The steam from the broth curled around my face, a surprisingly normal smell for something that looked like it could anchor a small boat. Giant, dark green leaves of kombu bobbed in the murky liquid, each piece a testament to… well, whatever it was Saitama had done to get them. I cautiously dipped my spoon, the metal clinking softly against the ceramic.

  "Huh," I mumbled, the taste surprisingly familiar.

  "It just tastes like… normal kombu. Though, this stuff is huge." I lifted a particularly massive frond with my chopsticks, displaying its ridiculous size. It was like trying to pick up a small, slimy blanket.

  The air in the kitchen was thick with tension. Saitama, usually as calm as a still pond, had a dark cloud hanging over him. Genos, bless his metallic heart, was trying to explain something, but Saitama cut him off with a growl that made me flinch. I wished I was anywhere else. Maybe hiding in a pile of overdue loan documents.

  "Alright," Saitama finally said, his voice returning to its usual flat tone. "Just… don’t make it a constant topic, okay, Genos?" He started eating, wrestling with a piece of kombu the size of my hand.

  "It's not bad. Thanks." He gestured with his chopsticks towards the seaweed. “And yeah,” he added, looking directly at Genos, “it’s pretty big.”

  Genos visibly relaxed, the rigid lines of his posture softening.

  "Of course, Sensei! My apologies. I will tell Dr. Kuseno when I go back, and hopefully, Dr. Kuseno can solve Sensei's problem.

  And yes," he observed the kombu with a clinical eye, "this kombu was indeed a massive specimen."

  We ate in a quiet rhythm, the only sounds the gentle slurping of broth and the occasional clink of chopsticks. I couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sheer absurdity of it all. Giant seaweed, Saitama’s rare display of irritation, Genos’s overly serious explanations… it was a strange, yet somehow comforting, scene.

  As I ate, a sense of tranquility washed over me. I felt a strange bond forming with Saitama. It was… unexpected. I hoped, with a desperate sort of hope, that he had forgotten about our past encounter. The memory of it, however, remained sharp in my mind.

  I remembered the time when I was a ruthless loan shark, and I had beaten him. Back then, he was… weaker. He had tried to protect a debtor, a futile attempt against my brutality. The image of his determined, yet ultimately powerless, stance was still vivid in my mind.

  Now, seeing his immense power, his casual strength, and this strange, almost familial meal, I wanted to believe he had forgotten. I wanted to believe he saw me as a friend.

  But a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if he remembered? What if, beneath that calm exterior, he still held a grudge? The possibility cast a long, cold shadow over my newfound peace.

  I swallowed a spoonful of broth, the warmth spreading through me, but it couldn't quite chase away the chill. I just had to hope. Hope that Saitama, in his infinite, unfathomable way, had forgiven me. Or, at the very least, forgotten.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I intend to check if monsters have taken over the Subterranean People's base under Ghost Town and turned it into the Monster Association Headquarters before goes home.

  The echoing insults led me deeper, a morbid curiosity mixed with a growing irritation pulling me along. The air was thick, heavy with the stench of… something foul.

  Not just the usual monster stink, but something sharper, more aggressive. I rounded the bend, and the sight before me was almost comical, if it wasn't so irritating. Three of them, a couple of bug-types and a frog, spitting venom at each other like spoiled children. No actual fighting, just a pathetic display of verbal garbage.

  "You maggot-ridden filth!" one of the insect-types screeched, its mandibles snapping uselessly.

  "Silence, you pustule-covered cockroach!" the frog monster retorted, its bulging eyes practically popping out of its head. "Your mother was a newt!"

  "Oh, you think that's an insult?" the other insect-type hissed, its segmented body quivering with rage. "You're so ugly, your reflection cries!"

  This… this is ridiculous, I thought, my frustration mounting. And yet... my eyes narrowed. Even these weaklings... orbs. They always have orbs.

  "Disgusting," I muttered, the word barely audible. This charade had gone on long enough. My patience, already thin, snapped.

  They’re not wasting my time. They are a resource. An orb resource. My time is valuable, and orbs are more valuable.

  The world seemed to slow, the air crackling with the sudden surge of my intent. My fist clenched.

  Biting Dragon Fist.

  The insect-type on the left, mid-curse, its mandibles still snapping in a pathetic attempt at a comeback, never saw it coming. One moment, it was spewing venomous words, the next, its chitinous head was a pulpy ruin, a sickening crunch echoing through the cavern. A small, shimmering orb, the size of a marble, materialized, hovering in the bloody mist.

  The second insect-type, its segmented body still twitching from its own pathetic insult, was bisected cleanly, a wet thwack slicing through the air. Two halves, twitching and spasming on the damp stone floor. Two more orbs appeared, glowing faintly, suspended in the air.

  The frog monster, its bulging eyes widening in a dawning horror it couldn’t voice, was struck with a devastating blow to its torso. A sickening explosion, a shower of viscera and shattered bone fragments painting the cavern walls a grotesque crimson. A larger, slightly brighter orb pulsed, floating steadily.

  Less than a second. That’s all it took. The cavern fell silent, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the lingering echoes of abruptly silenced curses. Three tiger-level monsters, reduced to… nothing. A fine red mist, twitching segments, and a pulpy, unrecognizable mess. And four orbs, glowing steadily, hovering in the air.

  I lowered my fist, the faint afterimage of my strike still shimmering in the air. The silence was deafening, heavy.

  "Efficient," I corrected myself, my voice echoing through the cavern. "They were not wasting my time."

  I stepped over the carnage, my eyes fixed on the glowing orbs. Even these weaklings... I reached out, the orbs responding to my intent, and I absorbed them, a faint warmth spreading through me.

  I was absorbed in gathering orbs when, suddenly, my hair stood on end. I sensed a dangerous monster approaching. Without hesitation, I fled.

  My breath hitched, a ragged rasp in the thin air.

  That monster was most likely Rover.

  Despite being an S-class hero, Rover, a monstrous black silhouette with six glowing ruby eyes, loomed as a distant, dragon-level threat, instilling a primal fear. Each crunch of my boot on the red dust echoed the frantic beat of my heart—a heart that belonged to a person from a different Earth.