King moved through the bustling, intact streets bordering the quarantine zone, a stark contrast to the absolute desolation he had just left. He was a ghost returning from a war no one else had witnessed. His clothes were torn and dusted with concrete powder and something darker, something that smelled of ozone and alien ichor. A faint, coppery taste of blood still lingered in his mouth, and a deep, throbbing ache had settled into his bones, a symphony of pain conducted by the Demon-level monster's final blow.
He ignored the stares. The civilians on the street couldn't see the psychic visions, the point-blank beam, or the desperate, final gamble with King's Authority. All they saw was King, the S-Class hero, Rank 7, The Strongest Man on Earth, walking away from the ruins of Z-City looking like he had personally fought a tectonic plate and won. Their eyes widened, whispers spreading like ripples in his wake. He saw the awe, the fear, the sheer, unadulterated belief.
A faint, almost insignificant trickle of notifications scrolled at the edge of his vision, easily dismissed.
[BP +2... BP +5... BP +3... from Belief of Civilians.]
It was background noise. Their imagined epic—a battle of earth-shattering clashes and heroic speeches—was a pale shadow of the brutal, surgical, and terrifyingly close fight for survival he had just endured. He had no energy to care about their narratives. His entire world had narrowed to a single objective: his apartment, and his bed.
He finally reached his building, the familiar, mundane facade a sight more welcome than any treasure. The climb up the stairs felt longer than the journey across the ruined city. Pushing his door open, the quiet, unchanged normalcy of his home was a balm to his frayed nerves. The unplayed games still sat in their corner, but today, they held no temptation, only the promise of a distraction for another time.
He didn't even make it to the bed. He slid down with his back against the front door, sitting on the floor in the dim hallway, breathing heavily. The silence was finally his own.
But rest would have to wait just a moment longer. The prize of his near-death experience was burning a hole in his proverbial pocket.
With a mental command that felt heavier than usual, he pulled up the [LEGEND SHOP]. The familiar blue interface materialized, its sterile glow illuminating the dusty air of his apartment. He didn't browse. He knew exactly what he needed.
His focus went straight to the entry he had been coveting for what felt like an eternity.
[King's Aura - Lv. 4]
The core of your legend. Strengthens your physical vessel and enhances the potency of all other abilities.
Cost: 25,000 BP
"Purchase," King rumbled, the word a dry croak.
The BP counter plummeted.
[Total BP: 61,390 -> 36,390]
A sensation unlike any he had felt before washed over him. It wasn't the sharp, overwhelming flood of a new ability, but a deep, fundamental shift. It was as if the very marrow of his bones was being infused with liquid steel. The pervasive ache from the battle began to recede, not just healing, but being replaced by a bedrock of resilience. He felt… denser. More real. The phantom weight of his own body seemed to lessen, not from weakness, but because it could now better bear the load. This was the foundation he had been missing.
But he wasn't done. A strong core needed a strong shell. He scrolled further, past the flashy abilities, to a more fundamental section he had previously ignored, its cost too prohibitive. Now, it was within reach.
[High Super Human Condition]
Pushes the user's physical body far beyond human limits. Grants immense strength, speed, and durability as a passive state. A prerequisite for wielding truly catastrophic power.
Cost: 25,000 BP
"Purchase."
[Total BP: 36,030 -> 11,3900]
This time, the change was more violent. A wave of fire raced through his muscles, not of pain, but of intense, sudden growth. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists as he felt the fibers of his being tear and reknit themselves in a more perfect, potent form. The lingering soreness in his ribs vanished completely. The fatigue that had clung to him like a shroud was burned away in a forge of pure vitality. When it subsided, he felt a raw, humming power in his limbs that he had never possessed before. He wasn't just durable now; he was strong.
Curiosity, sharp and immediate, overrode his exhaustion. He focused inward and activated his King's Armor.
It was different. Before, manifesting it was a strain, a conscious effort to solidify light. Now, it was an instinct, an exhale. The golden energy didn't just flicker onto his limbs; it cascaded over his entire body in a single, seamless wave. In less than a second, he was encased from head to toe in a suit of brilliant, shimmering auric plate. It felt… solid. Not like energy, but like a second skin of perfected mythril. He could feel the difference—where before a Demon's punch would have shattered it and him, now he knew it would hold. It would hold.
He let the armor fade and activated his King's Eyes. The world snapped into a hyper-clarity that was almost disorienting. He could see the individual fibers in the wood of his door, the microscopic cracks in the paint on the far wall. His perception of time seemed to slow, the dust motes drifting in a sunbeam appearing almost stationary. The phantom vision of the monster's punch flashed in his mind again, but this time it felt less like a fluke and more like a nascent muscle he had just begun to flex.
A profound, weary satisfaction settled over him. The 11,390 BP left was a significant sum, but for now, it was a number. He had spent the grand prize on what mattered most: the foundation.
He pushed himself off the floor, his body moving with a new, effortless grace that felt alien and right. He finally made it to his bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress, not in a heap of exhaustion, but with the deliberate weight of a man who had earned his rest.
The fight had nearly killed him. But the rewards… the rewards had just begun to make him. As sleep claimed him, the King Engine beat a slow, powerful, and deeply contented rhythm, a sound not of fear or battle, but of potential, finally realized.
--
King woke to the familiar, dull ache of a body that had been pushed to its absolute limit and then some. It was a deep-seated soreness, a symphony of protesting muscles and bruised bone. But as he shifted, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands, a slow, analytical frown spread across his face.
It was better. Significantly better.
Yesterday, the pain had been a sharp, stabbing reminder with every breath. Today, it was a manageable throb, a fading echo. The High Super Human Condition and the enhanced King's Aura were already proving their worth, his body processing the damage at a rate that would have been unthinkable a week ago.
Yet, the mere presence of the pain was a data point his High Combat Instincts couldn't ignore. He sat on the edge of his bed, the morning light casting long shadows across his room.
"This isn't sustainable," he rumbled to the empty apartment, the words a familiar conclusion to a new problem. "I survived a Demon-level, but it was a close thing. Too close. If the next fight is harder, or if there are two... I'll be worn down."
A fighter who couldn't recover was a fighter on borrowed time. He needed resilience, not just in the moment of battle, but in the hours and days after. He needed a way to turn a week of recovery into a day. Or less.
With a weary sigh, he summoned the [LEGEND SHOP]. The blue interface flickered to life, a repository of potential solutions. He navigated past the offensive abilities, past the defensive auras, and into a section he had previously only glanced at: Restoration.
What he found was... daunting.
[Cellular Regeneration (Active)] - 75,000 BP
[Instantaneous Injury Reversion] - 120,000 BP
[Phoenix's Tears (Single Use)] - 50,000 BP
He scoffed, a low, grumbling sound. "Fifty thousand for a single use? More than I got for nearly dying to that overgrown cyclops." The costs were astronomical, abilities for heroes who fought catastrophes as a day job, not for a grinder building his power from the ground up.
"Useless," he muttered, scrolling further. The high-end abilities were like looking at a catalog of supercars when all he needed was a reliable truck. He needed something efficient. Something cost-effective.
He scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, to the bargain bin of healing, where the flashy, instant miracles gave way to the practical, the utilitarian.
And there it was.
[Passive Augmented Healing]
Dramatically increases the body's natural recovery processes. Heals injuries approximately ten times faster than the peak human norm. Does not require active activation or energy expenditure.
Cost: 10,000 BP
King's eyes, still sharp with the residual glow of his King's Eyes, locked onto the description. A slow, grim smile touched his lips.
"Ten times faster..." he mused. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't immortality. It wouldn't let him re-grow a limb like that Hero Association freak, Zombieman. But it was constant. It was passive. It would work while he slept, while he trained, while he played video games. It was the ultimate quality-of-life upgrade for a man whose life was now a cycle of violent conflict.
It was the grinder's solution.
"Ten thousand. A fair price," he judged. It would clean out almost all of his remaining BP, but what was the point of hoarding points if he was too injured to spend them? Survival was the primary objective. Everything else was secondary.
"Purchase," he commanded.
[Total BP: 11,390 -> 1,390]
The sensation was subtle, especially compared to the tectonic shifts of his previous upgrades. It was a deep, pervasive warmth that spread from his core out to his limbs, a feeling like sinking into a perfect hot spring. The lingering ache in his ribs and shoulders seemed to loosen its grip, the pain not vanishing, but being actively and noticeably pushed back by a powerful, biological tide. It felt like his very blood was humming with renewed purpose, carrying resources to damaged tissues with impossible efficiency.
He stood up, rolling his neck and hearing a satisfying, non-painful pop. The stiffness was already fading.
"It's a start," King said to himself, a note of grim satisfaction in his voice. He wasn't unkillable. He wasn't even close. But he was harder to keep down. And for a man walking a path paved with Demon-level threats and city-leveling trump cards, that was everything.
For the first time in what felt like an age, King allowed himself to simply… stop. The phantom tremors of King's Authority's recoil were gone, replaced by the gentle, pervasive warmth of his new Passive Augmented Healing. The gnawing urgency to earn more BP, to push deeper, to hunt bigger game, was temporarily silenced. He had faced a Demon and won. He had fortified his body and spirit. He had earned a day off.
And so, he indulged.
The entire day was a sacrament to normalcy. He cleaned his apartment, the mundane task a surprising pleasure. He cooked a proper meal, something that didn't come from a convenience store shelf. But the true centerpiece of his respite was his games. He settled onto his floor, the familiar weight of the controller a comfort in his hands—a different kind of weapon, one that demanded precision and strategy without the threat of vaporization.
He lost himself in digital worlds for hours. The only engine running was the console's fan; his own heart was silent, a profound peace he rarely experienced. The thrill of a perfect combo, the frustration of a cheap boss, the satisfaction of conquering a challenging level—it was all so beautifully simple. This was the life he had fought for, the quiet comfort his newfound power was meant to protect. For a few glorious hours, he wasn't a legend arming for war. He was just a man who was really, really good at video games.
He was in the middle of an especially tense boss fight, his focus absolute, when his phone vibrated on the floor beside him, blaring its generic ringtone. A flicker of annoyance broke his concentration. He paused the game, the screen freezing on the monstrous pixelated enemy mid-attack.
He picked up the phone. The caller ID read: Saitama.
A different kind of tension, one of curiosity, replaced his irritation. He accepted the call.
"Hello, Saitama."
"King. You busy?" Saitama's voice was as flat and unconcerned as ever, a stark contrast to the epic orchestral music still emanating from the paused game.
"Not particularly. I was just… relaxing," King replied, his voice its usual low rumble.
"Good. So, tomorrow. You free?"
King blinked. "Tomorrow? For what?"
There was a rustling sound on the other end, as if Saitama was shuffling through something. "That Fubuki lady. The one with the green outfit and the group. She's been kinda persistent. Wants to have, like, a 'friendly competition' or something. Told me to bring some people. So I'm bringing people."
King processed this. The Blizzard Group. Fubuki was ambitious, constantly trying to measure herself and her team against established S-Class heroes. An event like this was exactly her style.
"I already asked Genos. He said yes right away, started muttering about 'data collection on lesser heroes' or whatever," Saitama continued, oblivious to King's internal analysis. "And I called the old guy, Bang. He said it sounded like a nice change of pace."
King could picture it: the disciplined, powerful Silver Fang, the fanatical and powerful Genos, the utterly bored and invincible Saitama, and… himself. It was a bizarre gathering.
"And you want me to come?" King asked, more to confirm than out of reluctance.
"Yeah. Why not? It'll probably be boring, but it's something to do. And you're strong now, for real, right? With your game menu stuff. So it might not be a total waste of time."
The blunt, casual acceptance of his power still held a strange comfort. Saitama wasn't inviting the legend; he was inviting his friend who happened to have a "game menu."
King looked at his paused game. He looked around his quiet, peaceful apartment. He had nothing else planned. And a part of him, the part that was no longer purely a fraud, was curious. What would it be like to be around other powerful individuals not as an imposter, but as someone who was actively building his own strength? It was a low-stakes environment, a chance to observe.
"Very well," King said, his decision made. "I'll be there. Where and when?"
"Meet me at my apartment. Noon," Saitama said, already sounding like he was losing interest in the conversation now that the task was done. "Don't be late. Genos will probably try to make lunch."
The mental image of Genos's cooking was enough to make king stutter in sympathy.
"Understood. I'll see you then, Saitama."
"Cool. Later."
The line went dead. King placed the phone back on the floor, the silence of his apartment returning, but now filled with a new, low hum of anticipation. He unpaused his game, but his focus was split. A friendly competition with the Blizzard Group. It sounded trivial, almost silly after his life-and-death struggle in the ruins.
But as he resumed his game, a slight, thoughtful smile touched his lips. After over a week of nothing but monsters, grinding, and near-death experiences, maybe a little triviality was exactly what he needed.
Tomorrow, he decided, would be interesting.