Saitama never expected to be received by the U.S. government with a hero's welcome.
President Trump walked him into the White House, briefing him along the way on humanity's current situation. His daughter Ivanka, ignoring the stares around her, gazed at Saitama with open admiration.
Joining the reception was the brilliant female scientist who, in the first Transformers incident, had warned the U.S. government of the looming crisis.
"Mr. Saitama," the scientist said, "we already understand why you've come. If you need any assistance, say the word—we'll do everything we can."
"And if you'd like a short rest," Ivanka added, "we can also arrange a grand banquet."
Their goodwill made Vivian bristle. "Saitama, we have important business. Don't let trivial things slow us down." She hooked her arm through his and leaned in, shooting the other two a look that said clearly: He's the man I've set my sights on.
Saitama could only sigh inwardly. As a strong guy, he really did seem to draw admiring stares wherever he went.
Expression flat, he said, "Mr. President, we need a plane to the U.K. Can you arrange that?"
"For a hero, anything," the President replied. "Which flight would you like?"
"We won't take a scheduled flight," Saitama said after a beat. "Just give us an aircraft we can operate."
Vivian blinked—so the man she liked didn't just fight like a monster; he could fly a plane too? Then she thought of what that meant: in the near future, she could be flying at his side—and her heart soared. Those two women certainly wouldn't be flying the plane with them.
The President issued orders at once, having Ivanka escort Saitama to the armory. Ivanka, a classic American beauty—blonde, blue-eyed, and striking—kept hinting at her interest as they walked.
Soon, she led Saitama and Vivian in. "This is our armory. Here we have our most advanced F-35 fighter. Saitama-san, can you handle it?"
"Of course."
Saitama stepped forward, popped the canopy, and slid into the cockpit. "Vivian, hop in. We're short on time."
Vivian clambered aboard—and they roared off.
Ivanka stood there, eyes lifted to the sky, awash in admiration. Back at her office she still couldn't shake the image. The scientist, seeing her starry-eyed look, sighed. If simply saying "I like you" could win him, she'd have said it herself. Who doesn't love a powerful man?
High above the clouds, Saitama donned a safety visor and took the F-35 higher and higher. Vivian had never flown in a fighter jet; her shrieks chased the altimeter as it climbed into the stratosphere.
"You're amazing, Saitama!"
"Mm. It's fine."
"Will I get to fly with you again next time?"
"Maybe."
"Great—then I'll take that as a yes! Once I get Merlin's staff and we drive the Cybertronian Transformers off Earth, you're taking me up again!"
Saitama said nothing. Vivian didn't sweat the details; she leaned in and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.
He was just about to remind her that this was high-altitude flight and not the time for risky moves when the radar blared to life.
"Warning. F-35 locked. Incoming missiles."
Vivian sucked in a breath. "What? Weren't we in stealth mode?"
"My guess," Saitama said, "is that someone had eyes on us the moment we left the White House."
A missile streaked past the canopy so close Vivian swore she smelled the propellant.
"Hold on." Saitama's voice was calm. "We're at ten thousand meters. No way to bail out. We beat them—or we don't go forward."
"I trust you!"
Saitama threw the F-35 into a dance—clean arcs carving the sky, every line meant to shake those two missiles. They met each other head-on.
Boom!
The twin thunderclaps rattled the jet.
"We're safe now," Vivian breathed.
"No. Not yet." Saitama pointed at three fast-closing red dots on the scope. "They're tracking us. Those missiles were just to slow us down."
He shoved the throttle forward. The F-35 leapt like a beast set free.
Down below, technicians monitoring the flight—along with the scientist—stared, speechless.
"My God—the F-35 is hitting its theoretical maximum!"
"At that speed the human visual system can't keep up—one slip and it's over!"
"Enough with the doom-talk," someone snapped.
"But at these velocities, airflow ripples can threaten the airframe! And we just got confirmation—unidentified craft are on their tail!"
"Unidentified?"
"Data suggests high probability they're Decepticon fliers."
"What?! Decepticons?"
The scientist's eyes locked on the feed, all decorum forgotten. "How did they get Saitama's route? There's a leak in government!"
There was no time to worry about that now. The dogfight had already erupted—ten thousand meters up.
(End of Chapter)
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