Jordan sat in his patrol car, hand frozen on the ignition.
A white-bordered card had materialized in his palm—unbidden, automatic, completely outside his conscious control.
The card face showed a bald head with dead-fish eyes, grinning carelessly at nothing in particular.
What the hell?
This was the first time a fantasy card had generated itself from a simple encounter. No combat. No active sealing. He'd just... talked to the guy. Given him a soda.
And his Stand had created this.
Jordan stared at the card, mind racing. Every other card he'd made required deliberate effort—defeating enemies, consciously targeting objects, choosing what to seal. This one had appeared on its own, pulled from proximity alone.
Saitama's built different, Jordan thought. Main character privilege is real.
He examined the card more closely.
[Fantasy Card: Limiter Fragments]
Type: Special • Rarity: N
An unknown fragment of unknown origin.
Effect: ???
Question marks.
The card literally had question marks where its effects should be.
Jordan's eyebrow twitched.
He knew about limiters—the fundamental rule system of this world, explained by Dr. Genus in the original story. Every living creature had biological and psychological limits hardcoded into their existence. Growth caps determined by species, survival instincts, rationality. You could train to your limit, but you couldn't surpass it.
Some people were born with higher ceilings. S-Class heroes like Child Emperor had genius-level intellect. Tatsumaki had esper potential off the charts. Bang possessed natural martial arts talent that let him develop techniques normal humans couldn't dream of.
When humans transformed into Mysterious Beings, their species changed—effectively resetting their limiter to a new baseline.
Saitama was the exception.
He'd retained his human form and somehow shattered his limiter entirely. Infinite growth potential. No ceiling. Just a bald guy who could punch God-level threats into orbit.
And now Jordan had a fragment of... what? Saitama's broken limiter? A piece of that fundamental rule?
The Stand offered zero feedback. No explanation. No usage instructions.
If it came from Saitama, it can't be useless.
Jordan flicked the card into his deck, where it vanished into the cosmic galaxy pattern.
No point overthinking it. His deck had infinite storage anyway—he could hoard mystery cards for as long as it took to figure them out.
He started the engine and pulled back onto the street.
The encounter with Saitama had been a minor incident. A detour. But it left Jordan with a creeping sense of crisis he couldn't shake.
What others feared as catastrophic disasters, he saw as resources. Limited. Potentially non-renewable.
Every Mysterious Being was a card waiting to be pulled. Every monster attack, an opportunity.
And now a bald guy who'd eventually solo the entire monster population was training in his city.
I need more cards. Fast.
The next month passed in a blur of violence.
No major Demon-level threats emerged in Z-City, but Wolf and Tiger-rank creatures popped up like mushrooms after rain. Minor disasters. Street-level chaos. The kind of attacks that made headlines but didn't threaten the city's existence.
Onion Monster. Sausage Monster. Mailbox Monster. Toilet Monster.
Random household objects mutated by unknown stimuli, growing legs and teeth and aggressive temperaments before getting cut down by whoever responded first.
Jordan harvested them systematically.
After the fifth sentient vegetable attack, he developed a working theory: these things were Saitama's leveling fodder. The guy was probably punching cabbages across the city while Jordan was stuck doing paperwork.
I'm the one stealing monsters, Jordan thought with dark amusement. Beating the future champ to the loot.
Thanks to his aggressive response times—and the steady stream of card draws that came with each kill—his base attributes had improved. Strength, speed, constitution, spirit—all incrementally higher than a month ago.
Unfortunately, gacha luck wasn't about good looks or determination. Even peak human genetics couldn't manipulate probability.
The pull rates remained brutal. He was still consolidating basic stats, grinding the same way Saitama ground his training regimen.
Different methods. Same slow climb.
But something else had started bothering him.
Jordan felt eyes on him during patrol.
Not constantly. Just... periodically. A prickling awareness that someone was tracking his movements, cataloging his response patterns.
He'd activated Spider-Sense multiple times, extending his perception to search for threats.
Nothing.
No danger signals. No hostile intent. Whoever was watching posed zero immediate risk, which meant his early-warning system didn't flag them.
Still unsettling.
Jordan stayed on high alert anyway. He knew things others didn't—like the fact that the Monster Association's headquarters was buried somewhere beneath Z-City. An entire shadow organization of powerful creatures, watching surface events and plotting humanity's downfall.
Given his recent activity, being targeted made sense.
But if it's development, that's fine. I'm not ashamed to get stronger slowly.
The Hero Association was trending upward, dominating news cycles and social media. If the Monster Association wanted to make a move, they'd go after high-profile targets first.
Let the heroes take the heat. Jordan was content flying under the radar.
"Evans? Director wants to see you."
Jordan looked up from his incident report. Officer Anzu stood in the doorway, cheeks slightly flushed—she always got flustered talking to him—ponytail swaying as she shifted her weight.
"Now?" Jordan asked. "He say what for?"
"Not sure." Anzu touched one finger to her lips, thinking. "Some guests arrived this morning. Probably related to them?"
"Guests. Got it. Thanks."
She left with a small wave, and Jordan set down his pen.
He walked down the corridor toward the director's office, mind already running through possibilities.
"PCZ-9527, reporting."
Three men in black suits sat on the sofa opposite Director Zee's desk. The moment Jordan entered, all three pairs of eyes locked onto him, scanning him head to toe with uncomfortable intensity.
Are you guys 3D scanning me right now?
"Director," Jordan said carefully. "You wanted to see me?"
Director Zee—a grizzled veteran with zero patience for bureaucratic nonsense—coughed twice. The suited men snapped their attention back to him.
"This is Officer Jordan Evans," Director Zee said, voice flat. "One of our top performers. You wanted his input on that matter we discussed? Ask him yourself."
Jordan blinked. Wait, what matter? Chief, are you seriously throwing me to the wolves without context?
The three men stood in perfect synchronization, movements practiced and professional.
The lead figure stepped forward, extending his hand. "Mr. Evans! An honor to meet you. I'm Bucky, representing the Z-City branch of the Hero Association."
Jordan shook his hand. "Hello..."
"I'll get straight to the point." Bucky's smile widened. "We'd like to invite you to join the Hero Association as a professional hero. It won't interfere with your police work—we've already cleared that with Director Zee. We just need you to cooperate with some promotional activities in your spare time. With your performance record, we're confident we can make you the most popular ace hero in Z-City. No—the entire Association!"
Director Zee's expression soured. "I didn't agree to anything. If you can convince Evans, I won't interfere. But don't put words in my mouth."
Ah. Jordan connected the dots.
The Hero Association.
Of course. In a world saturated with surveillance cameras and smartphones, complete anonymity was impossible. Someone had been watching his response times, his combat footage, his takedown efficiency.
No wonder Director Zee looked irritated. The old-guard police force had never gotten along with the flashy new privatized hero organization. Too much overlap. Too much competition for funding and public attention.
But with official government backing, the Hero Association's growth was inevitable. Director Zee could grumble, but he couldn't stop it.
And that explained the surveillance.
Not the Monster Association. Just headhunters.
Jordan's Spider-Sense hadn't reacted because they posed zero threat. Just corporate recruiters doing corporate recruiter things.
He nodded slowly. "In that case, I'd like to know more about the duties and obligations. What does 'becoming a hero' actually entail?"
Bucky's grin went supernova. "Absolutely! We've brought all the documentation. Let's find somewhere comfortable to discuss the details."