"Incinerate!"
The moment his feet touched the ground, Genos spread his palm. The roar of his engines thundered as blinding flames burst from his hand.
"Heh… This little flame is only good enough to light candles at my birthday party."
Sweet Mask sneered, his figure splitting into afterimages that easily dodged the flames under the stunned gazes of the crowd.
"Careful, Genos! He's fast…"
Not far away, Metal Bat—already strapped to a stretcher—squinted through his swollen eye, unable to stop himself from warning.
Sweet Mask's speed was too fast. At his current level, Genos's attacks wouldn't cause him any real damage.
In a blur, Sweet Mask's afterimages converged. With a few flickers, he appeared right before Genos, whipping a powerful roundhouse kick toward him.
"Dodge, Genos! That's not something you can take head-on!"
From the sidelines, the muscular, dark-skinned S-Class Rank 11, Superalloy Blackluster, called out. He and Genos had a decent rapport.
"Too late, heh!"
Sweet Mask grinned coldly. Part of the reason he'd chosen Genos was because of how close he was to Saitama. Since he couldn't find that "weakling" C-Class hero right now, he'd vent his frustration on Genos instead.
The sharp crack of a sonic boom filled the air as the kick's power made many of the gathered heroes blanch.
"Hmph."
Genos gave a short grunt. A cold light flashed in his golden eyes as his vibranium-armored right arm shot up to grab the incoming kick.
"Overestimating yourself!"
Sweet Mask scoffed. Even Metal Bat, with all his brute force, hadn't been able to take that kick head-on—how could a rookie like Genos hope to block it?
But when the steel-splitting kick met the white armored arm, the shockwave sent nearby heroes staggering—and this time, Sweet Mask let out a muffled groan of pain.
With a loud boom, the two passed each other.
Sweet Mask, once composed and elegant, now had his suit pants torn to shreds, five deep claw-like gashes running down his leg, revealing torn flesh and glimpses of bone. If he had been even half a second slower to react, Genos would have taken the leg clean off.
Genos stood where he was, holding a blood-stained strip of fabric in his white armored hand. Two deep gouges, about five meters long, marked the arena floor beneath his feet.
"Not bad strength… but that's all."
"When did Genos get this strong? Is his power above Metal Bat's?"
"That was a pure power clash—no tricks—and Genos won!"
"Looks like our Association's heroes are full of hidden monsters."
The other professional heroes were shocked. Even the top-ten S-Class heroes now looked at Genos differently.
"Even the strongest power means nothing if your speed can't keep up—"
Drawing a slow, deep breath, Sweet Mask's eyes went cold as ice. But before he could finish, Genos moved.
Shhhhk—
The vibranium armor on his right arm split apart, thousands of white diamond-shaped fragments detaching and swirling behind him, forming a razor-thin, wing-like structure.
Second Form: Wing Mode.
Genos's speed skyrocketed, breaking the sound barrier. Before the sonic crack could even reach the audience, he was already in front of the startled Sweet Mask.
"A few days ago, maybe you could have beaten me. But now… you can't."
His voice was calm, stating it as fact.
Sweet Mask's face twisted. He tried to retreat, but the blindingly fast white fist smashed into his abdomen with devastating force, sending him flying like a rag doll.
Boom!
He crashed into the arena's reinforced wall, the impact denting the alloy plating designed to withstand artillery shells.
In the center of the ring, Genos stood alone, the white wing fragments folding in, merging back into armor along his back.
"Sensei… thank you."
He clenched his fist, hiding his excitement. The Doctor's upgrade—the Super Armament "Wing"—had exceeded his expectations.
Around him, both heroes and reporters were speechless.
"When did Genos become this much of a monster?!"
"S-Class just keeps getting harder… if even Rank 15 is like this, what about the ones above him?"
"We'd better step up before these guys leave us in the dust."
Whether low-ranking or high, every hero felt the pressure.
As Genos prepared to leave, his golden cybernetic eyes narrowed.
Sweet Mask, still embedded in the wall, was moving. His shattered ribs were slowly pushing back into place, his crushed chest rising and falling again—and the gashes on his leg were visibly closing.
(End of Chapter)
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