Chapter 15 — The Arrival of the Two Sisters
Saitama's fist shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Every ounce of his unmatched power and presence concentrated in that single strike—pure, absolute, and final.
For a fleeting instant, the word Death seemed to flicker in reflection within Sweet Mask's pupils.
That calm, serious face… that simple yet overwhelming motion of his fist—it was the very image of a true hero.
Sweet Mask couldn't help but feel awe rising from the depths of his heart.
So this is… the strength of a real hero.
Even something as simple as raising a hand felt divine in his presence.
— — —
BAM!!
A deafening impact resounded through the air, shaking Sweet Mask to his core.
Before he realized it, his monstrous form had already receded, and he found himself standing still—staring at Saitama's steel-like fist, still faintly smoking from the force of the blow.
"Why didn't you kill me?" he muttered quietly. "I'm… a monster, aren't I?"
Saitama exhaled softly and answered with his usual, disarmingly casual tone.
"I know."
"But so what? If I didn't know better, maybe I really would've hit you seriously. But a few days ago, my friend told me something important."
He looked directly into Sweet Mask's eyes.
"He said you can't judge someone just by what they are. What matters is what they've done. Even if your body's become a monster… your heart's still human."
Saitama grinned suddenly, ruining the solemn air in an instant.
"Oh yeah, about that S-Class promotion exam—guess I passed, huh, Sweet Baby~?"
Before Sweet Mask could even respond, Saitama gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Cheer up, Sweet Baby. Keep being a hero. Follow that justice in your heart."
And with that, he turned and walked away—his white cape fluttering behind him in the sea breeze.
Sweet Mask stared blankly at his departing back.
If only he still had hair… And seriously, it's Sweet Mask, not Sweet Baby! I'm Rank 1 in A-Class, for crying out loud—hey!
— — —
The next second, he froze completely.
The calm blue ocean behind him suddenly split apart—literally.
With a single punch, Saitama had created a massive crater in the sea, shaped unmistakably like a fist. Its diameter stretched for dozens of kilometers, its depth hundreds of meters.
As the water poured back in, the enormous fist-shaped cavity slowly filled and disappeared.
Sweet Mask swallowed hard, cold sweat running down his temple.
When he turned again, Saitama was already gone.
"Could a human… really do something like that?"
He stood there for a long time—speechless.
— — —
The Next Morning.
When Sweet Mask showed up together with Saitama, Zenin Kyūjō simply smiled and opened the door without asking questions.
The table was already full of food—all of it made with seaweed.
Saitama scratched the back of his shiny head awkwardly.
"Uh… Kyūjō, could we, like, not eat seaweed again? I feel like eating this stuff just makes me more bald…"
Kyūjō smirked playfully.
"Saitama, your hair isn't growing back no matter what you eat. Your bald head is the symbol of your invincibility. You're strong because you're bald. If you want that power, you have to bear its cost."
Saitama's expression turned sour.
"Then how come you still have all that hair? Don't give me that—being bald has nothing to do with power! My strength came from three years of intense training!"
Kyūjō rolled his eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous. I tried your so-called 'training routine' myself—it didn't work at all!"
His tone carried a mix of irritation and disbelief.
They had both done the same training. So why was the shiny-headed freeloader the one who broke through the Limiter?
If it weren't for Kyūjō's cultivation of Starforce Energy, his three years of effort might've been completely pointless.
Thankfully, this world's system could adapt to multiple forms of power. Otherwise, his strength would've capped out somewhere around Dragon-level—far from the divine force he now wielded, capable of destroying stars.
While Saitama and Kyūjō continued their usual argument, Sweet Mask began chatting politely with Genos.
"Hello, I'm Genos, disciple of Zenin Kyūjō-sensei."
Sweet Mask nodded slightly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Sweet Mask, follower of Master Saitama… His strength truly left me speechless."
Genos crossed his arms, nodding proudly. "Indeed. My sensei once said that Master Saitama's power rivals his own."
Sweet Mask blinked.
He had seen that power with his own eyes. That single punch was forever carved into his memory.
Could there really be someone else equal to that?
Inwardly, he decided Genos must just be exaggerating out of loyalty.
— — —
Suddenly—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Rapid, forceful knocking echoed through the house.
Kyūjō frowned. "Again? They're back already? Didn't they have enough of throwing up last time…"
Sure enough, standing outside were two familiar figures—Tatsumaki and Fubuki.
After thinking for a moment, Kyūjō motioned for Genos to open the door.
— — —
Tatsumaki floated in without a single word, ignoring Genos completely. Fubuki followed behind, offering a polite greeting before stepping inside.
Upon noticing Sweet Mask—who clearly shouldn't have been there—Tatsumaki shot him a sharp glance but decided to ignore him.
Her attention snapped toward Kyūjō and Saitama.
"You two! Fight me again! I only lost last time because I was careless!"
Kyūjō didn't even flinch. He lazily gestured toward Saitama, silently telling him to handle it.
But Saitama just shook his head.
This guy was just being stubborn about his hair, and now he wants me to fight a kid? Nope.
Besides, fighting a child—no matter how strong—wasn't exactly thrilling.
Even though Tatsumaki's power surpassed most monsters, in Saitama's eyes she was still just a brat—both in size and temperament.
When Saitama refused, Kyūjō sighed.
"Your power's still far too weak for us," he said plainly. "You might not like to hear that, but it's the truth."
"Besides, I just finished eating. I don't feel like doing anything that might make me throw up again. If you haven't eaten yet, sit down and join us. We're comrades in the Hero Association, not enemies. Instead of picking fights, why not make friends?"
Tatsumaki's face turned bright red.
"What did you just say?!"
She nearly flipped the table in anger—but before she could, Fubuki rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her sister, restraining her tightly.
"You're the one who said we weren't coming here to fight! If this is how you're going to act, I'm not tagging along next time!"
"Then don't!" Tatsumaki shouted back. "If you want to throw up, do it alone next time!"
Fubuki glanced at Kyūjō and smiled sheepishly.
"You heard her, right? I'm not here to fight. So, you know… if you end up beating my sister again, please don't punch me too, okay~?"
The room went completely silent.
Even Tatsumaki froze, staring at her younger sister with a mix of disbelief and exhaustion.
"…Having a little sister like you," she muttered under her breath, "is truly… an experience."
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