Life for Cadet Kafka Hibino had settled into a bizarre, nerve-wracking routine. By day, he endured Hoshina's piercing stares and Kikoru's aggressive "sparring." By night, he tried to sleep, haunted by the knowledge that he was a state secret, a monster, and the only known acquaintance of a god.
His only respite was the occasional, mandatory weekend leave.
"You look terrible," Reno said, not unkindly. They were walking through a bustling shopping district in Tachikawa, dressed in civilian clothes. "It's like you've aged five years in the last month."
"That's because I'm thirty-two and trying to keep up with a bunch of teenagers who think sleep is optional," Kafka grumbled, taking a large bite of a takoyaki. "And Kikoru Shinomiya is personally trying to murder me on a daily basis."
"She cornered me in the mess hall yesterday," Reno said, his expression grim. "Started asking questions about you. About the day of the exam. About your work at Monster Sweeper."
Kafka choked on his takoyaki. "What did you tell her?!"
"Nothing! I played dumb. But she's like a shark that's tasted blood. She won't let it go." Reno shook his head. "We need to get your mind off things. Come on."
He dragged Kafka towards the flashing lights and cacophony of a large video arcade. "Nothing like some mindless virtual violence to cure real-world anxiety."
As they pushed through the doors, Kafka immediately spotted a familiar, horrifying figure standing in front of a crane game.
Kikoru Shinomiya, out of uniform and dressed in a stylish (and ridiculously expensive-looking) black dress, was staring at a plush toy inside the machine with an expression of intense, murderous frustration. The toy was a small, round, cartoony version of a Kaiju.
"You... miserable... piece of stuffing!" she muttered, expertly maneuvering the crane. It descended, the claws perfectly enclosing the plushie. She lifted it. The cadets and a few civilians who had recognized her watched with bated breath.
The crane moved towards the prize chute. And, as always, at the last possible second, the claws went limp and the toy fell.
"GAH!" Kikoru slammed her fist against the side of the machine, which rattled alarmingly.
Kafka immediately tried to back out of the arcade. "Nope. No way. We're leaving."
"Too late," Reno whispered. "She's seen us."
Kikoru's head snapped around, her eyes locking onto Kafka. Her expression of frustration immediately morphed into one of predatory glee. "Hibino!"
She marched over to them, her presence parting the crowd of gamers. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Uh, day off, ma'am," Kafka said, giving a clumsy, partial salute.
"At ease, Cadet," she snapped. "Out here, you can call me Shinomiya." Her gaze shifted to the crane game. "That machine is rigged. Its tensile strength parameters are deliberately calibrated for failure. It's an insult to engineering."
"It's supposed to be hard..." Kafka began, but she cut him off.
"Hibino. You're good at finding weak points. Win me that Kaiju."
It wasn't a request. It was an order, disguised as a casual challenge. A test of his analytical skills, even on his day off. Defeated, Kafka shuffled over to the machine. He studied the prize, the claw, the angle. He could see the optimal drop point, the precise place to grab the toy to use its own lopsided weight distribution to his advantage. It was the same principle as hitting the nerve cluster on a Yoju.
He put in a coin. He maneuvered the crane. He pressed the button.
The crane descended, grabbed the toy perfectly, lifted it, moved it over the chute, and dropped it in. A cheerful little jingle played.
Kikoru stared at the toy in the prize slot, then back at Kafka, her eyes wide with a strange, unreadable emotion. He had done it. On his first try. Her week-long nemesis had been defeated by the tired old man she bullied every day.
She snatched the toy and held it tight, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Hmph. Lucky shot," she muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Just then, another voice cut through the noise of the arcade. "Oh, a Kaiju plushie. Cute."
Saitama was standing right behind them, holding a large plastic bag filled with groceries. Genos was beside him, of course, ever the dutiful bodyguard/shopping assistant.
The moment Kikoru saw him, every ounce of her composure evaporated. Her face went beet red. She instinctively hid the plush toy behind her back like a child caught with a forbidden cookie.
"YOU!" she squeaked, pointing a trembling finger at him.
Saitama just blinked at her. "Oh, hey. It's the loud girl." His eyes then shifted to Kafka. "Leek Guy. What are the odds?"
"Please stop calling me that," Kafka groaned, burying his face in his hands. His relaxing day off had officially become a convergence of every single one of his biggest problems.
"Master, the probability of encountering two individuals you know in a city of millions is low, but not statistically impossible, especially when frequenting the same commercial hubs," Genos noted helpfully.
"I have a name, you... you... bald... A-Anomaly!" Kikoru stammered, trying to regain her usual arrogant demeanor and failing miserably. In her high-tech battle suit, she was a warrior goddess. In a cocktail dress, flustered and holding a plushie, she felt like an idiot.
Saitama, for his part, was completely unfazed. He was more interested in a nearby fighting game. "Hey, 'Raging Fighter IV.' I used to be pretty good at this."
He walked over to the machine, set down his groceries, and popped in a coin. On the other side of the cabinet, a skinny teenager with glasses, the arcade's reigning champion, smirked. He was about to destroy this weird-looking bald dude.
What followed was a masterclass in brutal, one-sided virtual combat.
Saitama, picking a character at random, proceeded to demolish the champion without losing a single round. His thumbs moved in a lazy, almost uninterested blur. He wasn't even using special moves. He was just winning with basic punches and kicks, executed with a perfect, prescient timing that seemed to defy human reflexes.
PUNCH. PUNCH. KICK. K.O. - PERFECT!
Again and again.
Kikoru, Kafka, and Reno could only watch, mesmerized. This was the Anomaly's power, distilled into its most benign, most ridiculous form. Even in a video game, his ability to achieve victory with minimal effort was absolute.
"His reaction time is under 0.01 milliseconds," Genos observed, taking notes in a small notepad. "He is processing the opponent's inputs and executing a counter-move before the game's code has even registered the initial command. He is, in effect, fighting the player, not the character."
After the fifth consecutive perfect victory, the teenage champion stood up, his face pale, and walked away from the machine in a daze, his entire worldview shattered.
Saitama just stretched and yawned. "Huh. He wasn't very good. This game got boring."
He picked up his groceries and turned to leave. As he passed Kikoru, he glanced at the plush toy she was still trying to hide.
"Hey, my disciple would love one of those," he said offhandedly. "He's into collecting weird stuff. But the claws are rigged, you know."
And then he was gone.
Kikoru stood there, frozen. She looked from the arcade machine where Saitama had achieved a casual, perfect victory, to the crane game she had failed at for a week. She looked at Kafka, who had won it for her with a single, analytical move. And she looked at the plush Kaiju in her hand.
A strange, unfamiliar, and deeply confusing thought entered her mind. For the first time, her interest in Kafka wasn't about the monster he might be, or the secrets he might hold. It was a flicker of genuine curiosity about the quiet, surprisingly capable man himself.
And as for Saitama... her feelings were a tangled mess of fear, awe, and a new, infuriating emotion she couldn't quite name. He had insulted her, ignored her, and effortlessly dominated in a field she prided herself on—combat, even virtual. He was the most frustrating, most captivating, most impossible person she had ever met.
Her weekend leave was officially ruined. And somehow, it was also the most interesting day she'd had in a very long time.