The hum from Genos's new, blue-glowing core filled the sudden silence in the room.
His diagnostic lights settled into a calm, steady rhythm. The immediate crisis was over. The weirdos of the Black Bulls stared, processing the bizarre display of high-stakes magical surgery they had just witnessed.
Then Charmy spoke, her eyes wide with a single, profound realization.
"His machine-body works again… so he doesn't need to eat?" she asked, a hopeful tremor in her voice.
Genos nodded curtly. "My energy is self-sufficient. I have no need for organic sustenance."
Charmy's entire being lit up with unrestrained joy. "That means there's more for everyone else! Cotton Creation Magic: Sheep Cook's Grand Feast!"
Giant, fluffy sheep in chef hats erupted from her grimoire, holding platters overflowing with roasted meats, steaming vegetables, and mountains of bread. The scent was heavenly. The chaotic room was instantly transformed into a banquet hall.
"FOOD!" the Black Bulls roared in unison, all tension forgotten as they descended upon the tables.
Saitama's expression didn't change, but he moved with a quiet, deliberate speed toward the nearest chair. He sat. He picked up a fork.
Asta sat down across from him, vibrating with a thousand questions.
"Mr. Saitama, sir!" he began, barely touching his own plate. "That punch earlier! I've never seen anything like it! And the way you took Luck's lightning without flinching! What kind of reinforcement magic is that?!"
"It's not magic," Saitama said, spearing a piece of potato.
"Ki, then?" Asta pressed. "Captain Yami is a master of Ki, he can sense intent from anyone, but I couldn't feel anything from you at all! How do you hide it so perfectly?"
"Don't hide it. Don't have it."
Asta's brain seemed to short-circuit. "No magic, no ki… then how are you so strong?! What kind of training do you DO?!"
Saitama took a thoughtful bite, chewed, and swallowed. He looked Asta dead in the eye, his expression completely flat.
"One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. And a ten-kilometer run."
A silence fell over their part of the table.
"…A day?" Asta asked, his voice a hopeful squeak.
"Yeah. Every day." Saitama added, "It's important not to use the A/C in the summer. Builds character."
Magna, who was eavesdropping from down the table, snorted into his drink. "You're kidding, right? That's a decent warm-up, but it won't let you punch a hole in the sky."
"My Sensei's training regimen is on a metaphysical level that cannot be replicated by ordinary biology," Genos stated from his post by the wall, where he was recording notes on a holographic screen projected from his finger. "He pushed his body past every conceivable human limitation until the very concept of a 'limit' was removed."
"So he… exercised real hard?" Finral translated, confused.
"Essentially," Genos confirmed.
Saitama ignored them all, enjoying his meal. It was good. Much better than the convenience store stuff he was used to. He was glad he'd joined this… uh… Black Bull club.
From his worn-out chair in the corner, Yami watched it all, a plume of smoke curling around his head.
He wasn't just watching a freakishly strong bald guy. He was watching his squad. Asta, whose entire worldview was built on overcoming his lack of mana through sheer effort, was confronted by a man who achieved impossible power through… a workout routine. Luck and Magna, whose bravado was their armor, were completely disarmed not by power, but by the sheer lack of reaction to their power.
This man wasn't a hero. He wasn't a villain. He wasn't even a Magic Knight.
He was a broken ruler. A measuring stick so long the very idea of measurement became absurd.
And he fit right in with the rest of his misfits.
Yami crushed his cigarette under his boot and stood up. The scraping sound cut through the noise of the feast.
The room quieted. Their captain was moving.
He walked over to Saitama, who was reaching for another piece of bread. Yami tossed something at him. Saitama caught it out of the air.
It was a black robe, heavy and well-worn, emblazoned with the roaring insignia of the Black Bulls.
"You're one of us now," Yami said, his voice a low rumble. "That means you pull your weight. Both of you." He glanced at Genos.
Saitama looked at the robe, then at Yami. "Do I have to wear this? The cape gets in the way sometimes."
"Yes," Yami said. "Now finish eating. We have a job."
Asta immediately jumped to his feet, food forgotten. "A mission, sir?! What is it?"
Yami's grin was sharp and humorless.
"A distress call came in from a village on the border of the Forsaken Realm. People are disappearing. But that's not the weird part."
He paused, letting the silence hang in the air.
"The magic is disappearing, too."