Jordan leaned forward. "Wait — they caught the bounty hunter?"
"They caught him."
Saitama spread his hands in a gesture that encompassed the full scope of the situation, then let himself fall flat against the sofa cushions. He stared at the ceiling. "On the way to the bank to cash in the warrant, Genos spotted someone robbing a supermarket. We went over. Stopped it. And somewhere between stopping it and getting back to the bank—" a pause, in the particular key of a man stating something he has fully processed and has not made peace with "—the warrant was gone."
So that's the pressure front.
Jordan patted him on the shoulder with the sincere sympathy of someone who genuinely understood that the universe has favorites and Saitama is not one of them. "Then please accept my condolences."
"Similar things have happened before." Saitama nodded, in the tone of a man who has made a philosophical decision about his relationship with luck. "I'm fine."
From the kitchen came the particular sounds of someone finishing dishes with a thoroughness that suggested the task was receiving the same focused attention as combat training. Genos appeared in the doorway, untied his apron, and carried it to the hook in the corner with the deliberate care of a man who understood that the apron's location was not arbitrary.
"Saitama-sensei. The kitchen is finished."
"Good work, Genos." Saitama got up — genuine, automatic, the reflex of someone who actually meant it — and went to the kettle. "Sit down. Have some tea."
They rested after the meal the way people do when they've been on their feet all day — the comfortable quiet of three people who didn't need to fill the space. Then Genos set his cup down, sat up at the angle he used when he was about to say something important, and said it.
"Teacher. There is something I need to report."
"Ah—" Saitama immediately became uncomfortable in the way he did whenever Genos deployed a formal register "—you don't have to be so formal."
"The doctor has contacted me. New components have arrived that need installation — including the replacements from today's training." A precise incline of the head. "I apologize for the short notice. I need to return to the research institute tonight. Please allow me to take my leave."
Saitama nodded quickly, the relief of a man given a reasonable solution to a problem he'd been mentally carrying all evening. "Of course, of course. Getting the parts replaced is what matters." He paused, in the careful tone of someone making a generous suggestion without wanting to be caught making it. "Why not get a full checkup while you're there? Rest a few days. Come back when you're ready."
Genos received this at face value, as he received most information. "No need. The doctor's work is exceptionally precise — the new components should achieve full compatibility tonight." He stood, collected his jacket, and smiled with the uncomplicated sincerity that made him difficult to be impatient with. "So — Saitama-sensei, Jordan — see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow, Genos." Jordan waved the hand holding the sunflower seeds.
"...Yeah. Tomorrow." Saitama's wave was a different species of gesture entirely.
Genos bowed at the door — formal, full, final — and left. The click of the latch was very small.
A beat of complete silence.
"Finally."
Saitama came off the sofa in a single motion, as if a switch had been thrown. He stretched both arms above his head, rolled his shoulders, and surveyed the apartment with the expression of a man rediscovering a space he'd forgotten he liked. Relieved of one cyborg who occupied presence in proportions exceeding his physical footprint, the apartment had become perceptibly larger.
Jordan narrowed his eyes over his sunflower seeds. "You know I'm going to tell him you said that, right? He'll be devastated."
The animation drained from Saitama's face in real time. He stood very still for a moment, examining the door, then turned to it at a precisely ninety-degree angle and bowed.
"Genos. I'm sorry."
"There we go," Jordan said.
"Shut up."
Saitama dropped back onto the sofa. The evening resumed its equilibrium.
Jordan finished the remaining sunflower seeds, dusted his palms, stood, and stretched. "I've been to a lot of cities today. My clothes are done. I'm using the bathroom."
The shower ran for approximately ten minutes.
Under the cool water, with the foam working through his hair, Jordan had a quiet internal conversation.
F-boy. Draw count.
[Current Fate Draw count: 100.]
Jordan stood still for a moment.
A hundred. He'd left the apartment this morning with forty-five. The gap made sense when you ran through the day — six cities, eight items from the disaster broadcast, plus the organic encounters that didn't make broadcast because they were too small or too local. Roughly fifty five total incidents across enough distance that the commute alone would have been prohibitive for someone without Instant Teleportation.
If I really can't find any more monsters, I'll just go underground. Z-City, 1,500 meters down, where Psykos was building the Monster Association into something the Hero Association would eventually need to take seriously. He hadn't forgotten it existed. He was simply waiting for it to ripen — right now, wiping it out would just reset the clock without meaningful return on investment.
Besides, he concluded, feeling the foam in his hair, I just showered.
The calculation resolved without much argument. Monster Association tunnel network: not currently urgent. Fresh shower: recent investment. Cards: available now.
Let's just pull first.
Jordan came out in his bathrobe, hair still damp, and sat on the edge of the bed.
F-boy stepped clear of him without ceremony — the pale purple figure materializing beside the bed with the quiet competence of someone who had done this particular handoff many times. His spiritual flames burned blue around his forearms. Between them, ten blank cards arranged themselves in a clean horizontal row.
The colors resolved in sequence, the way they always did.
White. Blue. White. Blue. Blue. White. White—
Gold.
The eighth card shone with the specific quality of something that did not belong in the sequence surrounding it. Not the pale border of N-rank, not the cool blue of R, not even the deep purple of SR — orange-gold. SSR. Bright enough that it registered in Jordan's peripheral vision before he'd consciously processed the eighth position.
He reached out slowly and picked it from the row. Confirmed it was real. Looked at F-boy. Looked at the card again.
A gold in a single ten-pull.
He should not interrogate this. He recognized that immediately.
But then — if you count last month's ninety, that's basically a hundred total, which means the pity threshold—
His own logic caught up with itself.
...There is no pity system.
He knew this. He had always known this. Fantasy Cards operated on pure probability, without accumulation, without mercy, without any mechanism by which prior pulls improved the odds on subsequent ones. What had just happened was luck — raw, unconditional, randomly distributed — and he was going to accept it without constructing a structural explanation, because there was none.
F-boy's expression said, with crisp economy: I am not a developer. Do not look at me like that.
Jordan lay back on the bed and held the card above his face, examining it in the quiet of the apartment.
[Fantasy Card: Herrscher of the Void]
Type: Character Card (Honkai) • Rarity: SSR
Second Herrscher of the current civilization cycle. True identity: Kiana Kaslana, designation K423, experimental subject of the "Sirin Project." A Herrscher personality that awakened in a berserk state during the Greenhill Incident. Also known as "Herrscher Kaslana." Herrscher authority: spatial dominion.
Effect 1 — Spatial Power: The Herrscher of the Void manipulates both physical space and the Imaginary Space at will. Spatial distortion, teleportation, dimensional jumps, and object relocation, performed as naturally as breathing.
Effect 2 — Void Realm Energy: The Herrscher of the Void draws freely from the inexhaustible Honkai energy within the Imaginary Space. Effective combat endurance: unlimited.
Effect 3 — Boundary Between Reality and Illusion: The Herrscher of the Void dissolves the boundary between physical matter and imaginary space — endowing real objects with imaginary-number properties, or projecting void existence into physical reality. Her preferred weapon, the Spear of the Void, is a spatial core compressed into a physical lance existing simultaneously in both domains.
Effect 4 — Herrscher Stance: The Herrscher of the Void releases her full authority. Within a controlled range, enemies enter spacetime deceleration, or local spacetime undergoes structural tremor — destabilization of spatial geometry in the target zone.
Effect 5 — Collapse Domination: The Herrscher of the Void commands Honkai Beasts and Undead, who pledge absolute loyalty to the Herrscher holding dominion over them, as soldiers pledge allegiance to their sovereign.
Within the orange-gold border, a girl with a stunning figure and legs that went on forever sat above her own private sky — not perched, not hovering, but presiding, the way something presides when it has decided the concept of gravity is optional and everything below it operates on borrowed time. She looked out from the card at something beyond the frame: whatever it is that an entity of absolute spatial authority finds interesting to look at.
Jordan held her up against the ceiling of his room, turning the card slowly in the light, and took his time appreciating the draw.
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