The morning air was crisp and clear, a perfect day for the kind of casual outing that had become a rare luxury in King's life. He dressed simply, the mundane act a strange counterpoint to the memory of encasing his entire body in golden armor just days before. As he made his way to the familiar, slightly dilapidated apartment building in Z-City, he allowed himself a moment of quiet curiosity. A "friendly competition" with the Blizzard Group was a far cry from a death struggle in the ruins, and he found the shift in pace… intriguing.
He rounded the corner to see the trio already assembled on the sidewalk, a grouping that would give any monster in the city pause. Saitama, in his usual bland tracksuit, looked bored already, hands stuffed in his pockets. Beside him, Genos stood with perfect, robotic posture, his metallic frame gleaming in the sun, a silent sentinel. And to his slight surprise, Silver Fang, Bang, was there as well, looking every bit the kindly old master in his traditional martial arts gi, a small, serene smile on his face.
"King," Bang greeted first, offering a respectful nod. "It is good to see you in good health."
"Old man Bang," King replied, his voice a low rumble. He returned the nod. "The feeling is mutual."
Genos's optical sensors focused on him. "King. I have analyzed the footage of your recent activities from public cameras on the periphery of the ruins. The scale of destruction is… notable.
King felt a minor internal jolt. Cameras? He'd have to be more careful. "The threats required a decisive response," he stated, which was technically true. It was the best way to end the line of inquiry.
Saitama cut through the formalities. "Yeah, yeah, you're all strong. Can we go now? Fubuki said there'd be snacks, I think." He turned and started walking without waiting for a confirmation, the de facto leader of their impromptu group by sheer force of apathy.
They fell into step together, an utterly bizarre procession moving through the city. Genos and Bang walked on either side of Saitama, while King brought up the rear, his immense frame and terrifying visage causing the usual stir among civilians who scrambled to get out of their way.
"The Blizzard Group," Bang mused as they walked. "Fubuki is a talented young woman, but she places too much stock in organization and rank. This should be an interesting diversion."
"I see it as an opportunity to assess the combat potential of the B-Class," Genos declared, his internal systems whirring softly. "Though Saitama-sensei has already proven rank is meaningless, data on their collective coordination could be valuable."
"Don't overthink it, Genos," Saitama said without looking back. "It's probably just some stupid games. We'll beat them and go home."
King remained silent, listening. His King's Eyes passively observed his companions. The sheer, dormant power radiating from Saitama was a given. But he could now, on an instinctual level, appreciate the refined, coiled-spring energy of Bang and the volatile, plasma-charged intensity of Genos. He was, for the first time, walking among them not as a fraud, but as someone who could genuinely perceive the scale of their strength.
Soon, they arrived at a sleek, modern building that served as the Blizzard Group's headquarters. The lobby was opulent, a stark contrast to Saitama's sparse apartment. A nervous-looking subordinate in a suit guided them to a large, open common room.
As they entered, the scene unfolded exactly as King's tactical mind had begun to predict. Fubuki sat regally on a central couch, a confident smirk playing on her lips. But the two dozen or so members of her Blizzard Group arrayed behind her were a different story. Their bravado evaporated the moment the Saitama Group filed in.
The air grew thick with palpable anxiety. Whispers hissed through the room.
"Silver Fang…!"
"That's the Demon Cyborg, Genos!"
"And… and KING! He brought KING!"
"The Strongest Man on Earth…! This is bad…!"
Fubuki's smirk tightened, her eyes widening a fraction as she took in the trio of S-Class titans Saitama had somehow mustered. This was not the casual gathering of a B-Class hero and his disciples she had anticipated. This was a delegation.
"Saitama," Fubuki began, her voice carefully controlled, though a slight strain was detectable. "You… brought guests."
Saitama blinked. "You said to bring people. So I brought people." He stated it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Genos took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the trembling Blizzard Group. "State the terms of this competition. We have no time to waste."
Fubuki stood, squaring her shoulders, trying to reclaim the momentum. "The terms are simple. We will compete in a series of challenges. The losing group must obey the winning group's every command."
Bang chuckled softly. "A high stake for a friendly game."
King, who had been a silent, intimidating statue by the door, finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a low-frequency blade. "What is the challenge?"
All eyes turned to him. The Blizzard Group members flinched as one.
Fubuki's smile returned, sharp and cunning. She gestured to a large television screen and multiple gaming consoles set up against the far wall. "We do a test of reflexes, coordination, and strategy. We start with video games."
A slow, deliberate smile spread across King's scarred face beneath his collar. It was not a smile of menace, but of profound, absolute certainty. The King Engine, which had been silent, gave a single, soft, almost imperceptible thump of anticipation.
He met Fubuki's gaze, his golden eyes gleaming.
"Acceptable."
A ripple of relieved laughter passed through the Blizzard Group as Bang, with a gracious smile, accepted the controller. "A test of virtual combat? How novel. Very well, if I am victorious, you shall all partake in the disciplined training of my dojo."
The match was a slaughter, but not the one the old master anticipated. His character was pinned, comboed, and utterly dismantled by Piko a member of the Blizzard group in a matter of seconds. The "K.O." banner flashed on the screen. Bang stared, nonplussed, at his hands as if they had betrayed him. "I... see. The young are indeed adept in their own arenas."
Saitama was next, his expression utterly blank. "Just push the buttons, right?" His match was even shorter. His character stumbled forward, threw a single, clumsy punch, and was instantly vaporized by a complex, flashy super move from Piko. Saitama blinked. "Huh. It's over."
Genos, ever analytical, took the controller with grim determination. "I will analyze his patterns and adapt." He lasted perhaps ten seconds longer, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, but Piko's experience was an insurmountable wall. A perfectly timed counter-attack ended the cyborg's run. "My apologies, Saitama-sensei. His reaction speed exceeds my processing capacity for this interface."
Piko leaned back, a proud, slightly arrogant smirk on his face. The Blizzard Group was buzzing with confidence. They had defeated an S-Class legend, the Caped Baldy, and his powerful disciple. Only one remained.
King's turn arrived. The atmosphere shifted as he stepped forward. He didn't snatch the controller; he picked it up with the familiar, practiced ease of a master craftsman taking up his tool. The plastic fit perfectly in his large hands, a natural extension of his will.
Fubuki couldn't contain her smug triumph. "Well, King? The 'Strongest Man on Earth'? Your friends have fallen. When you lose, you and the entire... 'Saitama Group'... will swear allegiance to me. Surely a man who lives for combat knows nothing of a world confined to a screen."
King said nothing. He simply looked at the screen, his golden eyes, which could track the trajectory of a Kinetic Blast and perceive the weak points in granite, now analyzed the pixelated battlefield with the same lethal clarity. Piko was good. Technically proficient, with crisp execution. But to King, a lifelong gamer who had honed his skills in thousands of digital battles, it was like watching a child practice his scales before a concert pianist.
The match began.
What followed was not a fight; it was a dissection. Piko's character moved forward, and King's character seemed to flow around the attack, a ghost in the machine. A single, precise counter-hit landed, and then the symphony began.
King's thumbs moved in a blur, a staccato rhythm on the buttons that was almost silent. On screen, his character unleashed an unending, flawless combo. Piko's character was locked in a state of perpetual impact, bouncing between the floor and the air, his health bar evaporating in a seamless, unstoppable cascade of damage. Piko's smirk vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock. He mashed buttons, trying to block, to escape, to do anything, but it was futile. King had read his every option before he had even thought of it.
K.O.! PERFECT VICTORY!
The announcement echoed in the dead-silent room. Piko stared, slack-jawed, at the screen. He hadn't landed a single hit.
"Again!" Fubuki snapped, her voice tight. "That was a fluke! Another challenger!"
Another of her subordinates stepped up, looking significantly less confident. The result was identical. A Perfect Victory for King. Then another. And another.
King did not speak. He did not taunt. He simply played, his expression one of serene, absolute focus. The King Engine was silent; there was no need for its intimidating thrum here. This was his true domain. One by one, the thirty members of the Blizzard Group fell before him. Some were aggressive, some defensive, some tried cheesy tactics. It didn't matter. King adapted, punished, and perfected them all. The pile of defeated opponents grew, each match a flawless, no-damage run.
The Blizzard Group's morale shattered completely. The nervous whispers from earlier were gone, replaced by a stunned, terrified silence. They weren't just losing to a strong hero; they were witnessing a level of mastery they couldn't comprehend, displayed by the last person they ever expected.
Finally, King placed the controller down. The screen showed his victory tally: 30 wins, 0 losses, 100% health remaining on every single match.
He turned his head, his gaze meeting Fubuki's horrified one.
"Is that all?" King asked, his voice a low, calm rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of her ambition.
He had not used his armor, his aura, or his authority. He had used the skills he had built long before he ever had a system. And in this arena, he was truly, undeniably, the strongest.
---
The walk away from the Blizzard Group headquarters was a quiet affair, the silence broken only by the city's ambient noise. The Saitama Group moved with a casual, unhurried pace, the bizarre competition already feeling like a distant memory. Trailing a few paces behind them, Fubuki walked with her head bowed, the picture of utter defeat. Her grand plan had not just failed; it had been atomized, and the sheer, casual power on display—from King's digital annihilation to the unshakeable nonchalance of the others—had left her ambitions in tatters.
"It's a shame about the snacks," Saitama remarked, breaking the silence. "They had those little cheese crackers."
"Your performance was nonetheless satisfactory, Saitama-sensei," Genos stated, ever the loyal disciple. "And King's was… statistically improbable."
"It is good for the young to learn humility," Bang added, casting a gentle, knowing look back at Fubuki. "Even the most talented can be reminded there are peaks beyond their sight."
King simply walked, the residual satisfaction of a perfect gaming streak a warm ember in his chest. It was a different kind of victory than the brutal fight with the Behemoth-Cyclops, but a victory nonetheless. His peaceful contemplation was suddenly shattered by a cacophony of explosions, shattering concrete, and panicked shouts from a few blocks over.
Their casual stroll immediately shifted into a purposeful stride. They rounded a corner into a scene of chaos. A massive, multi-legged monster—a grotesque fusion of a giant spider's body with a pale, humanoid torso—was wreaking havoc. Its spindly legs punched through asphalt and swatted away heroes with contemptuous ease.
King's King's Eyes flared to life, and a system notification superimposed itself over the scene.
[Demon-level Threat: Jumping Spider - Confirmed.]
[Engaging Hostiles: C-Class (Red Muffler), A-Class (Stinger, Great Philosopher), B-Class (Darkness Blade)]
[Additional Signature: S-Class, Rank 5 (Child Emperor)]
He saw the young genius, Child Emperor, standing back, a strange, futuristic mask in his hands, his expression one of intense analysis rather than panic. The other heroes were not faring as well. Darkness Blade was pinned under rubble, Stinger's spear was broken, and the Great Philosopher was frantically trying to create a diversion. The C-Class hero, Red Muffler, was directly in the path of a descending, spear-like leg.
The monster loomed over the helpless hero. "A final, squirming morsel!" it chittered.
There was no time for a complex plan. There was only presence. Authority.
King's King Engine roared to life.
It wasn't the frantic beat of his fight with the Behemoth-Cyclops, nor the focused thrum of gaming. This was the classic, legendary King Engine—a deep, earth-shattering DOOM-DOOM-DOOM that didn't just fill the air; it stole it. The sound was a physical wave of dread that washed over the entire battlefield.
The Jumping Spider froze. Its killing thrust halted inches from Red Muffler's chest. Its massive, multi-faceted eyes swiveled, locking onto King. Primal, instinctual fear overrode its murderous intent. It saw not a man, but an apex predator.
The pressure was immense. The other heroes, already battered, felt their knees go weak. Stinger gasped, "K-King! The King Engine...!"
In that frozen moment of terror, Silver Fang became a blur of motion. He was beside Red Muffler and back to safety in the space of a single, shuddering beat of the King Engine, moving with a speed that defied his age.
"Incinerate," Genos intoned, his arm cannons already glowing. A precise, high-temperature blast lanced out, not at the armored body, but at the vulnerable humanoid torso. The upper half of the monster was vaporized in a burst of fire and screaming tissue.
The spider body, now headless, thrashed wildly. King took a single, deliberate step forward, focusing his aura. The King Engine's rhythm intensified, the pressure multiplying. The colossal, twitching form of the Jumping Spider buckled under the psychic weight, its legs crumpling, slamming its main body onto the street with a ground-shaking thud, paralyzed by sheer terror.
It was then that Saitama, who had been watching with a bored expression, walked forward. "let me deal the finishing blow" he commented, looking at the webbing and gore. He threw a casual, almost lazy punch.
POP.
The sound was absurdly small. The remaining bulk of the Demon-level Jumping Spider exploded into a fine, wet mist, painting the surrounding ruins in a single, grotesque stroke. A large strand of web splattered across Saitama's face, and he began to peel it off with a look of profound annoyance. "Eugh. Gross."
It was over.
As the adrenaline faded, King's system chimed.
[Demon-level Threat: Jumping Spider - DEFEATED (Collaboration)]
[BP Award for Tactical Dominance & Aura-Based Suppression: +30,000]
[Additional BP from Awe/Relief of Allied Heroes: +1,750]
[Total BP: 31,750]
The aftermath of the battle settled not with cheers, but with a stunned silence, broken only by the faint crackle of dying fires from Genos's blast. The rescued lower-ranked heroes stared, their gazes inevitably drawn to the most imposing figure among their saviors: King. To them, the sequence was clear. King's terrifying presence had frozen the monster, Silver Fang and the Demon Cyborg had created an opening, and Saitama had... well, he'd done something to the already defeated corpse.
Child Emperor, ever the scientist, shook his head in admiration. "Incredible, King! As expected! You suppressed the Demon-level threat with your King Engine, allowing your companions to deliver the finishing blow!" He completely misinterpreted the causal chain, his theory perfectly aligning with the public legend.
He approached the group, holding up his strange, futuristic mask. "This is my latest invention, the 'Okame-chan' power level scanner! It can quantify combat strength with a numerical value! With your permission, I'd like to test it on all of you!"
He first turned to the ever-polite Bang. "Master Silver Fang, would you mind?"
Bang chuckled and waved a hand. "I am an old man who relies on technique. Mere numbers would not capture the flow of water or the crack of a fist. I must decline."
Child Emperor nodded in understanding and then looked at Genos. "Demon Cyborg?"
Genos's optical sensors focused on the mask. "My systems are a fusion of organic and mechanical. A reading based purely on biological physicality would be an incomplete and therefore useless data point. I refuse."
"Fair enough," Child Emperor said, undeterred. He then turned to Saitama, who was still trying to peel the last of the sticky web from his cheek. "Saitama-san? Let's give it a try."
He pointed the mask at Saitama. The lenses whirred, and a small holographic display flickered to life. Instead of a number, it flashed a single, stark word in red letters: UNDEFINED.
Child Emperor frowned, tapping the device. "Huh? Malfunction? It's supposed to cap at 9999. It can't get a reading on you at all." He was baffled, unable to comprehend that the device was working perfectly; it was simply encountering a value so vast it broke the very scale, like trying to measure the ocean with a thimble.
Finally, he turned to King, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "King! The Strongest Man on Earth! Let's see the numerical value of your power!"
He aimed the mask. King stood perfectly still, his expression an unreadable mask of stoicism. Internally, however, his mind was racing. 'A physical strength scanner? This could be a problem. My raw body, even with High Super Human Condition, is likely only high Tiger-level at best. If it reveals a low number, the entire legend shatters.'
The mask whirred again. The lenses focused, and the holographic display flickered... and showed the same result: UNDEFINED.
Child Emperor's jaw dropped. He stared from the mask to King and back again. "Incredible! It's the same result! The scale maxes out at 9999, which is the benchmark for a Demon-level threat. For it to read 'Undefined'... your power is so immense it exists outside the framework of my scanner! It's literally immeasurable!"
King gave a slow, single nod, the picture of serene, uncontested power. "I see," he rumbled, his voice perfectly calm.
Internally, he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. 'It's not scanning my physical body,' he realized with dawning clarity. 'It's trying to measure my King's Aura. The system-generated legend I project. It's seeing the "Strongest Man" title, not the man himself.' It was a close call, averted only by the bizarre nature of his own power.
As Child Emperor babbled excitedly about recalibrating his device, a new notification appeared in King's vision.
[BP +5,000 from Awe of S-Class Hero (Child Emperor)]
[Total BP: 36,750]
The points were a welcome influx, another step toward his next goal. But the true victory was the confirmation. His legend wasn't just a story anymore; it was a tangible force, so real it could baffle advanced technology and shape the perception of even the smartest heroes. He was a man building himself into the myth, and with every battle, every display, the line between the two was blurring beyond recognition.
-
The brief moment of scientific inquiry was shattered by a new, skittering threat. From the pulverized remains of the Jumping Spider's main body, a hundred smaller, spiders erupted, scuttling in a chaotic wave towards the stunned civilians and injured heroes. It was a final, posthumous act of malice.
Before anyone else could move, a voice laced with renewed steel cut through the panic.
"Don't underestimate me!"
It was Fubuki. The look of defeated shame was gone from her eyes, replaced by a sharp, fiery resolve. Watching the S-Class heroes operate—seeing King's absolute dominance in both games and combat, and the casual way they handled a Demon-level threat—had lit a fire under her. She would not be left behind. She would not be just a spectator.
She thrust her hands forward, her emerald eyes glowing. A shimmering wave of telekinetic energy enveloped the entire swarm of spiders. They were lifted into the air as one, their legs twitching helplessly, caught in an invisible vise.
"Crush," she commanded.
With a sickening, simultaneous CRUNCH, the entire swarm was compacted into a single, messy sphere of chitin and ichor, which she then unceremoniously dumped onto the pile of the main monster's remains. The battlefield fell silent once more.
Child Emperor, who had been observing the cleanup, suddenly looked down at his mask. A fine, hairline crack had appeared across the main lens. "Huh? It's broken? But I didn't drop it..." he muttered, completely unaware that the device had shorted out trying and failing to process the infinite, physics-defying depth of Saitama's strength just moments earlier.
Later that evening, the scene could not have been more different. The Saitama Group, plus Fubuki, sat in a private room of an upscale restaurant, the bill courtesy of a now-respectful, if still ambitious, Blizzard Group leader. The aroma of high-quality steak and tempura filled the air.
Saitama, for once, looked genuinely content as he shoveled expertly prepared food into his mouth. "Now this is a reward. Way better than cheese crackers."
"It is the least I could do after your... group's... performance today," Fubuki said, her tone more measured now. The arrogance was tempered into a watchful respect.
"The meat is of acceptable quality," Genos noted, analyzing a piece of Wagyu with his optical sensors before eating it. "Though the nutritional yield is inferior to the supplements I have formulated for Saitama-sensei."
"It is good to share a meal after such exertions," Bang said serenely, sipping his tea. "It reminds us that the strength to protect such simple pleasures is what truly matters."
King ate quietly, the events of the day replaying in his mind. The effortless gaming victory, the collaborative takedown of the Jumping Spider, the immeasurable reading on the scanner, and now this… camaraderie. It was a strange, new normal. A notification blinked at the edge of his vision, a final tally from the day's beliefs.
[Total BP: 38,500]
He had earned a fortune without nearly dying. It was a good strategy.
"So, King," Saitama said around a mouthful of rice, breaking King's reverie. "I've known that you were pretty good at those games, but not on that scale."
King took a sip of his drink, his low rumble a comfortable sound in the room. "I've had practice."
It was a vast understatement, but it was the truth. And as he sat there, surrounded by the most powerful beings on the planet, accepted as one of them, he felt a sense of belonging he had never known. The path of the grind was solitary and harsh. But moments like this, he thought, made the journey worthwhile. and he was finally finding his place on the new board.