Three minutes later, everything was ready.
Bang hauled a sleek set of gaming gear from a corner of the dojo.
A latest-gen console wired to a huge HD screen, with four pro-grade controllers neatly arranged.
It was clear he took this "modern training" far beyond casual play.
He truly treated it as cultivation.
"Ohhh! Awesome!" Saitama rushed up first, snatched a controller, and dove into the game library with practiced hands.
"Found it! The newest one! I'm super strong at this, I'm telling you!"
Bang clasped his hands behind his back, smiling. "Heh. Youthful fire is good. But in the world of the Way, loud does not equal victory."
Genos stared at the equipment, unfamiliar.
"How does this… work?" He picked up a controller.
His optics scanned material and design at once.
"Simple, Genos. This stick moves you, these buttons are punches and kicks, and in combos you can fire off super flashy specials!"
"Pick a character, then control him to knock your opponent out!" Saitama ran a brisk tutorial.
Genos nodded thoughtfully. He noticed many character options on-screen—one was a cyborg, which gave him a pang of kinship.
"So—via high-precision inputs to simulate combat… An efficient drill for neural reflexes and tactical thinking." He was already dissecting it scientifically.
"All right, KING—how do we play?" Saitama had his controller ready, itching for a fight.
Lin Mo calmly picked up his own. His forefinger and thumb brushed the buttons—crisp clicks sounded in a brisk chain.
Eyes on the screen, his focus narrowed to a point. "If we're playing, then I will face all three of you alone."
"Huh?!" Saitama, mid-select on a character—a bald, musclebound "Brawler Baldy"—froze, incredulous. "KING, you sure? There are three of us. Three on one? That's not fair!"
Bang's smile faded into seriousness, a crease between his brows.
He felt KING was overreaching—borderline arrogant.
"Mr. KING, though you showed extraordinary perception earlier, the world of games is another matter."
"Here, victory turns on millisecond reactions and precise inputs. One versus three is nearly impossible."
He prided himself on standing at the peak of players, thanks to grandmaster reflexes and read.
Even a one-on-one with KING would, he believed, be a hard-fought duel—let alone facing him and Saitama together, plus an unknown-quantity S-Class cyborg.
Yet Lin Mo only smiled faintly at their doubts.
Gone was the old touch of panic—no weight in his smile—only pure, absolute confidence.
After countless nights of battle, he was certain of his dominion over games.
"Simple rules." He raised one finger. "You three form a team—any characters you like. I'll be alone—and pick a random character."
"Your goal is to KO me. So long as any one of you remains standing before I fall, you win."
That set Bang's fighting spirit aflame.
He said no more. His eyes sharpened. "Since you are so confident, Mr. KING, then we three shall learn from you."
The battle was a hair's breadth away.
Light flashed across the screen. The versus screen rolled in. Stirring music rose; the character select clanged with metallic chimes and heroic shouts.
On the left, Bang chose a martial artist modeled on himself—"Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist: Silver." Saitama picked a hulking muscle mountain—"Giant Titan."
Genos chose a fully mechanical cyborg whose arsenal was energy cannons and lasers—"Oni Mech."
Three styles—close-quarters grappling, powerhouse rushdown, and long-range suppression—forming a complementary front.
On the right, representing KING, the single character frame flickered rapidly, the cursor sweeping over roster titans—then, with a click, settled on the plainest face there.
A featureless, all-around balanced starter—"Fighter Ryu."
A man in the simplest white gi—the tutorial character every beginner used.
"Pff—hahaha!" Saitama burst out. "KING, are you serious? Your luck is awful! You got the starter—how are you gonna win?"
His earlier shadows of defeat vanished. He could already picture "Giant Titan" stomping KING flat—today he would break the winless curse.
Bang had to laugh. He'd expected a clash of dragons and tigers—who knew KING's luck would falter?
It even felt a bit unsporting—three carefully chosen powerhouses ganging up on a starter.
Only Lin Mo's expression didn't change.
He gazed at that steadfast "Fighter Ryu" on-screen, the corner of his mouth quirking in a curve no one else understood.
For a god, what weapon he wielded made no difference.
"It's fine. They're all the same," he said with a calm, grandmasterly air.
The countdown hit zero.
A single flaming word filled the screen and shook the dojo with its impact.
"FIGHT!"
The battle began.
-------
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