The Royal Kitchens of Midgar were a chaotic ballet of clanging pots, sizzling meats, and harried chefs. Normally a well-oiled machine producing culinary masterpieces for the royal family and their esteemed guests, today it was a scene of near-panic. The King's orders had been explicit: "Feed the bald man. Anything he wants. And make it fast." Whispers of the throne room incident – the exploding vase, the disappearing cult leader, the puff of air – had spread like wildfire, investing Saitama with an almost mythical, and terrifying, aura.
Saitama, seated at a massive, scrubbed-oak table in the heart of the kitchen (the royal dining hall felt "too stuffy"), watched with mild interest as a veritable mountain of food began to appear before him. Roasted dragon-raptor thighs (a local delicacy), steaming piles of savory grain porridge, platters of exotic fruits that shimmered with faint magical energies, and a tureen of soup so fragrant it made his stomach emit another, albeit softer, rumble.
"Whoa," Saitama said, genuinely impressed for the first time since arriving in this dimension. "This is way better than instant noodles. You guys really know how to throw down." He picked up a massive dragon-raptor thigh, bigger than his own head, and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly. "Hey, this is pretty good! Kinda like super-chicken."
Genos stood attentively nearby, his optical sensors performing a detailed nutritional analysis of the spread. "Master, the caloric content of this meal is substantial. The protein-to-carbohydrate ratio is optimal for muscle regeneration, though given your unique physiology, such considerations are likely… superfluous." He paused. "I have also detected trace elements of beneficial magical flora in the fruit, which may enhance vitality in standard carbon-based lifeforms."
Saitama just grunted, already halfway through his second raptor thigh. "Mmph. Magic fruit, huh? Tastes kinda like pineapple. But, like, a really good pineapple."
Meanwhile, in a nearby antechamber, King Midgar, Iris, Alexia, Rose, and a visibly shaken Sherry Barnett were gathered with Shadow. The Eminence in Shadow had declined any refreshment, preferring, as always, to lurk dramatically in the periphery, his presence a constant, unnerving reminder of the otherworldly forces now at play.
"We need to understand what we're dealing with," King Midgar said, his voice still strained. He rubbed his temples, the image of the atomized vase clearly seared into his mind. "This… Saitama. And his companion, Genos. Their power is… beyond comprehension. Are they allies? A threat? Or simply… cosmic accidents?"
Iris, her composure slowly returning, nodded. "The cultists, seasoned demonic practitioners, were dispatched with… trivial ease. The lead fanatic, who I recognized as Prelate Malakor – a figure whispered to possess power comparable to a lesser demon lord – was… nullified. By a breath." She shook her head, still struggling to reconcile what she'd witnessed. "Shadow, you seemed to… recognize a certain quality in him. What is your assessment?"
Shadow allowed the silence to stretch, savoring the weight of their anticipation. 'They seek answers, reassurance. They wish to categorize, to label, to fit the infinite into their finite boxes. Futile. But… an opportunity. An opportunity to subtly plant seeds, to nudge events towards a grander, more… interesting… stage.'
"Assessment?" Shadow's voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. "You ask me to assess a hurricane by the leaves it scatters, or the sun by the warmth on your skin. What you witnessed was not mere power, Princess Iris. It was… a fundamental truth. A law of existence made manifest in a ridiculously clad individual with an appetite for poultry."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "The one called Saitama… he is not a warrior in the sense you understand. He does not strive, he does not train for greater strength, for he is strength. He is the endpoint. The absolute. The concept of 'threat' is, to him, likely as alien as the concept of 'effort.' He moves through reality as a force of nature, indifferent and absolute."
Alexia, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up, her voice a mixture of awe and a touch of her usual defiance. "So, he's unbeatable? Is that what you're saying? No one, not even you, Shadow, could stand against him?"
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Shadow's hidden eyes. 'A direct challenge to my mystique. Amusing. But the truth, in this instance, is more potent than any fabrication.'
"To 'stand against' him," Shadow intoned, "implies a contest, a struggle. One does not 'struggle' against the inevitable tide or the falling mountain. One either avoids it, or is consumed. His power is not a weapon to be countered, but a condition of the universe he currently occupies."
He then turned his gaze, or at least the direction of his hood, towards the King. "However, his… indifference… can be a double-edged sword. He seeks mundane comforts – food, perhaps a decent television program, an end to boredom. If those needs are met, he may remain a passive, if somewhat destructive, anomaly. But if provoked… if something genuinely captures his ire, or if those he has, however casually, taken under his notice are threatened…" Shadow let the implication hang, heavy and ominous. "The consequences would be… unimaginable. Cataclysmic, on a scale that would make the Cult of Diablos look like a minor street gang."
Rose Oriana, her face pale but thoughtful, spoke softly. "So, our best course of action is… to keep him happy? To provide him with… dragon-raptor thighs and ensure no one annoys him?" The absurdity of it was not lost on her.
Sherry Barnett, who had been furiously sketching equations and diagrams in her notepad, suddenly looked up, her eyes gleaming with a manic, scientific light. "The 'indifference' is key! It suggests a potential lack of fine control over the more… nuanced applications of his absolute power. He destroys, but does he create? Can he manipulate energies with precision, or is it all blunt force, albeit infinitely powerful blunt force? We need more data! Controlled experiments! Perhaps if we presented him with a series of increasingly complex thaumaturgical puzzles… or introduced him to advanced artifact enchantment theory…"
"Sherry, no!" Iris cut her off, aghast. "We are not going to 'experiment' on the man who can turn royal heirlooms to dust with an elbow! Are you trying to get us all atomized?"
Shadow let out a soft, almost soundless chuckle. 'The little researcher yearns to dissect the sun. Admirable, in its foolish audacity.'
"The immediate concern," King Midgar said, trying to steer the conversation back to pragmatism, "is the Cult. They breached the palace defenses. Prelate Malakor is… gone. But they are legion. They will not be deterred by one defeat, especially if they perceive Saitama as an anomaly they can overcome with numbers or a different strategy."
"Indeed," Shadow agreed, his tone shifting, becoming sharper, more focused. "The Cult of Diablos is a cancer. Their tendrils run deep. Malakor was but one head of the hydra. His demise will cause disarray, certainly, but they will regroup. They will seek to understand this new… variable. And they will undoubtedly try to exploit it, or eliminate it." He paused. "And there is the matter of the… rift. The gateway through which our guests arrived. It remains open, a wound in the fabric of our reality. What else might emerge from it? Or be drawn to it?"
The mood in the antechamber grew heavier. The initial shock of Saitama's power was giving way to the dawning realization of the sheer scale of the problems they now faced.
Back in the kitchen, Saitama had polished off a truly staggering amount of food. He leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach. "Man, that hit the spot. Seriously, best meal I've had in… well, probably ever. You guys get, like, Michelin stars here or something?"
The Head Chef, a portly man named Gustav who had been sweating profusely throughout the entire ordeal, managed a weak, trembling smile. "We… we aim to please, sir." He still couldn't quite meet Saitama's eyes.
Saitama stood up, stretching. "Alright. Well, thanks for the grub. Now, about that… uh… what was it again? Big flashy hole in the sky?"
Genos nodded. "The spatio-temporal distortion, Master. It is still active above the Central Plaza. Given its unstable nature, it poses a significant ongoing threat to this dimension. It could collapse, expand, or disgorge further entities."
"Right. That thing." Saitama frowned. "Probably should do something about that, huh? Don't want more giant calamari showing up. Or worse, tax collectors from another dimension. Those guys are relentless."
Just then, Iris, Alexia, and Shadow entered the kitchen. The King and his advisors had remained in the antechamber, likely needing time to process the sheer existential weight of their new reality.
"Saitama-san," Iris began, adopting a more formal tone, though her eyes still held a measure of disbelief. "We need to discuss the dimensional rift. And the ongoing threat of the Cult."
Saitama waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Bad guys, hole in the sky. Got it. So, what's the plan? You guys got, like, a giant cork or something for the hole?"
Shadow stepped forward, his dark aura seeming to absorb the flickering torchlight. "The rift is a symptom, Caped One, not the disease. It is a consequence of forces beyond your current understanding, perhaps even beyond mine. But its continued presence is an invitation to chaos. As for the Cult…" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, though it still carried throughout the kitchen. "They seek to awaken an ancient power, a being known as Diablos. A creature of immense destructive potential, whose return would plunge this world, and perhaps others, into an era of unending darkness."
He paused, letting the drama build. 'Now, to subtly guide him. To pique his interest. To set him upon a path that aligns with my own grander designs, even if he remains blissfully unaware of his role as the ultimate, unwitting pawn… or perhaps, the ultimate, unknowing co-conspirator.'
"The Cult believes certain artifacts, certain nexuses of power, are key to this awakening," Shadow continued. "They will undoubtedly redouble their efforts to secure them, especially now that they know a power exists that can… inconvenience them so profoundly." He subtly gestured in Saitama's direction. "They may even see you as a potential key, or a sacrifice of unprecedented value."
Saitama scratched his chin. "So, they're gonna keep coming after me? And try to use me to wake up some big bad guy? That sounds… annoying. And probably loud. I hate loud."
"Precisely," Shadow affirmed, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. 'He grasps the essential point, albeit in his own… unique vernacular.' "Therefore, the most… efficient… course of action would be to proactively dismantle their operations. To strike at their strongholds. To seize these artifacts before they can."
Alexia, ever pragmatic, interjected, "But we don't know where all their strongholds are. The Cult is insidious, their network vast and hidden."
Shadow's unseen lips curved. "Ah, but that is where the Eminence in Shadow… excels. I have… sources. Whispers in the dark. Knowledge gleaned from the forgotten corners of the world." He was subtly implying that he, and by extension, his organization Shadow Garden (though he wouldn't deign to mention them directly to these outsiders yet), possessed the intelligence they lacked. "And I believe, with the… unique capabilities… of our guests, we could accelerate the process of cleansing this world of their taint considerably."
Iris looked skeptical. "You're proposing we work together? You, the enigmatic Shadow, with… him?" She gestured towards Saitama, who was currently examining a particularly shiny copper pot with mild curiosity.
"Unlikely alliances are often forged in the crucible of extraordinary circumstances, Princess," Shadow replied smoothly. "Consider it… a convergence of interests. I seek the eradication of the Cult. The Caped One, I suspect, seeks an end to being bothered and perhaps… a worthy challenge, though the latter seems increasingly unlikely in this particular reality." He deliberately didn't mention Saitama's quest for groceries, as that would dilute the carefully crafted mystique.
Saitama perked up slightly at the mention of a "worthy challenge," though his expression quickly returned to its usual placid boredom. "Eh. Mostly just want to find a good sale on manga. And maybe figure out how to get home. But if punching these cult guys makes things quieter, I'm game. As long as it doesn't take too long. I got a routine, you know."
Genos nodded. "Master's schedule is indeed important. However, eliminating a clear and present danger to innocent lives aligns with the Hero Association's core principles, regardless of dimensional jurisdiction. I will support Master in this endeavor."
And so, in the heart of the Royal Kitchens of Midgar, amidst the lingering aroma of roasted dragon-raptor and the palpable tension of clashing realities, an uneasy, unspoken alliance began to form. The Eminence in Shadow, master of manipulation and grand design, saw an opportunity to wield a force of nature. The Hero for Fun, driven by a desire for peace, quiet, and perhaps a decent meal, had stumbled into another mess he'd have to punch his way out of.
The stage was expanding. The players were moving. And Cid Kagenou, deep within the persona of Shadow, felt a thrill that was almost painful in its intensity. This was beyond anything he had ever scripted. This was improvisation on a cosmic scale. The goosebumps were practically singing arias on his skin. The grand tournament he occasionally fantasized about orchestrating felt… almost pedestrian now. But perhaps… perhaps these new, ludicrously overpowered elements could be incorporated. A tournament featuring these participants? The thought alone was enough to make his shadowy heart flutter with anticipation. Yes… Chapter 15 would be magnificent. And Jin Woo's arrival in Chapter 20? Against this backdrop? It would be legendary. Utterly, terrifyingly legendary.