?"
"A child playing with powers beyond her understanding," Nobunaga replied coolly. "I have encountered your kind before—those blessed with great gifts but lacking the wisdom to truly master them."
"You—" Tatsumaki began, green energy swirling around her.
"That's enough," Silver Fang interrupted, stepping between them. "Today has provided much to consider. Let us not compound matters with unnecessary conflict."
Tatsumaki glared but subsided, floating back a few paces. The Hero Association staff, meanwhile, were frantically documenting everything, cameras and sensors capturing what they could of the aftermath.
"The Association will want a full report," one official informed Saitama, holding out a tablet. "If you could just fill out these forms detailing the nature of the incident, the origin of these, er, visitors, and any potential threats they may pose to—"
"Pass," Saitama said flatly, turning away. "C'mon guys, let's go. I think we're done here."
Without waiting for a response from anyone, he began walking toward the quarry exit. After a moment's hesitation, Kenshin, Nobunaga, and Musashi followed, falling into step beside him.
"Is it always like this?" Musashi asked, glancing back at the sputtering official and the bewildered Hero Association staff. "So much... bureaucracy around heroism?"
"Pretty much," Saitama confirmed. "That's why I avoided joining for so long. Too many meetings, too much paperwork."
"In my time," Nobunaga observed dryly, "we simply rewarded results. A general who secured victory was honored, regardless of his methods or the 'collateral damage' involved."
"Different times," Saitama replied with a shrug. "Now we have social media and property insurance claims."
As they reached the exit, Genos caught up with them, his mechanical face set in an expression of concern. "Sensei, the Association will not be pleased with your abrupt departure. There are protocols for—"
"Let them complain," Saitama interrupted without heat. "I'm hungry, and there's a special on premium beef bowl at the shopping district that ends at six."
Genos looked like he wanted to protest further but ultimately nodded. "I shall inform them you will submit your report at a later date."
"Sure, whatever," Saitama agreed, knowing full well he had no intention of filling out any forms. "Tell them I'm debriefing our historical guests or something important-sounding."
As they made their way back toward City-Z, leaving behind a quarry marked by their brief but cosmos-shaking confrontation, an unusual mood settled over the group. It wasn't quite disappointment—though the battle had certainly ended more quickly and decisively than the legendary warriors had hoped. It wasn't quite satisfaction—though Saitama had, in some small way, felt a flicker of his old excitement during their combined attack.
It was something more complex: a shared recognition of limitations and possibilities, of expectations met and subverted, of questions answered and new ones posed.
What happened next for beings of such power, brought together by forces beyond their understanding? Only time would tell.
But first—beef bowls.
Chapter 8: Aftermath and Adjustments
The walk back to Saitama's apartment was oddly subdued. The three legendary warriors, who had begun the day with such confidence, now moved in thoughtful silence, occasionally casting measuring glances at the bald hero who strolled casually ahead of them, apparently unaffected by the morning's events.
They had stopped at the shopping district as Saitama insisted, watching with bemused expressions as he haggled enthusiastically over the price of slightly damaged produce. The sight of a being capable of reshaping reality with a casual punch arguing over a fifty-yen discount on bruised apples created a cognitive dissonance that none of them quite knew how to process.
Now, as evening approached and they neared the apartment building, Nobunaga finally broke the silence.
"I need a drink," she announced flatly. "Does this era possess proper alcohol, or is that too another victim of your 'progress'?"
"There's beer in the fridge," Saitama offered. "Nothing fancy though."
"It will suffice," Nobunaga replied with imperial certainty despite having no idea what 'beer' might be.
When they finally reached the apartment building, Kenshin broke her long silence. "I would like to meditate on today's events. If you'll excuse me." With a formal bow, she disappeared into the apartment that had been arranged for her.
Nobunaga's usual haughty demeanor had given way to something more contemplative. "I shall also retire. There is much to consider." She too departed, though not before snagging the six-pack of beer from Saitama's refrigerator with unapologetic directness.
Only Musashi remained, her customary cheerfulness somewhat dimmed but not extinguished. "Well!" she said brightly, rocking back on her heels. "That was certainly educational! I haven't been so thoroughly outmatched since... well, ever!"
"Sorry," Saitama offered awkwardly. "I know you guys were hoping for more of a fight."
Musashi shook her head, pink hair bouncing. "No, no! This is perfect! The whole point of mastery is to constantly encounter new heights to scale. You've given us a mountain unlike any other!"
Saitama looked at her with mild surprise. "You're not... discouraged?"
"Discouraged?" Musashi laughed. "Why would I be? I've just witnessed something unprecedented in all my travels across dimensions! The absolute ceiling of martial capability! It's exhilarating!"
Her enthusiasm was so genuine that Saitama couldn't help but feel a small spark of warmth in response. "Most people get kind of weird when they realize they can't beat me. Either scared or angry or both."
"I'm not most people," Musashi replied with a wink. "I'm Miyamoto Musashi! Being defeated just means I have a new challenge to overcome!"
"You know you can't actually overcome this one, right?" Saitama felt compelled to point out. "I mean, I don't want to be a jerk about it, but it's kind of a big gap."
"Perhaps," Musashi acknowledged, her smile undimmed. "But 'impossible' is just a word invented by those who stopped trying. Besides..." She glanced in the direction Kenshin and Nobunaga had gone. "I think our purpose here might not be what we initially thought."
"Oh?" Saitama raised an eyebrow.
"Mm-hmm," Musashi nodded cryptically. "The circle brought us to you for a reason. If it wasn't to fight alongside you or against you... perhaps it was for something else entirely." She stretched, catlike in her fluid grace. "But that's a mystery for tomorrow! For tonight, food and rest! Your 'beef bowl' was delicious, by the way. Your era may have many flaws, but your cuisine is truly divine!"
With that, she bounded off toward her own apartment, leaving Saitama standing alone in the hallway with his grocery bags.
"Weird day," he muttered to himself, fumbling for his keys.
Inside his apartment, he found Genos already preparing dinner, having apparently used a spare key to enter ahead of him. The cyborg moved with mechanical precision around the small kitchen, chopping vegetables and monitoring three different pans simultaneously.
"I thought you might appreciate a proper meal after today's exertion, Sensei," he explained without looking up from his cooking.
"Thanks," Saitama replied, setting down his groceries. "Though it wasn't really much exertion."
"Physically, perhaps not," Genos acknowledged. "But I detected unusual patterns in your neurological responses during the combat sequence. Your engagement levels were elevated compared to standard monster encounters."
"You can scan my brain?" Saitama asked, mildly disturbed.
"Only basic activity patterns," Genos assured him. "It is part of my standard battlefield assessment protocols."
"Still weird," Saitama muttered, sinking onto his futon. "Anyway, I guess it was a little more interesting than punching another giant monster or whatever."
"Because they coordinated their attacks?" Genos inquired, stirring something that smelled tantalizingly complex.
"Partly," Saitama admitted. "But also because... I don't know. They're different. Not just strong, but interesting strong, if that makes sense."
"I believe I understand," Genos said thoughtfully. "Their power derives from distinct historical and metaphysical traditions, unlike the relatively homogeneous nature of mysterious beings."
"Yeah, that," Saitama agreed, not entirely sure if that was what he'd meant but unwilling to argue the point. "Plus, they're not trying to destroy the city or eat people or whatever. Makes it easier to talk to them."
Genos nodded, serving up two perfectly plated meals. "Social interaction with intellectual equals might provide the stimulation that combat no longer does."
"I wouldn't call them equals exactly," Saitama pointed out, accepting his plate. "I mean, combat-wise."
"I was referring to intellectual and spiritual equals," Genos clarified. "Beings whose experiences and perspectives might challenge you in ways that physical confrontations cannot."
Saitama chewed thoughtfully. "Huh. That's actually pretty insightful, Genos."
The cyborg beamed with pride at the rare compliment.
"So what happens now?" Saitama asked after several minutes of appreciative eating. "They just... stay here? For how long?"
"The ritual that brought them here remains inadequately explained," Genos admitted. "However, my research into similar mythological phenomena suggests that such summonings typically resolve when some specific purpose is fulfilled."
"But we don't know what that purpose is," Saitama concluded.
"Precisely. Though if I may offer a hypothesis—"
A sudden knock at the door interrupted whatever Genos had been about to suggest. Saitama rose to answer it, finding all three legendary warriors gathered in the hallway. Nobunaga, in particular, looked distinctly less imperious than usual, a slight flush to her cheeks suggesting the beer had not gone unappreciated.
"We need to talk," she announced without preamble.
"Uh, okay," Saitama replied, stepping aside to let them enter. "Everything alright?"
"We have been discussing our situation," Kenshin explained as they arranged themselves around Saitama's small table. The God of War moved with her customary grace despite the gravity in her tone. "And we have reached certain... conclusions."
"We're stuck here!" Musashi blurted out, unable to maintain the serious atmosphere. "Or at least, we think we are. Until we figure out why we were really summoned."
"And since you're clearly not in need of our military assistance," Nobunaga added dryly, "and we've established that challenging you directly is an exercise in futility, we find ourselves at something of an impasse."
"So what do you want to do?" Saitama asked, genuinely curious.
The three warriors exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.
"We wish to stay," Kenshin said finally. "To observe this era, to learn from it—and perhaps from you."
"From me?" Saitama repeated incredulously. "What could you possibly learn from me?"
"How to live with power that separates you from the world," Nobunaga replied, uncharacteristically serious. "How to find meaning when challenge becomes memory."
"You've confronted the void that lies beyond mastery," Musashi added, her usual exuberance tempered by genuine respect. "The emptiness that comes when the path of martial improvement reaches its end. Yet you continue to rise each day, to patrol, to save those who need saving."
"That's... I just do that because it's the right thing to do," Saitama protested, uncomfortable with their assessment.
"Precisely," Kenshin nodded. "And therein lies wisdom worth studying."
Saitama looked between the three legendary figures, these titans of history now seated around his cheap folding table, looking at him with genuine interest and respect. It was... disconcerting. Unfamiliar. Almost embarrassing.
"So you want to hang out?" he summarized awkwardly. "And... what? Follow me around?"
"We wish to integrate into this era," Kenshin clarified. "To understand its ways, its challenges, its opportunities. And yes, to observe how one of unprecedented power navigates a world of fragile beings."
"I was thinking of getting a job!" Musashi added brightly. "Your 'money' system is fascinating. Exchange tokens for goods and services! Brilliant!"
"I shall study your strategic organizations," Nobunaga declared. "This 'Hero Association' appears woefully inefficient. They could benefit from proper military structure."
Saitama glanced at Genos, who had been silently observing the exchange. "What do you think?"
The cyborg considered carefully before responding. "The presence of these individuals creates an unprecedented opportunity for cultural and tactical exchange. Additionally..." he hesitated, choosing his words with unusual care, "I have observed that your psychological well-being has shown measurable improvement since their arrival."
"I'm not depressed," Saitama protested automatically.
"Depression is merely one manifestation of existential dissatisfaction," Genos replied. "Your condition more closely resembles what psychologists term 'anhedonia'—the inability to feel pleasure or engagement."
"So I'm boring, is what you're saying."
"You are bored, Sensei. There is a difference."
The three warriors watched this exchange with varying expressions—Kenshin's thoughtful, Nobunaga's amused, Musashi's openly fascinated.
"Look," Saitama sighed, running a hand over his smooth scalp. "I don't mind if you guys stick around. But I'm not some... I don't know, spiritual guru or whatever you're making me out to be. I'm just a guy who does hero work and tries to make rent."
"Perhaps that is precisely what makes you worth observing," Kenshin suggested softly. "The extraordinary made ordinary, the cosmic rendered mundane."
"You make it sound way deeper than it is," Saitama muttered.
"Sometimes the deepest truths are those we take for granted," Musashi countered with surprising insight. "The water doesn't know it's wet, as my master used to say."
Saitama looked between the three legendary warriors, these beings of incredible power and historical significance who, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, seemed to find him interesting. It was weird. Uncomfortable. Almost annoying.
And yet...
"Fine," he conceded finally. "Stay as long as you want. Just don't expect anything profound. And you'll need to find your own place eventually. This apartment's way too small for four people."
"Three people and one god," Nobunaga corrected with imperial hauteur. "But your point is taken."
"Does this mean we get to join you on hero activities?" Musashi asked eagerly. "Monster hunting expeditions? Evil-doer apprehension? Citizen rescuing?"
"I guess?" Saitama shrugged. "Though most days it's pretty boring. Lots of walking around, waiting for something to happen."
"We shall elevate your patrol procedures to proper military standards," Nobunaga declared. "Strategic deployment, tactical response protocols, hierarchical communication structures—"
"Yeah, that sounds like a lot of work," Saitama interrupted. "I usually just walk around until I find a monster, then I punch it."
"Simplicity has its virtues," Kenshin acknowledged with the ghost of a smile. "But perhaps there is middle ground to be found between your... minimal approach and more structured methodology."
As the conversation continued, flowing from practical matters of accommodation to philosophical questions about heroism to Musashi's increasingly enthusiastic plans to try every food item available in modern Japan, something unusual happened: Saitama found himself engaged.
Not excited, exactly. Not thrilled or amazed or even particularly enthused. But genuinely present in the moment, following the threads of conversation with actual interest, responding not out of obligation but because he had something to say.
It was a small shift—subtle enough that he barely noticed it himself. But Genos, ever observant, made another note in his internal memory banks. His sensei's neural patterns showed increased activation in regions associated with social engagement and cognitive processing. His verbal response rate had increased by 37%, and his conversational contributions had grown more substantive.
Small changes, perhaps. But change nonetheless.
And in a life defined by stagnant power and monotonous victory, even small changes could ultimately prove significant.
Chapter 9: New Routines
Saitama awakened to the sound of argument. This in itself was not unusual—in the week since the legendary warriors had taken up semi-permanent residence in his building, various disagreements had erupted with surprising frequency. What made this particular argument noteworthy was that it appeared to be taking place directly outside his bedroom window.
"The defensive perimeter should extend at least three blocks in all directions," Nobunaga's imperious voice declared. "Anything less leaves unacceptable vulnerabilities in our security posture."
"Such extensive measures would disrupt the neighborhood's harmony," came Kenshin's measured reply. "We must balance security with consideration for local social patterns."
"Social patterns?" Nobunaga scoffed. "What strategic value do those hold compared to the safety of our primary asset?"
"I am not an asset," Saitama muttered into his pillow.
A third voice joined the debate—Musashi's energetic tones carrying easily through the thin walls. "Why not ask the locals to participate? Make it community defense! In my village, everyone from children to elders had assigned roles during bandit attacks!"
Saitama groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. It was 6:30 AM according to his alarm clock, a full hour before he usually rose. Attempting to reclaim sleep proved futile, however, as the tactical discussion outside only grew more animated.
With a resigned sigh, he dragged himself out of bed, shuffled to the window, and slid it open with perhaps more force than necessary.
"What," he demanded flatly, "are you guys doing outside my apartment at dawn?"
The three warriors glanced up, not looking particularly apologetic. They stood around what appeared to be a meticulously drawn map of the neighborhood spread across Nobunaga's military clipboard. Kenshin, as always, appeared perfectly composed despite the early hour, not a hair out of place. Nobunaga had forgone her full military uniform for what she termed "casual tactical wear"—black pants and a crimson button-up shirt that somehow still projected imperial authority. Musashi, meanwhile, wore what looked suspiciously like Hello Kitty pajamas beneath a traditional haori jacket.
"Establishing proper security procedures," Nobunaga explained as though this should be obvious. "After assessing potential threat vectors, I've determined that our current defensive posture is woefully inadequate."
"No one's attacking us," Saitama pointed out. "This is literally just an apartment building in a mostly abandoned neighborhood."
"Precisely what makes it vulnerable," Nobunaga countered smoothly. "Low population density means fewer witnesses, isolated location enables approach from multiple vectors without detection. The God of War agrees with me on the fundamental assessment, even if she insists on handicapping my proposed solutions."
"I merely suggest moderation," Kenshin clarified, offering Saitama a respectful bow. "Forgive the disturbance, Saitama-dono. Perhaps we should have waited until a more appropriate hour."
"You think?" Saitama replied dryly. He noticed Musashi bouncing slightly on her toes, clearly bursting to speak. "What?"
"I made breakfast!" she announced triumphantly. "I've been practicing with your 'microwave' device. The concept of cooking with invisible energy waves is fascinating! Though I may have slightly melted one of your plates... the metal decorative rim turned out to be problematic."
Saitama stared at them for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "Fine. Just... give me ten minutes to get dressed."
He closed the window, suddenly aware that he had actually engaged in morning conversation—something he typically avoided at all costs. Usually, his brain remained in a semi-functional fog until at least his second cup of bargain coffee. Yet here he was, forming complete sentences before 7 AM.
These historical interlopers were disrupting more than just his sleep patterns.
When Saitama emerged from his apartment fifteen minutes later (still needing those extra five minutes despite his claim), he found the three warriors had relocated to the building's rooftop. They had somehow transformed the previously empty space into a combination tactical headquarters, meditation garden, and outdoor dining area.
A small table had been set with what appeared to be a surprisingly elaborate breakfast. Musashi beamed proudly as she presented a platter of slightly overcooked but enthusiastically prepared eggs, rice, and something that might have been an attempt at miso soup.
"Traditional
One Punch, Three Legends: The Expanded Edition (Part 4)
Chapter 9: New Routines (Continued)
"Traditional Japanese breakfast!" Musashi announced proudly, gesturing at the spread with all the flourish of a master chef unveiling their magnum opus. "Though I had to make some adaptations based on available ingredients. Who knew bonito flakes would be so difficult to locate in this neighborhood?"
Saitama eyed the food with cautious interest. "You made all this?"
"Indeed she did," Kenshin confirmed, already seated in perfect seiza posture at one side of the table. "With considerable... enthusiasm."
"And minimal structural damage to your kitchen," Nobunaga added dryly, sipping from what appeared to be military-grade black coffee in a Hero Association mug she had somehow acquired. "Though I believe your neighbor on the third floor may file noise complaints about the 'battle cry of culinary victory' at 5:43 AM."
Musashi had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "The rice cooker and I had a disagreement about timing. I emerged victorious."
"I thought I heard something break," Saitama said, taking a seat at the makeshift table.
"The rice cooker fought honorably and has been given proper burial rites," Musashi replied solemnly before breaking into a grin. "But I've already ordered a replacement online! Your 'internet shopping' is marvelous—goods arriving at your doorstep without having to haggle with suspicious merchants or fight off bandits on the return journey!"
"That's... good," Saitama replied, somewhat bemused by Musashi's enthusiasm for mundane modern conveniences. He cautiously sampled the breakfast, finding it surprisingly edible despite its haphazard appearance. "Not bad."
Musashi beamed as though he'd bestowed the highest possible praise. "Tomorrow I shall attempt your 'pancakes'! The concept of sweet breakfast items is revolutionary!"
"So," Saitama asked between bites, "what's this about security procedures?"
Nobunaga immediately unfolded her map on the empty portion of the table, nearly knocking over the soup. "After reviewing local crime statistics and meticulously mapping potential approach vectors, I've identified seventeen critical vulnerabilities in our current defensive posture."
"Seventeen seems like a lot," Saitama commented.
"I argued for twelve," Kenshin interjected calmly. "The Demon King has an... expansive definition of 'critical'."
"Better to overestimate threats than underestimate them," Nobunaga countered. "History favors the prepared."
"History favors those who can adapt," Kenshin replied with the patience of someone who had made this point several times already. "Excessive fortification creates its own vulnerabilities."
"Um, guys?" Saitama interrupted what was clearly an ongoing philosophical debate. "I appreciate the concern, but I can literally punch meteors into dust. Security isn't really an issue."
The three warriors exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.
"The security measures are not primarily for you, Saitama-dono," Kenshin explained delicately.
"We're concerned about collateral damage," Musashi clarified, her usual exuberance tempered by genuine concern. "If someone targets you, knowing they can't harm you directly, they might instead attack..."
"Nearby civilians," Nobunaga finished bluntly. "Tactical asymmetry often leads to targeting non-combatants. Basic military strategy when facing a superior force."
Saitama paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. It was a possibility he had considered before, of course—the risk that his enemies might target innocent bystanders to get to him. But he had always relied on his speed to prevent such scenarios. The idea that others might be actively planning countermeasures on his behalf was... unusual.
"That's actually pretty thoughtful," he admitted.
"We are not merely warriors," Kenshin said simply. "We were leaders, strategists, protectors in our own times. Such considerations come naturally."
"Plus," Musashi added cheerfully, "it gives Nobu-chan something to focus her conquest-planning energies on! Much better than her previous project of 'how to subjugate the Hero Association in three tactical strikes'."
"A theoretical exercise only," Nobunaga defended herself, though her crimson eyes gleamed with what might have been disappointment at shelving that particular plan. "And I would have required only two strikes, had the Association President not changed his security detail rotation."
Saitama choked slightly on his rice. "You've been monitoring the Hero Association's security protocols?"
"One must understand power structures to navigate them effectively," Nobunaga replied with imperial dismissiveness. "Their cybersecurity is laughably inadequate."
"Please don't hack the Hero Association," Saitama sighed. "They're annoying enough when they're not angry at me."
"Speaking of the Association," Kenshin interjected smoothly, clearly steering the conversation away from Nobunaga's questionable intelligence-gathering activities, "they have made several attempts to contact you regarding the incident at the quarry."
"Yeah, I've been ignoring those," Saitama admitted.
"They are becoming more insistent," Kenshin continued. "Yesterday, a representative attempted to approach me directly while I was meditating in the park."
"What happened?" Saitama asked, suddenly concerned.
A ghost of a smile touched Kenshin's lips. "I simply... intensified my spiritual aura slightly. He decided urgent business required his attention elsewhere."
"You scared him off with your god-of-war mojo," Saitama translated.
"A tactical retreat on his part," Kenshin confirmed with dignified amusement.
"They'll keep coming," Nobunaga predicted, refilling her coffee. "Bureaucracies are persistence predators. They overwhelm through sheer tenacity rather than force."
"My vote is for a frontal assault!" Musashi declared, punctuating her suggestion by stabbing the air with her chopsticks. "March directly into their headquarters, explain our situation clearly, and demand official recognition!"
"Of what?" Saitama asked.
"Of us!" Musashi replied as though it were obvious. "Three legendary warriors from across time and space, now allied with the modern era's strongest hero! We should have badges, or permits, or whatever documentation allows us to fight monsters without those men in suits complaining!"
Saitama considered this suggestion, which was surprisingly practical despite Musashi's enthusiastic delivery. The Hero Association would indeed continue pursuing them until some kind of official arrangement was reached. And having three powerhouses of Kenshin, Nobunaga, and Musashi's caliber operating unsanctioned would eventually create complications.
"Not a bad idea, actually," he conceded. "Though knowing the Association, there'll be a ton of paperwork."
"Paperwork," Nobunaga repeated, the word dripping with imperial disdain. "In my era, matters were settled with action, not endless documentation."
"You literally had scribes documenting everything you did," Musashi pointed out. "I've seen the scrolls!"
"Historical records of glorious conquests are not the same as permission forms in triplicate," Nobunaga sniffed.
As they debated the merits of bureaucratic engagement versus continued avoidance, the rooftop door opened to reveal Genos, carrying several bags of groceries with mechanical precision.
"Sensei," he greeted Saitama formally before acknowledging the others with a respectful nod. "I see breakfast has been prepared."
"Musashi's been experimenting with cooking," Saitama explained. "It's actually not half bad."
The swordswoman beamed at what she clearly interpreted as lavish praise.
"I have brought additional supplies," Genos announced, setting down the bags. "And information that may be relevant to your current discussion."
"About the Hero Association?" Saitama guessed.
"Indeed. They have scheduled an emergency S-Class meeting for this afternoon. The agenda includes a specific item labeled 'Dimensional Anomalies and Unauthorized Extradimensional Entities'."
"That would be us," Nobunaga observed dryly. "How flattering."
"Will you be attending, Sensei?" Genos inquired. "As a registered hero, your presence is technically required, though your historical attendance record is... inconsistent."
Saitama scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Might as well get it over with. Those meetings are boring, but ignoring them just means more people showing up here."
"We shall accompany you," Kenshin declared, not a question but a statement of fact.
"All of us?" Saitama asked, slightly alarmed at the prospect of introducing three legendary warriors to the already volatile mix of S-Class personalities.
"It would be most efficient," Genos confirmed. "The Association has questions about their origins and capabilities. Direct demonstration would eliminate the need for extended explanations."
"Plus," Musashi added with poorly concealed excitement, "I want to see this gathering of modern heroes! Are they all as powerful as you, Saitama-san?"
"Not even close," Saitama replied honestly. "But don't tell them I said that. Some of them have pretty fragile egos."
"Unlike warlords and master swordsmen from history, who are known for their humble demeanors," Nobunaga commented sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
"I am the very embodiment of humility," Musashi declared grandly, striking a pose. "The most humble swordsperson who ever lived! Unmatched in my humble greatness!"
Even Kenshin couldn't suppress a small smile at this display of paradoxical pride.
"Fine," Saitama conceded. "We'll all go. But try not to cause an international incident or start a fight with Tatsumaki. She's the small floating one with green hair and a permanent bad attitude."
"Small but powerful?" Musashi inquired curiously.
"Esper abilities," Genos clarified. "Telekinesis, flight, matter manipulation. Potentially S-Class Rank 2 in terms of raw destructive capability, though her tactical application is limited by personality factors."
"Fascinating," Nobunaga murmured, eyes gleaming with the look of a general assessing a potential military asset. "Psychic warfare was merely theoretical in my era."
"No recruiting the heroes into your conquest plans," Saitama warned, recognizing that dangerous gleam.
"Merely professional curiosity," Nobunaga assured him with a smile that wasn't entirely reassuring.
As they finished breakfast and began preparing for the day's unexpected diplomatic mission, Saitama found himself observing the three legends with something approaching fondness. Their presence had thoroughly disrupted his carefully cultivated routine of minimalist heroism and bargain hunting, replacing it with something far more chaotic but undeniably more engaging.
Whether this new arrangement would prove temporary or permanent remained uncertain. But for the first time in longer than he could remember, Saitama found himself genuinely curious about what the day might bring.
It was a small shift in perspective—subtle enough that he hardly noticed it himself. But for someone who had spent years feeling nothing but vague disappointment and crushing boredom, even mild curiosity represented significant progress.
Chapter 10: The Association Convenes
The Hero Association Headquarters loomed against the skyline, a monument to humanity's organized response to the mysterious being crisis. Its gleaming glass and steel construction projected an aura of modern efficiency and technological prowess—values that stood in stark contrast to the three legendary warriors who approached its entrance alongside Saitama and Genos.
"Ostentatious," Nobunaga observed critically, eyeing the building's grand architecture. "Displaying wealth and power so openly invites challenge. In my era, the most secure fortresses appeared modest from the exterior while concealing their true strength within."
"I think that's kind of the point," Saitama replied with a shrug. "They want to look impressive so people feel safe."
"Appearance versus substance," Kenshin noted thoughtfully. "A recurring theme in your era."
Musashi, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement, her head swiveling to take in every detail of the complex. "Look at the size of those doors! And those security scanners! Is that robot a servant or a warrior? Oh! Is that hero signing autographs? Do all heroes sign autographs in this era? Should I start practicing a signature?"
The questions came in such rapid succession that Saitama didn't bother attempting to answer them all. "Just try not to break anything expensive," he advised instead. "Those guys get really annoyed about property damage."
As they approached the main entrance, they drew increasingly curious stares from Association staff and visiting heroes alike. Saitama, in his simple yellow jumpsuit and white cape, was already something of an anomaly in the image-conscious hero community. Add to that Kenshin's traditional armor, Nobunaga's military uniform (now accessorized with suspiciously modern tactical additions), and Musashi's eclectic blend of historical and contemporary fashion (she had insisted on keeping the Hello Kitty hairpin despite Nobunaga's objections about "warrior dignity"), and they made for an unusual procession indeed.
The security checkpoint presented the first challenge of their visit.
"Identification and Association passes," requested the guard, a heavily augmented individual whose cybernetic enhancements suggested former special operations background.
Genos immediately presented his S-Class credentials. Saitama patted his pockets with increasing concern before Genos silently handed over a spare copy of his B-Class card that the cyborg apparently kept as backup.
"And them?" the guard inquired, eyeing the three legendary figures with professional suspicion.
"They're with me," Saitama said simply.
"Unauthorized visitors require executive clearance and visitor passes," the guard recited, clearly following standard protocol. "I'll need to see some identification and—"
Nobunaga stepped forward, her crimson eyes fixing the guard with an imperial stare that had once made daimyos tremble. "I am Oda Nobunaga, the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, Unifier of Japan, Conqueror of Realms Beyond Mortal Comprehension." A subtle aura of dark flame began to flicker around her form. "My identification is written in the annals of history and the nightmares of my enemies. Will that suffice?"
The guard's augmented eye whirred as it attempted to process both the declaration and the inexplicable energy readings suddenly flooding his security systems.
Before the situation could escalate further, a smooth voice intervened from behind the checkpoint.
"They are today's special guests, Officer Chen. Expected and cleared for full access."
The speaker was a slim, impeccably dressed woman with sharp features and clipboard in hand. Her Association badge identified her as "Sekingar, Executive Officer - Special Operations."
"Ma'am," the guard acknowledged, immediately standing down though not without a final suspicious glance at Nobunaga, who responded with an imperial smirk.
"Saitama, Demon Cyborg," Sekingar greeted them formally before turning her attention to the three legends. "And you must be the... interdimensional entities we've been hearing so much about."
"Legendary warriors," Musashi corrected cheerfully, extending a hand in greeting. "Miyamoto Musashi, Sword Saint and undefeated duelist! Sixty battles, sixty victories! Pleasure to meet you!"
Sekingar blinked at the unexpected enthusiasm but accepted the handshake. "Yes, well. The meeting is about to begin. If you'll follow me, please."
As they traversed the building's pristine corridors, Saitama noticed the three warriors taking in their surroundings with varying reactions. Kenshin observed everything with quiet attentiveness, her green eyes missing nothing. Nobunaga assessed each security checkpoint, exit, and defensive position with tactical precision. Musashi, meanwhile, stopped repeatedly to admire everything from decorative plants to ceiling fixtures, requiring Saitama to gently tug her along to keep up with the group.
"This place is amazing!" she whispered excitedly. "So many warriors under one roof! In my time, gathering this many skilled fighters in one location would inevitably result in at least three duels to the death and seven blood oaths by sundown."
"Day's not over yet," Saitama muttered as they approached the conference room doors. "Some of these S-Class guys don't exactly play well together."
The conference room fell silent as they entered. Around a massive oval table sat the most powerful heroes of the modern era, each more distinctive than the last. Metal Knight's robotic proxy whirred as its sensors focused on the newcomers. Tornado of Terror—Tatsumaki—floated slightly above her chair, her perpetual scowl deepening at the sight of Saitama. Silver Fang nodded in calm greeting, while his brother Bomb studied the legendary warriors with expert assessment. Atomic Samurai's hand instinctively twitched toward his sword hilt when Musashi entered, a swordsman's automatic response to sensing another blade master.
At the head of the table sat Blast, the enigmatic S-Class Rank 1, whose rare appearance at a meeting signaled the unusual nature of this gathering. His presence was so uncommon that even Saitama looked mildly surprised.
"You're late," Tatsumaki snapped, her default greeting to virtually everyone.
"Traffic," Saitama replied blandly, despite having walked the entire way.
"Please be seated," directed Association Director Sitch, gesturing to the empty chairs. "We have much to discuss and limited time."
As they moved toward the available seats, Nobunaga smoothly positioned herself directly opposite Blast, a general instinctively identifying and sizing up the opposing force's commander. Kenshin chose a seat beside Silver Fang, recognizing a kindred spirit in the elderly martial arts master. Musashi, to the visible alarm of several Association officials, plopped down right next to Atomic Samurai with an enthusiastic "Nice sword!" that caused the hero to simultaneously look flattered and offended.
Saitama took the nearest available chair, already looking bored despite the meeting having not yet begun.
"Now then," Director Sitch began, activating a holographic display at the center of the table. "For those who haven't been briefed, six days ago, a dimensional anomaly was detected in the abandoned sector of City-Z. This anomaly coincided with the appearance of three extradimensional entities of unprecedented power classification."
The display showed footage from the quarry confrontation, capturing the moment when the three legends had unleashed their combined attack against Saitama, and his casual dispersal of that cosmic-level power with a single punch.
"Looks cooler on video," Saitama commented to no one in particular.
"Our analysis team has classified this event as a Cosmic-Level Dimensional Incursion," Sitch continued, "potentially related to the increasing frequency of dimensional breaches we've observed over the past eighteen months."
"It wasn't an incursion," Musashi interjected cheerfully. "More like a summons! Saitama activated an ancient circle thingy that pulled us across time and space because he's the greatest warrior of this era and needed worthy challengers! Or allies! We're still figuring out which one."
The room fell into stunned silence at this casual explanation.
"You're saying Caped Baldy caused this?" Tatsumaki demanded incredulously, pointing an accusatory finger at Saitama.
"Inadvertently," Kenshin clarified with diplomatic precision. "The summoning circle had been established long before his interaction with it. He merely triggered a mechanism already in place."
"And who exactly are you people claiming to be?" Atomic Samurai asked, his hand still hovering near his sword.
"Not claiming," Nobunaga corrected with imperial disdain. "Being. I am Oda Nobunaga, she is Uesugi Kenshin, and the one coveting your inferior blade is Miyamoto Musashi."
"Inferior?!" Atomic Samurai sputtered, half-rising from his chair before Silver Fang placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"Historical analysis confirms significant correlation with historical records of these individuals," Metal Knight's robotic proxy interjected, its mechanical voice dispassionate. "Though with notable physiological and energetic discrepancies that suggest these entities are not simply human beings from the past, but idealized manifestations with power levels consistent with their historical legends rather than their historical realities."
"Rude," Musashi commented, though she didn't seem particularly offended. "But also kind of accurate? I never actually sliced through dimensions with my real swords back in the day. That's new."
"The point," Director Sitch interjected firmly, "is that we have three unregistered, Deity-Class entities currently residing in City-Z without official sanction or oversight."
"Deity-Class?" Saitama repeated. "That's a thing?"
"A new classification created specifically after analyzing footage from your... encounter," Sitch explained, gesturing toward the holographic display where Nobunaga's infernal form was frozen mid-attack, wreathed in otherworldly flames.
"So what exactly do you want from us?" Saitama asked, cutting to the chase with his characteristic directness. "They're not causing any trouble."
"Minimal trouble," Genos amended quietly.
"The rice cooker incident was an accident," Musashi muttered defensively.
"As was the structural damage to the eastern subway tunnel," Kenshin added with dignified embarrassment. "I was merely attempting to understand your underground transportation system."
"And I have already compensated the city for the small fire in the financial district," Nobunaga concluded imperiously. "Their building codes are absurdly vulnerable to spontaneous combustion."
Director Sitch pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like a man rapidly developing a migraine. "This is precisely our concern. Three beings of immense power, unfamiliar with modern society, lacking official oversight—"
"I'm watching them," Saitama interjected with a shrug.
"That's not—" Sitch began, then stopped himself. "Actually, given your demonstrated power levels, that might be the only viable containment strategy we have."
"Containment?" Nobunaga repeated, temperature in the room noticeably rising as her eyes narrowed. "You presume to contain the Demon King?"
Blast spoke for the first time, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "No one is containing anyone. The Association is simply trying to understand and adapt to an unprecedented situation."
All eyes turned to the enigmatic S-Class Rank 1 hero, whose rare interventions typically signaled matters of cosmic importance.
"These visitors represent something beyond our standard protocols," Blast continued calmly. "But they're clearly not hostile—at least not in the sense that would warrant Association intervention."
"How can you be sure?" Metal Knight's proxy challenged. "Their demonstrated power could level cities if unleashed without restraint."
"The same could be said of several people in this room," Blast replied evenly, his gaze briefly meeting Saitama's.
A thoughtful silence followed this observation.
"What do you propose, then?" Sitch asked finally.
"Provisional hero status," Blast suggested. "Special classification under Saitama's supervision. They clearly have the power and, from what I've observed, the inclination to protect rather than harm."
"Us? Heroes?" Musashi exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. "With official badges and everything? Do we get capes? I've always wanted a cape! Ooh, and a hero name! What would mine be? 'Sword Dimension'? 'Pink Blade'? 'Dual-Wield Destroyer'?"
"I have no interest in bureaucratic titles," Nobunaga declared, though the calculating gleam in her eye suggested she was already considering the strategic advantages of official sanction.
"The path of protection is not unfamiliar to me," Kenshin added thoughtfully. "In my time, I defended my lands and people against numerous threats. This would not be so different in essence, merely in form."
Director Sitch looked between the three legendary figures, the impassive Blast, and the thoroughly bored-looking Saitama. "The paperwork for this will be... unprecedented."
"Make Genos handle it," Saitama suggested. "He likes paperwork."
"I am quite efficient with administrative tasks," Genos confirmed without hesitation.
"This is absurd!" Tatsumaki finally exploded, unable to contain herself any longer. Her small form rose higher above the table, green energy crackling around her. "We're just going to deputize three unknown entities because Baldy says they're okay? Since when does he have any authority?"
"Since he demonstrated power sufficient to resolve any potential threat they might pose," Blast replied simply.
Tatsumaki opened her mouth to argue further, then closed it abruptly, settling back into sullen silence. Even she knew better than to directly challenge Blast's assessment.
"It's settled then," Silver Fang said, speaking for the first time. The ancient martial artist's eyes crinkled with subtle amusement. "Three new heroes from across time and space. The Association continues to diversify in unexpected ways."
"There will need to be training in modern protocols," Sitch stipulated. "Power assessment, civilian interaction guidelines, media management—"
"I shall handle their tactical integration," Genos volunteered immediately. "My teaching modules can be adapted to their specific requirements."
"I want to learn from him," Musashi declared, pointing directly at Atomic Samurai, who looked both startled and oddly pleased. "Sword techniques of this era! Are they really all inferior to classical methods? I must know!"
"Watch who you're calling inferior," Atomic Samurai growled, though there was more professional curiosity than genuine offense in his tone now.
As the meeting devolved into discussions of logistics, classifications, and jurisdictional details, Saitama found his attention wandering as it typically did during Association proceedings. But rather than his usual complete disconnection, he found himself observing the interactions with mild interest.
Kenshin was engaged in what appeared to be a deeply philosophical conversation with Silver Fang and Bomb, the three masters comparing notes on spiritual energy cultivation across different traditions. Nobunaga had somehow maneuvered her way into a strategic discussion with Blast and Metal Knight, her imperial bearing seemingly undiminished by the presence of the modern era's most powerful figures. And Musashi was enthusiastically demonstrating sword techniques to an increasingly engaged Atomic Samurai, using chopsticks as impromptu practice blades.
These legendary warriors, these beings from across time and space, were integrating themselves into the modern hero ecosystem with surprising ease. Their presence was already shifting dynamics, creating new alliances and interactions among the typically isolated S-Class ranks.
"Didn't expect this to go so smoothly," Saitama murmured to Genos, who had remained faithfully by his side.
"The introduction of new variables into a stagnant system often produces unexpected efficiencies," Genos replied. "Their historical perspectives provide valuable counterpoints to modern hero methodologies."
"If you say so," Saitama shrugged. "I was just hoping we wouldn't have to fight our way out."
"The meeting isn't over yet, Sensei," Genos noted with mechanical precision. "Statistical probability of conflict still remains at approximately 23.7%."
Saitama glanced over to where Tatsumaki was glaring daggers at Nobunaga, who had responded with an imperially dismissive wave that was clearly driving the temperamental esper to the edge of her limited patience.
"Make that 30%," Saitama estimated dryly. "At least."
As the meeting continued, with heroes and historical legends finding unexpected common ground, a subtle shift was occurring—not just in the room, but in the very fabric of the hero world itself. Old paradigms were being challenged, new alliances formed, ancient wisdom meeting modern power.
And at the center of it all, looking perpetually bored but secretly more engaged than he had been in years, sat Saitama—the inadvertent catalyst for a transformation whose full implications had only begun to unfold.
Chapter 11: Heroes in Training
"Absolutely not," Nobunaga declared, crimson eyes flashing dangerously. "I refuse to wear such ridiculous attire."
She stood in the Hero Association's costume development laboratory, glaring at the prototype uniform that had been presented for her consideration. The design featured elements of her traditional military garb reimagined with modern materials and what the Association's image consultant had enthusiastically described as "audience-friendly aesthetics."
"Market research indicates that heroes with consistent, recognizable visual branding achieve 37% higher public approval ratings," explained the consultant, a slick-haired man who showed remarkable courage in the face of Nobunaga's growing infernal aura. "The flame accents along the sleeves tested particularly well with the 18-34 demographic—"
"I am the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven," Nobunaga interrupted, small flames beginning to dance along her fingertips. "I unified Japan through blood and strategy. My name alone once caused armies to tremble. And you wish me to wear... spandex?"
Saitama, who had been half-dozing in a chair in the corner of the laboratory, cracked one eye open. "Just let her wear what she wants," he advised the increasingly nervous consultant. "Trust me, not worth the argument."
It had been three days since the S-Class meeting that had resulted in provisional hero status for the three legendary warriors. Three days of orientation sessions, power assessments, legal briefings, and now, costume fittings. The bureaucratic machinery of the Hero Association had embraced the unprecedented situation with surprising enthusiasm, creating an entire new protocol for "Transhistorical Heroic Integration."
Musashi, unlike her imperial companion, was thoroughly enjoying the process. She twirled before a full-length mirror, admiring her prototype costume—a modernized version of traditional samurai armor rendered in lightweight materials, accented with cherry blossom motifs and her signature pink color scheme.
"It's perfect!" she declared, drawing her twin katanas to check how they looked with the ensemble. "Though can we add more pockets? Modern clothing has spoiled me—having a place to store snacks is revolutionary!"
"Pockets reduce aerodynamic efficiency by 3.8%," objected the costume designer, a severe woman whose clipboard appeared permanently attached to her hand.
"Snacks increase combat endurance by at least 50%," Musashi countered with complete seriousness. "A warrior cannot fight on an empty stomach!"
Kenshin, meanwhile, had approached the entire process with characteristic diplomatic grace. Her costume retained the essence of her traditional armor while incorporating subtle modern elements. The color scheme of white and blue remained, but with materials that offered improved flexibility and protection.
"The balance between tradition and function is... acceptable," she acknowledged with a dignified nod that the design team received as high praise.
"See?" the consultant said to Nobunaga, gesturing toward Kenshin. "Your colleague understands the importance of modernization while honoring historical aesthetics."
"My colleague," Nobunaga replied icily, "is not the Demon King."
"What about a compromise?" Saitama suggested, surprising everyone by actually participating in the conversation. "Keep her original uniform but make it out of that fancy fire-resistant material you mentioned. Seems like a win-win."
The consultant and designer exchanged glances, clearly calculating whether it was worth continuing the argument.
"That... could work," the designer conceded reluctantly. "Though we'd still recommend some visual elements to increase recognition factor among younger demographics—"
"I will permit a logo," Nobunaga declared imperiously. "Small, elegant, and appropriately fearsome. Nothing more."
"Deal," the consultant agreed quickly, wisely choosing to claim the minor victory.
As the costume discussions continued, Genos entered the laboratory, accompanied by a Hero Association official carrying a stack of documents.
"Sensei," the cyborg greeted Saitama formally. "The provisional hero certifications have been processed. Our historical allies are now officially designated as 'Temporal Special Operations' class."
"Couldn't they just be S-Class?" Saitama asked. "Seems simpler."
"The Association felt a new classification was necessary given their unique origins and power parameters," Genos explained. "It allows for greater operational flexibility while maintaining appropriate oversight protocols."
"Whatever," Saitama shrugged. "As long as it means fewer meetings."
The Association official cleared his throat nervously. "Actually, there's a required orientation session this afternoon for all new hero classifications. Attendance is mandatory for both the heroes and their designated supervisor."
Saitama's expression fell. "More meetings? Seriously?"
"I have taken the liberty of preparing comprehensive notes on all procedural requirements," Genos assured him. "You need only be physically present, Sensei. I will handle all substantive responses."
"Fine," Saitama sighed. "But after that, we're going on an actual patrol. All this paperwork and fitting rooms is giving me a headache."
"Patrol?" Musashi perked up immediately, practically bouncing in her new costume. "Real hero work? Monster fighting? Civilian saving? Dramatic poses while announcing our presence to evildoers?"
"Usually it's just walking around until something attacks," Saitama clarified. "Not a lot of dramatic announcing."
"Then we shall innovate!" Musashi declared enthusiastically. "Every great warrior needs an equally great introduction! It's half the battle—psychological impact can determine the outcome before blades are even drawn!"
"I do not announce myself to enemies," Nobunaga stated flatly. "I simply eliminate them with maximum efficiency."
"A balanced approach has merit," Kenshin offered thoughtfully. "Reputation often precedes the warrior, but ostentation can undermine effectiveness."
"You guys are overthinking this," Saitama said, rising from his chair with a stretch. "Being a hero is pretty straightforward. Find bad guys, stop bad guys, go home."
"A philosophy of admirable simplicity," Kenshin acknowledged with a small smile.
"Simplistic, you mean," Nobunaga corrected, though without real heat. "But I suppose there's merit in directness."
The afternoon orientation proved every bit as tedious as Saitama had feared. In a sterile conference room deep within the Association complex, a parade of officials delivered presentations on everything from media engagement protocols to collateral damage liability forms.
Musashi, initially enthusiastic, had progressed through stages of