After finishing their meal, Saitama said his goodbyes to Genos—who insisted on paying, as promised—and returned to his apartment with a singular goal in mind: prepare for the date.
Step one was obvious—he needed decent clothes. He sprinted through every clothing store in A-City, checking racks, shelves, and mannequins like he was on a mission from the gods. The shop attendants stared with wide eyes as this bald, muscular man speed-walked through aisles with the same focus he'd used to kill monsters. He tried on a few outfits but eventually settled on something simple yet effective: a plain white shirt—tight-fitting enough to show off his chiseled form—and a pair of baggy jeans paired with clean, sporty sneakers.
He looked in the mirror and nodded.
"Alright… casual, but clean. Kind of cool. Doesn't scream 'desperate'."
He paused.
"Right?"
Step two was harder—flowers. He didn't know Mizuki's favorite type, and asking Genos was a dead end. The cyborg had replied with, "Would weaponized roses be appropriate?" so Saitama was on his own.
He walked into the fanciest flower shop he could find, with an interior that smelled like spring exploded inside a luxury perfume ad. The florist asked him what kind of message he wanted to send.
"Uh… I don't know. Like, 'Hey I like you but I'm not a creep,' kind of thing," Saitama said.
In the end, he left with a colorful mixed bouquet and a prayer that he hadn't just grabbed the 'funeral' special.
(A few hours later…)
Saitama stood just outside the Hero Association headquarters, bouquet in hand. His shirt hugged his muscular frame, drawing more than a few glances from passersby, though he didn't notice. His posture was relaxed, but inside, it was a full-blown earthquake of nerves.
Okay… deep breaths. You've faced criminals, monsters, and bureaucrats. This is just a girl. A girl who could probably destroy a punching bag with her smile. Focus.
He repeated the plan in his head like a mantra:
Give her the flowers. Ask about her day. Take her to that five-star place in Sector 3. Be polite. Walk her home. Don't blow it.
His body trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the unfamiliar pressure of giving a damn.
And then—like fate itself was testing his composure—Mizuki stepped through the glass doors of the HQ.
She was in her signature athletic gear: fitted shorts that left very little to the imagination, a cropped sports top, and running shoes. She looked like she had just finished a track event. Her ponytail bounced as she walked, her sweat giving her a glow of effortless energy.
...She's really going out like that? he thought. I mean, she looks great, but—did she forget? No… no way. This is just how she rolls.
As if to confirm his suspicion, her eyes lit up when she spotted him, and she jogged over.
"Hey!!" she beamed, practically bouncing with energy. "So, where are you taking me?!"
Her excitement hit him like a truck. He blinked, then sheepishly handed her the bouquet, holding it out like an offering to a goddess.
"These are for you."
She paused, surprised. "For me?!" Then her face lit up even brighter. "Aw, thanks!! You're too cute!"
She buried her nose into the flowers, grinning like a kid on her birthday. Saitama's ears turned red as his brain short-circuited from the compliment.
Forget what I thought before. She can wear anything she wants. Tracksuit to a date? That's fine. She could show up in armor and I'd still be down.
Mizuki looped her arm around his without hesitation, bouquet in the other hand. "Okay, hero. Let's go. And I hope you're not holding back, 'cause I'm hungry."
Saitama swallowed and nodded, heart hammering.
Alright… Date Mode: ON.
They had barely taken two steps out onto the street when the first raindrop hit Saitama square on the forehead.
Plop!
Then another.
And then—CRACK!
The sky exploded in thunder, and rain began to pour like a broken dam. The wind howled down the city streets, bending trees and shaking windows.
Suddenly, the sharp screech of an Emergency Broadcast rang out across every speaker in A-City. Electronic billboards flickered with red warnings.
"⚠️ This is the Hero Association Emergency Broadcast System. A sudden high-level storm phenomenon has been detected. A tornado warning is now in effect for City A. All civilians and non-essential personnel are advised to seek shelter immediately. ⚠️"
The sound echoed through the storm. People began scrambling, running for buildings and shelters.
Mizuki's shoulders slumped slightly. "Damn… I was really looking forward to this."
She looked up at Saitama, her wet ponytail clinging to her shoulder, eyes reflecting the city lights and disappointment. "Guess Mother Nature's not a fan of romantic evenings."
Saitama stared at her for a moment. Then, without thinking too much, he spoke.
"…The date's not over."
She blinked. "Huh?"
"I mean—if you're okay with it—we can still do something. My apartment's not that far, well, it's in Z-City, but I could cook for us. It's not fancy, but it'd be just us, and I'm a decent cook."
He rubbed the back of his head, trying to sound casual, though the inside of his skull was a microwave of nervous thoughts.
Mizuki looked surprised for a moment. Her cheeks flushed just a bit at the word "apartment," and she glanced off to the side.
"You sure? I don't wanna intrude or anything…"
"It's fine," he said, more confidently this time. "I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it."
A few beats passed.
Then she smiled, that big, athletic grin that made her look like the kind of person who always chased life, even when it tried to outrun her.
"Okay. Lead the way."
He grinned, but then looked around at the now completely flooded street.
"…Actually, running there's the fastest option. Traffic's dead and the tornado warning just kicked up to Level B."
He crouched slightly and offered her his back.
"You mind? I'll carry you."
Her eyes widened a bit. "Wait—seriously?"
"I'll be fast. Promise. You won't even get rained on."
She laughed, and shook her head in disbelief. "Alright, alright… but don't drop me!"
She gently climbed onto his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders. She was light, though he could feel the definition of her body against his back—years of athletic training and effort. It flustered him more than he expected, but he kept his cool.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Ready as I'll ever be!"
With a sudden gust of wind—whoosh—they vanished from the spot, a sonic boom in their wake. Windows trembled from the force, leaves spiraled into the air, and pedestrians ducked in confusion, wondering what kind of emergency response vehicle just passed them.
But Saitama didn't hear any of that. He was too focused on the warmth at his back, the smile he knew Mizuki was wearing behind him.
The moment Saitama skidded to a stop just outside his apartment in Z-City, the rain seemed to double down—like the storm was chasing them all the way to the door. He unlocked the entrance with one hand while still holding Mizuki with the other.
"Here we are," he muttered, slightly out of breath. "Welcome to 'La Casa de Saitama.'"
He gently let her down. Both of them were soaked—his white shirt clung tightly to his chest, and Mizuki's usually tied-up ponytail was now a loose, damp mess falling down her back.
"Wow…" she said, giggling slightly as she wrung out the ends of her hair. "You're not kidding. We're like walking puddles."
Saitama rubbed the back of his neck, already heading into the closet. "Yeah, uh, let me get you a towel. Or two. Maybe a blanket too. Be right back—make yourself at home."
She smiled as he walked off, and took the opportunity to wander around the small but tidy apartment. It was simple—very simple. A low table. Clean wooden floors. A futon in the corner. A few kitchen shelves, stacked with instant noodles and spices. A modest TV with some DVDs and… a single potted plant on the windowsill.
"Okay, not bad," she whispered to herself with a grin. "Definitely cleaner than I expected. And wow, he owns books!!"
Just then, Saitama returned with an armful of fluffy towels and two thick blankets.
"Here," he said, handing them to her. "Dry off and wrap up. Don't want you catching a cold. You want something warm to drink?"
"You're sweet, you know that?" she replied, taking the towel with a smile. "Tea would be awesome."
He nodded and moved to the small stove, setting water to boil while grabbing a kettle. Mizuki sat cross-legged at the table, now toweling her hair with a relaxed hum.
"So…" she asked between rubs, "this place really suits you. Quiet, practical, kinda minimalist. Is that your style, or are you just not into decorating?"
Saitama chuckled, flipping on the burner. "I guess you could say… I used to live a different life a long time ago. One where I didn't have time—or a reason—to care about furniture."
Mizuki raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Different how?"
He stirred the kettle, eyes focused on the steam.
"…I worked a lot. Too much. Woke up, went to work, came home, slept. Repeat."
"Sounds… familiar," she muttered with a wry smile. "I used to be like that too. Olympic training, nonstop. No time for friends, or fun."
"I get that," he said, glancing over at her. "And then one day I just… stopped. Had a chance to start again. Whole new life."
"You make it sound like you reincarnated or something," she teased with a laugh.
He shrugged, smirking. "Something like that."
The kettle whistled.
He poured the tea, placing a warm mug in front of her, then began pulling ingredients from the small fridge—eggs, rice, some vegetables. Nothing fancy, but more than enough to whip up something good.
"I hope you like fried rice," he said, cracking eggs into the pan.
"As long as it's made by someone cute and strong," she winked, "I'll eat anything."
Saitama's hand trembled slightly with the spatula, but he quickly recovered. "No pressure then."
Mizuki leaned back with a content sigh, sipping her tea. "You know, I'm glad we didn't go to some fancy restaurant. This? It's perfect."
And for a moment, just a short, quiet moment, Saitama forgot about the storms outside, the hero rankings, and the secret of who he truly was.
Right now, all that mattered… was the sound of rain against the window, the warmth of the kitchen, and the girl smiling at his table.
(A few hours after since dinner…)
The empty plates sat quietly on the table, and the rain outside had softened into a gentle drizzle. Warm light filled the apartment, while soft conversation floated between the two heroes.
Saitama leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his expression relaxed.
"So… your dream was always sports?" he asked.
Mizuki nodded, cradling her now-empty tea cup. "Yeah. Since I was a kid. I wanted to be the fastest, the strongest. I lived for the cheers. But after the Olympics, everything just… slowed down. So I became a hero. Figured it was time to do something that mattered for someone else."
He gave her a quiet look. "That's actually… pretty admirable."
She tilted her head. "What about you?"
He gave her a sideways glance. "I used to be stuck in a world where nothing felt real. Then one day, I got a second chance. So I trained so hard, I became bald and now I fight because I can. And because it's something like a hobbie to me more than a job." He said while mixing parts of Saitama's story and his.
Mizuki blinked at him, caught off guard by the honesty. "That's… really cool."
"Didn't mean it to be," he muttered, rubbing his neck.
Eventually, the night caught up with them. Mizuki stood and stretched with a long yawn.
"Well, I should probably head out. Storm's let up."
She went to grab her towel from the back of the chair—but it slipped from her shoulders, falling to the floor. She blinked in surprise, now standing in her form-fitting athletic wear. The sudden closeness of the moment returned—charged and quiet.
She was stunning. her toned figure framed by the snug fit of her athletic wear. The sleeveless top clung to her sculpted arms and broad shoulders—proof of years spent training and competing. Her tight track pants hugged the curve of her hips and powerful legs. A subtle sheen of water still glistened on her skin from the rain, catching the light and highlighting the definition in her abs beneath the thin fabric of her top.
Saitama stared for a second—almost forgetting how stunning she really was and without trying, no heroic pose, no competition, she was just Mizuki.
Without thinking, he stepped forward.
She looked up, confused at first. "Saitama…?"
He didn't answer. He simply reached out, hands gently finding her toned hips. And then, without a word, he leaned in—pressing a firm, earnest kiss to her lips.
She tensed for a moment… then slowly melted into it.
The rain tapped softly on the windows, but inside, the world was quiet.
Saitama's hands tightened on Mizuki's hips, his grip firm yet gentle, as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. Mizuki's eyes fluttered open, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted.
"I... I don't know," she stammered, rapidly understanding the situation, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've never done this before."
Saitama's eyes softened, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice filled with reassurance. "We can take our time."
He leaned in again, this time pressing his lips firmly against hers, his tongue gently probing at the seam of her mouth. Mizuki's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly relaxed, her body melting into his as she parted her lips, allowing him entry.
Saitama's tongue slid inside, exploring her mouth with a slow, sensual dance, his hands wandering from her hips to her back, pulling her closer. Mizuki's hands reached up, her fingers tangling in his head, her body pressing against his as she lost herself in the kiss, her heart pounding in her chest, her body aching with a new, unfamiliar desire.
Saitama's hands moved from her hips to her ass, his fingers digging into her firm, muscular glutes. His grip was possessive, he squeezed, he playfully touched and even slapped her cheeks, his touch sent shivers down her spine.
He squeezed her cheeks, his thumbs tracing the curve of her backside, his breath hot on her neck. Mizuki's eyes widened, her body tensing slightly at the unexpected touch. She didn't know how to respond, her mind racing with a mix of surprise and arousal.
But as Saitama's lips found hers again, his kiss becoming more urgent and passionate, she found herself losing herself in the moment. Her hands moved from his head to his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his suit.
Saitama's hands continued to explore her, his touch growing more confident and bold. He squeezed her ass again, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her shorts, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Mizuki gasped, her body shuddering at the contact.
She didn't know what to do, her body responding to his touch in ways she hadn't expected. But as Saitama's lips moved from her mouth to her neck, his teeth gently nipping at her skin, she found herself responding in kind, her hands moving to his shoulders, her body pressing against his.
Saitama suddenly grabbed Mizuki's body, lifting her effortlessly and placing her on the large, table that had served as their dining table, the plates they used were still on the table, but that didn't matter on the moment.
Mizuki's eyes widened in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed.
"Saitama, what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Before she could react, Saitama's hands moved to the waistband of her blue track shorts, pulling them down in one swift motion. Mizuki gasped, her hands flying to cover her face as she felt the cool air hit her skin.
She was suddenly embarrassed, her body exposed in a way she had never experienced before.
"Saitama, wait," she mumbled, her voice muffled by her hands. But Saitama didn't stop.
He knelt down, his hands spreading her thighs gently, his breath hot on her skin. Mizuki moaned softly, her body tensing as she felt his tongue make contact with her most intimate place.
Suck!- Suck!-
He was gentle at first, his tongue exploring her slowly, his hands holding her thighs steady.
"Haah…ugh, Saitama-ahh!"
But as Mizuki's moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath him, Saitama's tongue became more insistent, his touch more confident.
Suck!- Suck!- Suck!- Suck!-
I need to suck her dry. He thought as his tongue explored the rosed cavities of the athlete. His hands still firmly squeezed her muscled thighs, with his fingers sinking on her soft but strong skin while he continued with the task.
Meanwhile, Mizuki's hands moved from her face, her fingers tangling in his head as she gave herself over to the sensation, her body arching off the table as she moaned in a mix of pleasure and embarrassment.
"Saitama," she gasped, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and desire. "Kyah!!-Ahh!" She moaned.
Saitama's only thought was devouring her pussy with his tongue and mouth, his hands gripping her thick and meaty thighs with a possessive intensity. He kissed her pussy, his lips pressing gently against her folds, his tongue darting out to explore her most intimate parts.
Mizuki's moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath him as he held her steady. "Saitama," she gasped, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and desire. "That-ahh!! feels...ugh-incredible."
Saitama looked up at her, his eyes filled with a primal hunger. "I want to taste you, Mizuki," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a sudden intensity. "I want to make you come."
So he kept himself with the task on hand, while the athletic and cheerful heroine was now transformed into a babbling and moaning mess.
The only other sound on the room besides Saitama devouring her Cherry and the inner part of her thighs and the constant moaning of Mizuki was the storm that still raged outside.
---------------------
SPECIAL THANKS FOR firerock laser, Sleepy reader, Hollow-_-Carnival, DarCode, jrman2, Mr. Danteror, 4REEEsearch, KristofferXxXxX, Stephen Scott, Rizai and Nikkolas, THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT.
IF YOU WANT RECOGNITION OR UNLOCK UNTIL 10 MORE CHAPTERS, YOU CAN HAVE IT ON MY PATREON!!