Chapter 197: Let the World Be Remembered Because of Heroes
When you are full and content, there is a strange, vicarious satisfaction in watching others enjoy their food.
It is a reminder that eating is not just a biological necessity, but a universal art form that everyone can master.
At this moment, Saitama still looked as dazed as ever, his face a mask of bald indifference that rarely betrayed any emotion.
However, his actions told a different story.
He ate mouthful after mouthful with a steady, mechanical precision.
Beads of sweat began to appear on his smooth forehead, glistening under the warm, ambient lighting of the restaurant, but he didn't stop to wipe them away.
He just kept on eating, his focus entirely consumed by the bowl in front of him.
For Saitama, being a hero was a path that rarely provided any reasonable material rewards for his world-saving actions.
Despite the lack of fame, fortune, or even a basic salary that reflected his contributions to humanity, he remained inexplicably enthusiastic.
In Saitama's eyes, a hero was simply someone who did what needed to be done—it was a title defined by action, not by the rewards that followed.
Saitama truly liked Ren's shop.
His financial situation was perpetually precarious, often a delicate balance between rent and whatever was on sale at the local supermarket.
While he could technically afford meat every few days if he was frugal, he rarely ordered meat dishes when dining out.
He had a deeply ingrained habit of believing that restaurant prices should be reserved for vegetarian options, while "real" meat was something one hunted for in the discounted aisles of the grocery store.
Ren knew exactly what kind of life Saitama led, and he respected the man deeply for it.
No matter the circumstances or how much power Ren himself possessed, he believed that as an ordinary person, respecting a true hero was a fundamental duty.
Even though Saitama often insisted that his heroism was merely a hobby born out of interest, he acted with more integrity than most professional icons.
Lucifer glanced at Saitama, then leaned in closer to Ren, her voice a hushed whisper filled with a puzzled expression.
"You seem very familiar with this customer named Saitama, Ren-san," she noted, her red eyes flickering with curiosity.
"I get the feeling that you are very good friends with him, almost like brothers in arms?"
Ren offered a small, knowing smile and nodded gently.
"Hmm. Honestly, I consider myself very fortunate. My friends are all high-quality people, each in their own way."
Lanterby, who had been eavesdropping from the nearby table, asked in confusion, "Eh? Are they all people from high society or noble backgrounds?"
Ren shook his head, his gaze remaining fixed on the bald man who was currently wrestling with a particularly stubborn potato slice.
"Background is indeed important when making friends in certain social circles, but here, it's not that important at all."
"What I mean by high-quality is their character—the strength of their spirit," Ren explained softly.
"Saitama-san is a high-quality friend because of the purity of his heart."
"Eh?" The WGO officers blinked in unison, unable to see anything "high-quality" about the plain-looking man in the tracksuit.
Ren smiled and added in a joking, lighthearted tone, "Because Saitama-san is a hero. A hero for interest."
His words made the entire group pause, but considering Ren's playful delivery, they simply assumed he was being metaphorical.
They took it to mean that Saitama worked in a profession that benefited the public, perhaps as a social worker or a low-level civil servant who did good deeds on the side.
There is a situation that is almost universal: when a group of good friends gathers to drink, the alcohol is consumed slowly, and the conversation never seems to end.
This was exactly the case with Joichiro Yukihira and the others at the far table.
They were savoring Ren's wine, their voices rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence of old stories and professional debates.
However, it was unrealistic to expect these three legends to get drunk easily.
Not only were they all seasoned drinkers with high tolerances, but their elite status meant they had spent decades attending various banquets, official dinners, and wine tastings.
They knew exactly how to pace themselves, even when faced with a vintage as alluring as Ren's.
Saitama, on the other hand, ate with a speed that bordered on the supernatural.
While the men at the other table were still busy toasting each other, Saitama had already reached the bottom of his bowl.
It was clear that the hero was in an exceptionally good mood today.
Although he couldn't express it through grand gestures or words, the way he ate with such relish told Ren everything he needed to know.
For a chef like Ren, seeing a customer finish every single morsel—even the small side dishes—brought a profound sense of professional satisfaction.
In this restaurant, fortunately, every customer seemed to leave with a clean plate.
Saitama let out a soft sound, a mix of a sigh and a satisfied grunt.
Gulp. Gulp.
After finishing an entire dry-pot potato slice dish and a large bowl of rice, a normal human being would feel as if their throat and stomach were physically blocked.
At this point, even a simple glass of water chugged down would elicit a heartfelt exclamation of "refreshing," let alone the flavorful soup Ren had provided.
Saitama wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still looking as dazed as ever, as if he were devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
"Ren-san, your cooking is as delicious as ever," he said, his voice flat but sincere.
"As expected, eating here is the most reassuring thing in my life."
Ren smiled and replied, "To be precise, coming here and getting full is what makes one feel at ease."
"Although, being full itself brings a certain peace of mind that nothing else can replicate."
Saitama looked at Ren for a long moment, his eyes blinking slowly.
"So, Ren-san, you really are a magical person..."
"Thank you for the compliment," Ren replied with a humble nod.
If it was a deserved compliment, Ren never refused it.
He believed in being honest about one's skills, and he knew that his food had a genuine impact on those who ate it.
He was already very familiar with Saitama's quirks, so there was no need for excessive politeness.
Saitama, still looking dazed, asked the most important question of his day.
"So, Ren-san, how much is the total for everything?"
"Seven hundred yen," Ren answered smoothly.
Upon hearing this price, Courage, Decora, and Anne all froze.
They were certain they had misheard the number.
Although they already knew that Ren's dishes were priced affordably, this was beyond cheap—it was practically a gift!
For a dish that utilized such advanced culinary techniques and proprietary spices, seven hundred yen wouldn't even cover the overhead of a standard bistro in Tokyo.
Saitama, on the other hand, was not surprised at all.
He maintained his blank expression as he reached into his pocket.
"As expected of Ren-san, your dishes are truly as cheap as ever. It makes it easy for someone like me to keep coming back."
"That's because, in this shop, these are not considered expensive ingredients," Ren explained, his voice echoing a long-held philosophy.
Uncharacteristically, Saitama said those exact words at the same time as Ren.
The two of them shared a brief, silent moment of understanding.
Ren smiled, nodded, and said, "It looks like you're in a very good mood today. You must have gained something significant during your walk."
Ren didn't even glance at the money Saitama placed carefully on the wooden table.
Instead, he looked at Saitama with genuine interest.
Saitama nodded and said, "Yes. I defeated a 'wack' today."
[Akarin's Note: "Wack" is a slang term used by Saitama to describe the various monsters or villains he encounters.]
Ren nodded playfully. "You must be satisfied with the outcome after defeating that 'wack,' right?"
Saitama nodded again.
He had indeed saved someone from a monster today, which was part of the reason he felt so light.
But more importantly, he hadn't missed the supermarket's discounted eggs, which was the true source of his satisfaction.
Ren caught the twinkle in the hero's eyes and smiled.
"It seems you're really living up to those two words, Saitama-san..."
Saitama tilted his head, looking slightly confused. "Because of interest?"
Ren shook his head slowly, his voice dropping to a soft, reverent tone.
"No. It's because it's what the world needs."
Saitama was momentarily startled, his dazed expression breaking for a split second before he smiled.
"Well then, Ren-san, I'll be leaving now. I'll come back in a while."
"You are always welcome," Ren replied.
Saitama turned and walked out, his cape (which was currently hidden under his jacket) making no sound.
After Ren tidied the table, he returned to his seat near the WGO group.
Courage and the others were about to ask about the absurdly low price when they saw Ren turn to Lucifer.
"Lucifer," Ren said softly, his eyes reflecting the dimming light of the evening.
"Why do you think people want to become heroes?"
Lucifer was startled by the sudden philosophical turn.
Asking a Queen of Hell about the motivations of heroes felt a bit absurd, but she took a moment to think seriously.
"I suppose... it's to help more people," she began, her brow furrowed.
"Or perhaps to let the world remember the trajectory of that person... to leave a mark that says they existed."
Courage and the others nodded in agreement.
Lucifer's statement covered both the selfless and the personal aspects of heroism, and there was nothing inherently wrong with it.
However, Ren offered a small smile and shook his head.
"No. To be precise, that's not comprehensive enough."
"It's not just to let the world remember the trajectory of that person," Ren explained, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the room.
"But it is also to let future generations remember what this world once was because of that person's presence."
"Even if some are unintentional heroes, they change the fabric of reality just by standing their ground."
"We must let the world be remembered because of heroes."
At this moment, Saitama was walking down the street in one direction.
He was swinging his arms rhythmically, his mind already drifting away from the heavy atmosphere of the restaurant.
He began muttering to himself, his voice lost in the evening breeze.
"Eh? I think I'll have egg mixed rice for breakfast tomorrow morning..."
[Akarin Note:
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