The "royal audience" for Shinnosuke Nohara was an event that would be whispered about in the hallowed halls of Midgar Palace for generations to come, mostly in hushed, traumatized tones. King Midgar, still recovering from the Godsbane Gauntlet and the subsequent "Great Royal Pudding Incident," had reluctantly agreed to the audience at the insistent (and slightly terrifying) request of the visiting Ice Duchess, a formidable woman whose kingdom supplied Midgar with a significant portion of its winter heating crystals and whose amusement was therefore considered a matter of national security.
Shadow, much to his chagrin, found himself "escorting" the Nohara family to the palace, a role that felt less like a shadowy Eminence overseeing matters of state and more like a beleaguered zookeeper trying to manage a particularly unruly group of interdimensional badgers. Alpha, Beta, and Epsilon were also present, ostensibly as "security," but mostly as moral support for Shadow (and to prevent Shin-chan from attempting to "redecorate" the royal throne with crayon drawings of Mr. Elephant).
The audience chamber was filled with nervous courtiers, a visibly sweating Chancellor Olba, and the aforementioned Ice Duchess, a woman built like a small glacier, with a booming laugh and a disconcerting fondness for "youthful exuberance" (which, in Shin-chan's case, usually translated to "mild property damage and severe breaches of royal protocol").
Shin-chan, predictably, was a whirlwind of chaotic energy. He declared the King's crown "looks like a fancy colander." He attempted to "fluff Shiro's cotton" on the Ice Duchess's ermine robes. He asked the Royal Historian if dinosaurs knew how to do the butt dance. He tried to "help" a nervous pageboy by "fixing" his perfectly arranged tray of refreshments, resulting in a cascade of spilled juice and scattered canapés.
Misae spent the entire audience alternating between mortified apologies and hissed threats of "no chocolate biscuits for a week." Hiroshi just stood in a corner, trying to become invisible, occasionally muttering about "early retirement" and "the therapeutic benefits of living in a soundproof bunker." Himawari, bless her innocent heart, just gurgled happily and attempted to eat a jeweled scepter.
Shadow observed this unfolding diplomatic disaster from a shadowy alcove, his Eminence persona stretched to its absolute limit. He was seriously considering faking a sudden, debilitating case of "shadowy ennui" just to escape the sheer, unadulterated secondhand embarrassment. This, he thought, his eye twitching violently, is not how I envisioned my reign as a master of darkness. This is less 'Eminence in Shadow' and more 'Chaperone to the Antichrist of Etiquette'.
It was during a particularly awkward moment, when Shin-chan was attempting to teach the King the "Mr. Elephant" song (complete with enthusiastic, if somewhat inappropriate, gestures), that the grand doors of the audience chamber burst open.
Not with a dramatic flourish, not with a menacing presence. But with a casual, almost bored, "Hey, anybody got any of that swirly pastry left? I'm kinda starving."
And there, framed in the doorway, looking slightly disheveled, a bit dusty, and carrying a very large, very empty, and suspiciously dented, sack, was Saitama. Genos stood dutifully behind him, his optical sensors scanning the room, a faint aroma of… something burnt and vaguely interdimensional… clinging to his metallic frame. Mr. Fluffles was perched on Saitama's head, looking like he'd just survived a particularly harrowing spin cycle.
Silence descended upon the audience chamber. A silence even more profound, more absolute, than the one Shin-chan usually managed to induce. King Midgar, who had been on the verge of a royal meltdown, froze mid-"Mr. Elephant" gesture. The Ice Duchess, who had been chuckling heartily at Shin-chan's antics, suddenly looked… thoughtful. The courtiers just stared, their jaws slack.
Shin-chan, however, was ecstatic. "BALDY! IT'S BALDY SUPERHERO MAN!" He abandoned his attempts to teach the King advanced pachyderm-themed choreography and zoomed towards Saitama with the speed of a small, sugar-fueled rocket. "Did you bring me a souvenir? Did you fight any cool monsters? Can I have some of your pastry?"
Saitama blinked at the small, enthusiastic missile heading his way. "Huh? Oh, hey, kid. Uh… no pastries, sorry. We kinda… ran out. And the monsters were mostly just… loud. And then they ran away. It was weird."
Shadow, from his shadowy alcove, felt a jolt that was one part disbelief, one part dawning horror, and one part… a strange, almost perverse, sense of inevitability. Of course. Of COURSE Saitama would choose THIS precise moment, during the most awkward royal audience in the history of any known dimension, to casually wander back in, looking for snacks. The universe wasn't just trolling him anymore; it was actively writing a sitcom script with him as the perpetually exasperated straight man.
Alpha, Beta, and Epsilon exchanged a look that clearly said, "Well, this just got infinitely more complicated. And probably a lot funnier. For everyone except Lord Shadow."
Misae and Hiroshi, however, looked relieved. Another adult! Another (presumably) sane individual who could potentially help dilute the sheer, concentrated chaos of their offspring!
"Oh, thank goodness!" Misae exclaimed, rushing forward. "You must be… Blast-san? Shinnosuke talks about you all the time! Please, tell me you know how to get back to Kasukabe! This 'alternate dimension' thing is really starting to wear on my nerves. And the price of radishes here is just outrageous!"
Hiroshi nodded vigorously. "Yeah, mate. Any chance your… uh… portal-opening thingy is still working? I've got a sales report due on Monday, and I don't think 'got lost in a medieval fantasy kingdom with my anarchic family' is a valid excuse for missing a deadline."
Saitama looked from the harried Nohara parents to Shin-chan (who was now attempting to climb his leg like a very determined, very small, squirrel) to the stunned royal court. "Uh… portal? Oh, yeah, that thing. Genos, is that still…?"
Genos stepped forward, his expression, as always, meticulously neutral. "The dimensional pathway we utilized for our return was… a temporary and somewhat unstable construct, Lord Shadow. It collapsed shortly after our transit. Re-establishing such a connection would require… significant recalibration and a comparable energy source to the Well of Whispers." He then looked pointedly at Saitama. "And perhaps… a less… forceful… method of initiation."
Saitama just shrugged. "Oops. Guess I flicked it too hard again."
Shadow felt a familiar headache beginning to form. So, the Noharas were stuck here. Indefinitely. With him. And his rapidly dwindling sanity. This was fine. This was perfectly, utterly, and completely fine. (He was already mentally composing a very long, very passive-aggressive letter to the cosmic entity in charge of dimensional travel, requesting a full refund and perhaps some complimentary therapy sessions).
It was the Ice Duchess who finally broke the stunned silence, her booming laugh echoing through the chamber. "Well, now! This is a turn-up for the books! More… exuberant visitors! And one of them appears to have misplaced his hair! Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!" She eyed Saitama with a keen, appraising gaze. "You, bald one! You have the look of a warrior! Are you here for the… after-party of the Godsbane Gauntlet? I hear the previous champion was… rather underwhelming."
Saitama blinked. "Uh… warrior? Yeah, I guess. Hero for fun. And I already kinda won that tournament thingy. The prize was supposed to be an audience with some 'Master' guy, but then he got all monologue-y and then… well, it's a long story. Mostly involving bad breath and a distinct lack of bathrooms."
The Ice Duchess just roared with laughter again. "Magnificent! A hero who complains about the villain's hygiene! I like this one! He has spirit!"
King Midgar, seeing a potential (if utterly bizarre) opportunity to curry favor with the powerful Ice Duchess, hastily interjected. "Indeed, Your Grace! This is… Sir Blast! The… the champion of the Godsbane Gauntlet! A hero of… unconventional… renown!"
Shin-chan, meanwhile, had finally managed to scale Saitama's leg and was now perched on his shoulder, right next to Mr. Fluffles (who looked at Shin-chan with an expression of weary, fluffy resignation).
"Wow, Baldy Superhero Man!" Shin-chan exclaimed, patting Saitama's head. "Your head is so shiny! Can I draw a smiley face on it? With a permanent marker? Mommy says permanent means it lasts forever! Like my love for Choco-Bams!"
Saitama, who had faced down interdimensional gods and reality-bending clowns without flinching, actually looked… a little alarmed. "Uh… kid… maybe not the permanent marker, okay? That stuff is a nightmare to get off."
It was at this precise moment, as Shin-chan was contemplating the artistic potential of Saitama's bald head and Misae was trying to explain to a bewildered courtier the complex socio-economic factors influencing the price of radishes in Kasukabe, that a new, entirely unexpected, and significantly more ominous, presence made itself known.
The grand doors of the audience chamber, which had already been subjected to Saitama's casual entrance, suddenly imploded inwards with a deafening crash, showering the room with splinters and dust.
Standing in the ruined doorway, wreathed in an aura of palpable, chilling darkness, was a figure that made even the Ice Duchess's booming laughter falter.
It was tall, gaunt, and clad in tattered, midnight-blue robes that seemed to drink the light. Its face was obscured by deep shadows, but two pinpricks of malevolent, crimson light burned within, promising pain and despair. And in its skeletal, claw-like hand, it clutched a gnarled, obsidian staff that pulsed with a sickening, necrotic energy.
"So," the figure rasped, its voice like the rustle of dry bones, like the whisper of a forgotten tomb, "the 'Master' has fallen… And yet, his work… his legacy… remains." It raised its staff, and the shadows in the room seemed to writhe and deepen. "The Age of Shadows is not over. It has merely… paused. And I… I, Mordigan, First Disciple of the Unseen, Keeper of the Forbidden Tomes, shall be the one to press… play."
Shadow, who had been on the verge of a complete and utter mental breakdown due to the sheer, concentrated Nohara-Saitama chaos, felt a sudden, unexpected surge of… relief? A villain! A proper, monologuing, evil-looking villain! With a cool, spooky name! This… this was familiar territory! This was something he could deal with!
"Mordigan," Shadow declared, stepping out from his alcove, his Eminence persona snapping back into place with a vengeance, his voice resonating with a newfound (and slightly desperate) authority. "Your master's symphony of despair has ended. And your own pathetic little dirge will be silenced before it even begins!" Yes! That was a good line! Back in the game!
Mordigan turned his burning crimson gaze towards Shadow. "Ah, the little shadow-player. Still flitting about, are we? Your interference is… noted. And will be… punished."
Then, Mordigan's gaze fell upon Saitama, who was still trying to gently dissuade Shin-chan from attempting to use his head as a temporary whiteboard.
Mordigan paused. The crimson light in his eyes flickered. He looked at Saitama. He looked at Shin-chan. He looked at Mr. Fluffles, who was now wearing a tiny, upside-down teacup as a hat. He looked at Misae, who was trying to discreetly stuff a handful of royal canapés into her purse. He looked at Hiroshi, who was now openly weeping into his picnic basket.
A long, pregnant silence filled the room.
Then, Mordigan, First Disciple of the Unseen, Keeper of the Forbidden Tomes, a being of presumably immense dark power and terrifying evil intent, did something completely unexpected.
He slowly, deliberately, lowered his obsidian staff. He took a step back. He looked around the room again, his gaze lingering on the sheer, unadulterated, multi-level chaos that was the Nohara-Saitama singularity.
And then, he rasped, his voice filled with a profound, almost spiritual, weariness, "You know what? On second thought… I think I left the… uh… the evil, soul-consuming cauldron on back in my… my dark, spooky lair. Yes. Definitely. Wouldn't want that to boil over. Terribly inconvenient. My apologies. Carry on."
And with that, Mordigan, the supposed harbinger of a new age of shadows, turned and fled, disappearing back through the ruined doorway with a speed that would have made Kaelen the Shadowreaver look like he was wading through molasses.
Silence. Again.
Shadow just stood there, his dramatic pronouncement still echoing in the air, his ebony blade half-drawn. He looked at the empty doorway. He looked at Saitama. He looked at Shin-chan, who was now trying to get Mr. Fluffles to wear the teacup-hat at a jauntier angle.
The universe, it seemed, was not just trolling him. It was actively, maliciously, and hilariously, protecting him from having to engage in any actual, serious, shadowy conflict, by repeatedly introducing forces of such overwhelming, reality-bending absurdity that even the villains just gave up and went home.
He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or just quietly retire to a monastery and take up competitive cheese-sculpting. Perhaps all three. Simultaneously. The life of an Eminence in Shadow, it turned out, was far, far stranger than he could ever have possibly imagined. And the punchlines just kept on coming.