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## Chapter 4: Divine Domesticity
The supermarket expedition proved to be an adventure in itself. While Saitama had initially planned a quick in-and-out chicken acquisition, the presence of nine divine beings transformed the mundane errand into something far more complicated.
"What do you mean you don't accept gold ingots as currency?" Gilgamesh demanded, looming over the terrified cashier who was staring at the small golden bar placed on the checkout counter. "This exceeds the value of your entire establishment!"
"Ma'am, we only accept cash, credit cards, or the Hero Association payment app," the young man explained nervously, glancing toward the security guard who was wisely pretending not to notice the confrontation.
"Gilgamesh, we talked about this," Saitama sighed, gently pushing the golden-armored woman aside to hand the cashier his own worn wallet. "Modern currency, remember?"
"Primitive system," she muttered, retrieving her gold bar with a haughty sniff. "In Uruk, my word alone was sufficient to command the treasury."
"Well, at Super Save Mart, you need a loyalty card to get the discount chicken," Saitama replied, showing his well-worn points card. "Which I have, so stand back and watch a master at work."
In another aisle, Quetzalcoatl was enthusiastically examining the produce section, lifting watermelons with one hand to test their weight.
"These would make excellent training weights for beginners!" she declared, juggling three melons effortlessly. "In my temples, acolytes would strengthen themselves with stone spheres of similar size."
"Miss, please stop juggling the watermelons," a store employee pleaded.
"Nonsense! I'm testing their structural integrity!" Quetzalcoatl tossed one melon particularly high, causing it to brush against the ceiling before she caught it behind her back. "This one passes! Superior craftsmanship!"
Meanwhile, Arcueid had discovered the butcher counter and was pressing her face against the glass, crimson eyes wide with fascination.
"So much blood," she breathed, fogging the display case. "All neatly packaged and organized. Your realm has fascinating customs for handling flesh and viscera."
The butcher took an instinctive step backward. "Can I... help you?"
"Yes!" Arcueid beamed. "I'd like to know your preservation techniques. How do you keep the blood so fresh without magical binding?"
"Uh... refrigeration?"
Near the bakery, Durga was engaged in a serious discussion with the head baker about the proper techniques for bread fermentation.
"In my realm, we infuse the dough with divine blessings to ensure proper rising," she explained, her multiple arms gesturing to emphasize different points. "But your method of cultivating specific yeasts is ingeniously practical."
The baker, to his credit, was taking the conversation in stride, seemingly thrilled to discuss bread-making with someone so knowledgeable—multiple arms notwithstanding.
"We've been experimenting with sourdough starters from different regions," he explained eagerly. "Each has its unique microbiome that impacts flavor."
"Fascinating! The diversity within apparent simplicity—a profound metaphor for existence itself," Durga nodded appreciatively.
Uesugi and Artoria had gravitated toward the tea section, both examining the selections with critical expertise.
"These blends lack proper balance," Artoria observed, reading package labels with increasing disappointment. "In Camelot, our tea ceremonies emphasized harmony between bitter and sweet notes."
"Indeed," Uesugi agreed, replace a box with a small frown. "The tea ritual in my time was considered essential for proper warrior mindfulness. These pre-packaged variations seem... hastily conceived."
Morgan, meanwhile, was causing frost to form on the freezer doors as she examined the ice cream selection with unexpected enthusiasm.
"This 'chocolate fudge swirl' intrigues me," she murmured, breath visibly misting in the air around her. "The Fae Realms have nothing comparable. Our frozen treats tend to induce temporary transformation or prophetic visions."
"That's... not what ice cream does here," Bang cautioned, having appointed himself Morgan's unofficial minder after noticing the trail of frost she left across the linoleum.
"Pity," she replied, selecting the largest container available. "Though perhaps there's something to be said for simple pleasures without magical consequences."
Ishtar had discovered the cosmetics aisle and was floating cross-legged in front of the makeup display, opening testers and applying them with expert precision.
"Your realm's beautification techniques are primitive but charming," she declared to a wide-eyed teenage girl who had been shopping for mascara. "In ancient Uruk, we used crushed gemstones and divine essences. Though I must admit, this 'waterproof mascara' concept is rather innovative."
"Are you... flying?" the girl asked hesitantly.
"Floating, darling. Much more dignified," Ishtar corrected, turning to admire her reflection from another angle. "Divine beings don't subject themselves to gravity's tedious constraints."
Nero had somehow gathered a small audience near the deli counter, where she was enthusiastically comparing modern cuisine to Roman banquets.
"Umu! Your 'rotisserie chicken' would have been considered a marvel in my imperial court! We had to employ dozens of slaves to turn spits by hand over open flames! Such efficiency you've achieved!" She posed dramatically, the fluorescent lighting somehow managing to create a spotlight effect around her. "Though nothing can compare to the splendor of a true Roman feast—fifty courses minimum, exotic animals from across the empire, performers, poets, and of course, the divine presence of the Emperor herself!"
"Is she... always like this?" a bemused shopper asked Genos, who had been tasked with pushing the rapidly filling shopping cart.
"Based on my limited observational data spanning approximately twenty-six hours," the cyborg replied precisely, "yes. The entity identifying as 'Nero Claudius' maintains this energy level consistently, with occasional peaks during competitive activities and musical performances."
Saitama finally managed to corral his divine guests toward the checkout, their cart now overflowing with an eclectic mix of necessities and divine whims—everything from the coveted discount chicken to Gilgamesh's insistence on the finest wines (despite Saitama's protests about his budget), Arcueid's selection of rare steaks ("as rare as legally possible, please!"), and Quetzalcoatl's impressive stack of protein-rich foods.
"Your total comes to 42,897 yen," the cashier announced with a nervous swallow.
Saitama's face fell as he looked at his modest wallet. "That can't be right. The chicken was on sale."
"The chicken is discounted," the cashier confirmed. "But the imported cheese, premium sake, organic quinoa, artisanal bread, five varieties of ice cream, premium coffee beans, imported tea, specialty chocolate, and... is this actual saffron?... are not."
"I require proper seasonings for divine cuisine," Durga explained unapologetically. "Compromising on ingredients is compromising on respect for those who consume the meal."
"And I require proper libations," Gilgamesh added imperiously. "The King of Heroes does not consume bargain beverages."
Saitama looked helplessly at his wallet, then at the laden cart, then at his divine housemates. Before he could speak, Mumen Rider stepped forward.
"I'll cover it," he offered, presenting his Hero Association card. "Consider it a welcome gift for our... interdimensional visitors."
"Mumen, I can't let you—" Saitama began.
"Please," Mumen insisted quietly. "You've helped me out plenty of times. Besides, the Association gives us a stipend for entertaining foreign dignitaries. I think interdimensional divine beings qualify."
"The bicycle warrior continues to demonstrate exceptional honor," Uesugi observed with an approving nod. "Such generosity would be recognized in my realm with ceremonial gifts and poetry composed in his name."
"Umu! The Emperor shall remember this kindness!" Nero declared. "When I return to Rome, I shall commission a statue in your likeness! With appropriate artistic enhancements, of course—bigger muscles, heroic pose, perhaps a noble steed instead of a bicycle..."
"That's really not necessary," Mumen replied, blushing slightly as the cashier processed his payment. "Just doing what heroes do."
With their groceries secured (requiring Genos, Bang, Saitama, and Quetzalcoatl to carry the numerous bags), the group made their way back toward Saitama's apartment. The citizens of Z-City, already accustomed to unusual sights, nevertheless gave the procession a wide berth—particularly when Gilgamesh occasionally opened small portals to store items she deemed "too burdensome to carry like a common servant."
"I've been thinking," Saitama said as they walked, "if you're all staying longer, we should probably establish some house rules."
"Rules?" Quetzalcoatl laughed. "Divinities don't follow mortal rules!"
"My apartment, my rules," Saitama countered firmly. "Rule one: no fighting inside. Take it outside."
"Reasonable," Artoria nodded. "Combat in confined spaces endangers innocents and property."
"Rule two: everyone helps with chores. Even divine beings need to clean up after themselves."
This prompted considerably more grumbling, particularly from Gilgamesh, who declared that "manual labor is beneath the King of Heroes." However, after Saitama pointed out that her treasury surely contained artifacts that could clean efficiently, she reluctantly conceded the point.
"Rule three," Saitama continued, "respect the grocery budget. I'm not made of money, and hero work doesn't pay that well unless you're S-Class."
"Perhaps we could contribute financially," Durga suggested reasonably. "While conventional employment might be challenging given our nature, our various abilities could certainly be monetized appropriately."
"What, like divine odd jobs?" Ishtar asked, floating backward in front of the group as they walked. "Goddess of Love and Beauty available for relationship advice, beauty tips, and occasional smiting of enemies?"
"I could teach warrior techniques," Uesugi offered thoughtfully. "Many in this realm seem to pursue martial arts as recreation rather than necessity."
"The Emperor could grace your entertainment venues with performances of unparalleled splendor!" Nero declared. "My singing voice alone would command top ticket prices!"
"Let's... consider all options carefully," Bang suggested diplomatically, having witnessed Nero's impromptu musical performance in the supermarket's frozen food section earlier.
As they approached Saitama's apartment building, the group suddenly tensed as a figure dropped from the sky, landing with earth-cracking force on the sidewalk before them.
"SAITAMA!" the newcomer bellowed, straightening to reveal a muscular woman with short green hair and an intense expression. "EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"
"Oh, hey Tatsumaki," Saitama greeted casually. "What's up?"
Tatsumaki—the Tornado of Terror, S-Class Rank 2 esper—floated upward until she was eye-level with Saitama, psychic energy swirling visibly around her diminutive form.
"What's up?" she repeated incredulously. "WHAT'S UP?! The entire Hero Association is in chaos because of whatever you did! Energy readings off the charts! Simultaneous monster attacks! A cosmic entity vanishing in a single explosion! And now you're just... grocery shopping?!"
"We got chicken on sale," Saitama replied, holding up the bag as evidence.
Tatsumaki's eye twitched dangerously. "I don't care about your discount poultry! Who are these... people?" She gestured at the divine beings, her psychic senses clearly detecting their unusual nature.
"Interdimensional visitors," Saitama explained simply. "They're staying with me for a while."
"ALL of them?" Tatsumaki's voice rose an octave. "In your tiny apartment?"
"It's bigger on the inside now," Saitama said, as if this explained everything.
Before Tatsumaki could respond, Gilgamesh stepped forward, golden armor gleaming in the afternoon sun as she assessed the floating esper with critical eyes.
"You possess substantial power for a mortal," the King of Heroes observed. "Though your control lacks refinement. And your attitude..." she smirked slightly, "reminds me of myself at a younger age. Minus the divine heritage, of course."
Tatsumaki's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you... critiquing me? Do you have ANY idea who I am?"
"A question better directed at yourself," Gilgamesh replied coolly. "Do YOU know who I am, little tornado?"
"Ladies," Saitama interrupted, stepping between them. "Rule one, remember? No fighting inside, which includes the sidewalk in front of the building."
"Umu! The mighty clash of egos must wait!" Nero declared dramatically. "The chicken grows cold, and the Emperor requires sustenance after vanquishing a cosmic horror!"
"We didn't vanquish anything," Ishtar corrected, floating lazily overhead. "Baldy here did all the work with one punch. We mostly just looked impressive and provided color commentary."
Tatsumaki's attention snapped back to Saitama. "One punch? That was YOU? The Association thought it was some kind of combined attack from these..." she gestured at the divine beings, "whatever they are."
"Nope, just me," Saitama shrugged. "Same as always."
Tatsumaki stared at him for a long moment, then slowly descended until her feet touched the ground—a rare occurrence that signified deep thought rather than casual interaction.
"The Association wants a full briefing," she finally said, her voice unusually subdued. "Blast himself is interested in whatever happened today."
"Blast?" Saitama perked up slightly. "The number one hero? I've never even seen that guy."
"Few have," Bang confirmed. "His involvement suggests the situation is being taken very seriously at the highest levels."
"Fine," Saitama sighed. "When's the meeting?"
"Tomorrow, 10 AM, main conference room," Tatsumaki replied. "ALL of you," she added, looking pointedly at the divine beings. "Though how we're going to explain nine interdimensional entities to the hero bureaucracy is beyond me."
"We shall dazzle them with imperial charisma!" Nero suggested brightly.
"Or we could simply tell the truth," Artoria countered. "That we were summoned accidentally, posed no intentional threat, and in fact assisted in neutralizing a genuine cosmic entity that had been imprisoned beneath the city."
"Bureaucrats and truth mix poorly in any realm," Morgan observed dryly. "Though a subtle enchantment during the proceedings could ensure a favorable outcome."
"No mind control," Saitama said firmly. "Rule four, I guess: no manipulating humans without their consent."
"You're no fun," Ishtar pouted.
"I aim for boring," Saitama replied with complete sincerity. "Now let's get these groceries upstairs before the ice cream melts."
Tatsumaki watched them file into the building with an expression of bewildered frustration. "I'll... see you all tomorrow then," she finally called after them. "And Saitama! The Association is serious about this! Very serious!"
"Yeah, yeah," he waved without looking back. "Bring donuts to the meeting if it's so serious."
The esper's indignant sputter was cut off as the apartment building door closed behind them.
---
The expanded apartment easily accommodated the extensive grocery haul, with Gilgamesh's spatial modifications having created a proper kitchen where Durga immediately began organizing ingredients with methodical precision.
"I shall prepare a feast befitting our victory," she announced, multiple arms already reaching for various utensils. "Though I require adequate preparation time. Divine cuisine cannot be rushed."
"Take all the time you need," Saitama replied, flopping onto a cushion in the newly expanded living area. "I'm just going to rest here for a bit."
"Sensei expended significant energy destroying the cosmic entity," Genos explained to the others. "Though he rarely shows fatigue, his caloric requirements increase substantially after such exertions."
"The burden of overwhelming power," Uesugi nodded understanding, kneeling formally nearby. "Even divine strength requires recovery."
"I'm not tired," Saitama protested with a yawn that immediately contradicted his claim. "Just... conserving energy."
"Indeed," Artoria agreed solemnly, though a slight smile tugged at her lips. "A warrior's rest is as important as a warrior's battle."
As Durga commandeered the kitchen with Nero appointing herself "Imperial Taste Tester," the others dispersed throughout the expanded apartment, exploring their temporary home with varying degrees of curiosity and critique.
Arcueid discovered the new hallway led to several bedrooms, each somehow attuned to the preferences of its intended occupant.
"This one feels like moonlight and shadows!" she exclaimed, poking her head into a room with silver-blue decor. "And this one practically radiates heat and energy—definitely for Quetzalcoatl!"
"The Hypercube of Babylon responds to the metaphysical signatures of its inhabitants," Gilgamesh explained, managing to sound both boastful and bored simultaneously. "A trivial function of a treasure designed to house armies in dimensional space."
"It's actually really thoughtful," Saitama observed, surprising the King of Heroes. "Thanks, Gilgamesh."
For the second time that day, Gilgamesh found herself momentarily speechless at Saitama's simple gratitude, covering her confusion with a dismissive "hmph" before retreating to inspect her own quarters.
As evening settled over Z-City, the expanded apartment filled with the mouthwatering aromas of Durga's cooking. The multi-armed goddess had transformed Saitama's modest ingredients (supplemented by their supermarket excursion) into a feast that defied description—dishes that seemed to shimmer with inner light, flavors that hinted at experiences rather than mere taste, aromas that evoked memories the diners had never actually formed.
"This is..." Saitama paused, staring at a seemingly simple rice dish that somehow tasted like the satisfaction of a perfect punch, "actually amazing."
"Divine cuisine nourishes more than the body," Durga explained, her serene expression warming at the praise. "It feeds the spirit, refreshes the mind, and restores vital essences."
"The Emperor approves!" Nero declared around a mouthful of something that resembled chicken but tasted like triumph. "Though Roman banquets offer quantity, this offers transcendence!"
Even Gilgamesh, typically critical of anything not from her own treasury, ate with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "Acceptable," she pronounced, which from her was equivalent to a five-star review.
Bang, who had stayed for dinner at Saitama's casual invitation, regarded his bowl with the reverence of a martial arts master recognizing superior technique.
"In sixty years of training," he said quietly, "I have learned that true mastery in any discipline approaches the divine. This meal confirms that philosophy."
As they ate, the conversation flowed more naturally than might be expected from such a disparate group. Quetzalcoatl regaled them with lucha libre tales that had Mumen Rider (also invited to stay) laughing despite his usual reserve. Morgan and Artoria maintained their cool distance, but the excellent food seemed to have established a temporary truce between the ancient enemies.
Arcueid peppered Genos with questions about modern technology, her childlike enthusiasm drawing more expression from the cyborg than Saitama had seen in months. Ishtar and Uesugi discovered a shared appreciation for tactical thinking, debating famous battles across their respective realms with surprisingly compatible perspectives despite their different approaches.
After dinner, as Durga supervised the cleanup (with Gilgamesh predictably exempted due to their earlier agreement), Saitama found himself on the balcony—also expanded thanks to the Hypercube's effects—looking out over the nighttime cityscape of Z-City.
The door slid open behind him, and Artoria stepped out, her armor replaced by casual clothes that Genos had apparently procured for all their guests.
"May I join you?" she asked formally.
"Free country," Saitama shrugged, moving slightly to make room.
They stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching distant lights and the occasional flash of hero activity across the city.
"Your world faces constant threats," Artoria observed eventually.
"Pretty much," Saitama agreed. "Monsters, aliens, weird science experiments gone wrong. The usual."
"And you defeat them all with a single strike," she continued, not a question but a contemplation. "No wonder you seek greater challenge."
Saitama glanced at her, surprised by the insight. "Most people think I should be happy about being strong."
"Most people have never experienced the isolation of overwhelming power," Artoria replied quietly. "The burden of strength that separates one from those they protect."
"Yeah," Saitama nodded slowly. "That's it exactly. It's like... what's the point of training to be the strongest when there's no one left who can even give you a decent fight?"
"The King of Knights faced similar questions," Artoria said, her green eyes reflecting the distant city lights. "When the sword chooses its wielder, the wielder loses something of their humanity. They become a symbol, an ideal—something both more and less than human."
"Huh," Saitama considered this. "I never thought about it that way. I just wanted to be a hero for fun."
"And yet, you became something far beyond that simple aspiration," Artoria observed. "Such is the nature of true heroism—it transforms the hero, often in ways they neither anticipate nor desire."
Their philosophical moment was interrupted as Quetzalcoatl burst onto the balcony, vibrating with enthusiasm.
"Hey! King just messaged Genos! He's bringing over a new fighting game with TWO-AGAINST-TWO matchups! We can have a DIVINE TOURNAMENT!"
Saitama and Artoria exchanged glances—one resigned, one slightly amused.
"Duty calls," Saitama sighed, though without real annoyance.
"Indeed," Artoria nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "Perhaps heroism sometimes means entertaining enthusiastic goddesses with video games."
"A different kind of battle," Saitama agreed as they followed Quetzalcoatl back inside.
In the living room, the divine beings were already arranging themselves for the upcoming gaming tournament, with Arcueid bouncing excitedly while explaining the concept of "button mashing" to a skeptical Morgan. Ishtar floated cross-legged above the couch, declaring herself "above such mortal diversions" while clearly watching with intense interest. Nero was composing an impromptu imperial proclamation outlining tournament rules with unnecessary complexity.
Saitama paused in the doorway, taking in the bizarre domesticity of the scene—nine divine beings from across the multiverse, gathered in his magically expanded apartment, arguing about video game team selections with the seriousness of cosmic treaty negotiations.
For a moment, he felt that unfamiliar sensation again. It took him a second to identify it.
Contentment. Maybe even happiness.
"Hey," he called, drawing their attention. "Save me a spot in the tournament. I call dibs on Genos as my partner."
"Sensei!" The cyborg's eyes actually lit up with visible emotion. "I am honored! I have been studying optimal button combination sequences to maximize our competitive advantage!"
"Of course you have," Saitama replied with what might have been affection. "Just try to have fun too, okay?"
As the night progressed and the tournament grew increasingly competitive (with Gilgamesh threatening divine retribution after a particularly embarrassing loss to the Arcueid-Quetzalcoatl team), Saitama found himself drawn into the enthusiasm despite his usual emotional reserve.
Tomorrow would bring bureaucratic meetings, hero politics, and probably more monsters. But tonight—tonight was for discount chicken, divine cuisine, and watching Nero dramatically reenact her character's ultimate attack move while Morgan created miniature ice sculptures of her defeated opponents.
Not the challenge he'd been seeking, perhaps. But maybe something he needed more.
## Chapter 5: The Hero Association Confrontation
Morning arrived with a symphony of divine snoring. Somehow, despite the expanded apartment's multiple bedrooms, several of the divine guests had migrated to the main living area during the night. Quetzalcoatl was sprawled across an armchair, one leg hanging over the side, mumbling about submission holds in her sleep. Arcueid had constructed what could only be described as a nest of pillows on the floor, curled into a ball with her short blonde hair sticking up in all directions. Nero had fallen asleep mid-proclamation about tournament regulations, her improvised scroll still clutched in one hand.
Saitama emerged from his room (which he had firmly insisted on keeping as his personal space) to find Durga already awake, seated in lotus position near the window, multiple arms arranged in meditative mudras as golden light shimmered faintly around her.
"Good morning," she greeted without opening her eyes. "Your spirit seems rested."
"I slept okay," Saitama acknowledged, stepping carefully over Arcueid's pillow nest. "Nice not having people using me as a mattress this time."
"The divine subconsciously seek powerful anchors," Durga explained, her meditation uninterrupted by conversation. "Your aura provides unusual stability in this realm."
"If you say so," Saitama shrugged, heading toward the kitchen. "Anyone start coffee yet?"
"Uesugi has prepared tea in the traditional manner of her realm," Durga replied. "She finds your coffee maker... undignified."
Indeed, the samurai was kneeling formally in the kitchen area, executing elaborate movements as she prepared tea with meditative precision. Each gesture flowed into the next, transforming the simple act of brewing tea into a ceremony bordering on martial art.
"Good morning, Saitama-dono," she greeted with a slight bow. "Would you care for morning tea? It centers the warrior's mind before battle."
"We're just going to a meeting, not a battle," Saitama pointed out, though he accepted the offered cup with a murmured thanks.
"In my experience, meetings with authorities often prove more treacherous than straightforward combat," Uesugi replied with subtle humor. "Enemies attack from the front; bureaucrats strike from all directions simultaneously."
"True that," Saitama agreed, taking a sip of the tea and looking mildly surprised at its complex flavor. "This is actually pretty good."
"The water temperature, steeping duration, and pouring technique all influence the final harmony," Uesugi explained, pleased by his reaction. "A discipline not unlike your 'serious punch' technique—simple in concept, profound in execution."
Their peaceful morning ritual was interrupted as Genos emerged from his charging station (upgraded thanks to Gilgamesh's spatial manipulations to include a dedicated maintenance area).
"Sensei, it is 8:47 AM. The Hero Association meeting begins at 10:00 AM. Based on current public transportation schedules and accounting for the walking distance to the station, we should depart in exactly 17 minutes to ensure punctual arrival."
"Always so precise," Ishtar commented, floating into the kitchen upside-down, her long hair nearly brushing the floor. Despite having just awakened, she somehow looked immaculately groomed. "Don't mortals ever just... wing it?"
"Punctuality demonstrates respect," Artoria stated firmly, entering with perfect posture despite the early hour. "We shall be ready on time."
Waking the others proved challenging. Arcueid required three attempts before she would even open her eyes, mumbling something about "five more centuries" before Durga gently lifted her upright with multiple hands. Gilgamesh emerged from her room already in full golden armor, declaring that "the King of Heroes appears before lesser beings only in appropriate regalia."
"Maybe tone it down a bit for the meeting?" Saitama suggested, eyeing the gleaming armor dubiously. "We're trying not to cause a panic."
"Subdued magnificence is still magnificence," Gilgamesh conceded after consideration, the armor dissolving into more conventional clothing—though still with enough gold accessories to stock a jewelry store.
Morgan appeared in a swirl of shadow and frost, her staff temporarily replaced by a more subtle black umbrella that nonetheless radiated faint magical energy. "Will this suffice for public appearance?" she inquired coolly. "Or shall I further constrain my essence for mortal comfort?"
"The umbrella works," Saitama nodded. "Just maybe don't frost things when you get annoyed."
"I make no promises," Morgan replied with the ghost of a smile.
By 9:05 AM, they had managed to marshal the entire divine contingent toward the door, with varying degrees of cooperation. Quetzalcoatl insisted on performing her "pre-battle stretching routine," which involved gymnastics that threatened the structural integrity of Saitama's ceiling. Nero required an "imperial procession order" to be established (which everyone promptly ignored). Arcueid kept getting distracted by household objects ("You have a TOASTER? It makes bread HOT? INTENTIONALLY?").
Their journey to the Hero Association Headquarters attracted considerably more attention than Saitama was comfortable with. While he preferred to travel inconspicuously, there was nothing inconspicuous about nine divine beings attempting to navigate public transportation.
"What do you mean 'exact fare only'?" Gilgamesh demanded of the bus driver. "Does this mechanical chariot not recognize the value of pure gold?"
"The fare is 320 yen," the driver repeated tiredly. "No exceptions."
Before Gilgamesh could summon her treasury in indignation, Genos intervened with a transportation card, quickly covering everyone's fare.
"The King of Heroes owes no debt," Gilgamesh informed him haughtily as they found seats. "But your service is... noted."
On the subway portion of their journey, Arcueid pressed her face against the window with childlike fascination as they entered the tunnel.
"It's like a giant mechanical coffin moving through an underground passage!" she exclaimed loud enough for nearby passengers to edge nervously away. "But everyone's alive! Mostly!"
"Please refrain from coffin analogies in public," Artoria requested diplomatically. "They cause unnecessary concern."
Quetzalcoatl, meanwhile, had engaged a group of high school wrestlers in enthusiastic conversation after spotting their team jackets.
"The figure-four leg lock is all about leverage!" she was explaining, using one unfortunate student to demonstrate. "See how the pressure points align? In Aztec wrestling, we would add ceremonial spikes for additional motivation, but your modern version has its merits!"
"Should we... help that kid?" Saitama murmured to Durga as the student's face turned concerning shades of red.
"She knows precisely how much pressure to apply without causing permanent damage," Durga assured him serenely. "The goddess of wrestling has millennia of experience in non-lethal combat techniques."
By the time they arrived at the Hero Association Headquarters, Saitama was beginning to reconsider his entire life choices. The imposing glass-and-steel building loomed before them, its upper floors disappearing into the morning clouds.
"Impressive for a mortal construction," Morgan acknowledged. "Though lacking the eldritch majesty of fae architecture."
"The Association invested substantially in structural reinforcement after the Dark Matter Thieves' attack last year," Genos explained. "The building can now withstand impacts up to 9.7 on the monster disaster scale."
"Bet I could still break it with one punch," Saitama murmured, then quickly added, "Not that I'm going to!"
The lobby fell silent as they entered, dozens of Association employees and heroes stopping mid-task to stare at the otherworldly procession. Security guards reached instinctively for their weapons, then froze, suddenly uncertain whether such actions would help or simply hasten their demise.
"Ah, the familiar silence of mortal awe," Nero observed cheerfully. "Just like my entrance into conquered provinces!"
"Perhaps we should announce ourselves properly," Artoria suggested, stepping forward with regal authority. "We are expected for the 10 AM meeting regarding yesterday's interdimensional incident."
A nervous receptionist consulted her computer with trembling fingers. "Y-yes, 10th floor conference room. The executive committee is waiting. Please use Elevator Bank C—it's the reinforced one."
"Reinforced elevator?" Ishtar raised an eyebrow, floating slightly. "Is that really necessary?"
"After Terrible Tornado's tantrum last month? Absolutely," a passing hero muttered, then quickened his pace when Morgan's cold gaze fell upon him.
Elevator Bank C proved barely adequate for their group, forcing them into closer proximity than several of the divine beings were comfortable with. Gilgamesh pressed herself against the wall, muttering about "mongrel transportation designs." Quetzalcoatl, completely unbothered by personal space concepts, used the opportunity to engage in impromptu elevator exercises, performing vertical squats that made the entire compartment sway alarmingly.
"Please stop that," Saitama requested after the third set. "If we get stuck in here, I'm going to have to punch through the roof, and then there's more paperwork."
The 10th floor conference room was clearly designed for intimidation. A massive horseshoe-shaped table faced a small presenter's podium, with the Hero Association's highest-ranking officials seated in ascending order of importance. Large screens displayed various data about yesterday's incidents, including energy readings, property damage assessments, and civilian impact reports.
At the center sat a distinguished elderly man with a white beard—the Association's Director, flanked by various department heads. To his right sat a muscular man with a scar across his face—One-Punch Man recognized him as the Association's Combat Division Chief. Tatsumaki was there as well, floating cross-legged above her chair rather than sitting properly, her expression sour.
Most surprisingly, a shadowy figure occupied the seat farthest from the entrance—features obscured by a hooded cloak, but radiating power that even Saitama could sense.
"Blast," Genos whispered with rare awe. "The S-Class Rank 1 hero almost never appears at official functions."
"Punctual. Good," the Director began without preamble as they entered. "Please be seated so we can begin this... unusual debriefing."
The seating proved immediately problematic, as the conference room had only prepared a few chairs for what they had assumed would be Saitama and perhaps one or two companions.
"The King of Heroes does not sit in inadequate furniture," Gilgamesh declared, solving her personal situation by manifesting a golden throne from one of her portals. The Association officials stared in mute shock as the ornate seat materialized with a sound like reality hiccupping.
Ishtar simply floated above an empty space. Arcueid perched cross-legged atop the conference table itself, earning a glare from Tatsumaki that she completely failed to notice. Durga reduced herself to merely two arms for the sake of space conservation and stood with dignified poise. The others arranged themselves as best they could, with Quetzalcoatl simply sitting on the floor in a relaxed stretching position.
"So," the Director began after everyone had settled, his voice remarkably steady given the circumstances, "would someone care to explain exactly what happened yesterday?"
"I punched a cosmic horror entity thing," Saitama offered with characteristic brevity, taking the single chair at the presenter's podium. "It was trying to escape from under the city. Problem solved."
The Combat Division Chief pinched the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps with a bit more detail?"
Artoria stepped forward, recognizing the need for diplomatic intervention before Saitama's minimalist explanation created more confusion.
"Honorable representatives of this realm's protective authority," she began formally, "what occurred yesterday was the culmination of an interdimensional summoning ritual activated approximately 48 hours ago. The nine of us," she gestured to the divine beings, "were inadvertently called to your world when Saitama unknowingly triggered an ancient magical circle."
"Magic?" The Director raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"For lack of a better term in your language, yes," Morgan interjected coolly. "Though the principles involve quantum entanglement across dimensional barriers and metaphysical thread manipulation, concepts your science has only begun to theorize about."
"She means magic," Saitama translated unhelpfully.
The Director sighed deeply. "And the entity our sensors detected? The one that registered enough power to potentially destroy the entire city?"
"Yogg-Nagoroth," Arcueid supplied cheerfully from her perch on the table. "Pretty notorious across multiple dimensions. Ancient cosmic horror, tentacles, eyes, madness-inducing presence—you know, the usual eldritch stuff."
"And you," the Director turned to Saitama, "supposedly defeated this 'cosmic horror' with... a single punch?"
"That's kind of his whole deal," Ishtar commented, floating lazy circles near the ceiling. "It's right there in his hero name."
"I should note," Genos added precisely, "that Sensei's attack registered on my sensors with sufficient force to temporarily disrupt dimensional stability within a 2.7-kilometer radius. The energy output exceeded measurable parameters."
The conference room fell silent as the officials exchanged concerned glances.
Finally, the shadowy figure at the far end—Blast—spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "The energy signature matched readings I've encountered at dimensional fault lines. Whatever you struck, Saitama, it wasn't just destroyed—it was erased from this dimensional plane entirely."
Saitama shrugged. "I just hit it really hard. That's all I do."
"That's all he ever does," Tatsumaki muttered, though with less disdain than usual, almost sounding impressed despite herself.
"And these... visitors?" the Combat Chief gestured toward the divine beings. "What is their status now that this entity is defeated?"
"We're crashing at his place," Quetzalcoatl answered with a broad grin. "The binding magic broke when baldy here punched old Yoggy into oblivion, but we decided to stick around. This realm has interesting wrestling opportunities!"
"And excellent discount chicken," Arcueid added seriously.
The Director looked like he was developing a migraine. "Let me be clear. Nine beings of unprecedented power, from different dimensions, with abilities that defy our scientific understanding, are currently... living in a civilian apartment building? With no oversight or containment protocols?"
"They're not prisoners," Saitama pointed out reasonably. "They helped fight monsters yesterday. If anything, you should be offering them hero status or something."
This suggestion created an immediate stir among the officials, with urgent whispers exchanging across the table.
"Preposterous!"
"Unregistered heroes?"
"No background checks!"
"The insurance implications alone..."
Blast raised a hand, silencing the commotion. "I've been monitoring interdimensional incursions for years. This situation is unique but not necessarily threatening. The real question is: what do our visitors intend while they're here?"
Nine divine beings exchanged glances, seemingly caught off-guard by the direct question about their intentions.
"The Emperor seeks to grace this realm with imperial magnificence while experiencing its unique cultural offerings!" Nero declared dramatically.
"I want to enter your 'Super Fight Tournament' and claim championship glory for lucha libre," Quetzalcoatl added enthusiastically.
"I wish to study the unique metaphysical properties of this realm's heroes," Durga stated serenely. "Particularly the source of Saitama's power, which defies conventional divine understanding."
"I'm just here for the video games and rare steaks," Arcueid admitted cheerfully. "Your realm has really advanced entertainment technology!"
"Research," Uesugi offered simply. "Your world's warrior traditions merit scholarly attention."
"The King of Heroes requires no justification for her presence in any realm," Gilgamesh stated imperiously. "Though I find certain aspects of this world... intriguingly novel."
"I go where interesting things happen," Ishtar shrugged, floating upside-down now. "And baldy here is definitely interesting."
Morgan and Artoria remained silent, exchanging a glance that suggested their reasons were more complex and perhaps less easily articulated.
The Director rubbed his temples. "So to summarize: nine interdimensional beings of immense power are staying in Z-City indefinitely for reasons ranging from tournament fighting to video games, living with an A-Class hero whose true capabilities remain largely unquantified, with no formal oversight beyond... house rules?"
"That's about it," Saitama confirmed. "Can we go now? There's a sale on rice ending at noon."
The Combat Chief slammed his hand on the table. "This is completely unacceptable! These entities represent potential threats beyond any we've classified! They require monitoring, regulation, power assessment—"
"Careful, mortal," Gilgamesh interrupted, her crimson eyes flashing dangerously. "The King of Heroes does not submit to 'assessment' or 'regulation' by lesser beings."
Frost began forming around Morgan's feet as the temperature in the room dropped noticeably. "The Queen of the Fae bows to no mortal authority."
The situation was rapidly deteriorating when Blast stood, his cloak shifting to reveal glimpses of an outfit that seemed to bend light around it.
"There's a simple solution," he said calmly. "Register them as honorary S-Class heroes. This provides legal framework for their presence, grants them operational autonomy appropriate to their power level, and places them nominally within Association jurisdiction without requiring direct oversight."
"Impossible!" the Combat Chief protested. "S-Class registration requires testing, background verification, power classification—"
"I witnessed the battle yesterday," Blast interrupted. "I saw what these beings are capable of. I saw what Saitama did to Yogg-Nagoroth. Formal testing would be a waste of time and likely destroy your testing facilities."
The shadowy hero turned toward the divine visitors. "Would this arrangement be acceptable? Honorary S-Class status, freedom to remain in this realm under your own recognizance, with the understanding that you'll assist with threats appropriate to your abilities?"
"Getting paid to punch monsters occasionally?" Saitama considered. "They'd probably be into that."
"Imperial compensation for imperial services!" Nero approved enthusiastically. "The Emperor accepts these terms!"
"Combat opportunities with official sanction?" Quetzalcoatl grinned broadly. "Sign me up!"
One by one, the divine beings indicated their acceptance, though Gilgamesh insisted her agreement was "a generous concession, not submission," and Morgan stipulated that the arrangement recognized her sovereign status rather than granted it.
The Director looked like he wanted to object further but recognized the political reality of the situation. When Blast supported something, the Association generally found a way to make it happen.
"Very well," he conceded with visible reluctance. "Provisional S-Class registration for all nine... visitors. Standard compensation package, emergency response protocols, and minimal reporting requirements. But," he added firmly, "any destruction of city property comes out of your hero stipends!"
"Seems fair," Saitama shrugged, standing up. "Are we done? Because that rice sale—"
"One more thing," Blast interjected. "Saitama, a word in private before you go."
The mysterious S-Class Rank 1 hero gestured toward a side door, clearly expecting Saitama to follow. This unprecedented request from the Association's most reclusive hero created an immediate stir—even Tatsumaki looked surprised.
"Uh, sure," Saitama agreed with his customary lack of excitement, turning to the divine beings. "You guys wait here. Try not to destroy anything important."
"The King of Heroes destroys only that which offends her aesthetic sensibilities," Gilgamesh declared, eyeing the conference room's utilitarian decor with undisguised disdain.
"That's not reassuring," Saitama muttered as he followed Blast through the side door.
The small adjoining room contained only a simple table and two chairs, with walls that seemed to shimmer slightly—some kind of privacy field, Saitama guessed.
Blast lowered his hood, revealing a face with intense eyes and a jawline marked by faint scars. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you directly. Recent events have accelerated my timeline."
"OK?" Saitama replied, uncertain what this was about. "If it's about property damage from yesterday, most of that was already there."
"This isn't about property damage," Blast shook his head, a hint of amusement crossing his otherwise serious features. "It's about what you are, Saitama."
"I'm just a guy who's a hero for fun," Saitama recited automatically.
"No," Blast stated firmly. "You're far more than that, whether you realize it or not. The power you demonstrated against Yogg-Nagoroth exists beyond conventional classification. I've been monitoring dimensional threats for decades, and I've never seen anything like what you did."
Saitama shifted uncomfortably. "I just punched it. Same as I punch everything."
"That's just it," Blast leaned forward intently. "A single punch that disrupted dimensional stability. Do you understand how impossible that should be? The energy requirements alone would exceed anything terrestrial physics can explain."
"I trained really hard," Saitama offered with a shrug. "Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, running. Every day for three years."
Blast studied him for a long moment, then unexpectedly laughed—a warm, genuine sound at odds with his mysterious persona.
"Perhaps that's the most remarkable thing about you, Saitama. You've achieved something potentially universe-altering through sheer determination and an exercise routine. No cosmic intervention, no divine blessing, no technological enhancement. Just human will."
"So... what do you want from me?" Saitama asked directly.
"For now, nothing," Blast replied, rising to his feet. "Continue as you have been. But be aware that your existence has implications beyond monster-punching. Your divine guests sensed it immediately—why do you think they've chosen to stay? They recognize something in you that even you don't fully comprehend yet."
"They're staying for the discount chicken and video games," Saitama pointed out pragmatically.
"Is that what they told you?" Blast asked with a knowing smile. "Interesting."
Before Saitama could respond, Blast pulled his hood back up, his features once again obscured.
"One last thing," the mysterious hero added. "Watch over your guests carefully. They may be divine in their realms, but they're in unfamiliar territory here. And there are forces in this universe that would consider nine interdimensional beings quite the prize—for research, for power, or for darker purposes."
"I'm not babysitting goddesses," Saitama protested. "They can handle themselves."
"I'm not concerned for their safety," Blast clarified. "I'm concerned for the structural integrity of reality if something happens to provoke all nine simultaneously. Cosmic entities tend to respond disproportionately to threats."
With that cryptic warning, Blast gestured toward the door. "We should rejoin the others before your golden friend decides the conference room deserves 'aesthetic improvement.'"
When they returned to the main conference room, they found Gilgamesh and Tatsumaki engaged in what appeared to be a supernatural staring contest, golden portals shimmering behind the King of Heroes while green psychic energy swirled around the diminutive esper. The others were watching with expressions ranging from amusement (Ishtar) to concern (Artoria) to excitement (Quetzalcoatl, who appeared to be taking bets).
"Ahem," Blast cleared his throat, immediately drawing everyone's attention. Even Gilgamesh and Tatsumaki broke off their standoff, though neither would acknowledge backing down first.
"Registration paperwork will be processed by end of day," the Director announced, looking relieved that his conference room remained intact. "Provisional S-Class hero IDs will be delivered to Saitama's residence tomorrow. Meeting adjourned."
As they filed out, Tatsumaki floated alongside Saitama, her perpetual scowl slightly less severe than usual.
"What did Blast want?" she demanded in a whisper that wasn't nearly as discreet as she probably intended.
"Hero stuff," Saitama replied vaguely. "Super secret. Can't talk about it."
"Liar," she hissed, though without real venom. "No one gets private meetings with Blast. No one. Not even me!"
"Guess I'm special," Saitama shrugged, deliberately stoking her irritation because, honestly, annoyed Tatsumaki was more entertaining than regular Tatsumaki.
The esper's eye twitched dangerously. "You? Special? A bald, B-Class-worthy—"
"S-Class," Gilgamesh corrected imperiously as she passed, not even looking at Tatsumaki. "The King of Heroes does not associate with those of insufficient rank. By extension, Saitama's status must be commensurate with my magnificence."
Tatsumaki's outraged sputter was music to Saitama's ears as they boarded the elevator, leaving the Association behind with surprisingly little property damage and only moderate bureaucratic trauma.
"So," Arcueid bounced excitedly as they descended, "we're official heroes now? With licenses and everything? Do we get cool hero names? I want to be 'Crimson Moon Crusher' or 'True Ancestor Supreme' or maybe just 'Blood Princess'!"
"Hero names should reflect one's noble lineage and imperial status," Nero insisted. "I shall be 'Emperor Magnificent' or perhaps 'Rose Sovereign'!"
"The King of Heroes requires no secondary title," Gilgamesh declared. "My name alone suffices."
"We can figure out hero names later," Saitama interrupted. "Rice sale, remember? Priorities."
As they exited the Association Headquarters, Durga fell into step beside Saitama, her expression thoughtful.
"The cloaked warrior who speaks from shadow," she observed quietly. "He knows more than he revealed."
"Blast? Yeah, he's cryptic like that," Saitama agreed. "Comes with being number one, I guess."
"He fears something," Durga continued, her ancient eyes seeing more than physical reality. "Not us, but something he believes may seek us out."
"He mentioned that," Saitama acknowledged. "Something about 'forces in the universe' that might want divine beings for... collection purposes? Research? I forget the exact threat."
"Concerning," Artoria commented, having overheard. "In my experience, beings powerful enough to 'collect' divine entities are rarely benevolent."
"Bah! Let them try!" Quetzalcoatl laughed, cracking her knuckles enthusiastically. "The goddess of lucha libre welcomes all challengers!"
"Indeed," Morgan agreed with cold precision. "Any who would presume to 'collect' the Queen of the Fae would learn painful lessons about presumption."
As they debated potential threats and appropriate responses, Saitama found himself observing the divine beings with newfound perspective after Blast's comments. They were powerful, certainly, but also strangely... human in their interactions. Their squabbles, their enthusiasms, their distinct personalities—all seemed more relatable than their divine status would suggest.
And they had chosen to stay, despite being freed from the binding spell. That part still puzzled him.
"Hey," he interrupted their ongoing debate about defensive strategies, "quick question. Why are you all actually staying? The truth this time, not the discount chicken excuse."
The divine beings exchanged glances, suddenly awkward in a way that transcended dimensional boundaries.
"You intrigue me," Gilgamesh finally admitted with uncharacteristic directness. "Your power defies classification even by divine standards. The King of Heroes collects the unique and unprecedented."
"I sense a warrior's journey of profound importance," Uesugi added quietly. "Though you may not recognize it yourself."
"You're funny!" Arcueid offered brightly. "And your world has interesting monsters and really good video games. Much more fun than my usual existence."
"The Emperor recognizes a kindred spirit!" Nero declared dramatically. "One who bears great power with casual grace! History shall record our magnificent association!"
One by one, they offered reasons that ranged from the profound to the trivial, but all containing kernels of what seemed like genuine truth.
"Also," Durga concluded with a serene smile, "we have not yet experienced this 'discount chicken' that you speak of with such reverence. Divine curiosity demands satisfaction."
Saitama looked at them for a long moment, then nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Fair enough. Rice sale first, then chicken."
As they continued toward the supermarket, Saitama found himself considering Blast's warning again. Forces in the universe that might target his divine housemates. Potential threats to dimensional stability.
More paperwork, probably.
He sighed deeply. So much for a boring life as a hero for fun.
At least the chicken was on sale.