The exam venue.
Saitama stood on the rubber track; his yellow hero suit had been stripped off, revealing muscles carved as if from marble.
Two Staff Members at the finish line shouted,
"First event: 3,000-metre sprint, starting no—"
—before they could finish, a gale slapped their ears, followed by a thunderous roar of wind.
They spun around in shock: Saitama was already at the finish line, lazily rolling his neck.
Human-shaped footprints were stamped into the track; he had simply used raw recoil to rocket forward.
What monstrous strength… The staff gulped. No wonder this bald guy got a solo exam—he was terrifyingly powerful.
Moments later, the second event began.
"Shot-put!"
Boom!
A metallic clang rang out as the steel ceiling was blasted open, leaving a several-meter crater.
The shot, wrapped in blazing fire, was already heading for space; until its momentum died, it would only rise toward the starry sky.
"100-metre shuttle run!"
The staff's vision flickered; Saitama crossed the line hundreds of times in 0.1 second.
"Weight-lifting!"
Without even flexing, he hoisted multi-ton dumbbells and idly toyed with them.
"Punching power!"
A casual punch sent the machine flying ten-odd meters to slam into the far wall.
"Whack-a-mole!"
Ten holes: a mole-toy's head had barely popped up when a red mallet smashed it to pieces.
All tests complete, Saitama slipped back into his yellow suit and returned to the lounge to demolish free snacks and drinks.
Staring at the score sheet, the two recorders looked at each other, hands trembling.
"This guy's stats are monstrous…"
"Are we about to get another S-Class Hero?"
Hero Association monitoring room
A white-coated staffer burst in, handing the data to Sitch, excitement written all over his face.
"These are Mr. Saitama's physical results—he's not human, he's superhuman!"
Seeing every stat off the charts, Sitch's eyes bulged; King's words replayed in his head.
"I guarantee this man is no weaker than I am."
Sitch had doubted it—how could a harmless-looking bald man rival The Strongest Man on the Surface of the Earth?
But now, staring at numbers that suggested a god dwelt in Saitama's body, that doubt began to crumble.
Even if KING had exaggerated, Saitama clearly had S-Class calibre.
Next came the written test.
With such stellar physical scores, a decent mark on the paper could propel him straight to S-Class.
The bell rang; Saitama's face changed, a primal fear flashing through him.
Before becoming a hero for fun, he had spent over a decade in school; the bell was practically a trauma trigger.
Seeing the questions matched what KING had said, his simple features showed a rare smile of relief.
"So KING was right."
Glancing at the essays, Saitama almost wrote the same answer for every one.
"One punch to blow it up."
To him, every problem could be solved with a single punch.
Just as he was about to write, King's advice echoed:
"Try looking at it from a weakling's point of view."
A weakling's point of view… Saitama closed his eyes and remembered who he used to be.
Back then, though weak, every day felt full—train, eat bananas, hunt monsters.
He fought monsters stronger than himself, got battered, bled, yet still roared as he saved people.
With that thought, he opened his eyes and let the pen scratch across the paper.
While he sat the exam, the monitoring-room staff jumped to their feet; even Sitch leaned in.
"Report: the ultra-high-energy signal in Suburb 302 has vanished—Miss Tatsumaki and Mr. KING's fight is over!"
Sitch's heart clenched.
The energy they had released rivalled a massive Dragon-level Disaster; had it hit a city, the entire metropolis would have been obliterated.
Yet he was puzzled—combatants of that calibre usually fought for ages. Why had it ended in under five minutes?
Just then the control-room door opened.
King walked in carrying the unconscious Tatsumaki, barely a scratch on him, his calm voice filling the room:
"Please get her treated; I'll leave the calming of the public to you."
Sitch sent out a call; within two minutes, a dozen medics rushed in and carried Tatsumaki away.
Only when she vanished around the corner did Sitch realise his forehead was slick with sweat.
That normally familiar, imposing face now inspired only deeper awe and dread.
To defeat Tatsumaki—the Hero Association's trump card—in five minutes…
"Mr. KING… just what are you?"
Suddenly, Sitch's pupils shrank as realisation struck.
Since King had entered, he hadn't heard the Emperor Engine signalling combat mode.
Which meant KING hadn't even entered combat mode while defeating the S-Class Rank 2 Tatsumaki…