The scariest villain Saitama had ever faced wasn't a world-eating alien or a cosmic god.
It was Form 1040-J: Independent Contractor Income Declaration.
Saitama sat at his low table, staring at a mountain of crumpled receipts. He wore reading glasses he didn't need because he thought they made him look smarter.
"So," Saitama pointed at a grease-stained slip of paper. "I can't claim the hot pot beef as a 'Business Expense'?"
Fubuki sat across from him, looking radiant in a casual sweater and jeans, a pen tucked behind her ear. She massaged her temples.
"No, Saitama. Business expenses are for equipment. Repairs. Travel."
"But I need the beef to have the energy to punch," Saitama argued. "It is fuel. Like gasoline for Genos."
"Speaking of Genos," Fubuki sighed, looking at the spreadsheet on her laptop. "He claimed 'WD-40' as a dietary supplement. I had to move it to Maintenance."
She reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. The gesture was casual now, a habit developed over weeks of "partnerships" and shared dinners.
"Focus. If we don't file these by Friday, the Association docks your pay. And that means no..."
"No beef," Saitama finished grimly. He picked up his pen. "Okay. Let's do this. Question 4: *Do you own any assets valued over 10 million yen?*"
"Put 'Yes'," Fubuki said. "This building. You technically own the Fortress."
"I own a fortress?" Saitama blinked. "I thought Metal Knight owned it."
"He transferred the deed to silence the lawsuit about the ceiling," Fubuki smirked. "You're a property mogul, honey."
Saitama leaned back, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Property mogul. That sounds cool. Maybe I should get a top hat."
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
The frantic alarm came from the corner of the room. Genos stood there, frozen mid-dusting. His eyes were flashing yellow.
"Sensei," Genos said, his voice void of inflection. "Anomaly detected."
"Is it the IRS?" Saitama asked, panicking.
"Negative. It is a localized data corruption. Someone has tampered with the Hero Registry database."
Genos projected a hologram of the registry into the middle of the tax paperwork. Rows of hero faces scrolled by.
"I was performing a routine cross-reference of B-Class support statistics," Genos explained. "And I noticed a discrepancy. There is a mathematical error in the serial numbers."
He pointed to a gap in the list.
**Rank 1: Fubuki**
**Rank 2: Eyelashes**
**Rank 3: Mountain Ape**
**...**
**Rank 7: [DATA MISSING]**
"Who's Rank 7?" Saitama asked. "I thought it was the glasses guy."
"Glasses is Rank 20," Fubuki corrected without looking up. "Rank 7... that slot has been empty for years. Since the retirement of Shooter."
Saitama frowned. He tapped his bald head.
"No," Saitama said slowly. "Rank 7 is the bicycle guy. The one with the green helmet."
Fubuki looked at him blankly. "Bicycle guy? You mean a courier?"
"No. The hero. Justice Crash. Stand-up pedaling mode." Saitama stood up, miming holding handlebars. "He gave me a ride when we fought the Sea King. He stood up to Garou. He bought me a cider once."
Fubuki exchanged a worried glance with Genos.
"Sensei," Genos said carefully. "There is no registered hero matching that description. There is no 'Mumen Rider' in the database. I have checked backups dating back to the Association's founding."
Saitama stopped miming. The room suddenly felt very cold.
"King!" Saitama yelled.
King poked his head out of the bathroom (he was hiding from the taxes). "Yeah?"
"Who is the guy with the bike?"
"Armstrong?" King guessed. "The Tour de France guy?"
"The HERO," Saitama stressed. "C-Class. Weak. Really nice. Has a license to ride on the sidewalk."
King scratched his chin. "Saitama... I've never heard of a bike hero. Is this a bit?"
Saitama looked at Fubuki. She looked concerned. Like she was looking at someone having a stroke.
"Saitama, maybe you're tired. You've been staring at numbers all morning."
Saitama looked at his hand. He remembered the feel of the cold cider can the cyclist had handed him. He remembered the guy shouting at the Sea King while getting beaten to a pulp.
That wasn't a dream.
"He's real," Saitama said quietly. "And you guys forgot him."
He walked to the balcony door.
"Genos. Scan for 'Justice' signatures."
"Justice is an abstract concept, Sensei. I cannot scan for—"
"Scan for a bicycle chain!" Saitama snapped. It was the first time he'd raised his voice in weeks.
Genos stiffened. "Scanning... Audio signature detected. Squeaky chain mechanism. Sector Z. Ghost Town Outskirts."
"Let's go," Saitama opened the door.
Fubuki stood up. "Saitama, wait! We haven't finished the deductions!"
"Forget the taxes," Saitama said, stepping onto the railing. "Someone is stealing my friends."
***
The Ghost Town outskirts were usually silent. But today, the silence felt… heavy. Edited.
Saitama and Genos landed in a derelict playground. Rusted swings creaked in the wind.
In the center of the playground, lying on its side, was a bicycle.
It wasn't a super-bike like Twisted Rider's. It was a cheap, municipal commuter bike ("Mommy Bike" model). The front wheel was bent. The basket was crushed.
Saitama walked over to it. He picked up the handlebars.
"This is his bike," Saitama said. "Why is it here?"
"I do not recognize this object," Genos said, scanning it. "But the serial number... it is fading."
Genos zoomed in with his optics. The numbers stamped on the metal weren't rusted. They were pixelating. Dissolving into static.
"Data corruption," Genos whispered. "Physical reality is suffering a cache error."
Suddenly, the air behind them shivered.
It wasn't a portal. It was like someone took an eraser to the world. A white smudge appeared in the air.
A figure stepped out of the smudge.
He wore a suit made of shifting QR codes and static. His face was blank—no eyes, no mouth—just a flat screen displaying a loading bar.
**MONSTER? NO.**
**THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN.**
**DESIGNATION: THE ARCHIVIST.**
"Variable detected," The Archivist spoke. His voice sounded like dial-up internet screeching overlaid with a human whisper. "Subject: Saitama. You are not authorized to access deleted files."
"Deleted files?" Saitama dropped the bike. "You mean people?"
"Inefficient assets are purged," The Archivist stated. "To optimize the narrative. To make room for the New Order."
"New Order?" Genos aimed his cannon. "Are you affiliated with Metal Knight? Or The Organization?"
The Archivist turned its screen-face to Genos. "The Organization is hardware. I am the Software. We are streamlining the universe. The Bicycle Rider... he was statistically insignificant. His removal saves .004% of global causality processing power."
Saitama stepped forward. His shadow stretched long over the sandpit.
"You erased him to save *processing power*?"
"He was weak," The Archivist droned. "He contributed nothing to the Equation of Power."
Saitama clenched his fist.
"He stood up when nobody else would," Saitama said. His voice was low. Dangerous.
"That's not insignificant."
The Archivist's loading bar filled. **[COMBAT MODE ENGAGED]**
"Deletion Protocols Active."
The monster raised a hand. The slide set in the playground vanished. Just *popped* out of existence.
"I will highlight you," The Archivist pointed at Genos. "Select. Delete."
A beam of white anti-data shot at the cyborg.
Genos couldn't dodge. It moved at the speed of thought.
But it didn't hit Genos.
Saitama stepped in front of the beam.
The white light hit his chest.
Any other being would have been erased. Their history, their name, their body—gone.
Saitama stood there. He patted his chest.
"Tickles," he said.
The Archivist recoiled. "Error. Data too dense. Subject file size: INFINITE. Cannot move to trash."
"I'm not a file," Saitama said. He walked up to the static-man.
"I'm a guy who likes his friends."
He grabbed The Archivist by the shoulder. The static fuzz burned his glove, but he held on.
"Where is he?"
"Archived!" The monster screeched. "In the Cloud! You cannot access—"
"Where is the Cloud?"
"It is everywhere! It is non-local!"
Saitama sighed. "Technical talk is annoying."
He looked at the sky.
"Cloud, huh?"
Saitama tightened his grip on the monster. He wound up his other arm.
"Serious Series..."
He didn't punch the monster. He punched the *air above the monster*.
**SERIOUS UPLOAD.**
The force of the punch didn't create a shockwave. It created a data spike. The sheer kinetic pressure forced so much physical reality into the immediate area that it overloaded the localized reality simulation.
The world *glitched*.
Sky turned purple. Buildings flashed wireframe.
And for a second, the "Cloud" burst open.
High above, a rift formed. Falling out of the digital sky were lost things. Single socks. Keys. Forgotten memories.
And one man in a green helmet and bicycle pads.
Mumen Rider fell screaming from the rift.
Saitama jumped. He caught the C-Class hero mid-air, landing softly on the grass.
Mumen Rider looked up, dazed. "Saitama? I was... I was riding... and then everything went white."
He looked at his hands. "Did I crash?"
"Yeah," Saitama smiled. "But you're back."
Saitama turned to The Archivist. The monster was shaking, glitching violently.
"SYSTEM OVERLOAD. BANDWIDTH EXCEEDED."
"You have too much junk data," Saitama said.
He flicked the monster.
*Defrag.*
The Archivist shattered into binary code, which dissolved into the wind.
***
Genos stared at Mumen Rider. His sensors blinked.
**UPDATING DATABASE.**
**NEW ENTRY: MUMEN RIDER. RANK C, RANK 1.**
**STATUS: RESTORED.**
"I remember him," Genos whispered. "The License-less Rider. Why did I forget?"
"Because you trust computers too much," Saitama picked up the bent bicycle. He bent the wheel back into a vague circle. "Sometimes you just gotta trust your gut."
He handed the bike to Mumen.
"Ready to ride?"
Mumen Rider stood up. He adjusted his glasses. "Always."
***
That evening, back at the apartment.
The team was gathered. They were looking at Mumen Rider like he was a ghost.
"I really forgot him," Fubuki was horrified, clutching her tea. "My own memory... compromised."
"It's not just you," Child Emperor said, typing on a heavily shielded laptop. "This Archivist... it wasn't a monster. It was a program. Someone is editing the world. Trying to delete the 'weak' elements."
"The Organization," Genos said darkly. "They are preparing for something. Clearing the board."
Saitama was back at the table with the receipts.
"Well," he said, scribbling on a form. "They can edit whatever they want. As long as they don't delete my tax refund."
Fubuki looked at him. The man who punched his way into a database to save a C-Class nobody.
She took the pen from his hand.
"Take a break," she said softly. "I'll finish the taxes."
Saitama smiled. " really?"
"Really. Go play with King."
As Saitama cheered and ran to the TV, Fubuki looked at Mumen Rider, who was eating a rice ball Genos had made.
The war wasn't over. The enemy was just getting subtler. Harder to punch.
But looking at the back of Saitama's shiny head, Fubuki knew one thing.
You couldn't delete a legend. Not when he was sitting right there, asking for the player 1 controller.