Clint's fingers loosened and his compound bow almost slipped from his hand.
Natasha helped up a student who'd been scared stiff and stared at that back, her gaze as complicated as if she'd just seen a dragon from myth crush an ant underfoot. The kind of despair that had just now felt utterly unshakable was replaced by an even vaster sense of emptiness.
"Jarvis… record all the data points from that energy release just now… all of them." Tony murmured in midair, dazed. In his HUD, the energy reading for "017"—that bald guy who had just, with a flick of his finger, unleashed that power—had left only a blinding red line in Jarvis's data stream, spiking toward infinity and then dropping to zero in an instant. "Analyze… what kind of strike was that…?"
"Unable to analyze, sir." Jarvis's voice carried an unprecedented pause that was almost like human frustration. "Target… target has disappeared. Physical momentum… cannot be measured. The logic… does not add up."
The chaotic battlefield sputtered back into motion, and the rescue work continued, but a heavy, red, bald silhouette still pressed down on everyone's hearts. Black Dwarf was gone, yet the destruction he'd caused remained. The new threat had not been lifted; an even greater unknown shadow had already fallen. Tony instinctively looked toward the deep, dark night sky in the distance, where it felt as if a pair of cold, green eyes were glinting somewhere in the depths.
"The scepter…" Steve's voice broke the dead silence. "Clint! Natasha! Clear the passage, now! Bucky, with me! We can't let them succeed!"
He forced himself to tear free of his shock and tightened his grip on his shield again. Fear was useless—no matter what they were facing, the duty to protect had to go on.
Under the approach bridge, at the junction leading toward the warehouse district.
Saitama finally found a relatively clean bench, one without fire or rubble around it. He sat down and carefully took the precious half-price cup noodles out of the plastic bag, tore open the lid, then pulled out a bottle of mineral water he'd grabbed at the convenience store on the way, getting ready to eat.
Tonight's dinner had really been through a lot of twists and turns.
He sighed, dropped the hard noodle block into the cup, and got ready to pour.
Fwoooosh—hissssss—!
Scalding hot water rushed into the paper cup printed with a cartoon bull's head. Thick white steam billowed up, carrying the unique aroma of the cheap oil packet, instantly wrapping around Saitama's focused nose. He took a deep sniff, and at last, for the first time since today's battle had ended, a genuinely satisfied smile spread across his face…
He could finally… sit down and eat dinner!
He carefully cupped the rim of the paper cup with his white glove so that not even a single precious drop of broth would be spilled by the wind, while his other hand clumsily tried to tear open that dry little sauce packet with its suspicious amount of oil.
"Mm… braised beef flavor… even though it's fake…" he muttered. His fingertips pressed a bit too hard.
Rip!
The plastic edge of the packet tore open in a big gash, and a few drops of dark brown sauce splattered onto his bright red cape.
"Ah! Crap!" Saitama looked heartbroken at those tiny, dark stains on his cape and instantly flailed around in a panic. "I just got this uniform… now those old guys at the Association are gonna nag me again at the end of the month…"
He carefully tried wiping it with his sleeve, but the more he wiped, the more the stain spread. With a defeated sigh, he decided to just squeeze the rest of the sauce into the cup first.
The noodles quickly loosened in the boiling water, turning soft and springy. Saitama couldn't wait any longer—he grabbed the plastic fork (complimentary from the convenience store), twirled up a huge clump of noodles, blew on it twice, and shoved it straight into his mouth.
(For an explosively satisfying read, go to Faloo Novel Network!)
(End of Chapter)
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