The surveillance feed jolted violently under the shockwave before freezing on a final frame—Pochita's massive body embedded in the rock layer directly above the research institute.
She was only a few dozen meters from Sykes's hiding spot.
"Damn it!" Sykes ripped her glasses from her face, her long blue hair shifting as if in a phantom breeze.
Her psychic power flared out of control. Consoles sparked, alarms shrieked, and smoke hissed from fried circuits.
With trembling fingers, she pulled up the Hero Association database, tracing over a name on the screen.
Saitama.
Rank: B-Class. Note: Straggler.
"What a joke… This strength is superior to most S-Class heroes!"
Suddenly, on the frozen surveillance image, Saitama tilted his head upward. His blank, dead-fish eyes seemed to pierce straight through the camera—straight into her soul.
Sykes felt her blood turn to ice. Every hair on her body stood on end.
"He… found me? No. Impossible…"
She forced herself to breathe, though the wine cooling on her chest clung sticky and irritating to her skin.
Then, mercifully, the three heroes' communicators rang. On-screen, they turned and departed.
Sykes sagged into the sofa, lungs gasping for air. Only then did she notice her lab coat plastered to her back with cold sweat, its outline tracing every curve.
"The plan has to move up…" she muttered, biting at a fingernail. A dangerous gleam flashed in her eyes.
But then she recalled that person's warning. Gritting her teeth, she forced the impulse down.
"Just a little longer… Just a little longer…"
Sliding her glasses back on, composure returned to her gaze.
"Saitama… and King," she whispered, licking her lips into a wicked smile. "Next time we meet, I'll have a special gift prepared just for you."
Meanwhile, above the institute, Pochita let out a faint whimper. Her six eyes darted fearfully toward the direction Saitama had left.
Cold rain hammered City C, soaking the ruined streets.
Kaito and Saitama rode on Genos's back, cutting through the gray curtain. Gale winds whipped the sheets of rain, blurring the view of shattered buildings, overturned vehicles, and smoldering wreckage rushing past below—a living mural of apocalypse.
When they arrived above the central shelter in the city's heart, the stench of blood mixed with wet earth rushed up to meet them.
The shelter's alloy walls—touted as indestructible, able to withstand missiles and tank shells—yawned open with a massive, twisted breach.
Before that gaping wound, on ground churned with mud and blood, heroes lay scattered. A-Class, B-Class, even C-Class—slumped in broken positions, half-submerged in red water.
The only one still standing was a lone figure.
C-Class Hero: Mumen Rider.
His cheap green uniform was torn to rags, skin shredded with wounds carved to the bone. Blood mixed with rain at his feet, swirling into a crimson current.
He leaned forward on trembling knees, swaying as though the storm might blow him over. Yet still, he refused to fall.
Rain streamed over his lowered head, washing blood from his face but not extinguishing the fire in his eyes—the fire to protect.
From inside the shelter, thousands of eyes stared outward in suffocating silence. Sobs of women, cries of children, and the ragged breath of despairing men filled the air.
"What's the point of a C-Class hero?!"
"Even A-Class heroes were crushed! We're finished!"
"Someone… please… I don't want to die… Mom!!!"
Each desperate cry struck Mumen Rider's back like a hammer, making his body quiver violently.
He staggered, forcing his head up. Rain ran into the cracks of his lips as he forced out a ragged voice:
"I know… no one expects anything from me… I understand that more than anyone…"
Every word split his wounds wider, every syllable sent fire through his body.
"C-Class hero… useless… I know I can't beat you!"
The monster looming before him—Deep Sea King—let out a low, rumbling sneer.
Its mountainous body shifted under the rain, slimy green-black scales glistening. Crown-like bone spikes jutted from its head, rain and blood streaming down them. Its thick tail lashed the ground impatiently, splattering mud like shrapnel.
The hideous face leaned close, rows of jagged teeth gleaming. Hot, fishy breath washed over Mumen Rider's face.
"What are you babbling about? …Begging for mercy?"
Mumen Rider suddenly straightened, spine screaming in agony but refusing to bend.
"But—!"
Mumen Rider roared with every last shred of breath, his voice momentarily cutting through the storm:
"This is all I can do! It's not about whether I can win or not! It's that I must stand in front of you!"
His bloodied fist clenched tight, nails biting into torn flesh, arm trembling yet unyielding. He thrust it toward the black maw of the shelter behind him.
"Because… there are still people I have to protect—!!!"
And in that instant—
From the depths of despair, a roar answered him. It surged like a tidal wave from the shelter, a chorus of hundreds of voices:
"Mumen Rider!!"
"Go for it!!"
"Big brother on the bike, ganbatte—!!!"
It was hope given form.
Mumen Rider's whole body shuddered. Into his cold, numbed flesh surged a heat not his own—a power born of their voices, their trust.
"AAARRRGHHHHHHH—!!!"
With a roar that split his throat raw, he dragged his broken body upright and hurled a punch. A punch that carried all his pain, all his despair, all their fragile hope—straight at the invincible monster before him.
And yet—
That fist, overflowing with courage, landed harmlessly against Deep Sea King's scaled chest. Not even a ripple.
The monster's playful smirk died, twisting into a mask of contempt. His voice rumbled, dark and cold:
"Muttering nonsense…? You should die here. And take their hope with you."
Deep Sea King raised his colossal arm. The fist blotted out the sky, and the wind pressure alone blasted the rain aside, creating a vacuum around it.
Within the shelter, the torrent of cheers choked to silence. Thousands of eyes froze wide, pupils shrinking to pinpoints as that fist—dark as doom—descended to erase the lone rider.
Time fractured. Raindrops slowed, each droplet suspended midair.
And then—
"BOOOOOM!!!"
A thunderous roar ripped the storm apart, ancient and primal, like the sky itself splitting open.
A meteor-like figure crashed down through the curtain of rain, shattering the air with impossible speed.
"BOOM!!!"
Kaito slammed into the ground before Mumen Rider, the impact exploding mud and gravel outward. His boots carved deep into the earth, anchoring him like an unshakable bulwark.
With one hand, he caught Mumen Rider's broken body before it could be obliterated, holding him steady in his grasp. The rider had already lost consciousness, but his fist remained clenched, frozen in defiance.
Almost simultaneously—
"Incineration Cannon—Hellfire Roar!!!"
Above, Genos's battered frame unleashed its last fury. His remaining arm split open, revealing the searing complexity of his energy core.
A blinding white-blue flare erupted from the cannon, tearing the storm into daylight and casting the battlefield in fire.