Peace is a relative term.
For most of the world, peace meant the absence of giant monsters trying to eat skyscrapers. For Saitama, peace meant eating his breakfast without being live-streamed to three billion people.
Unfortunately, peace was currently unavailable.
"Sensei, please tilt your head three degrees to the left," Genos requested. The cyborg was wearing a frilly pink apron over his battle chassis. He held a whisk in one hand and a high-definition cinema camera in the other. "The lighting is optimal for the thumbnail."
"Genos," Saitama sighed, looking at his bowl of cereal. "Why are we filming breakfast? Is this for the Hero Association archives?"
"Negative," Genos said, cracking an egg with terrifying mechanical precision. "This is for my new YouTube channel, 'The Incinerator's Kitchen.' We have reached 50 million subscribers overnight. The comments demand 'Content of the Master.' Also, this sponsorship from Ultra-Clean Dish Soap will pay for the new water heater."
Saitama perked up. "A new water heater? The one that doesn't scream when you turn it on?"
"The very same."
"Okay," Saitama sat up straighter. "Make sure you get my good side."
"Sensei, every side is your good side. Your cranial curvature is geometrically perfect."
Saitama went back to eating. The apartment was actually quiet for once. Or, at least, inside it was.
The bedroom door creaked open. Fubuki walked out. She wasn't wearing her usual battle dress or the business suit. She was wearing an oversized grey hoodie that definitely belonged to Saitama, and nothing else. Her hair was messy, her eyes half-lidded with sleep.
"Coffee," she mumbled, drifting toward the kitchen like a green-haired zombie.
"Good morning, Fubuki-dono," Genos said, panning the camera away to respect her privacy (and because Fubuki threatened to crush his sensors if he filmed her without makeup). "The espresso is pressurized to 9 bars."
She took the cup Genos offered and slumped into the chair next to Saitama, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"Is the crowd still there?" she asked, yawning.
Saitama pointed to the window with his spoon. "Take a look."
Fubuki peered through the reinforced blinds. Her eyes widened.
The street below wasn't just crowded. It was a war zone. But not with monsters. With fans.
The street in front of the "Saitama Defense Fortress" (formerly Z-City Apartments) was divided into three distinct, fortified camps.
On the left: The Blizzard Group/Saitama Wing. They wore black suits and looked like secret service agents. They held signs reading THE OFFICIAL SHIP and RESPECT HIS PRIVACY (BUT BUY OUR MERCH).
On the right: The Church of the Bald Truth. These were new cultists wearing yellow robes and bald caps. They were chanting hymns about the "One Punch" and offering baskets of high-grade coupons as sacrifices.
And hovering in the air above them: The Tornado Guard. Green-clad psychics (Tatsumaki fanboys mostly) who held banners saying TATSUMAKI IS THE TRUE CARRY and KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OUR EMPRESS'S... ACQUAINTANCE.
"It's a civil war," Fubuki groaned. "My marketing worked too well. Everyone wants a piece of you."
"They're loud," Saitama chewed his toast. "The bald guys keep singing. It's off-key."
Suddenly, a green blur smashed through the balcony door (which was locked, but that never stopped her).
Tatsumaki floated in. She was fully dressed in her hero attire, floating a foot off the ground to avoid touching the "commoner floor."
"What is the meaning of this?!" Tatsumaki shrieked, pointing a finger at Fubuki.
Fubuki blinked, sipping her coffee. "Good morning, sister. The door was unlocked." (It wasn't).
"I'm talking about the horde outside!" Tatsumaki flew over to the table. "And why are you wearing his clothes?" Her eyes twitched as she looked at the hoodie Fubuki was practically swimming in.
"It's comfortable," Fubuki shrugged, leaning closer to Saitama. "Besides, I didn't bring a change of clothes last night. We were up late."
Saitama nodded innocently. "Yeah. King brought over Turbo Smash Brothers. We played until 4 AM. Fubuki is surprisingly good at button mashing."
Tatsumaki turned a shade of red that defied color theory. "Video games? That's what you were doing? I felt... seismic vibrations!"
"King gets really mad when he loses," Saitama explained.
Tatsumaki crossed her arms, hovering aggressively between them. "Well, I'm here now. To... supervise. God knows what happens if I leave you two alone."
"Do you want breakfast?" Genos offered, holding a tray of perfectly risen soufflés. "They are gluten-free, tailored to your distinct caloric needs."
Tatsumaki glared at the cyborg. Then at the soufflé. It smelled really good.
"Fine," she huffed, floating into a chair. "But if I see one camera, I'm crushing you into a toaster oven."
The domestic bliss was interrupted by a noise from outside that sounded like a dubstep remix of a car crash.
"WHAT IS UP, Z-CITY!!!" a voice boomed, shaking the coffee cups.
Saitama stood up. "Okay, now they're just being rude."
He walked to the balcony. The rest of the "harem" (and Genos) followed.
Down on the street, the three fan armies had stopped fighting. They were looking at a new arrival.
Standing in the intersection was a monster. But it looked... flashy. It was clad in neon armor made of smartphone screens. Its head was a giant camera lens. It had speakers for shoulders.
THREAT LEVEL: DEMON (POTENTIALLY DRAGON IF TRENDING).
CODENAME: THE CLOUT GOBLIN.
"I am Clout Goblin!" the monster announced, striking a pose. "I feed on attention! I consume engagement! And right now, this location is the hottest trending spot on Earth!"
He pointed his lens-head at the apartment.
"Saitama! The Final Fortress! Come out! I challenge you to a Collab! If I defeat you, my subscriber count will surpass God's!"
"Subscribers?" Saitama squinted. "Is this another YouTuber?"
Genos's eyes glowed. "He is attempting to hijack our algorithm, Sensei. Shall I demonetize him?"
"Wait," Fubuki said, her business instincts kicking in. "Look at the screens on his armor."
The monster's armor displayed live feeds from all over the world. People watching the stream. Millions of them.
"If we fight him, we give him what he wants," Fubuki warned. "Attention strengthens him. The more we engage, the stronger he gets."
The Clout Goblin laughed. "I see you up there! Don't ignore me! Ignorance is just a form of engagement!"
He fired a beam from his shoulder-speakers—a sonic wave of sheer cringe called "THE HOT TAKE."
WUB WUB WUB.
The blast hit the Church of the Bald Truth. Their robes disintegrated. The cultists fled, screaming.
"Hey!" Saitama shouted. "Those guys were holding coupons!"
The Clout Goblin turned his lens up. "A reaction! Yes! Give me the drama!"
He jumped.
For a Demon-level threat, he was fast. Fueled by the millions of live viewers, he bounded up the side of the building, crushing balconies.
"I'm gonna perform an unboxing video on your skull!" the monster screeched.
Saitama sighed. He handed his empty coffee cup to Fubuki.
"Hold this."
He didn't jump down. He just leaned over the railing.
As the Clout Goblin reached the top floor, mid-air, screaming about "smashing that like button," Saitama held up a hand.
"Stop," Saitama said.
He didn't punch. He didn't use a serious move.
He just reached out and put his hand over the monster's lens-head.
"You're too bright. And you're loud. And you woke up my neighbors."
Saitama gripped the lens.
"Serious Series: Unsubscribe."
He crushed the lens.
But he didn't stop there. He applied pressure. Not to the monster, but to the broadcast signal. The shockwave of his grip traveled through the monster's armor, into the circuitry, and transmitted back through the connection.
Across the world, millions of screens went black.
No explosion. No gore. Just... silence.
The monster froze. Its armor went dark. Without the views, without the attention, it began to shrink. The neon faded to grey plastic. The giant mech-suit shriveled until the Clout Goblin was just a skinny guy in a mo-cap suit shivering on the balcony railing.
"My... my analytics..." the villain whimpered. "My retention rate... zero..."
Saitama poked him in the forehead.
"Get a real job," Saitama said.
He flicked.
The villain flew off the balcony, tumbling harmlessly into a dumpster three blocks away.
Silence returned to the street. The fan armies stared up in awe.
"He cancelled him..." someone whispered.
"Physically and digitally," another agreed.
"HE IS THE TRUE CONTENT LORD!" the Bald Cultists cheered.
Saitama groaned. "Genos, close the blinds."
"Yes, Sensei."
Back inside, breakfast resumed.
Tatsumaki was secretly enjoying the soufflé. "It's adequate," she lied, scraping the plate clean.
Fubuki leaned back in Saitama's chair, pulling the hoodie tighter. "You know, Saitama, that monster was right about one thing."
"What?"
"You're trending again. 'Serious Unsubscribe' is already a meme."
Saitama put his head on the table. "I hate the internet."
"But," Fubuki smiled, her foot gently touching his under the table. "You protected the apartment. And the coupons."
Tatsumaki noticed the foot touching. Her fork bent 90 degrees.
"Fubuki," Tatsumaki said, her voice dangerously sweet. "I think it's time we discussed the lease agreement. Specifically, the 'No Cohabitation' clause I'm adding right now."
"There is no lease, sister," Fubuki smiled back, shark-like. "We own the building now. Metal Knight signed the deed over to the 'Saitama Group.' Majority shareholder: Me."
Sparks flew—literal psychic and wind pressure—between the two sisters.
Saitama ignored them. He was watching Genos, who was currently uploading the video of the fight.
"Genos," Saitama pointed at the laptop screen. "Is that a comment from King?"
"Yes, Sensei. King says: 'GG NO RE. Also, bring milk when you come over for round two.'"
Saitama stood up.
"Milk. I knew I forgot something."
He looked at the psychic sisters fighting over his living arrangements. He looked at his cyborg disciple editing thumbnails.
It was chaotic. It was loud.
But the rent was paid, the fridge was full of beef, and the world wasn't ending.
"I'm going to get milk," Saitama announced. "Anyone want anything?"
"Chocolate!" Tatsumaki yelled.
"Cabbage!" Fubuki requested.
"Thermal Paste!" Genos added.
Saitama opened the balcony door, stepped out into the sun, and smiled.
"Okay. Be right back."
He jumped, soaring over the city he saved, looking for the best deal in town.