The sun was beginning its descent, casting long, skeletal shadows from the ruins of Z-City. King walked with a slow, deliberate tread, his body humming with a deep, bone-weary fatigue that was entirely new to him. It wasn't the shaky, nerve-shot exhaustion of fear, but the solid, satisfying tiredness of physical labor.
His clothes were a mess. His jacket was torn at the elbow from a desperate dodge, and his pants were spattered with dark, viscous stains that could only be monster blood. The disposable mask was long gone, lost in a scuffle. He felt gross, but beneath the grime, there was a steady, warm ember of satisfaction.
He had spent the hours after the Binary Brawler hunting. Systematically, cautiously, using his map to track down the faint red blips. A slime-like creature that dissolved when he stomped on it. A giant, aggressive rat that froze the moment his King Engine spooled up. They were easy kills, their terror fueling his points and their lives fueling his burgeoning confidence. He was, for the first time, farming.
Pausing under the rusted skeleton of a traffic light, he leaned against a wall and pulled up the system screen. The blue light was a comforting familiarity now.
[Total BP: 9,830]
So close. A little over nine thousand points. A far cry from the millions needed for the world-shattering techniques, but a small fortune to the man he was just a day ago.
"Not bad for a day's work," he muttered, his voice hoarse. He navigated to the [LEGEND SHOP], his eyes automatically skipping past the grayed-out, astronomical costs of the ultimate abilities. He was looking for the next affordable step, the next piece of gear for the grind.
He scrolled past King's Aura - Lv. 3 (Cost: 15,000 BP), knowing that was a priority for the future. His eyes scanned the foundational skills, and then he saw it. Nestled between the passive buffs and the specific techniques was something new, or perhaps something he'd simply overlooked before.
◙ King's Armor (Trainable)
- COST: 10,000 BP
- Manifest a durable aura of conquering will to shield your body and empower your strikes. Initial stage allows for partial coverage (e.g., a single limb). Effectiveness scales with User's Vitality and King's Aura level. Through rigorous use and Aura growth, can be trained to full-body coverage and increased potency.
King's breath caught. This wasn't just a stat boost or a basic instinct. This was a technique. A real, tangible manifestation of power that he could see and use. It sounded… defensive. It would make him harder to hurt. And it would make his punches hit harder. It was exactly what he needed—a way to survive a direct hit and ensure his own attacks mattered.
"Ten thousand," he whispered, a spark of excitement cutting through his weariness. He was only 170 points short. He could probably find one more weak monster, one more trembling creature to intimidate…
His body answered the thought with a deep, aching protest. Every muscle fiber, empowered as they were, felt heavy as lead. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving behind the raw reality of his exertion.
No, he thought, shaking his head. That's how you make a stupid mistake. That's how you get cocky and walk into a Dragon-level threat because you're not paying attention.
The gamer in him knew the rule: when you're tired, low on resources, and pushing your luck, that's when the game throws a boss at you. And this was not a game he could reset.
"Tomorrow," he said to the empty street, his voice firm with decision. "It'll still be there tomorrow."
He closed the shop interface and began the long trudge back towards the train station, leaving the ghostly silence of Z-City behind. The thought of his apartment—a shower, a hot meal, and the mindless, comfortable glow of his video games—was a siren's call. He'd earned it. He had actually, genuinely earned a relaxing evening, not as an escape from fear, but as a reward for effort.
He wasn't the Strongest Man on Earth yet. But as he walked away from the monster-ridden ruins, his body tired but unbroken, his mind already planning his next "farming route," he felt a quiet sense of ownership over his life that he had never known before.
The path to power wasn't a single, terrifying leap. It was a daily grind. And for a master of repetitive gameplay like King, that was a language he understood perfectly.
The walk to the train station was a blur of aching muscles and the single, focused thought of his apartment. King moved on autopilot, his mind already sinking into the comforting fantasy of a steaming bath and the familiar weight of a game controller. The grime on his clothes, the slight tear in his jacket—they were just inconveniences, obstacles between him and his well-earned rest. He completely forgot about the missing mask.
When he slumped into a seat on the half-empty train car, he didn't notice the sudden hush that fell over the other passengers. He didn't see the wide eyes, the hastily covered whispers, or the phones subtly angled in his direction.
He just closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the window, and sighed.
A young man in a business suit elbowed his friend, his voice a hissed whisper. "Is that...?"
"Shhh! It's him! It's King!"
The entire car was now a theater, and King was the oblivious star. His imposing frame, even in its state of exhaustion, dominated the space. The seven scars on his face, usually a subject of fearful speculation, now seemed like battle runes etched by a god. But the true source of their awe was his state.
His clothes were dirty, stained with unidentifiable, dark splotches. There was a fine layer of concrete dust ground into the fabric of his pants. A small, fresh scratch on his jawline stood out against his skin.
"He looks... tired," a woman whispered to her companion, her voice filled not with disappointment, but with reverence.
"Of course he's tired!" her friend whispered back, eyes shining. "Look at him! Those stains... that's not mud. That's monster blood. All of it."
A theory was born in the hushed silence, spreading through the car like a virus.
"He must have just come from a secret battle," a college student murmured, adjusting his glasses. "The Hero Association hasn't announced anything. This was off the books. Something they couldn't make public."
"Look at the tear in his jacket!" another passenger added, their voice trembling with excitement. "What kind of force could even tear the fabric worn by the Strongest Man? It must have been a Demon-level threat at least! Maybe even a Dragon!"
The speculation grew wilder, more grandiose, feeding on its own energy.
"I heard a rumor about tremors in the restricted zone near Z-City's core," the businessman said, now fully convinced of his own theory. "He must have gone in alone. To contain it before it reached the public. That's the kind of hero he is."
"The exhaustion... it's not just physical," the woman said, her voice dropping to an almost sacred hush. "It's the spiritual fatigue of wielding such immense power. He looks like he's been to hell and back."
"And he's just... taking the train home," the college student finished, utterly awestruck. "So humble. So... human."
With every whispered word, every awestruck glance, the system invisible to all but one man diligently did its work.
[Sustained Public Awe: +5 BP... +10 BP...]
[Civilian Admiration (Group): +200 BP]
[Legend Reinforcement: "The Silent Guardian" - +500 BP]
The points ticked up, unseen and uncelebrated. 9,840... 9,900... 9,950...
King, meanwhile, was mentally cataloging his game library. Maybe the new fighting game... or perhaps a classic RPG. Something I can just sink into without thinking.
The train chimed, announcing his stop. He grunted, pushing himself to his feet. The other passengers flinched back slightly as he passed, not out of fear, but out of a profound, almost religious respect. They saw a warrior returning from a cosmic war.
He saw a man who really needed a shower.
[BP Threshold Reached: 10,530]
As he stepped onto the platform and began the short walk to his apartment building, the system, ever helpful, saw he had reached his goal. A small, pulsating notification appeared in the corner of his vision, indicating a purchase objective had been met.
King, his mind wrapped in the simple, beautiful thought of a hot dinner, ignored it. The notification eventually faded. The points were there. The ability was available. But for tonight, the world's strongest man had a prior engagement with his bathtub and his console.
He unlocked his apartment door, stepped inside into the welcoming silence, and finally shed his bloody, dusty jacket. The legend of his day in Z-City was already growing on internet forums and in group chats, but for King, the only thing that mattered was the satisfying click of his game system turning on. The grind could wait for tomorrow.
---
in a sterile, brightly lit conference room at the Hero Association headquarters. Several high-ranking officials, including a nervous-looking communications director and a stern-faced tactical analyst, are gathered around a large screen.
Tactical Analyst: "The reports are consistent and, frankly, staggering. Multiple civilian accounts from a single train car on the Z-City line. They all confirm it was King."
The screen displays a blurry, zoomed-in photo of a tired-looking King slouching in his seat, his clothes visibly stained and torn.
Communications Director: "And his condition? The witnesses describe him as 'weary to his very soul,' his garments 'bearing the marks of a cataclysm.' The public is calling it 'The Silent Battle of Z-City.' Social media is already speculating he stopped a God-level threat in its infancy."
S-Class Liaison: "We have no records of any major monster activity in that sector. No seismic events, no energy spikes. Nothing. It's as if... whatever it was, he contained it so completely it left no traceable evidence."
A heavy silence falls over the room.
Tactical Analyst: (Leaning forward, steepling his fingers) "Consider the implications. He didn't call for backup. He didn't wait for a threat level to be assigned. He sensed a danger we couldn't even detect and neutralized it with such overwhelming force that it was erased from existence before it could ever become a public incident. This... this is a level of proactive threat elimination we can't even comprehend."
Communications Director: "His dedication is... humbling. To face such an unimaginable foe alone, and then to simply take the train home, without seeking any recognition..."
S-Class Liaison: "It confirms every assessment we've ever made. King isn't just a hero; he's a strategic asset on a planetary scale. We must ensure he has whatever resources he requires, even if he's too humble to ask for them."
The officials nod in solemn agreement, the legend of King growing ever larger within the hallowed halls of the Association itself.
(Meanwhile)
in the cluttered, cozy warmth of Saitama's apartment. The bald hero is laid out on the floor, one hand lazily turning the page of a weekly Shounen Jump manga, the other buried in a bag of cheap potato chips. The sound of his rhythmic crunching fills the room.
Genos, the Demon Cyborg, moves with precise, efficient movements in the small kitchen area, a frilly apron tied over his powerful mechanical frame. He is stirring a pot of curry, his optical sensors periodically checking the recipe on his internal HUD.
"Sensei," Genos says, his voice as serious as ever. He holds up his smartphone, the screen displaying the same trending headlines the Hero Association was just discussing. "There are reports that King engaged in a secret, high-intensity battle in Z-City today. The public and the Association believe he single-handedly neutralized an unregistered, potentially catastrophic threat."
Saitama doesn't look up from his manga. "Huh. Really."
"The descriptions of his post-battle state are consistent with immense exertion," Genos continues, his glowing eyes scanning the article. "They say his spirit seemed weary and his clothes were torn and stained. It must have been a formidable opponent."
Saitama finally turns a page, his expression utterly blank. He pops another chip into his mouth.
"Nah," Saitama says, his tone completely dismissive. "He probably just fell down or something."
Genos's processors whir for a moment, analyzing this new data. He looks from his master's disinterested face back to the dramatic news headline on his phone.
"I see," Genos says, a note of profound realization in his voice. He turns back to the curry, giving it a thoughtful stir. "Your perception, as always, sees through the obscuring layers of popular narrative to the simple, logical truth. Thank you for the wisdom, Sensei."
Saitama just grunted in response, already absorbed in the next chapter, completely unaware that he had, once again, come closer to the truth than the entire Hero Association combined.