"Why didn't anyone tell me Lord Megatron posted this mission in advance?!"
The Decepticon Commander glared at his support AI, seething.
The AI offered a placating smile. "Because they want to steal the credit that rightfully belongs to you, Commander. But I can assure you—they won't succeed."
"Oh?" The commander's expression eased. "You're certain?"
"Absolutely," the AI said. "The victory of defeating Saitama belongs only to you. The others are unworthy."
"Hahaha—well said." The commander crushed a metal sphere in one claw. "Still, I don't trust them. I'm going to the site to watch."
The AI opened its mouth, then closed it again, shelving the projections it had just calculated.
From all combat footage since Saitama's arrival, the AI had derived a terrifying conclusion: Saitama's strength far exceeded that of standard Cybertronians. Even with Solar Wind and Direct Current incoming… rashness could only end badly.
But would the battle really unfold as the AI feared?
Over City One, Direct Current struck first.
Unlike the Cybertronians Saitama had fought before, every one of Direct Current's attacks manifested as electricity. Blue arcs leapt from his hands and coursed across the steel-forged city.
Zzzzz—
The entire metropolis began to hum with charge.
Windows popped and cracked with static.
The gear-walking drones below convulsed, sparks geysering from their joints—then swelled as if "overcharged," their frames bulking up with ugly groans.
Creak, creak.
Lightning dancing over their bodies turned fresh hope back into fear.
"God—what are those things?!"
"Things?" Direct Current's voice rumbled from the sky. "They're my loyal subordinates. Or, if you like, my left and right arms. Children—attack."
Whummm.
Mechanized troopers at the city's four corners linked up, weaving a shrinking electric net that threatened everyone inside.
"Fight them!"
Tat-tat-tat—
Andrew led his soldiers, sights locked on vulnerable joints and seams.
Horror followed: the rounds that once damaged those troopers now did nothing—
As each bullet touched armor, it seemed to hang in a strange stasis, then clattered down as an iron bead, only to be crushed into dust beneath metal feet.
"How about it, Saitama? You're out of options now, aren't you?"
Direct Current preened as Saitama faced the tightening grid. "I don't believe you can solve this."
When Saitama shifted to smash the electrified troopers, a blue bolt crashed near his feet.
"Saitama," Direct Current warned, "your opponent is me—not them."
So—that was it. This one wasn't a head-on brawler. He was playing dirty, using altitude to kite and pin Saitama, like flying mobs harassing the tank in an MMORPG, while the net ground down the "backline."
But Direct Current had made one mistake.
Saitama wasn't the tank.
He was the superman.
And for a superman who solves problems with his fists—what problem can't be solved by a punch?
If one can't—try another.
Saitama decided to start with a Normal Punch. He hadn't used it in a while. A quick warm-up.
"Are you scared stupid, Saitama? Warming up at a time like—"
Direct Current didn't finish.
Saitama was done warming up. He drove a Normal Punch straight into City One's deck.
Boom—
A violent tremor rippled outward.
From the impact point, fractures spidered for kilometers, widening until the ground sheared into massive plates—steel slabs breaking like scrap.
In the wake of that single punch, the killing field changed.
The mechanized troopers could no longer take a step forward.
Their footing—steel fused to the earth—was gone. To advance, they'd have to draw on internal energy.
But Direct Current's "overcharge" rework had severed that very option.
Without the city's electrified steel to feed on, the troopers lost their edge—and their terror.
Andrew, Vivian, and the others watched the troopers freeze along the jagged border between steel and soil. Blue arcs still crawled over them, an odd, twining glow between units—but the fear was gone.
"What—how can you do that?!" Direct Current reeled; even Solar Wind sobered.
Only now did they realize: their fallen comrades hadn't been "inept."
Saitama was just too strong.
"You think I didn't read your rewrite of their power-transfer lattice?" Saitama said quietly. "Actually, I saw through that from the start."
"And if you think I only broke your trick for menacing civilians—again, wrong."
He moved.
A veteran of countless battles, Saitama had long since turned insight into reflex.
Now, with titanic steel plates floating and tilting above the fractured deck, it was the perfect moment.
Whoosh.
He blurred forward—
appeared beside a rising slab, tapped a light step—
and launched again, from shard to shard, angling up.
(End of Chapter)
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