The silence in King's apartment was no longer a comfort. It was a vacuum, shattered by the impossible, humming presence of the blue screen. King had scrambled back on his couch, pressing himself into the cushions as if he could phase through them. His heart, the infamous King Engine, wasn't just roaring; it was a piston firing out of control, a frantic drumbeat against the cage of his ribs.
Monster? Psychic attack? Am I dying?
He waited for the pain, the transformation, the mind-control—the logical conclusion to such a bizarre event. But nothing happened. The screen simply hung there, patient and silent, its cool blue light casting an otherworldly glow on his discarded game controller.
Minutes stretched. The initial, blind panic began to recede, leaving behind a raw, jangling anxiety. His eyes, wide with fear, traced the lines of text. [Belief Points (BP): 12,850.] The number ticked up. 12,851.
It was tracking something. It was… a UI.
Slowly, like a fog lifting, his gamer's brain began to engage. This wasn't a snarling maw or a crushing fist. It was a menu. The clean lines, the structured data, the numerical values—it was all eerily reminiscent of the RPGs he devoted his life to. The terror was still there, a cold stone in his gut, but now it was sharing space with a flicker of insatiable, morbid curiosity.
It hasn't hurt me. It looks like… a character screen.
The thought was absurd, but it was the only framework that fit. Taking a shuddering breath, he uncurled slightly. This was a puzzle. And if there was one thing King, the master of every combo and hidden mechanic, understood, it was puzzles.
With a hand that trembled only slightly, he reached out. His index finger hovered an inch from the text, half-expecting a shock. He pressed forward.
His fingertip met a surface of cool, solid light. A tactile, gentle vibration hummed up his arm. The screen shimmered and reconfigured instantly.
His breath caught.
On the left side of the display, a perfect, three-dimensional hologram of himself rotated slowly. It was unnervingly accurate, from the stern set of his jaw (a permanent feature of his resting anxiety face) to the individual stitches on his jacket. But it was the data next to it that turned his blood to ice.
USER: KING
TITLE: The Strongest Man on Earth
SYSTEM: Legend Maker (Online)
COMBAT ASSESSMENT:
THREAT LEVEL: [Average Human]
HERO ASSOCIATION RANKING PROJECTION: [None]
NOTE: Physical capabilities are non-compliant with any recognized hero standard. Survival metrics indicate an anomaly of extreme, consistent fortune.
"Average Human." "None." The words didn't just sting; they were a surgical strike, confirming his deepest shame with the cold impartiality of data. The legend of the Strongest Man on Earth was built on a foundation labeled "Average Human." He felt exposed, flayed open before this unknowable intelligence.
His eyes, almost against his will, dragged to the right, to the stat block.
VITALITY: 12 (The bar was a sickly yellow, hovering just above the red.)
STRENGTH: 15 (A dismal, pulsing red. He could crumple a soda can, not a monster's skull.)
AGILITY: 8 (A deep, critical crimson. This explained why he tripped so often.)
KING'S AURA (UNIQUE): 1 (A tiny, flickering ember of blue. The seed of his reputation.)
Then, he saw the points again, now with a detailed log.
BELIEF POINTS (BP): 12,855
SOURCE LOG:
Sustained Public Awe (Passive): +1 BP/min
S-Class Hero Admiration (Atomic Samurai): +45 BP
S-Class Hero Admiration (Metal Bat): +38 BP
A-Class Hero Admiration (Multiple): +210 BP
Prime Catalyst (Saitama): +10 BP/min
The pieces clicked together with an almost audible snap in his mind. The points were a resource. Generated by the very lie he lived. Every headline, every whispered rumor, every awestruck glance from a lower-ranked hero… it was all fuel. And Saitama… his simple, unwavering presence was a geyser of it. The system saw Saitama's faith in him—not as a fighter, but as a person—as the most potent fuel of all.
The fear was still there, a fundamental part of his being. But now, something else was rising to meet it: a sense of devastating opportunity. This was a game interface laid over reality. And he was a master of games.
King`s eyes, moving with a muscle memory born of a thousand late-night sessions, found a pulsating icon at the screen's edge: [LEGEND SHOP].
His thumb, hovering over the [LEGEND SHOP] icon, felt heavier than any monster's fist. The gamer in him was screaming to click it, to see the loot table, the skill tree, the cheats. The coward in him was screaming that this was a trap, that looking at it would make it all irrevocably real.
The gamer won.
He pressed the icon.
The screen dissolved into a shimmering cascade of text and images, a digital cornucopia of power that made his head spin. It was organized in tiers, a grim mockery of his own inadequacy.
At the very top, grayed out and shimmering with unattainable light, were categories that looked like they belonged in the description of a final boss:
◙ Saitama's Strength (One-Punch Manifestation)
- COST: [ERROR: INSUFFICIENT DATA. ESTIMATE: 9,999,999,999 BP]
- The power to end any conflict with a single, casual blow. A conceptual paradox given form.
◙ Peak Esper (Reality Warping Protocol)
- COST: 5,000,000,000 BP
- Manipulate reality, space, and time. Become a psychic god.
◙ God's Power (Administrator Access)
- COST: [ERROR: CONCEPTUALLY INCOMPATIBLE]
- The authority to rewrite the rules of the world itself.
King stared, a cold sweat beading on his forehead. The numbers were so vast they were meaningless. They were the power of the things that showed up in his nightmares. His 12,000 BP, which had seemed like a fortune moments ago, was now revealed to be a handful of pebbles at the foot of a mountain.
He scrolled down, his heart sinking with each tier. Below the god-tier were the "Legendary Abilities"—the specific, named techniques people attributed to him.
◙ Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon (Manifested)
- COST: 250,000 BP
- Fires a devastating beam of concussive energy. Power scales with user's Resonance stat. (Not the planet-destroying version of legend... yet.)
◙ Super Sparking King Mode (Transformation)
- COST: 500,000 BP
- Temporarily multiplies all physical stats. Scars glow with radiant power. High BP upkeep.
◙ Four-Dimensional Fist (Technique)
- COST: 175,000 BP
- A strike that bypasses conventional durability. (User must actually land the hit.)
He couldn't afford a single one. Not even close. Despair began to creep in. It was just another reminder of the gap—the chasm between the legend and the man. He was offered godhood on a platter but couldn't even afford the appetizers.
Then, he scrolled further, to the bottom of the list. Here, the options were less flashy. More… foundational.
◙ Peak Human Conditioning (Passive)
- COST: 5,000 BP
- Elevates the user's body to the absolute pinnacle of natural human potential. Strength, speed, and durability become Olympic-tier.
◙ King's Aura - Lv. 2 (Active)
- COST: 3,000 BP
- The user can consciously project their intimidating presence. Causes unease and hesitation in Wolf-level threats. Amplifies the King Engine's psychological effect.
◙ Basic Combat Instincts (Passive)
- COST: 2,000 BP
- Grants foundational knowledge of melee combat, footwork, and evasion. Does not grant experience.
His eyes locked onto "Peak Human Conditioning." 5,000 BP. He had more than double that. It wasn't a universe-shattering power. It wasn't even superhuman in the world of heroes and monsters. But it was something he, the real King, could understand. It was a stat boost. A permanent upgrade.
His mind, a supercomputer for game mechanics, started running calculations.
The points come from belief. Saitama is a constant source. The more people believe in me, the more points I get. If I use points to become slightly stronger… and then use that strength to slightly live up to the legend… wouldn't that generate more belief? Which would give me more points…
It was a feedback loop. A grind. This wasn't about suddenly becoming Saitama. This was about… leveling up.
The realization was a quiet earthquake in his soul. The wish he'd so desperately whispered—"I wish I could be even a fraction of the man they believe I am"—hadn't been answered with a thunderclap, but with a game guide. It wasn't offering him a shortcut to the finish line; it was giving him a path to walk, one step at a time.
He looked from the hologram of his "Average Human" body to the "Peak Human Conditioning" option. He wouldn't be a fraud who was secretly weak. He would be… a fraud who was secretly getting stronger. He would be a man actively trying to close the gap.
The thought didn't fill him with blazing confidence. It filled him with a terrified, trembling resolve. This was a challenge more daunting than any final boss: the challenge of becoming himself.
His finger, now steadier than it had been all day, moved to the [Peak Human Conditioning] option. A confirmation prompt appeared.
[Purchase "Peak Human Conditioning" for 5,000 BP?]
[Y / N]
He took a deep, shuddering breath. The King Engine beat a slow, deliberate rhythm, not of fear, but of focus. This was his first move. His first deliberate step into the legend he had never chosen.
He selected "Y."
A strange, tingling heat spread through King's body, centering deep in his muscles and bones. It wasn't the sharp pain of a pulled muscle or the dull ache of exhaustion. It was a… thrumming. A sensation of fibers knitting themselves tighter, of dormant potential being awakened. He stared at his hands, half-expecting them to glow.
The hologram of himself on the stat screen flickered. The numbers began to change.
STRENGTH: 15 -> 35
AGILITY: 8 -> 30
VITALITY: 12 -> 40
"Holy…" he breathed, the word leaving his lips in a stunned whisper.
He flexed his fingers, then made a fist. The motion was the same, but the feeling was utterly alien. There was a new density there, a coiled spring of power that hadn't been there five minutes ago. He could feel the individual muscles in his forearm shift and bunch under his skin.
"This is… this is real," he muttered to the silent, blue-lit room. "It actually… it actually works."
Driven by a compulsion he couldn't name, he stumbled from his couch and walked to the full-length mirror on his closet door. He stopped, staring at his reflection. To any casual observer, he looked the same: the same imposing height, the same broad shoulders, the same stern, scarred face that promised unimaginable violence.
But King knew his own body. He knew the truth that his clothes always hid. He had the frame of a powerhouse, but the actual substance had always been… soft. Unremarkable. The "strength" people saw was an optical illusion, a trick of genetics and the fear they projected onto him.
Now, the illusion was beginning to match reality.
He pulled his shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor. He stared.
His chest and shoulders were broader, not massively, but noticeably. The definition in his pectorals and deltoids, once vague, was now clearly etched. His abdomen, previously flat but soft, now showed the faint, hard lines of a developing six-pack. He wasn't a bodybuilder, not by a long shot. But he was… cut. He was what a supremely dedicated athlete would look like. The potential of his frame had been filled in, the promise of his silhouette made real.
He ran a hand over his stomach, his fingers tracing the new, firm ridges. A disbelieving laugh, shaky and raw, escaped him.
"All those times they said I must train in secret…" he whispered to his reflection, his voice thick with a emotion he couldn't quite place—awe, terror, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. "All those times they looked at my 'form' and saw a warrior's physique… and it was just… me. But now… now it's actually in here."
He punched his palm lightly. The smack was sharper, more solid. He could feel the impact travel up his arm in a satisfying jolt, not a wince of pain. He was still a far cry from punching through mountains, but he could probably punch through a brick wall. The thought was so absurd, so wildly beyond his old self, that he almost laughed again.
His eyes flicked back to the system screen, which had patiently hovered by the couch. The points remaining: 7,855. The "Average Human" tag was still there, stubbornly refusing to change, but the numbers beneath it told a different story. He was building a foundation.
His gaze fell on the next logical purchase: King's Aura - Lv. 2. The description echoed in his mind: "Causes unease and hesitation in Wolf-level threats. Amplifies the King Engine's psychological effect."
It was cheap. Only 3,000 BP. And it wasn't a physical power; it was an enhancement of the one "weapon" he'd always possessed, even if it was born from fear. It was… on-brand.
"This is insane," he said aloud, the rational part of his brain finally catching up. "I'm standing in my apartment, buying superpowers from a floating screen like it's DLC."
But the firm muscle under his fingertips was irrefutable. The system was real. The path was real. If he was going to walk it, he needed every tool he could get. A stronger body was one thing. But making his greatest asset—his terrifying reputation—even more potent? That was a force multiplier.
"Alright," he said, his voice gaining a sliver of determination. He walked back to the screen, his movements feeling more fluid, more controlled. "Let's see… let's see what this does."
He selected King's Aura - Lv. 2 and confirmed the purchase.
There was no wave of warmth this time. Instead, a subtle pressure built behind his eyes and in the center of his chest. It felt like a switch being flipped in a part of his brain he never knew existed. The world seemed to sharpen for a moment, colors becoming more vivid. He felt… more present. More substantial.
Curious, he focused. He thought about the feeling he had when a monster was bearing down on him—the pure, undiluted terror that made his heart hammer. But this time, he didn't just feel it; he tried to push it out.
Thump.
The King Engine beat once, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate the air in the room. The glass of water on his coffee table shimmered. A faint, almost imperceptible haze seemed to ripple out from him for a split second. The air grew heavy, charged with an intangible menace.
It was gone as quickly as it came. King stood there, panting slightly, not from exertion, but from the sheer, unnerving strangeness of it. He had just… projected his fear. And it had taken on a life of its own.
He looked at his remaining points: 4,855. He was down to less than half of his original fortune, but he felt richer than he ever had in his life. He had a body that wouldn't betray him at the first stumble. He had a aura he could actually control.
He was no longer just a man waiting to be exposed. He was a project under construction. The Strongest Man on Earth was, for the first time, a goal instead of a sentence.
A slow, genuine, albeit slightly terrified, smile spread across his face. "Okay," King whispered to the empty room, the word a vow. "Okay. Let's play."