The standoff was surreal.
On one side, a room full of highly trained cadets and the nation's most powerful prodigy, all armed and ready for a world-ending threat. On the other, the world-ending threat himself, currently gesturing with his hands as he explained the finer points of hot pot etiquette.
"...and the thing about napa cabbage is that it wilts, you know?" Saitama was saying to a paralyzed Kafka. "So if you put it in too early, it gets all soggy. But the leeks, they add that sharp, fresh flavor, and when they get stomped on, the whole balance of the meal is thrown off. See what I'm saying?"
Kafka could only nod numbly, his brain a puddle of melted slush. The god of his world was giving him a cooking lesson.
Kikoru Shinomiya, her mind finally catching up to the absurdity, took a step forward. "Anomaly-Alpha," she said, her voice tight and controlled, the arm-cannon still aimed at his chest. "You are in a restricted military zone. You have destroyed Defense Force property. Surrender now, or we will be forced to—"
"Oh, right. You guys," Saitama said, finally acknowledging her. He turned and looked at the humming cannon aimed at his sternum. He didn't seem concerned. He seemed... bored. "Is that thing loud? I don't like loud noises."
His casual dismissal did more damage to Kikoru's pride than any physical blow could have. The memory of him stopping her with a single look came flooding back. She gritted her teeth, her finger hovering over the trigger. She knew it was useless. They all knew it. Attacking him would be like a toddler trying to punch the moon.
"He is not hostile," a voice suddenly announced.
Every head turned. Soshiro Hoshina stood in the breach Kikoru had made, his expression unreadable. He must have arrived moments ago, observing from the shadows.
"Stand down, Captain Shinomiya," Hoshina ordered calmly.
"Vice-Captain, he is an intruder—" Kikoru began to protest.
"And you were about to fire a high-yield energy weapon inside an unstable training facility, endangering every cadet in this room," Hoshina countered, his voice like ice. "He, on the other hand, has simply been talking. Stand. Down."
Reluctantly, Kikoru powered down her weapon, glaring at Saitama with a mixture of hatred and awe.
Hoshina walked forward, his eyes not on Saitama, but on Kafka. He then turned to address the bald man, his posture respectfully non-threatening. "You are trespassing. And you are looking for this cadet. Why?"
Saitama looked from Hoshina to Kafka and back again, a flicker of understanding finally dawning in his eyes. Oh. This was a whole thing. These uniformed people thought he was here to cause trouble. And poor Leek Guy was caught in the middle. Dealing with official-looking people was always such a hassle.
He decided to tell the simple, unvarnished truth.
"He squashed my groceries last week," Saitama said plainly. "It was an accident. But a man's dinner is important. I figure he owes me, like, a thousand yen. Maybe twelve hundred, to account for emotional damage."
The silence in the room was deafening.
Hoshina just stared. His tactical mind, which had been preparing for impossibly complex scenarios involving interdimensional diplomacy or preemptive warfare, had no file for 'divine being seeking petty cash reimbursement.'
Kafka, meanwhile, saw an out. A ridiculous, humiliating, but potentially life-saving out. If they thought this all-powerful being's connection to him was based on a trivial debt, it would make him seem less like an important accomplice and more like an unlucky schmuck. Which was, to be fair, pretty accurate.
"I... I can pay you back!" Kafka blurted out, frantically fumbling in his uniform pockets. He pulled out his wallet. "I'm... I'm really sorry about your leeks! Here!" He shoved a couple of thousand-yen notes into Saitama's hand.
Saitama looked at the money, then at Kafka's terrified, desperate face. He saw the sweat on his brow, the slight tremor in his hands. This guy wasn't a threat. He was just a stressed-out dude in over his head. He smelled faintly of cheap coffee and desperation. He was, Saitama realized with a jolt, intensely relatable.
Saitama pushed the money back into Kafka's hand. "Nah, forget it," he said with a sigh. "It's too much of a hassle. You look like you need it more than I do."
He then looked at the assembled soldiers, at Kikoru's furious glare and Hoshina's piercing stare. He could feel their fear, their suspicion, their analytical gazes trying to pick him apart. It was exhausting. Everyone here saw him as a monster, a weapon, or a puzzle to be solved.
But Leek Guy... he just saw him as a guy he owed money to over some vegetables. It was, in its own weird way, refreshingly normal.
Saitama made a decision. He turned and started to walk away. "I'm leaving. This place is boring."
As he passed Kafka, he paused and spoke in a low voice only he could hear. "You and me. Park bench. The one near the Tachikawa station. Tomorrow at noon. We need to talk about you looking like a giant grey monster sometimes."
And with that, he was gone, walking out the way he came in. Before Hoshina or anyone could react, he simply leaped into the air and vanished over the city skyline.
Kafka stood frozen, the two thousand-yen notes clutched in his hand. His greatest secret, the one he thought was known only to himself and maybe Reno, was known by the one person he couldn't hide from. He knew. And he wasn't turning him in. He was... inviting him for a chat?
The "Kafka-Saitama Alliance" hadn't been forged in battle or a pact of world-shattering importance. It had been founded on the principles of crushed vegetables, petty debt, and a shared, profound sense of being in way over their heads.
In the Project Bald Cape bunker, Kenji Tanaka watched the recorded footage for the twentieth time, his face pale.
"He just... walked in," Kenji whispered. "Past all our defenses. Past the perimeter guards. We have a multi-trillion yen security system, and he just... strolled through it like it was a public park."
"We believe his biology doesn't register on conventional life-sign sensors, sir," an analyst offered weakly. "To our systems, he's just an empty space that happens to be walking and talking."
"Update the file," Kenji commanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and awe. "Add a new section: 'Interpersonal Relationships.' Subject seems to have formed a connection with Cadet Kafka Hibino."
He brought up the data. "What do we know about their initial point of contact? The grocery incident?"
The analyst pulled up the files. "Minimal data, sir. A brief spike of anomalous energy. The flattened asphalt. And trace organic remains."
"What kind of remains?"
The analyst looked at her screen. "Uh... Allium ampeloprasum, sir."
"In English!"
"Leeks, sir."
Kenji leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "So the first recorded interaction, the foundation of the relationship between a being who can punch holes in reality and a man who can turn into a Kaiju... was a dispute over leeks."
He stood up and began to pace. This wasn't just a psychological profile anymore. This was a full-blown investigation. The cadet, Hibino, was now the key. He was their only link to understanding Alpha.
"A new sub-directive," Kenji announced to the room. "Project Leek. I want to know everything about Kafka Hibino. His past, his medical records, his work history, what he eats for breakfast. I want a nano-drone assigned to him personally. That park bench meeting tomorrow? We are going to be there. We are going to hear every single word."
The hunt for a god had a new focal point. It was no longer about chasing a ghost across a city. It was about listening in on a conversation between two very strange, very tired men on a park bench. And Kenji had a chilling feeling that the fate of the world might just depend on what they talked about.