A/N: Hey, new chapter this early? Why? Because I felt motivated while reading the OPM manga on how to continue the story. I got a few good ideas, so don't worry, I got some good chapters planned for you all.
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The familiar walls of his apartment felt less like a sanctuary and more like a command center. King sat in the quiet, the low, steady thrum of the King Engine a constant companion to his thoughts. His mind was a tactical display, reviewing his assets with a cold, analytical clarity honed by his High Combat Instincts.
The inventory was impressive, a far cry from the desperate fraud he had been mere months ago.
Defense: The King's Armor was now a full-body bastion of golden light, capable of weathering blows that could level city blocks. It was his shield and his bludgeon.
Perception: The King's Eyes pierced deception and predicted movement with near-prescient accuracy. They were his map and his early-warning system.
Offense: The Kinetic Blast was a precision scalpel and a rapid-fire cannon, deliverable from any point on his body. The Seismic Clap was his area-denial tool, a concussive fist of pure force. And King's Authority... he flexed his hand, feeling no ghost of the former recoil. With his upgraded King's Aura and High Super Human Condition, the ultimate trump card was now a viable, if still draining, weapon.
He was a fortress. A strategist. A walking artillery platform.
But as he mentally simulated his fight with the Behemoth-Cyclops, a critical flaw emerged. When the monster had closed the distance with that terrifying, instantaneous burst, his only option had been a desperate, graceless dive. His victory had been built on perfect defense and a single, perfect counter-attack. It was efficient, but it was not dominant.
"Flashy Flash," King murmured to the silent room.
The S-Class ninja was a blur of lethal elegance, a storm of cuts and movements too fast for the eye to follow. King had none of that. His "speed" was entirely reactive, a product of his Eyes telling him where not to be a split second before an attack landed. He could dodge, but he couldn't press an advantage. He could evade, but he couldn't control the flow of battle. Against a faster opponent, or multiple opponents, he would be forever on the back foot, a stalwart defender waiting to be worn down.
His mind flickered back to the phantom vision against the Behemoth-Cyclops—that split-second premonition of his own death. That was a form of speed, a speed of perception that transcended his Eyes. But it was unreliable, a flicker he didn't understand or control. He couldn't build a strategy on a mystery.
"No," he rumbled, dismissing the thought. "I need tangible speed. Combat speed."
His will summoned the [LEGEND SHOP]. The blue interface materialized, its endless list of potential scrolling before his mind's eye. He bypassed the flashy, destructive abilities and the esoteric utilities, his focus narrowed to a single concept: velocity.
He scrolled for what felt like an hour, past abilities named "Swift Step" and "Afterimage," until his gaze locked onto one that resonated with the very core of his being.
[Royal Acceleration]
The user commands the space around them, granting explosive bursts of speed and heightened kinematic control. Velocity scales with the user's King Aura level. At higher levels, perception accelerates in tandem with movement.
Cost: 28,000 BP
It was perfect. It wasn't just raw speed; it was controlled speed. "Kinematic control" suggested he wouldn't be slamming into walls. Most importantly, it was tied to his King's Aura, the core of his power that he had just massively upgraded. This wasn't a separate tool; it was a new limb for the body of his legend.
He checked his BP total: 38,500. A significant investment, but one that would complete his combat trinity: Defense, Offense, and now, Mobility.
"Purchase," King commanded, his voice final.
[Total BP: 38,500 -> 10,500]
[Ability Acquired: Royal Acceleration (Lv. 1)]
The sensation was not of fire or light, but of potential. It felt like coiled springs had been installed in the very marrow of his bones, and the air around him had become thinner, more willing to be parted. He stood up, feeling the new potential in his limbs.
He didn't test it in his apartment—even he wasn't that reckless. But he knew what he had to do. The proving grounds awaited. The deserted, Saitama-approved valley was the only place he could safely learn the limits of this new power.
A slow, determined smile spread across his face. The fortress was about to learn how to fly. The path ahead was clear: master Royal Acceleration, integrate it into his fighting style, and become not just an unbreakable wall, but an unavoidable storm.
The theoretical understanding of speed was one thing. The physical reality was something else entirely. The potential energy thrumming within him, a gift from Royal Acceleration, was a constant, silent itch in his muscles, begging for release. He couldn't wait for the valley. He needed to feel it now.
Stepping out of his apartment building and into the midday sun, King took a breath, focusing on the new "muscle" the system had given him. He willed it to flex.
The world dissolved into a streak of gold.
One moment he was on his doorstep, the next he was at the end of the street, having covered the distance in the space of a single, skipped heartbeat. The sensation was not of running, but of the city itself unraveling before him, the buildings and people smearing into indistinct streaks of color. The wind, which should have been a roar, was a sharp, clean hiss as it parted around the shield of his accelerated body.
Civilians on the sidewalk jolted, their heads snapping around as a golden blur tore past them. A gust of wind followed in its wake, ruffling hair and sending discarded newspapers spinning into the air.
"Wha—?"
"Did you see that?"
"Was that… a hero?"
Their confused exclamations were swallowed by the distance before they even fully left their mouths. King felt a bizarre, exhilarating sense of freedom. This was the opposite of his usual methodical, imposing presence. This was anonymity in motion. This was velocity.
He pushed further, his High Combat Proficiency syncing with the new ability seamlessly. It wasn't just about moving in a straight line. He leaned into a turn, his body tilting at an impossible angle as he carved a perfect arc around a corner without shedding a fraction of his speed. He launched himself into a park, his feet touching the grass once, twice, each contact a springboard that sent him soaring in a new direction, performing flips and aerial maneuvers that felt as natural as breathing. His mind and body were in perfect sync, calculating trajectories, wind resistance, and momentum with effortless, instinctual grace.
Finally, he came to a stop not with a jarring skid, but with a gradual, controlled deceleration that bled off his immense speed in the space of a few meters. He stood perfectly still in a deserted, overgrown playground, the only sound the faint settling of dust around his boots and the slow, powerful thrum of the King Engine—not from exertion, but from pure, unadulterated exhilaration.
He sat down on a rusted bench, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth in his limbs. His analytical mind was already racing, overlaying this new tool onto his combat framework.
The applications were staggering.
He pictured a monster, large and powerful like the Behemoth-Cyclops. Before, he would have had to stand his ground and trade blows. Now? Now he could become a golden hurricane. Activate Royal Acceleration, blitz around its flank, and deliver a King's Armor-enhanced punch to its kidney before it could even turn its head. Retreat before the counter-attack, then repeat from a different angle. A barrage of punches from a dozen different directions in the span of a second.
Or better yet, maintain distance. Circle the enemy at speeds it couldn't hope to track, and from this moving platform, unleash a torrent of Kinetic Blasts. Not single, precise shots, but a literal storm of invisible force, hammering the target from all sides. He could use a Seismic Clap not as a static shockwave, but as a moving point of detonation, clapping his hands while in motion to create a traveling wall of concussive force.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. This changed everything. He was no longer just a powerful fighter. With this speed, he could control the terms of any engagement. He could dictate the range, the pace, the very rhythm of the battle.
A small, satisfying chime echoed in his mind. He glanced at the notification.
[BP +350 from Awe of Civilians]
Even in his fleeting, blurred passage, his legend had grown. He wasn't just the Strongest Man on Earth anymore. To those who had seen the golden streak, he was becoming something more: an untouchable force, a rumor given form.
King stood up from the bench, the rusted metal groaning in relief. The test was a resounding success. The final piece of his combat puzzle had slid into place. The grind had paid off in a way he never could have imagined. He was ready. Truly ready, for whatever the world would throw at him next.
The residual thrill of Royal Acceleration still hummed in his veins, a symphony of potential power. But as the adrenaline faded, a more mundane, yet equally compelling, sensation made itself known: a deep, sudden craving for something sweet. He hadn't indulged in such simple pleasures in what felt like an age. His diet had been one of convenience and utility, fuel for the grind. But now, standing in the quiet, overgrown playground, the thought of a cold, creamy ice cream was an undeniable siren's call.
He decided to walk, eschewing his new speed for a more grounded approach. He moved through the city's quieter backstreets, his imposing figure still drawing glances, but the low, steady thrum of the King Engine was one of contemplation, not threat. He found a small, family-run corner shop, its windows plastered with faded advertisements.
The bell above the door jingled softly as he entered. The elderly shop owner, who had been dozing behind the counter, jolted awake. His eyes widened, first in shock, then in sheer, unadulterated awe.
"K-King! Sir! It's an honor!" the man stammered, scrambling to his feet and bowing slightly.
King gave a small, awkward nod. "Just an ice cream, please." His voice was a low rumble that seemed to fill the small space.
He selected a simple chocolate bar from the freezer and brought it to the counter, pulling out his wallet.
The owner waved his hands frantically. "No, no, please! It's on the house! For everything you do! Take more, take anything you want!" He gestured wildly at the shelves stocked with snacks and drinks.
King looked at the man's earnest, grateful face. This was the other side of the legend. The unearned gifts, the boundless faith. Before, it would have filled him with a gnawing guilt. Now, it felt like a different kind of weight—a responsibility. He couldn't accept this. Not like this.
He gently placed the correct amount of yen on the counter, the coins clicking firmly against the glass. "I cannot," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I have done nothing to deserve your generosity today. A transaction is all this is."
The shop owner looked stunned, then his expression softened into one of profound respect. He slowly picked up the money, his hand trembling slightly. "Such humility... from the strongest of us all. Thank you, King. Truly."
King gave another small nod, took his ice cream, and left the shop, the bell jingling his exit. He unwrapped the bar and took a bite as he walked. The sweetness was a simple, profound pleasure, a stark contrast to the complex, overwhelming flavors of power and combat.
As he ate, the man's words echoed in his mind. "For everything you do."
But what did he do? He hid in the ruins of Z-City, grinding points from monsters no one knew existed. He fought for his own survival and growth. The grand, city-saving battles the public attributed to him were fictions, accidents, or the work of Saitama. The adoration was built on a foundation of rumors and lucky coincidences.
He finished the ice cream, the last of the chocolate a bittersweet tang on his tongue. He looked around at the bustling city, at the people going about their lives, safe in the belief that heroes like him were watching over them.
A realization, cold and clear, settled in his gut. He had been approaching this backwards.
He had been using the system as a crutch, a secret cheat code to gain power in isolation. He saw the public's belief as a resource to be farmed, their exaggerated stories as a nuisance. But what if he saw it as a goal? What if, instead of hiding from his legend, he actively tried to become it?
The system was fueled by belief. Why not give the people something real to believe in?
Instead of skulking in the abandoned Z-City, why not patrol the active, populated cities? Why not be seen? Let the civilians witness him saving them. Let the BP gains come not from the abstract, distant fear of a legend, but from the direct, tangible awe of people he had personally protected.
He wouldn't be a fraud hiding in the shadows anymore. He would step into the light, and with every monster he defeated, with every life he saved, he would forge his legend with his own two hands. The rumors would become reports. The exaggerated stories would become documented facts. The belief would no longer be based on lies, but on witnessed truth.
It was a terrifying prospect. It meant putting himself in the public eye constantly. It meant higher stakes, with real civilians in the crossfire. There would be no more quiet, controlled training grounds. Every fight would be a performance, a test not just of his power, but of his control and his purpose.
The King Engine shifted its rhythm, no longer contemplative, but resolute. It beat a steady, powerful cadence of determination.
"This is the path," King rumbled to himself, his voice barely a whisper yet filled with iron conviction. "The grind in the shadows made me strong. Now, I will use that strength in the sun."
He wouldn't just accumulate BP; he would accumulate deeds. He would make the title "The Strongest Man on Earth" not just a name, but a promise he kept every single day.
He turned, not towards the familiar desolation of Z-City, but towards the heart of the bustling metropolis. His King's Eyes glowed faintly, scanning not for isolated prey, but for threats to the people around him. His body, enhanced and ready, thrummed with the potential of Royal Acceleration.
The hunt was no longer a personal quest for points. It was a king's duty to his subjects. And he was ready to serve. The first chapter of his true legend was about to be written, not by rumor, but by action.