Chapter 6: I'm too late?

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the ramen shop, a relentless rhythm that echoed the churning thoughts in my head. [Another dead end in F-city,] I thought, the monotony of patrolling the relatively safe streets grating on my nerves. I drained the last of the spicy broth, the fiery liquid a welcome burn against the creeping frustration.

"Another bowl, old man," I growled, the words rougher than intended, and tossed a crumpled wad of bills onto the counter. "And make it volcanic."

The owner, his weathered face a roadmap of countless bowls served and city anxieties absorbed, chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've got the appetite of a demon, Sneck," he observed, wiping down the counter with a practiced hand. "Thirty-six years old, and you eat like you're trying to fill a void."

He's closer to the truth than he knows, I thought, flexing my arm beneath the tailored suit of hardened monster hide. Thirty-six. The years had etched themselves not on my skin, but in the relentless drive that consumed me. "Thirty-six," I muttered aloud, the number hanging in the steamy air. "And reaching rank 20 of A-class now. And climbing." I tapped my temple, a decisive gesture. "It's not just food, old man. It's fuel. Power. I'm building something… substantial."

Two weeks. Fourteen days since the golden finger of fate had brushed against me, leaving behind the shimmering orbs. My secret, I thought fiercely. Strength, speed, a potential lifespan extension – a power no one else knew existed. "Who'd have thought punching monsters could be a… calling?" I mused aloud, the steam from the ramen swirling around me like a mystical shroud.

The owner just shook his head, a knowing sadness in his eyes. "The city does things to people, Sneck," he murmured, moving to prepare my next order. He probably thought I'd finally succumbed to the madness that clung to this place like the perpetual damp.

He wouldn't understand. Nobody would. They saw the A-class hero, rank 20, the dependable shield against the city's nightly terrors. They didn't see the orb collector, the power-hungry hero.

Yesterday, the sterile voice of Sitch, the Association's suit, had crackled through my comm. "F-city," he'd stated, the tone clipped and devoid of emotion.

"We need you to take charge." F-city. My territory, I thought, a possessive instinct rising within me. "Home turf," I'd replied, a predatory grin spreading across my face. "Sounds like a plan." It wasn't just about the hero points, the incremental climb up the ladder, or the fatter paycheck. It was about control. Resources. More money meant better gear, better training. And Z-city… Z-city is where the real game is, I mused. "Gotta keep those kids sharp," I muttered aloud, a rare flicker of genuine concern coloring my voice. My disciples. My responsibility.

But F-city… it was stifling. Too predictable. Petty thugs, the occasional Wolf or Tiger-level nuisance. Not enough… resources, I repeated mentally, the word echoing with dissatisfaction. "Sitch," I'd ventured, pushing the boundaries, "I'll be checking on Z-city too."

Z-city. The festering wound on the world's map. The monster breeding ground. The place where real teeth were bared. That's where… the real potential lies, I thought, the chaotic cityscape a vivid image in my mind. That's where I need to be to find the special ones.

Sitch had hesitated, the silence on the other end thick with apprehension. "Z-city is… volatile, Sneck," he'd warned, a tremor of something akin to worry in his usually monotone voice. "It's not a place for solo excursions."

"I work best alone," I'd insisted, the words sharp and final. "I'm not some team player."

"We appreciate your… dedication," he'd conceded, the reluctance still evident, "but we can't risk losing you."

"I'm not going to be lost," I'd grunted, the image of golden orbs fueling my resolve.

The compromise had been grudgingly accepted: occasional patrols, 'checks' on Z-city. But my true focus lay elsewhere.

Back at my dojo, the air thick with the scent of sweat and focused energy, I'd addressed my disciples. "Don't be lazy," I'd commanded, my gaze sweeping over their earnest faces. "I'll be back."

Their eyes, a mixture of respect and a nascent fear for the dangers I courted, had followed me. "Be careful, master," young Nobita had ventured, his voice barely a whisper.

"Careful is for cowards," I'd retorted, the predatory grin returning, wider this time. I have to find the right ones, I added silently.

Packing my gear had been a ritual, each piece of reinforced plating and specialized weaponry a tangible link to my ambition. The anticipation had coiled tight in my gut, a thrilling counterpoint to the city's dreary rhythm. Z-city was calling, a siren song of specific power, and I was ready to answer. Alone.

The city lived up to its reputation. A skeletal graveyard of shattered buildings clawing at a bruised sky. Twisted metal groaned in the wind, and the roars of unseen beasts echoed through the desolate canyons of concrete. "Alright," I'd muttered, my voice a low growl that cut through the din. "Let's see what kind of monsters you've got."

And please, no Caped Baldy, I added silently, scanning the ruined skyline. No flash of bald head, no echo of a bored sigh followed by the sickening thud of an overpowered punch. Saitama. The walking, talking extinction event. If that caped menace was here, every monster would be reduced to dust before I even had a chance to crack my knuckles. I needed the special orbs, the ones that grant true evolution, and Saitama was a cosmic vacuum cleaner, sucking up my potential before it even materialized.

The first one was a brute, all scarred hide and gnashing teeth. It lumbered towards me, claws extended like gnarled branches. "Come on then," I'd hissed, my stance shifting, ready.

The impact was visceral, the gauntlet of monster hide slamming into the brute's thick skull. A satisfying crack echoed in the desolate street, and the monster staggered, its eyes rolling back. And then they appeared. The orbs. Shimmering like captured sunlight, floating in the air. I reached out, and they dissolved into my skin, a familiar jolt of energy coursing through me.

Ding! You pick 1 Strength.

Another standard boost. Useful, but not what I'm looking for.

"Again!" I'd roared, my voice raw with exhilaration. "Bring me more!"

Z-city was my personal hunting ground, a chaotic garden where different kinds of power bloomed with every fallen beast. And I was the gardener, selectively reaping the rewards, one orb at a time.

Ding! You pick 1 Strength

My eyes had gleamed with a focused intensity. I'm not going to stop until I'm at the apex. And without that bald pest stealing the key to my ascent.

The acrid tang of dissipating monster flesh, a metallic ghost in the air, did little to mask the bitter taste of disappointment. Another Tiger-level husk, dissolving into nothingness, leaving behind only a single, lukewarm orb.

Ding! You pick 1 Strength.

Not one of the shimmering ones. Not one that whispers of true change.

"Just Tiger level?" I growled, the words grating against the sudden tightness in my chest. My knuckles were white, clenched so hard they ached. I felt it, I thought, the memory of the recent surge of power still vivid. The countless hours of bone-jarring training, the relentless assault on my limits – it hadn't been for naught. I was stronger, faster, a coiled spring of lethal potential. I was ready. Ready for Demons level, maybe even… higher, if I can find the right catalyst.

But this skeletal city, this monument to destruction, offered only these paltry scraps. I'd carved a brutal path through this ruined district, a whirlwind of calculated violence, and all I'd reaped were these… these minor enhancements. Mutated vermin, hulking brutes with more roar than substance, all falling before my enhanced strikes like paper dolls. Each victory, each dissolving corpse, yielded only these mundane, consistently… normal orbs.

A cold dread began to seep into my bones, a chilling tendril that threatened to extinguish the burning fire of my ambition.

What if the real threats, the demon level monsters that had haunted this city, the monsters that held the key to unlocking true potential, had already been… dealt with?

My mind conjured the unwanted image, a flash of bald head and a disturbingly blank expression: Saitama. Caped Baldy. That casual, effortless power that made a mockery of my own hard-won strength. He'd probably strolled through this wasteland like it was a Sunday picnic, I thought with a surge of resentment, a light breeze ruffling his ridiculous cape, and obliterated everything in his path with a single, bored punch. No fanfare, no struggle, just… gone. Taking the unique energy with them.

The thought was a lead weight in my gut, a suffocating pressure that stole my breath. All that training, all that sacrifice, all that burning desire to prove myself, to ascend beyond the ranks… and for what? To mop up the leftovers? To clean up after the guy who could kill a god with a casual flick of his wrist, potentially erasing the very source of my power?

I looked around at the desolate streets, the skeletal remains of buildings reaching towards a smoke-filled sky like accusing fingers. It was too clean. Too quiet. Too… ordinary. The city, perhaps, had been thoroughly cleansed of anything truly… special. And my hunt, my desperate climb towards extraordinary power, might already be over before it had truly begun. No, I thought fiercely, clenching my fists. They have to be here. Somewhere.