Chapter 10: I spar with Sweet Mask

Sweet Mask. Even his name was a carefully constructed facade. For so long, he'd been this enigma to me, a flawless idol radiating an almost blinding perfection. Yet, beneath that carefully crafted surface, I could always sense it – the steel. A rigid core of something far more complex than mere vanity.

His obsession with the Hero Association's strength… it went beyond a simple desire for recognition. It was almost a desperate need, this yearning for the Association to be the ultimate bulwark against the tide of monsters. He needed to be the symbol, yes, but that wasn't the end of it. It was intertwined with this fierce dedication, twisted perhaps by his own ego, but undeniably present. He craved a strong Association, and that meant strong heroes.

I remember when Genos, all sharp edges and nervous energy, joined the hero association. Sweet Mask's welcome… it wasn't the dismissive nod of a superior. There was a genuine quality to it, almost an eagerness in his encouragement. He wanted powerful allies, maybe even rivals who could push him, force him to elevate not just himself, but the whole damn system. His ego, that blindingly bright ego that often grated on my nerves, was intrinsically linked to the Association's standing. They were two sides of the same polished shield.

And then there was Mumen Rider. Ah, the cyclist of justice. Admirable, truly. That unwavering heart, that absolute refusal to back down, even in the face of overwhelming odds. It was inspiring, in a way. But against a Demon-level threat? Against something truly monstrous, something that could tear through buildings like paper? It felt like a beautiful but ultimately futile gesture. A single, brave candle flickering against a hurricane.

And Saitama… well, his power was undeniable, a cheat code in this chaotic world. One punch and the nightmare was over. But his lack of seriousness, his "hero for fun" attitude… could we truly rely on that in the darkest hour? What if he wasn't feeling it that day? What if he was off searching for a worthy opponent while cities crumbled? That carefree nonchalance, while sometimes amusing, felt deeply unsettling when the stakes were this high.

No. Deep down, I knew what this world truly needed, what offered a real chance against the relentless tide of monsters. It wasn't pure-hearted idealism, and it certainly wasn't whimsical strength. It was someone like Sweet Mask. Ruthless, yes, undeniably so. He'd crush a threat without a second thought, without the agonizing moral debates that could cost countless lives. He wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't waver.

But beneath that polished exterior, behind the carefully constructed idol persona, I'd seen glimpses. Fleeting moments of genuine care, a flicker of concern for the safety and happiness of the innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. It wasn't just about being the strongest, about maintaining his own lofty position. It was about using that strength, however brutal, to protect. He was the necessary darkness, the sharp edge needed to carve out a semblance of safety in a world teetering on the brink. He was the shield, even if it was forged in the fires of his own complex and often unsettling ambition.

The cacophony of the canteen receded into a muffled hum as I trailed after Sweet Mask. He moved like a phantom, a ripple in the fabric of the bustling headquarters. Heads turned, conversations stuttered, a silent wave of awareness preceding his every step. Beside him, I felt… ordinary. Diminished. But beneath that feeling, a spark of fierce determination flickered. This wasn't just about proving him wrong; it was about unleashing the surprising strength of the Biting Dragon Fist… and maybe, finally, seeing some tangible proof of his true nature.

We navigated the labyrinthine corridors, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and the low thrum of unseen machinery. My internal monologue was a frantic scramble of doubt and desperate self-assurance. Rank 2 of A-Class. My limit. The words echoed in my mind. But limits were meant to be broken, weren't they? And the power building within me felt like it could shatter concrete, maybe even… his composure… and maybe even force an orb to manifest if he was truly a monster.

The training room loomed ahead, a stark, utilitarian space that had witnessed countless displays of heroic ambition and crushing defeat. The heavy door hissed open, revealing padded floors and the silent sentinels of training dummies. The air within crackled with a residual energy, the ghosts of past struggles.

Sweet Mask turned, his gaze now a focused laser beam. He shed his immaculate jacket, the movement precise and economical, revealing the lean, corded muscles beneath his crisp white shirt. Even in casual attire, he radiated an aura of effortless superiority. It was infuriatingly inspiring. Time to see if this new direction held a surprise he wasn't expecting.

"The Biting Dragon Fist," he stated, his voice echoing slightly in the vast room. "Show me what this new style can do, within the confines of your… perceived limitations." The subtle jab didn't go unnoticed. But his confidence… it felt like a challenge… and a potential trigger.

I planted my feet, settling into a stance that felt both familiar and explosively new, a coiled spring of power waiting to be unleashed. It was less about the fluid strikes of the snake and more about focused, devastating bursts, the snapping jaws of a dragon. And the power… it was building to a crescendo… a crescendo that might just draw blood, or… light.

"I will," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady, a core of confidence hardening within me. This wasn't just a demonstration; it was a declaration of a strength he hadn't anticipated… a strength that might just reveal his true form. I focused my inner energy, visualizing the coiling power within me, the dragon awakening with a roar.

"Do not hesitate," Sweet Mask instructed, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his posture relaxed yet radiating an almost palpable tension. "Come at me with everything you have."

I nodded, and then the dragon erupted.

My opening was a lightning-fast series of strikes, the Biting Dragon Fist unleashing a torrent of focused power that surprised even me. Sweet Mask's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he was forced to actually defend with more than casual parries. The raw force behind my blows slammed against his blocks, the impact reverberating through the room. He was pushed back a step, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his flawless features. Yes! He felt it! The power! Maybe… maybe…

I pressed my advantage, the Biting Dragon flowing with a speed and power I hadn't fully realized. Each strike carried the weight of a coiled serpent and the explosive force of a dragon's bite. Sweet Mask, for the first time, looked genuinely challenged. He moved with incredible speed, but the sheer ferocity and unexpected strength of my attacks kept him on the defensive. Then it happened. As one particularly powerful Biting Dragon Palm slammed into his guard, sending a visible tremor through his arm, a shimmering light bloomed into existence near his feet. It pulsed with a vibrant energy, a massive orb, easily bigger than a basketball, radiating a soft, golden glow. There it was! Finally! The Biting Dragon Fist had done it! He was a monster, and I had hurt him! And the size of that orb… it was unlike anything I'd ever imagined!

For a fleeting moment, a surge of triumph coursed through me. I had done it. I had tangible proof. But the sight of that massive, glowing orb also ignited a fierce determination. This wasn't just about exposing him; this was about testing the limits of the Biting Dragon Fist, about pushing past his condescending pronouncements. The orb was proof of his monstrous nature, but it was also a byproduct of my power. I refocused, the image of the radiant sphere burning in my mind, but my attention snapping back to the immediate threat. Sweet Mask.

He gathered himself, his movements becoming more deliberate, more focused. A palpable aura of power began to emanate from him, the air around him growing heavy. He began to counter, his blows carrying a weight that dwarfed my own. The tide began to turn, his superior skill and raw power asserting themselves. I fought with everything I had, the Biting Dragon lashing out with furious intensity, the memory of the massive orb fueling my resolve, but his defenses were impenetrable, his counters devastating. Finally, with a precise and brutal strike, he broke through my guard, the force of his blow sending me staggering back, the fight draining from me, the golden orb still tantalizingly close.

I stood panting, my body aching, the exhilarating high of that near-victory crashing down, my eyes now solely fixed on the unnervingly composed monster before me. Sweet Mask stood opposite me, breathing slightly heavier than usual, his perfect composure almost fully restored.

"Impressive," he conceded, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That… Biting Dragon Fist… it possesses a surprising amount of raw power. For a moment…" He paused, a thoughtful look on his face, then his gaze returned to me, a new intensity in their depths. "However," he continued, the edge returning to his voice, "raw power alone is not enough. Your technique still lacks refinement, your stamina is not yet at the level required to consistently challenge a hero of my caliber".

He offered a curt nod, a flicker of something akin to respect in his eyes and he turned and walked towards the training room door. Just before he stepped out, his impossibly handsome face flickered, a brief, chilling smile – not the polished, public smile, but something sharp and knowing, a predator satisfied with its hunt – before he disappeared into the corridor, leaving me alone with my aching body and the undeniable proof of his monstrous nature. The limit he had placed on me… it felt like it had shattered, and my focus now was the special orb.