Sirens grew nearer. After turning Sonic over, Lin Mo and Saitama strolled home under the streetlights, their shadows drawn long.
"Hey, King."
Saitama's low, flat voice broke the quiet. He slouched a little, scalp reflecting soft light.
"You said when we first met you were my fan, right?"
"Hm? Yeah. Why?"
"Then why am I so unpopular?" Saitama sighed.
"I've been a hero for fun for three years—took out more monsters than I can count. I'm more active than most heroes, so having fans should be normal, right?"
His mind replayed the afternoon.
Before the Paradisers mess, a few pedestrians had pointed and whispered because of his bald head and weird yellow getup. Someone even called the cops to report a suspicious terrorist.
He tried to explain he was a hero. That only earned warier looks. It sucked.
"How come no one knows me? I'm out there all the time…" His voice sagged.
Lin Mo listened, a twinge of awkward guilt in his chest.
He knew better than anyone: most of Saitama's feats had been stolen—intentionally or not—by others.
Biggest beneficiary? Probably himself.
"I have to set the record straight for Sensei," he decided.
Not just for Saitama—for himself.
"If Sensei is officially recognized and becomes top Association muscle, then when disaster strikes, they'll call him first."
"That takes a lot off me. I won't have to keep bluffing with the King Engine and death glares."
The thought firmed into resolve.
Heroes and the Association are a mutualist arrangement at heart.
Heroes chase fame or money; the Association offers a stage and leverages their power to keep order.
Lin Mo took Association jobs too—but only the doable ones: pressers, scaring small-time crooks.
He knew he couldn't "sit on the throne and never go," or he'd be exposed.
"Have you ever considered registering in the Hero Registry?" he asked casually, already knowing the answer—and steering the talk.
"The Registry? Ah, that. I'm a hero for fun. Registering sounds like a hassle."
He yawned, unbothered.
"It is a hassle—but it pays. And not just with notoriety," Lin Mo said, slowing his pace.
"The Association pays salaries based on contribution and rank. Higher rank, higher pay."
"And most jobs come through the Association. No need to wander around hunting monsters."
"Sal… ary?"
Saitama's eyes lit. For an unemployed guy, nothing beats that.
"Yup." Lin Mo smiled. Hook: set.
"With your strength, even if they don't put you straight into S-Class, high A-Class is easy."
"Forget discount cabbage—you could eat Wagyu hotpot every day."
"Wagyu… hotpot…" Saitama drooled a little. He seized Lin Mo's shoulders, more serious than ever.
"King! Let's go to this Association place—right now!"
"Hold up," Lin Mo said, steadying him. "A day won't kill us. Where's Genos, anyway? Haven't seen him lately."
At the name, Saitama calmed.
"Genos? Dr. Kuseno needed him. Some big upgrade. I haven't seen him in days."
Talking, they reached the familiar apartment block in the Z-City abandoned zone.
"Hey, I thought your place wasn't here," Saitama said as Lin Mo followed him up like he owned the place.
"I'm out of food. Dinner's not sorted."
"So?"
Lin Mo didn't even slow, waving a hand. "Not my first sleepover. We'll order takeout and plan your test."
Saitama sighed and led the way. He opened the door—and both froze.
No dust, no gloom. Instead—a warm, rich aroma of home-cooked food.
In the tiny kitchen, a blond figure in a pink, dog-print apron was bustling.
Genos.
"Sensei, you're back."
He turned, gleaming new cybernetics catching the light—fresh from a full overhaul. He nodded politely at Lin Mo. "Mr. King."
"Genos? You're back!" Saitama peered into the pot. "Smells amazing! I thought you'd be gone longer."
"Yes, Sensei. I've had some upgrades," Genos said, tasting a spoon of kelp miso soup and nodding before ladling it out.
"By the way," Lin Mo cut in smoothly, "Saitama plans to register tomorrow. Want to join?"
Genos paused. He set down the bowl and looked from Lin Mo to Saitama, thinking.
Do the strong always choose the Association…?
His gaze flicked between them.
A teacher whose power defied analysis, as if limitless.
And the man the world called the Strongest—who radiated pressure just by standing.
If both walked that path, then for someone pursuing ultimate strength and justice, it must be right.
"Yes! I'll go!"
He snapped straight, voice ringing, startling both Saitama and Lin Mo.
"But!" he added, eyes burning, "before we register, I ask Sensei and Mr. King to spar with me at full power!"
The room went still.
"Sensei, whose strength I cannot comprehend. And King, acknowledged as the Strongest…" Genos's core raced.
"If I fight them both, maybe the data will reveal a sliver of their secret. It could shape my path."
-------
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