Being the Number One Hero came with perks. A salary that actually covered the bills. A golden plaque (currently used as a coaster). A level of respect from the Hero Association previously reserved only for Blast.
But it also came with *The Line.*
Saitama peeked through the slats of his reinforced blinds. The line of people outside his apartment building stretched down the block, turned the corner, wrapped around the convenience store, and reportedly ended somewhere near City Y.
They weren't fans. They were applicants.
"Genos," Saitama whispered, dropping the blind. "Why are there so many guys in gi's outside? Did the martial arts tournament explode?"
Genos stood by the door, holding a clipboard and a stopwatch. He was wearing a shirt that said *HEAD INSTRUCTOR*.
"Negative, Sensei," Genos replied. "Since your promotion to Rank 1, the global population has deduced that you possess a secret technique. They are here to petition for discipleship."
"Discipleship?" Saitama groaned. "I barely tolerate *you* living here. And you pay rent."
"I have already processed the first three hundred applicants," Genos said, scanning his list. "I administered the 'Preliminary Entrance Exam'."
"What exam?"
"A ten-kilometer run. Through a field of active landmines provided by Metal Knight."
Saitama dropped his tea. "Landmines?! You're gonna kill them!"
"Non-lethal stun mines, Sensei. Only forty percent were hospitalized. The rest fled. The remaining applicants are... persistent."
Outside, Fubuki was walking up and down the line. She wasn't fighting. She was holding a credit card reader.
"Application fee is 5,000 yen," Fubuki announced to a hopeful karate master. "Non-refundable. Fast-pass is 20,000 yen. Meet-and-greet photos are 50,000 yen, no touching."
"She's monetizing the line," Saitama put his head in his hands. "My home is a tourist trap."
***
The doorbell rang. Not the standard buzz—Genos had installed a new chime that sounded like a dragon roaring.
Saitama opened it.
A young man stood there. He was buff, oiled up, and wearing a tiger skin loincloth.
"Oh, Great Fortress!" the man bellowed, dropping to his knees. "I am Jungle Jim, C-Class Rank 202! Teach me how to shatter the moon!"
Saitama stared at him. "Do one hundred push-ups."
"I can do a thousand!" Jungle Jim boasted.
"Okay. Do them every day for three years until you go bald."
Jungle Jim blinked. "And then?"
"That's it."
"No... secret juice? No ancient scroll?"
"Just a banana in the morning," Saitama closed the door. "Go away."
He leaned against the metal door. "This is a nightmare. I have a tea date. I can't leave. They'll swarm me."
"I can deploy a tactical smoke screen," Genos offered. "Or use King as a decoy."
As if summoned, King shuffled out of the elevator (he had a key now). He looked terrifying, his scar pulsing with anxiety.
The crowd outside fell silent as King walked onto the balcony.
**"The King Engine,"** someone whispered. **"He's guarding the Sanctum."**
"I just wanted to borrow some sugar," King squeaked, but the crowd heard a growl.
A large biker stepped forward from the line. "King! Move aside! I challenge the Bald One for the right to be his student!"
King stared at the biker. His heart went *DOKI DOKI*.
To the biker, it looked like King was charging a kinetic blast. The biker turned pale, threw his helmet down, and ran away screaming. "HE'S GONNA EXPLODE!"
"It worked," Saitama noted. "Nice job, King."
***
However, one person didn't run.
A shadow detached itself from the building across the street. A figure wrapped in purple. A scarf flowed in the wind. A sword glinted in the sunlight.
**Speed-o'-Sound Sonic.**
Sonic had been having a bad year.
First, he stepped on dog poop. Then he got a stomach ache from cooking a monster cell. Then he watched his "rival" become the strongest being in the universe on live TV.
"Rank 1," Sonic hissed, his eyes twitching. "The ultimate insult."
He stood on the lamppost, looking down at the crowd of "applicants."
"Sheep," Sonic spat. "You think you can learn his power? He is an anomaly. A curse."
He drew his blade. This wasn't his old katana. This was a **Vibro-Blade**, scavenged from the Neo Hero trash.
"I will show you," Sonic smiled wildly. "There is no dojo. Only death."
He launched.
*Exploding Shuriken Barrage!*
Dozens of shurikens rained down on the line. But instead of killing people, they exploded into sticky foam. Sonic wasn't a monster; he just liked chaos. The applicants screamed, glued to the pavement.
Sonic landed on Saitama's balcony, kicking the sliding door off its tracks.
"SAITAMA!" Sonic screamed. "Face me! I have perfected the—"
Saitama was sitting on the couch, putting on his shoes. He looked up.
"Oh. Jack-o'-Lantern Panic. Is that you?"
"IT'S SPEED-O'-SOUND SONIC!" Sonic vibrated with rage. "And I challenge you to—"
"Not now," Saitama stood up. "I'm going to tea."
"Tea?! You mock me!" Sonic blurred. He was fast. Much faster than before. He circled Saitama, creating a tornado in the living room. "My speed is hypersonic! My blade cuts at the molecular level! Check this!"
*Wind Blade Kick!*
Sonic aimed a heel drop at Saitama's head.
Saitama didn't block. He opened the front door to leave.
The door swung inward.
Sonic's kick missed Saitama's head and slammed perfectly into the edge of the opening steel door.
*CLANG.*
Sonic froze mid-air. His shin bone met three inches of Metal Knight-reinforced tungsten.
"Ghh...ckkk..." Sonic made a noise like a dying kettle.
He fell to the floor, clutching his leg. He rolled around silently, his mouth open in a scream that refused to come out.
Saitama looked down. "Ouch. Watch your step, man. Wet floor."
"You... planned... this..." Sonic wheezed, tears in his eyes. "You calculated... the door trajectory..."
"I opened the door to leave," Saitama stepped over him.
Sonic grit his teeth. He pulled a smoke bomb from his pouch. "This isn't over! I will learn your secret! I will dismantle your... your... TEA PARTY!"
*POOF.*
Purple smoke filled the hallway. When it cleared, Sonic was gone. He limped away at mach 2.
Genos fanned the smoke. "He has damaged the entryway, Sensei. Should I pursue and incinerate?"
"Nah. He seems like he's going through a lot," Saitama checked his watch. "Oh no. We're late."
***
Getting past the crowd required Fubuki.
She appeared at the bottom of the elevator as Saitama descended.
"Clear a path!" Fubuki commanded. Her psychic aura lifted fifty applicants into the air and gently moved them to the side of the road.
"It's him! The One Punch Man!" someone shouted.
"Teach me, Sensei!"
"Sign my forehead!"
Saitama walked quickly, hiding behind Fubuki's fur coat. "This is embarrassing. Is this what being popular feels like?"
"Yes," Fubuki smiled, hooking her arm through his. "Terrible, isn't it?"
They reached the waiting car. It wasn't the Blizzard Group sedan. It was a new car. A modest, sensible hatchback.
"You bought a car?" Saitama asked.
"For covert operations," Fubuki lied (she bought it because Saitama complained leather seats stuck to his skin). "Get in."
They sped off, leaving the screaming fans behind.
***
The Tea Shop was quiet. It was in the next city over, a place called **Cafe Silent**.
Saitama sat across from Fubuki. He wore his new casual clothes (a hoodie and jeans, since his suit was ruined again). Fubuki wore a simple dress, trying to look "off-duty."
They ordered matcha.
Saitama took a sip. "This is good. No rocks. No alien blood."
"It's peaceful," Fubuki stirred her tea. She looked nervous. The fearless leader of the Blizzard Group was fidgeting with a sugar packet.
"So," she started. "About the list."
"Number 4?" Saitama asked.
"Yes. We're doing it. The tea."
"Yep."
"Saitama," Fubuki looked him in the eye. "I'm not talking about just tea. I'm talking about... partnership."
Saitama blinked. "Like heroes? I thought we were doing that."
"No. Not like heroes." Fubuki's face turned pink. "I mean... my sister has Blast. You have... well, Genos, but he's a toaster."
"He prefers 'cybernetic appliance'."
"Shut up and listen," Fubuki kicked him under the table. "You're Rank 1. I'm... well, I'm just Fubuki now. The Blizzard Group is practically your support staff. My sister has accepted you."
She took a deep breath.
"What I'm saying is... it would make strategic sense. Political sense. And... personal sense."
Saitama put down his cup. He looked at her.
He remembered the dance. The feeling of her hand on his back when he washed dishes. The way she yelled at him but still bought him clothes.
He scratched his head.
"Fubuki, are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"
Fubuki choked on her tea. "Don't say it so bluntly! You ruin the mystique!"
"It seems easier to just say it," Saitama said. "Being vague is a pain."
He leaned back.
"I don't know much about dating. I'm pretty boring. I like sales. I read manga. I go to bed at 10."
"I know," Fubuki whispered.
"And you're... kinda bossy."
"Excuse me?!"
"But," Saitama smiled. A small, real smile. "You pay for dinner. And you don't mind that I'm bald."
He picked up the sugar packet she was fiddling with.
"Sure. Let's try it. The 'Boyfriend' thing. Is there a probationary period?"
Fubuki stared at him. Then she burst out laughing. It was a genuine, stress-free laugh that turned heads in the quiet cafe.
"No probation," she said, reaching across the table to hold his hand. "But there are performance reviews."
"Great," Saitama groaned. "More paperwork."
***
Outside the window, unnoticed by the happy couple, a small figure watched.
It was **Child Emperor**, eating a lollipop, looking at a tablet.
"Heart rates elevated," Child Emperor mumbled. "Dopamine levels spiking. Confirmed."
He tapped his comms.
"Genos? Operation 'Romance Arc' is a success. Sensei has been captured."
On the other end, back at the apartment, Genos punched the air with his mechanical fist.
"Excellent," Genos stated. "I shall update the database. Status: TAKEN."
Genos turned to King, who was playing a game. "King! We must prepare."
"Prepare what?" King asked, pausing his game.
"The wedding," Genos said dead-seriously. "I need to design a tuxedo capable of withstanding hypersonic bouquets."
King sighed. "Can't we just have a normal day? Just one?"
But in the world of Saitama, nothing was ever normal. Especially not love.