—The target is moving toward sector bravo, sir.
—Understood. Make sure it stays in the assigned sector until we reach the interception point. —said Jinzuren firmly, without taking his eyes off the monitors.
One of the main screens lit up showing a grid of cameras covering different angles of the target. It was a creature of colossal proportions with reptilian characteristics that recalled a severely mutated dinosaur, with a body mass that crushed the terrain with every step and left deep marks in the earth as it passed. Its trajectory pointed directly toward a nearby city, and with that size and speed of displacement the dragon-level disaster classification was not a possibility but a certainty if it wasn't intercepted at the right time. The operation was underway and resources were in position. It was only a matter of deploying the definitive weapon.
—We're already in position, ready to…
—Sir, wait! —the voice came through the communicator with an urgency that didn't correspond to any variable contemplated in the protocol—. An object is approaching at high speed from the north, origin unidentified!
—I want visual immediately.
The perimeter cameras activated in sequence. The first showed something the sensors had been unable to catalogue — a blue blur moving at a speed that saturated the system's tracking capacity before it could obtain a stable image. The second camera, oriented toward the mountainous zone, captured it better: the figure was moving at ground level at a speed that left a continuous trail of earth and rock behind it, carving a visible furrow in the landscape as if the ground itself were being rejected by the passage of something moving too fast for physics to process it normally. The third camera, aerial, finally delivered an image with enough resolution to identify what was approaching.
Jinzuren said nothing for several seconds.
On the screen, with complete clarity, was a man of ordinary build, bald, wearing a police uniform and an expression that contained absolutely no trace of urgency nor awareness of the speed at which he was moving. Face completely unconcerned, as if he were walking toward a shop. Jinzuren identified him without needing to consult any file. It was Police Commissioner Saitama, a person he knew perfectly well, whose presence in this place at this specific moment was exactly the type of complication that had no clean solution within the current operating protocol.
—Attention all teams! I need you to intercept the civilian approaching from the north before he reaches the target's perimeter. It is a priority that he doesn't…
He couldn't finish. On the screens, Saitama had reached the point of contact with the creature. The two were face to face, the colossal creature tilting its head downward to register the small human figure standing before it, and Saitama looking up with exactly the same expression he had when he entered the camera frame.
Jinzuren swallowed. It was already too late for any interception. What was appropriate now was to turn around, calculate precisely what excuse would have any chance of being acceptable to explain to Tornado why the operation had taken this specific turn, and pray that…
The entire plane gave a sharp lurch that interrupted the thought mid-formation. Jinzuren turned toward the cargo area by instinct. Where seconds before there had been a closed hatch and a heroine in jump position, there was now only a clean hole in the fuselage and open air.
No trace of the heroine.
Jinzuren processed that image for a moment and could only reach one conclusion — the same conclusion anyone with sufficient information about the two variables that had just converged on the same geographic point at the same time would have reached.
This was going to be a very difficult problem to explain.
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—And who are you? Why would a mere human plant himself before me as if he had any right to be here?
Saitama didn't pay attention. He had a finger in his left ear removing something that was bothering him.
—Huh? Ah, sorry. I got dirt in my ear while I was running. I don't want any trouble and it seems like they're already busy with you. —he said, glancing at how they were still aiming missiles at the kaijin—. I'm already leaving, I need to keep working.
The Kaijin scorched him with its gaze. Steam began to rise from between its teeth.
—Listen to me carefully, vermin. I am the Ancient King. My race ruled this land long before yours had learned to walk upright. We, the Dino people, are the true owners of this planet and today I come to reclaim what was always mine. So before I crush you like the insect you ar… are you listening to me?!
Saitama now had his finger in his right ear.
—Oh sorry. I had dirt in the other one. What were you saying?
—YOU INSOLENT DAMNED APE!!
The Ancient King had completely exhausted his capacity for containment. He opened his jaws to the maximum, accumulating enough energy to raze everything within a radius that would have erased the horizon, with the explicit intention of leaving absolutely nothing of what was before him. But in the last second before releasing the attack something in his visual field stopped him. An object was approaching from the sky at a speed that his instincts registered as a threat before his eyes finished processing it, and he had no time to react before the impact occurred.
The explosion that followed swept the area in every direction simultaneously, razing the surrounding terrain and raising a column of heat and dust that obscured the local sky for several seconds. When the smoke began to dissipate, where the Ancient King had been stood a considerable crater with the charred remains of the creature distributed within it, the skeleton partially visible among the rubble as the only indicator that something of that size had been there moments before.
At a prudent distance from the impact point, a gleam of light from a bald head slowly helped dissipate the smoke to reveal Saitama standing with his uniform partially charred, showing some skin, and an expression of genuine confusion looking at the smoking crater.
—Well. That one exploded all on its own suddenly. What happened? —he looked at his body, noting that at least his underwear was intact, though it was bad to lose another uniform—. Damn it! This suit was one of the new ones, how do they expect me to work like this?! I'll have to find new clothes. Maybe it's a good idea to use that outfit Dr. Genus offered me. He said it would be resistant.
—That would be a good option so you'd stop always showing your chest. Although thinking about it, I wouldn't mind seeing you without anything. I've seen you in worse situations, my dear —said a voice behind him with a warmth that made absolutely no attempt to conceal itself.
Saitama turned. His wife Tatsumaki was a few meters away with her arms crossed and a smile that took up her entire face, her eyes shining with the specific satisfaction of someone who has just done exactly what they wanted to do and also arrived at the perfect moment to say it.
—Oh, hello my dear. Good to see you. And… why are you looking at me like that?
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It was a considerable nuisance. I was cleaning sensei's bathroom with the concentration that any domestic task in his home deserved when the emergency call interrupted everything. The summons was for all of Class S without exception, which simplified the diagnosis: only an incident exceeding the dragon classification would justify mobilizing at that level simultaneously. I tried to communicate with sensei immediately, but he was attending to an incident during the patrol and I didn't consider it appropriate to interrupt him with something I could handle alone. I set off toward City A where the central headquarters of the Heroes Association was located.
Upon arriving I found two people I recognized without difficulty and with whom my relationship was still complex.
—Well, if it isn't the rookie. It was obvious they'd call you. I thought you wouldn't come without Oniisan. How loyal you are, hehe. —said Child Emperor with a smile that irritated me with an efficiency that few things managed.
—Don't bother him, Isamu. Commissioner Saitama couldn't come even if he wanted to anyway — he's not part of the organization, and besides he's too busy for this meeting. —said Mrs. Fubuki with her characteristic posture and a smile that wasn't for me but for the surveillance cameras distributed around the perimeter, which I had already identified upon arriving. It was evident that she wanted to project a professional distance from sensei so as not to generate unnecessary complications. I followed the pretense without objections.
—Mrs. Fubuki, what is the reason for your presence here? I understood this summons was exclusive to Class S.
—Oh, sweetheart. Whether you believe it or not, I am not only the best in my class in terms of combat. My administrative rank within the organization carries a weight that goes considerably beyond that, especially considering that the Blizzard Group represents approximately 30% of the total active heroes in the Association. That grants me a political position that is not precisely minor.
That data surprised me. I had on record that Mrs. Fubuki, as the number 1 of Class A, exercised some influence over minor administrative decisions within the organization. But the Blizzard Group occupying a considerable level of active heroes positioned her at an institutional power level I hadn't calculated correctly. It was a variable that completely reframed her role within the Association, and also explained several behaviors I had until now attributed solely to her personality. This woman was politically more dangerous than her own sister in certain contexts, and that was not a minor statement considering who her sister was.
—Well, it's better to go to the meeting room and finish this as soon as possible.
—Mrs. Fubuki is right. I want to finish this quickly and get back to playing with Oniisan — we're close to getting the blessed sword to finally take down that damned dragon once and for all. —said Child Emperor with an urgency that would have been more credible had he not been talking about a video game.
The journey to the room produced no relevant exchange of information, so I registered it as transit time and nothing more.
Upon arriving, most of the Class S heroes were already gathered. They received us with the type of silence that is not an absence of communication but a specific form of it. I had reviewed most of their records in advance: attitudes that oscillated between indifference and possibly narcissism or egotism, with several documented cases of both simultaneously. A clear example was Mrs. Tatsumaki — she was sitting with her arms crossed in her chair, and when we came in she glanced at us sideways before frowning with an irritation she made no attempt to conceal. She was clearly in a bad mood, which in practical terms meant the meeting atmosphere was going to be more complicated than it already was by default.
The only one who stood up to greet us was the one who, according to the records and to my surprise, was the third best among all present.
—Mrs. Fubuki, young Isamu. It's good to see you both again. And the one with you would be young Genos, correct?
A man of advanced age, slightly hunched but with a good physique, wearing comfortable clothes designed for martial arts, looked at us with a genuine smile that contrasted completely with the rest of the room. I identified him immediately.
—Class S hero rank 3, Silver Fang. You are a man of great skill in the martial arts. —I said with the seriousness the recognition deserved.
—It's good that young people are aware of the rankings, but it's clear that no one has taught you to respect your elders. Call me Bang. I've heard you're Saitama's disciple — that's good. Though I don't see Saitama as a good teacher.
That caught me off guard and irritated me. I was about to respond to this arrogant old man when a voice arrived directly in my head without warning.
"Don't get worked up. Bang is a good friend of my Darling. And he's one of the few who know about my relationship with my Darling, and is someone I trust completely. He belongs in part to my organization."
"That's right. Besides, I was the one who walked them both down the aisle. It was a lovely thing to witness, if I'm being honest."
I went completely still processing what had just occurred. I could hear with total clarity not only Mrs. Fubuki's voice but Mr. Bang's, transmitted directly into my head with a clarity that left me breathless.
"Don't stress about it. I can connect the thoughts of the people I choose within my range. It's the most secret form of communication that exists in an environment with active surveillance."
"And very useful for the team's plans, especially when Oniisan is somewhere without communication. Though someone needs to be with him since it seems he's the only one that can't be reached telepathically."
That last voice was Child Emperor's. It was no longer quite as surprising.
I organized the information I now had. Sensei had established allies, with their own communication channels, with direct knowledge of his personal situation and with a coordination that had been functioning for some time without my having any indication of it. Mr. Bang was not simply a high-ranking hero with a good disposition. He was part of something more structured, and that structure had more layers than I had calculated until that moment.
The rest of the time in the room passed in absolute silence. None of those present risked speaking more than strictly necessary, and those who did limited themselves to projecting how busy they were at that moment or general irritation toward someone in the group. It was evident that interpersonal relationships within Class S were not relevant. Pride isolated them all.
The only ones who seemed to maintain some type of interaction were Mrs. Fubuki and Mr. Bang. They didn't move their lips at any point, but exchanged brief looks with a regularity that couldn't be attributed to chance. I deduced, based on minimal gestures, the knowledge I had acquired minutes before and the timing of each look, that they were maintaining a continuous telepathic conversation, probably related to something they preferred to keep outside the knowledge of those present.
At some point I noticed that Child Emperor also joined that same silent conversation, and shortly afterward Mrs. Tatsumaki. I confirmed it when she reacted without any externally visible cause, with an expression of sudden irritation accompanied by a blush that didn't correspond to her usual emotional temperature in that context, and directed a look loaded with hostility toward her sister. Whatever it was they were discussing, it was personal enough to pull Mrs. Tatsumaki out of the distant attitude she had maintained since we arrived.
We remained in that tense atmosphere for approximately half an hour, until the main doors opened and those responsible for the summons entered.
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"I'm genuinely bored out of my mind in this place. What on earth do they want from me?" Saitama thought as he played with his police cap, the only thing that had survived his earlier problem along with his cap.
He was genuinely annoyed, though at least they had lent him a decent change of clothes. The trousers were comfortable, the shirt a little loose but passable, and the tea they offered wasn't bad either. What was truly insufferable was that they had made him come and wait here for nothing concrete.
It had all started when the dinosaur kaijin incident was over. He had said goodbye to his wife with a kiss and was already on his way home to change when her phone rang. Something in the call made her frown continuously throughout the entire conversation, which was already a sign that the matter wasn't trivial. When she hung up she looked at him for a moment and a smile appeared on her face — a smile that had never given Saitama complete peace of mind. She ended up convincing him to accompany her to the Heroes Association offices. Although they kept their relationship secret from almost everyone, she allowed herself to show a certain public affection toward him, enough to suggest a close friendship without raising suspicions, and since she also didn't like being surrounded by people she couldn't stand, even if she was very polite about it, Saitama didn't mind accompanying her.
The problem came afterward. Barely after they arrived, some Association workers intercepted him asking him to follow them to another room because, according to them, they required his intervention urgently. Saitama, though already irritated, decided to follow them just to get them to stop insisting, because he knew from experience that if he didn't cooperate they would end up trying some angle to pressure him or get something out of him in return, as had already happened before with this same tiresome organization. He let his wife know it would only be a few minutes and that he'd be right back. What he didn't calculate was that those minutes would turn into a full half hour sitting in that room without anyone giving him any explanation.
—I'm fed up, I'm leaving!
He was already about to get up and leave regardless of the consequences when the door flew open.
—I'm terribly sorry for the delay, Commissioner Saitama —said a middle-aged man whom Saitama recognized immediately, as he was, perhaps, the only one who took the trouble to be polite to him within this association.
—Oh, you're that guy from the association… what was your name again?
—I am Sitch, Commissioner Saitama; I am the minister of justice of the Heroes Association —he replied with a drop of sweat sliding down his forehead before continuing—. Truly, Mr. Saitama, the Heroes Association did not summon you here officially; this is something strictly personal on my part.
—So you're the one who made me wait half an hour. Huh? —said Saitama, frowning.
—I sincerely apologize, Mr. Saitama; I was finishing some urgent matters with the intention of meeting you immediately, as your intervention was so sudden that I ordered you to be taken to a separate room. Don't worry — all conversation in this room will be completely confidential and is directed only to the two of us.
—Fine, continue.
—Very well, before telling you the main reason I want to ask you personally whether you know the whereabouts of Mr. Blast and whether you have any way of getting in touch with him.
Saitama raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued by the question.
—I thought you kept communication with him at all times.
—That was the case, but unfortunately, at this critical moment, he has not responded to any calls; he is practically isolated from any communication network. I thought that given the relationship you have with him, perhaps you could contact him to come to the Association and…
Saitama stopped him by raising a hand calmly, looking at him with an absolute seriousness that was sufficient for Sitch to feel a chill run down his back.
—I have a way to contact him, yes, but he asked me not to disturb him unless it was a truly serious problem. Remember that he is busy with something of considerable importance. I don't want to bother him and I believe you know what my relationship with him is. I hope it continues to remain isolated from this organization.
—I'm sorry, Commissioner Saitama, it was not my intention to cause you any inconvenience. And as I said no one knows about this. Everything is confidential.
—Fine. —he said, returning to his usual indifferent attitude—. Anyway, tell me: what is this dangerous situation that led you to urgently summon all of Class S?
—As always, so observant, Mr. Saitama; nothing escapes your analytical deduction.
"I only know that because my wife told me on the plane," Saitama thought, looking away from Sitch for a moment to disguise the mild embarrassment he felt.
—Well —Sitch continued—, that is precisely the second matter for which I had you called here. —He stood up and looked at him with an unusual firmness in his expression—. Please, Mr. Saitama, I implore you to help us save the Earth!
Saitama observed him in silence for a moment, with that perpetually muted expression that gave no indication of whether he was confused, bored or simply processing the gravity of what he had just heard.
—Save the Earth?
—That's right, you see…
—BOOM!!
Sitch couldn't continue because a brutal explosion shook the door tearing it from its hinges in an instant and filling the room with a dense cloud of smoke that covered everything without giving anyone time to react. For several seconds absolutely nothing was distinguishable, until Saitama, calmly waving his arms, managed to clear the smoke enough to restore visibility. Without much effort or haste, he had placed Sitch outside the danger radius with one hand while with the other he caught the door in mid-flight before setting it aside as if it were an old newspaper. Then he barely turned his head to identify those responsible for the commotion, though he didn't need to turn much, since they took it upon themselves to announce themselves at the top of their lungs with strident shouts.
—Imbecile! I told you not to deflect the door, but all you can think with is that damn bat of yours!
—I opened it fast and that was all that mattered, so shut up for once, old witch, nobody asked for your opinion!
—Who are you calling old, mediocre fourth-rate delinquent?!
—WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!!
—Please, both of you, calm down for once; you're turning this into a truly embarrassing spectacle.
—And this comes from the tiny stuck-up woman who floats because her feet don't deserve to touch the ground?!
—Honestly, you're a monumental nuisance.
—You shut up, catwalk model with a poker face! And stop fussing you damned pric…!
—Stop shouting for once; you're only agitating sensei more.
Saitama recognized those present — not only were Fubuki, Tatsumaki and Genos there, but almost all of Class S, which was only generating more scandal with every insult. He observed them for a moment, then looked at Sitch trembling in fear, and finally sighed with resignation and exasperation.
Saitama recognized each of those present without needing to think twice: not only were Fubuki, Tatsumaki and Genos there, but practically all of Class S, who far from contributing anything useful to the situation were only managing to amplify the chaos with every new insult they hurled at each other. He observed them for a moment with that empty and resigned look that characterized him, then shifted his eyes toward Sitch, who was visibly trembling, and finally exhaled a long deep sigh loaded with a weariness that went far beyond the physical.
—It seems today is going to be a very, very difficult day.