Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saitama let out a sigh. It had been a long time since he’d been this bored.

Last time hadn’t ended well.

After reaching his ultimate power, he had wanted to kill time by being a hero for fun. That was a childhood dream. He hadn’t expected much, but at least he thought it would occupy him. Distract him.

It had depressed him instead.

Days, weeks, months then years had passed, identical, useless. He had not encountered any challenge. So he’d fixed himself a goal: this Mumen Rider guy had told him about the Hero Association and he had subscribed. Had easily succeeded physical tests. Had wanted to reach the top ranking. A challenge that had seemed almost too simple at first, but hey, one had to start small.

He never achieved it. Had even never been above B class. And, God, had he tried.

He’d been in the streets every day and all day long, had killed so many monsters he had lost count, had removed so many threats he had actually impressed himself. That hadn’t been enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

Most of his achievements had gone unnoticed, or had been put on other’s behalf. At a time, it was kind of his fault. He’d thought he was totally insensitive to the world’s opinion on him, he had erased himself to highlight other heroes, to let them shine. He’d thought he could get used to the ungrateful position of unknown hero. He’d believed he was indifferent to the glory his colleagues craved for.

In fact, somewhere deep inside him, and without being able to admit it, he’d told himself the truth would eventually come out on its own and justice would be done to him.

He’d been oh, so wrong.

Deeper and deeper gone in a spiral he had lost control on, he’d understood: the world would never offer him the recognition he was seeking in spite of himself.

The recognition he deserved.

Yes, his hero years had been mortally boring.

Last months, on the other hand, had been quite fun.

He had only needed a click. The Hero Association denied him the first rank. He was gonna take it by force. And he wasn’t gonna content himself by being first in their stupid ranking. He’d be the very first.

It had been an organized slaughter.

He hadn’t wanted to begin with the Hero Association HQ. He kept it for the end, on the contrary. Meanwhile, he had to build a suspense, a crescendo. He’d kept killing monsters and villains. But he had also started killing C-class on his way.

He remembered laughing in front of the lifeless body of Mumen Rider. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

At first, the Association hadn’t wanted to believe it. Disappeared heroes were considered killed in action. Simple, unfortunate collateral damages. According to official reports, Caped Baldy had been so focused on his fights he hadn’t been able to save them.

It was the beginning of the end, and they still managed to underestimate him.

They had asked his B-class colleagues to watch him. Saitama had carefully made them disappear in ambiguous conditions. It had amused him.

Still unaware of his real strength, A-class hadn’t hesitated to chase him. The Association hadn’t even needed to put a price on his head. They hated him, and were not afraid of him enough to avoid him. They had split in groups, had thought their number and strategies would make up for his surprising power. That guy was only human, after all.

The first open fights had proved them wrong. In daylight, not hiding anymore, Saitama had executed them without blinking an eye. And had, in the same time, ruined most of the city centres. He wasn’t interested in civilian victims, but there was something definitely enjoyable in not restraining his strength anymore. In really not thinking about the consequences.

That had finally forced the Association to react. Every S-class had been commanded to take part in the battle. Few of them had obliged. And all had come to regret it. This was how Metal Bat, Puri-Puri Prisoner, and even rank 1 Tatsumaki, amongst others, had disappeared, without glory and without a chance. And the last A-class heroes had scattered around, terrified. The Association had at last accorded him the God level threat status, and the remaining heroes had stopped coming dumbly to him on a silver plate. They were hiding.

That is when his hunt had begun.

This second phase had been most entertaining. He’d found an almanac under a bench, next to a kid’s corpse, probably killed by the shockwave of one of his punches or intoxicated by the smoke from the burning city centre. It has turned out to be very useful. He didn’t want to let any single hero behind.

He’d found most of the missing heroes out of pure luck, while running errands or going out to eat. He’d made sure of letting a few parts of the city intact so that he could keep on shopping, which he’d always liked. He’d even had a new cape made for him. More sinister than his original one. Closer to his current state of mind.

The number of urban centres having dramatically decreased, he’d found some of the remaining heroes in the last still habitable areas. And by torturing them just a little, he’d been able to track many others. Watchdog Man, Kamikaze, King were amongst them. King. The strongest man on Earth had been quite the disappointment.

He’d been surprised at how few they had been to hide in the countryside. Their so-called sense of honour had probably kept them in the cities. Or maybe it was the presence of their family and close ones.

At last, he’d had to face reality: he was reaching the end. There were only two heroes left, and they were undoubtedly stashed in the Association’s HQ. But Saitama was hesitating. Destroying it was supposed to be the apotheosis of his big game, something he’d been eager to do, but also something he was dreading. What then? What was he gonna do once his goal reached? Was he gonna reign on what was left of the world as a dictator? Attack the monsters that probably swarmed under the surface, not anymore daring to show up?

Saitama let out a sigh.

He’d been sitting on a pile of concretes in front of the Association HQ for a solid hour. He was facing the peak of his project, and suddenly felt bored. The excitement his new life had lit inside him was ultimately fading. He didn’t even want to finish his self-assigned job anymore. That would take him a few minutes, then he’d be alone to face his empty existence again. After all, what would it change to destroy the Association? It was already down. It wouldn’t ever recover.

Or maybe it would recover, and get back to him…?

Now that was an idea. Giving the Association a chance to heal. So that later on, he could start all over again. Getting himself busy waiting for it to reconstruct. That would take some time, but maybe that’d be worth it.

He only had to make sure the Association would reborn of its ashes. Would rebuild itself. That was uncertain, to say the least. He was afraid he’d scared it too much for it to seize any opportunity of striking back. How could he enhance it to start again after he put it to its knees?

A grin appeared at the corner of his mouth.

A hope.

He had to offer them a hope.

If he let a weakness show, if he let an open door, they wouldn’t be able to surpass their desire for revenge. They wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of making him pay for his treason and his ignominy.

Saitama stood up with a feral smile. He had to play comedy. To go in, begin his slaughter, then show himself getting tired, diminished. He had to make them believe it.

He could make it work.

His fist still stuck in an employee’s stomach, Saitama noticed with satisfaction Metal Knight’s presence in the offices. He’d just come out of a corridor and was now talking to him. Was proposing him a fight outside of the tower. How presumptuous. As if the idea of a duel with Bofoy’s distance-controlled robot were interesting enough for him to let go of the HQ.

And anyway, he was planning on keeping his public. An audience was essential to his plan. He needed witnesses. Here, inside, there were still some members of the administration, and more importantly, Saitama knew he was filmed, observed by the directors. So he began his play.

“I have a better idea. You attack me in the next ten seconds or I tear the entire building apart all at once.”

A twitch runs through the Association members still there, kneeled behind broken pieces of furniture, hidden under desks, shadowed in the corners of the room. As Metal Knight was seemingly hesitating, Saitama pressed the hero to come at him right here and now with a finger’s gesture.

The attack was dazzling. Saitama dodged slower than his usual, letting the hero brush him. Made a move as to strike back, touching his armour in the slightest, sent him to the wall without causing much damage. Metal Knight came back to him as fast as he could. Now was the time. Saitama subtly started to slow down, to hold even more back, to let himself get touched. He tried to control his face expressions, to look focused, then troubled. He avoided to be too obvious and to raise suspicion, and negligently killed some spectators, as if he hadn’t meant to.

He was astonished by the lack of reaction of the robot, which didn’t seem to make any move to go for the kill nor to save those Association members.

In fact, he didn’t even seem to give it his best shot. By intentionally letting his guard down, the former hero had expected to receive more hits than that. Perhaps even to bleed a little. He was letting openings wide enough for him to be at least punched once.

But none of this was happening. Metal Knight stayed strangely out of reach, without risking to approach him close enough to attack seriously.

Saitama frowned.

It didn’t make sense.

In such a situation, a S-class hero was supposed to risk everything. To give it all.

Was Metal Knight so afraid for his life he didn’t try to protect civilians?

Or… was he, too, hiding something?

Saitama froze, totally oblivious to the shots of the robot which didn’t seem to hit him.

He had almost forgotten: Bofoy wasn’t even physically in this armour. What could he possibly lose to give it his best shot? He had no reason to protect his bot, and didn’t seem to want to protect the employees either.

What was Metal Knight’s deal? None of his attacks seemed meant to kill him. It would probably have been impossible anyway, but why in the world didn’t him even bother to try?

It was almost as if he only wanted to… buy time.

The idea piqued his curiosity.

He resumed the fight with a closer look to his opponent. Yes, that was it. He refused to put his armour in danger, but not in fear of dying nor of being no longer able to protect the HQ. If he was keeping his robot as intact as possible, it was only to keep him busy. And the bald man, focused on appearing tired and weak, almost hadn’t noticed it.

A few more minutes of this duel and he finally observed that, when being given the opportunity, Metal Knight systematically placed himself in fight posture in the exact same spot. Right between himself and the corridor he came from.

Saitama let out a wild laugh.

He dodged another dash from the hero and sprinted towards that direction.

The corridor led to stairs going underground. Saitama hesitated, but Metal Knight’s reaction behind him, far more aggressive all of a sudden, confirmed his guess: he was getting close. To what, he didn’t know yet. But it promised to be interesting.

Ignoring the threats and provocations of the S-class hero, who was without a doubt desperately trying to stop him, he crashed the reinforced door that had appeared at the end of another corridor and paused. He was standing slightly elevated at the entry of a large room bathed in an intense, unnatural golden glow. The crème de la crème was there: Sitch, the beard guy and the glasses guy he had often seen in meetings when he was still a hero, the Child Emperor and… two old men in white jackets, one of which was presumably Bofoy himself. All of them had been caught while working, bent over humming, vibrating screens, monitors, consoles, machines that made the air warm and stick.

Upon the wall at the other end of the room was shining the source of that golden light, an irregular, vaguely circular shape seemingly not larger than a human’s chest, but its dark edges were slowly widening. The shape seemed slightly moving, the yellow colour was brightening until it reached a white-hot centre, and Saitama had to blink, a little blinded.

An order focused his attention back to the room.

“You all know what to do!”

Then everything went fast. The robot, which was coming from the tunnel, and the Child Emperor dashed towards him, while the three Association representatives rushed to a control panel on a wall near him, and the two scientists worked harder on their consoles. The bald man ducked to avoid Metal Knight’s charge – his combat style was decidedly not very original – and seized the Child Emperor’s head in both hands before crushing it to the ground. The boy didn’t get up.

The robot was on him again when a red, translucid, luminous wall erupted between them and the rest of the room. Probably in result of something the three Association men had done by pushing some levers appeared from seemingly nowhere. Curious, the former hero sent Metal Knight on this new obstacle, and wasn’t disappointed by the effects: the robot violently exploded, without anything passing the bloody veil, no metal debris nor flame. With a fierce smile, Saitama stood up from all his height and looked down to the five men remaining behind the barrier.

Sitch and the other two suited up guys were busying themselves without efficiency, on the verge of a panic crisis. One of the two scientists, frowned eyebrows and clenched jaw, was furiously typing on his keyboard: him, at least, looked like he knew what he was doing. Behind him, the luminous spot had reached a human’s size.

The last occupant of the room, white jacket, long teeth, was standing, stoical, and staring right into Saitama’s eyes. Apparently both nervous and confident.

Daring.

That is Bofoy.

The villain’s smile widened, more sincere. The last S-class was here, in his reach. He supported his glare without flinching, tranquilly undressed himself, and took two steps forward, going through the protection barrier as if it wasn’t there.

He heard a few gasps of stupor from the three Association administrators, but his glance stayed fixed on Bofoy, who had frozen, eyes wide, breathless. Like struck by lightning.

Saitama took advantage of the general confusion to crush his fist on the control panel in the wall, and the red curtain fell. He picked up his clothes, dressed up, and had only one jump to do to get close to Bofoy and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

His smirk could almost be heard in his voice as he asked:

“You thought you could stop me with a light effect, Metal Knight? I’m kinda disappointed.”

He didn’t let him the chance to answer and shot his clenched fist on top of his skull. He liked disfiguring his former allies.

The moment Bofoy’s inert body touched the ground, a cry shot out:

“Everything is lost! CANCELLATION PROCEDURE!”

Saitama observed, intrigued. It was the same voice than a few instants prior: it came from the last scientist. Sitch rushed to a terminal close to the shape on the wall, but was pushed aside by the two others.

“We can still do it!” growled one of them.

“NO! CLOSE THAT PORTAL IMMEDIAT—”

Saitama had gotten in movement. Had liquidated in a single gesture the three men who were dashing to the --

-- the portal?

Which was… getting smaller.

He turned to face the last living man. Examined him.

The guy had his grey hair gathered in an awful bowl cut. And a very big nose. Drops of sweat were running down his temples. He shot a fast glance to the console where Sitch was standing a few seconds sooner.

Saitama wasn’t sure he understood.

“Well, well, well… I guess you don’t have any intention of telling me what’s going on here.”

The old man opened his mouth, closed it, forced himself to answer, throat hoarse.

“C-Caped Baldy, sir…”

The mention of his former hero name made him lift an eyebrow.

“You really do wanna suffer.”

“I-I’m sorry!” he shouted. “Please pardon me! I… I did not mean to disrespect y--”

A hard grip tightened on his throat, keeping him from finishing his sentence. He lifted his hands to his neck, desperately trying to get free of this clasp. Suddenly he couldn’t feel the ground under his feet.

“Cut the crap. What were y’all doing?”

Saitama had kept his voice quiet and cold, holding the other in the air with all the care he was capable of. He needed the guy to breathe so that he could talk.

And he needed to avoid breaking his neck by accident.

The other man was taking jerky, painful breaths, his whole body was shaking, his hands were clinging to the red glove. His worried eyes went to the opposite wall once more.

Saitama followed his gaze. The portal, if that was one, was still shrinking.

What did that mean? He had no idea. But the Association had tried really hard to keep him far from this portal. Even now, the man in his hand looked like he wanted to slow him down.

He had to make a choice. Quickly.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to go and see for myself.”

He let the scientist down, who collapsed to the ground, breathing in sharply. He went to the wall at the end of the room. The golden light had dimmed, and still managed to dazzle him. The spot was reduced to half its previous size, but he could still pass through.

Only moments ago, he was wondering what to do with his life. Now, he was facing the unknown. And man, didn’t that sound fun.

He had taken his decision.

“What have I got to lose, anyway?”

He dove into the golden circle.

“NO!!!”

Dr. Kuseno’s cry rang out in the now empty, quiet room for a long time.

The enemy was gone. He’d had this damned carnivorous smile on his face while going through the portal, which had closed a moment later.

With difficulty, the doctor tried to sat up against the still hot computers in his back.

The sound of machines powering down one after another around him echoed the last spark of hope that had just been blew off inside him.

They had been so stupid.

He had been so stupid.

The Association, at first, hadn’t wanted to believe the rumour that said Saitama had turned bad. But Shibabawa’s last prediction was made not six months ago, and the hypothesis had been worrying enough for the direction to launch a secret program.

The doctor had joined the hero organization a few years sooner, while searching for the mad cyborg who had destroyed so many cities. He had decided to put his brains at the service of justice. And he had been chosen to be part of the confidential team.

He had been working in this lab for months with the Child Emperor and Metal Knight. Together, they had studied the crazy project of a time machine. If only they could go back to the time when Saitama wasn’t bad yet, try and talk to him, reason with him… Or maybe learn more about his power, find his weakness… Put him out of harm’s way, whatever it took.

Their experiments had led to something unexpected. Instead of a bridge in time, they had discovered a bridge between dimensions. The implications of that discovery were enormous. Maybe infinite. But they had no time to waste in theorical considerations.

Because that was all that mattered: to buy time. If they didn’t try anything, this world, their world, was doomed. The scientific team had to keep working somewhere safe. Out of reach of that God level threat. Maybe elsewhere, in another dimension, with all the time they needed, they would be able to come up with a way to go back home, to go back in time, to start it all over. To give themselves another chance.

Their science allowed them to create a portal to just a single other dimension, the closest one. It was risky. Maybe another Saitama was destroying that universe too. Maybe something even worse was happening there.

And even if that dimension miraculously was in a better situation than theirs, they would maybe, against their will, bring there their own Saitama.

But they were cornered. Terrified. So, they decided it was worth a try. They had organized defensive lines thanks to Metal Knight’s devastating technology. They had set up emergency stop protocols, just in case. Their portal wasn’t ready yet, but one day it would be, and that day they would have to be sure they could close it instantaneously.

They hadn’t expected the threat to come to them so soon. Saitama was done exterminating heroes of all classes and had entered the HQ. He’d been through every single defensive line without any difficulty. He probably hadn’t even noticed half the traps and devices that had been created to stop him.

The portal was finally ready, but it was taking some time to open. And, once Saitama was in the lab, it was already too late. They had to do as planned: had to install the last obstacle, which the Child Emperor and Metal Knight had both put so much work on; most of all, had to close the portal. To keep him from using it. At any price.

Yet, Kuseno had hesitated.

He’d wanted to believe in Bofoy’s last barrier. If it had been able to contain him, even just for a few minutes, maybe the team could have pass through the portal before it closed, before Saitama joined them…

That had been a terrible mistake. The threat had traversed the red screen as if it was nothing. Obviously. The portal was closing too slowly; he would have the time to take it. They needed to manually activate the urgency panel.

Sitch almost did.

If only the two Association morons hadn’t wanted to save their life so bad…

The doctor shook his head. He had, too, made errors. And it was too late, anyway.

Saitama had gone to this other world no one knew anything about. And he had a priori no way of coming back.

That he had survived didn’t bother him. That he finally had a chance to live in a destroyed, Saitama-free world was of no importance.

The other world was doomed.

And it was all his fault.

Chapter Text

The portal had closed behind him while he was discovering his surroundings. There would be no coming back.

Perfect.

Saitama had no trouble recognizing the place. He was close to the ancient A-city. Or rather, since the almost amusing alien attack, the Hero Association HQ.

He only had to walk along the road he was on to confirm his location. In front of him was indeed this good ol’ HQ in all its magnificence. In a definitely better state than the one he had just left. Well, he hadn’t totally ruined it, in the end; but he had still demolished the ground level for the most part just moments ago. And he’d wrecked the highways surrounding it much earlier.

He had an eerie feeling like he was looking into a mirror. A mirror that didn’t reverse the image of the world but instead showed him a reality that was no longer. That had not been for months. The past? Was that what the portal had been? An access to the past?

Saitama raised an eyebrow. How was that even possible? He’d never been an expert, but such a technical feat seemed unlikely. Still though… The HQ was there, unaltered, just like in his memories.

A green flash flew far above his head, heading towards the fortress. Not fast enough to cheat on his eyes. Tatsumaki. The S-class rank 1 used to travel by airs. So, she was still alive? When did she die again? He didn’t have good memory of his insignificant colleagues’ death dates…

He had to know for sure. He wanted to situate himself more precisely in time. He oriented himself with the Hero citadel and started running towards Z-City.

The place felt even more familiar.

Z-City’s ghost town, in which he had lived for so long, seemed to reappear straight from his past. Jumping from one building to another above empty streets, he couldn’t help but notice a few subtle differences. Hadn’t there been a crack in that sidewalk? … And here, I don’t remember demolishing this structure. Did it matter though? He couldn’t remember precisely the murder of most of his old comrades. He had never paid as much attention to his neighbourhood as he did now, and his memory had probably not remembered everything.

There was no doubt about it: this was his town. Still completely untouched by the chaos he had plunged it into. Just like it had been almost a year earlier, before it had become his very first playground.

Then…

Logically, he should be able to find his former apartment back.

The idea pleased him. He had abandoned it when he’d begun his uneven war against the Association. Not only abandoned: destroyed. Because he hadn’t needed it anymore: his fight, then his hunt had forced him to be always moving, and he had taken an unexpected pleasure in squatting in luxurious apartments at his will. Even when it had meant getting rid of its occupants.

Partly, too – and he had a hard time admitting it – because he hadn’t wanted to let the opportunity to a hero to demolish it. He had rather exploded it with one punch than taken that chance. One of his former colleagues could have destroyed it just to upset him.

Maybe it would have worked.

A light nostalgic smile flourished on his lips. Yeah, the idea of finding his old apartment was tempting.

He set off thinking about the state in which he would find it before he froze.

If he really had come back to the past…

Wouldn’t his apartment be inhabited?

Would he go and be left facing… himself?!

Eyebrows frowned, he crossed an arm on his chest and grabbed his chin in an attitude of reflection. If the world was exactly as it had been a few months ago, then his past version had to be there as well. Would that be a problem? Again, he wasn’t a science expert or whatever, but he had read enough manga and watched enough movies to wonder if he didn’t risk creating a… disturbance in the timeline. Was he gonna disrupt his current version of himself by meeting his younger self?

He knew he was burying his head in the sand with those questions. An excited shiver was going through him since the idea of meeting himself had crossed his mind. He couldn’t ignore it: he was dying of impatience. He had dreamt of finding someone whose strength would match his… What if that someone was himself?

At this very instant, nothing mattered more than confronting his past version. And if he had come back too early in time, if he had arrived at a moment prior to the peak of his training, then he would wait. Patiently. Calmly. Until his past self was ready. He was not any more interested in anything else than the prospect of a fight that would inevitably be thrilling. Perhaps even ultimate, if the other happened to have the upper hand, or if he happened to create a time paradox that would make him disappear.

But he knew one thing for sure: whatever the outcome of this duel, it would be worth it.

Sitting by his coffee table, immersed in the reading of his manga, Saitama was absentmindedly scratching his nose. The open balcony door in his back was letting enough air in to slowly brush his Oppai shirt against his skin. Weather was fine those days.

Genos had gone not an hour earlier, after answering a call from the Association. A demon level threat in C-City, nothing he couldn’t manage alone. Going there and coming back would probably take him about as much time as the struggle itself. And since Saitama had just bought the latest chapter of a manga he liked, his disciple had insisted on him staying home while he took care of the threat. He had even proposed to run errands on his way back.

The bald man had accepted more easily than usual. There wasn’t any particular sales today, and he enjoyed the calm of his apartment. Not that the cyborg’s presence bothered him, but a hot pot had been improvised at his place the day before and that had depleted his socialisation and agitation resources for at least 24 hours.

That’s why his shoulders tensed when he heard something landing on his balcony. Something heavy; someone, maybe. Certainly not Genos: that was very unlike him.

He laid his manga on the table and stood up with a sigh. Turned around.

Froze.

In front of him was… himself. Or, at the very least, someone who looked like him a damn lot.

For a second, he even thought he was looking at his own reflection. Nonsense: the door between them was open, and even if it hadn’t been, it was too sunny outside for the glass to reflect his image.

And then, Saitama noticed, they didn’t wear the same clothes. He was dressed in his lazy days’ short and shirt. The other guy was wearing his hero suit. No, not even that. Another suit. Similar in all respects, except for the high collar and the straightened top of the - darker - cape.

At last, he noted his expression. Which had quickly switched from surprise to satisfaction, when he, on the other hand, felt more puzzled.

The other seemed to notice his confusion and a toothy grin illuminated his face as much as it hardened it. His gaze lit up with a flame of excitation he had himself not often experienced.

Saitama was first to talk.

“Hi.”

In a tone that could have been that of his usual indifference, hadn’t it been for the hint of cautious interest in it.

The other’s smile widened.

“Hi.”

In a much more vibrant tone. Vibrant with energy, confidence, anticipation.

Another silence.

Finally, in that same vibrant voice:

“Feel like fighting?”

The question didn’t surprise Saitama. Straight to the point. That was obviously what the other was here for. He, however, wasn’t sure what he wanted. For once, he would have liked to ask questions. To talk. To understand. Who was the other? Where did he come from? How the fuck were they facing each other?

But he couldn’t deny the excited thrill that had ran down his spine at the other’s proposal.

He was curious as to where that guy was from. But, if he really was in front of himself right now, he had to admit he was way more curious about confronting his own strength.

He didn’t hesitate for long. His lips replicated the other’s wild smile.

“Just lemme put my suit on.”

The other nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be waiting in the street.”

His younger self disappeared in his bathroom, and Saitama knew he wouldn’t fly away. He had detected a strong interest in his expression. He would come.

He was going to go down the same way he had come up, but couldn’t help giving the room a circular look before leaving it. It didn’t exactly help him situate himself in time clearly. His apartment was about the same as in his memories. About. It was suspiciously clean when Saitama knew he hated cleaning things up.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed something more fundamentally irregular. Heh. He didn’t remember having ever had two futons in his house.

That would probably have intrigued him if his mind hadn’t already unfocused from his observations to project into the incoming fight. He shrugged and let himself fall on the street.

He did not have to wait for long: his other self soon jumped from the balcony to land a few meters away from him. The sight of his old suit made him smile. Some little modification wouldn’t be bad. Saitama was quite satisfied with the one he was wearing: an adaptation of the ancient one, which he had always sincerely liked, to his now more theatrical, tragical style.

The other was staring at him, and he held his gaze in silence. Between them was floating as much impatience as hesitation. Saitama didn’t feel like chatting, but he felt he had to break the ice. To lead the move.

“I didn’t remember having such a well-kept apartment ever. I suppose we are that bored these days, huh?”

The other raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer. He seemed almost… confused. Then his posture subtly changed into something more aggressive, and a determined smirk stretched his lips.

“I don’t know if you really are me, but I hope so”, he said. “Because I’m starting to get excited.”

Saitama sent him his smirk back.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Then he disappeared.

He took the initiative of the assault. With efficiency. In a split second, he rushed straight to the guy he thought was his past version, and braced his fist. It wasn’t impossible he was wrong, and the man in front of him wasn’t who he thought he was, in which case this fight would end as soon as it had started. And that would be incredibly frustrating, but at least that would be sorted out. He put enough power in his punch to take out a dragon level threat.

The other…

The other dodged.

And… crouched down to try and sweep his legs.

Despite his surprise, Saitama saw the move in time to counter it. He jumped to avoid the assault and sent his right foot towards the other’s skull. Who dodged again with a hastily retreat, lost his balance, recovered it with a roll back, straightened himself right away, alert.

Saitama was already on him. Was trying to hit him on the side. The other deflected the blow with one hand, which he clenched in a fist before aiming for his chest. The punch promised to be destructive. Saitama blocked it with both his forearms.

The violence of the impact made them both shudder, but none of them took the time nor the risk to dwell on it. They rushed back at each other, speeding up their hand-to-hand struggle in a confusion of blows and dodges which went increasingly faster. Saitama let out a frustrated growl: the other seemed to slip through his fingers, as well as himself kept on dodging his attacks.

His breath stilled when he saw, almost too late, a heel flying towards his ribs. He only managed to avoid it by a few inches and sent, almost randomly, a surprised punch to the other’s nose.

A blow that… connected.

The other muffled a cry of stupor.

Astonished, Saitama felt his face break into his most feral smile. I hit him. I made the first blow. It almost made him laug-

His chin was sent flying away under the shock of the other’s backhand, probably in an improvised counterattack gesture. Alarmed by the pain, he leapt back, more at attention than ever, before noticing the other had backed away too.

A few meters apart, they slowly straightened, staring at each other, looking intensely focused. The other reached for his nose. Mirroring him, Saitama reached for his lower lip. His gloved fingers came back stained with a dark, thick liquid.

Blood?

This time, he couldn’t hold back a frank, impressed laugh. There was no doubting it anymore. He was facing himself.

In front of him, the other seemed to come to the same conclusion. A red furrow was flowing from his nose. His eyes were burning with something close to what he was feeling. Surprise, but above all, interest.

A dangerous interest.

Morbid.

Chapter Text

Z-city's ghost town seemed to be utterly shaking.

There was no sign of life there, though. Well, except for two humanoid shapes moving so fast they were more of a blur, really. Seen from a distance, they seemed to flicker together in a choreography that was almost a dance. They were getting close, touching, separating, swirling around each other in light and dark flashes, wind going wild around them.

Each fall made the earth rumble. Each landing made asphalt crack. Each launch off a building left a concrete fissure. Steel protested, glass exploded, stone collapsed.

And in the midst of this cacophony, sometimes actual laughters could be heard.

Both Saitamas had realized they were able to hurt each other. That had changed the very nature of their fight. The first bloodshed had awakened something feral inside of them, something that had been buried deep down since the end of their training.

Something curious, excited, determined.

Something fun.

So, they had started to take more space. Their close quarters duel had taken on a grander scale - partly because they were both letting their imagination run wild in this oh so long awaited battle. The Saitama of this world hadn’t been able to suppress a surprised grin while dodging a whole fleet of thrown cars raining down on his position. The Saitama of the portal had genuinely laughed out loud while deflecting a lamp post bent like a boomerang that had been thrown at his neck.

Mostly because they both hoped they could strike a major blow whilst staying out of reach. In their long-range attempts to distract the other or to evade attention, both Saitamas were struggling to get an advantage over the other, either through the element of surprise or by gaining momentum for more powerful blows - blows that were systematically dodged or repelled by their opponent. No fresh scratch was added to those received in the first assault.

The only fallout from this tactical change was the destruction of the district around them. Here, water was spraying from a pipe that had burst; there, dust was settling from a building that had collapsed. But, all in all, the damages remained limited. Both Saitamas were holding back. Z-City was still standing, wasn’t it?

Unsurprisingly, this relative chaos ended up attracting someone.

And that someone had to be Mumen Rider.

He was finishing up his patrol in the city center when he heard a distant, ominous echo. He felt the ground tremble under his feet. And Mumen Rider, being the hero he was, didn’t think twice before riding his bicycle of justice towards the source of the commotion.

He stopped a few meters after entering the ghost town to analyze the situation. The end of the street was plunged into a cloud of dust, through which he could make out the faint outline of a pile of debris. Overhead, black smoke was rising to meet the horizon. Yet, despite all the wreckage, the area was dead calm.

A flash of yellow drew his eyes to the top of a nearby building. He had no time to take a closer look: out of nowhere, Saitama had materialized in front of him. Where the pavement had been intact a moment before, it was now split in half.

“… H-Hi!” Mumen greeted in a gasp.

“Yo. Mumen Rider, right?” asked the other hero. Saitama was observing him carefully, eyebrows slightly frowned, almost out of breath. His yellow outfit was scratched in some places. Some blood had dried under his left nostril. When Mumen nodded, he spoke again in a hurried tone: “You have to leave.”

“What’s going on? It’s a mess out here! Are you fighting a monster?”

The bald man let out a short laugh.

“You could say that. A kinda strong one.”

Was he… amused?

“Then you need all the help you can get,” Mumen said firmly. “I’m staying.”

Saitama’s face hardened again, and he examined the streets and the sky suspiciously.

Nervously.

“That’s nice of you, but I’m serious. Leave now. No offense, but you’re no match for this.”

Mumen Rider followed his gaze. Nothing seemed to be coming. Everything was silent around them. What exactly was he fighting?

He was about to ask Saitama when he felt a pressure on his stomach take his breath away. In the blink of an eye, he found himself across the street. He would have lost his balance if not for the other hero’s support, who waited for him to get his footing before letting go. Mumen turned to see the place where they stood a moment ago. The sidewalk had been pulverized by a crater, in which someone was straightening up – wait, not just someone –

“ Wha-?!”

“Go.” Saitama’s voice had regained its calm.

Mumen Rider’s gaze lifted from the silhouette that was facing them to the hero standing next to him. Saitama was looking at his – his opponent intensely, as if to prevent him from sliding out of his sight again. His features reflected intense concentration… and… was that the hint of a smile?

But who on Earth was th–

The other took a step forward, and Saitama charged him, both of them meeting a few meters away from Mumen Rider. The resulting shock rattled the C-class hero to his bones. He had little choice but to take his bicycle and leave.

He didn’t look back.

There was one thing he understood about what was going on, and that was that he was no match.

Saitama gave a satisfied nod when he saw Mumen Rider leave the combat zone. He could try and keep their fight further away; since it had begun, he had been carefully keeping the action confined to the far side of the ghost town, as far as possible from the inhabited parts of Z-city. But he was sure the only reason why his efforts were paying off was because the other let him do so. If he had wanted to attack Mumen Rider while he was still close, Saitama might have been unable to stop him. Now that the C-class hero had gone, the other would, at least, have trouble trying to find him. That was something.

He allowed himself to let out a relieved sigh before turning his attention back to his opponent. Their face-off had led them two streets further, where he had managed to escape an uncomfortable grip to take his distances. Once more, the other paused, a few meters away from him.

And, once more, he broke the silence.

“So! Standing up for your coworkers?” he asked in a light tone. When Saitama didn’t react, he went on. “The dude never really helped much, though.”

“Mumen Rider is a good man,” he answered with a shrug.

The other raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, guess you’re right. So what?”

“So what?”

“Since when does that matter? There are a bunch of good people. That doesn’t mean you’d lift even a finger for them.”

Saitama felt honestly confused.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

The other sneered.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’d have protected the number one brat, had she been there.”

“The brat…?”

“Yeah, y’know, the lil’ girl with green hair. The one who flies. S-class, rank 1.”

Saitama scratched his skull thoughtfully.

“I don’t really pay attention to all that ranking stuff, but I’m pretty sure she’s second. The first one’s a dude, from what I heard. Never saw him.”

The other him frowned.

“A dude…? I would have known… I know them all.”

What was that supposed to mean? Saitama didn’t have a clue. The other was deep in thought, mumbling to himself.

“He’d have escaped me? … No, nothing of the sort was in the hero catalogue...”

Then, turning his attention back on Saitama, he asked aloud, “What did you say his name was?”

“I didn’t. I dunno.”

The other swore, then resumed his grumbling: “And I thought… but no… the last hero in the world…”

A very bad feeling washed over Saitama. Voice sharp, he snapped: “What happened to your world?”

“… my world?”

His double’s face scowled even more under an obvious effort to process some thoughts. Then it lit up.

“Maybe… yes… not another time… but another place…”

He had just understood something of importance, that much was clear. As for the hero, he was still wading through complete ignorance. He was getting impatient.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I thought… - I went through a… portal, to get here” he started, eyes wide open, unfocused. “I thought… I believed it had taken me back in time. To several months ago, from the city’s general state. But what if… what if I were wrong?”

He made a motion to the damaged area around them.

“What if all of this was part of another world? Another… dimension?”

Saitama didn’t react to the hypothesis. Not physically, at least. Questions were jostling in his mind, each less sensible than the next. Was the other him coming from some kind of… parallel universe? Alternative reality? Was that even possible? It sounded like movie crap. But it would explain the similarities he shared with his double.

The guy was still talking.

“But everything looks so identical… Unless… this strange feeling back in the town… in the apartment… and Tatsumaki… yeah… that’d explain a lot of things.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Saitama’s voice had snapped, serious, sharp. It abruptly tore the other away from his meditation, causing him to almost jump out of surprise.

“What happened to your world?”

A silence fell between them. So heavy Saitama could feel its weight on his shoulders. So intense he found himself out of breath.

They stared at each other like this, tense, unmoving, for a while. Then, without the faintest emotion on his face, the other started talking in a monotonous voice.

He talked about training, triumph, power. About weariness, boredom, indifference. About feeling empty. Depressed. Alone.

Then he got excited, and his voice warmed up. He talked about an idea, an impulse, a purpose. He talked about a plan he had imagined, applied with care, made last a little longer by playing around. He enthusiastically painted a picture black as death, and red as blood.

Saitama refused to believe it.

… wished he didn’t believe it.

As the other talked, Saitama’s face turned paler and paler. No, this wasn’t true. This couldn’t be true. If the other was like him in the slightest, nothing of the sort could have happened.

But he had no doubt that it had. And despite everything, they were a lot alike.

The other’s speech made him feel sick. It was revolting, unthinkable. And yet… vaguely familiar. Saitama couldn’t deny he had been bored, too. He had felt isolated. Maybe still did, sometimes.

Dark thoughts he had been containing deep in his mind threatened to come to the surface. He shook his head as if to chase them away.

I’m not like him. I’m not him.

The other was still speaking, seemingly more to himself than to the hero. He was lingering on details, names, places. Suddenly it all made Saitama feel ill. It had to end.

“Do you ever shut up?” he interrupted.

The other went quiet, sending him a sharp glare.

“What I understand is you’re a crazy bastard. But you didn’t come here to chat, right?” Saitama grinned, but there wasn’t any humor in it.

The other forced out a laugh.

“Well said! I’ve never been the talkative type anyway. So, sweetheart, shall we go on?”

The fist that aimed for his jaw was quite a clear answer.

The fight started over, the ground resumed trembling, buildings resumed resonating with the sound of destruction.

But something had changed.

No laughter could be heard.

There was no time left for fantasies or provocations.

This time, things had gotten personal.

Genos hadn’t expected to find Z-city’s ghost town in such a state.

He had unsurprisingly dealt with the monster attack in C-city efficiently. The demon level threat had put up some resistance, but had hardly been a real danger to the cyborg. He hadn’t lost any limbs. Even his sleeveless shirt had remained untouched.

He had planned to get some groceries on his way back, but had frozen at the sight of columns of thick, black smoke rising from the area he was living in with Saitama in the distance. That was unusual. He had jumped from one building to another to get closer and have a better look at the place, and had noted the ruins that were scattered in that zone.

His sensei would never have let the neighborhood get that damaged.

After a short reflection, the cyborg had formed two theories. Either Saitama hadn’t intervened because he hadn’t been aware of the situation - he could have left the apartment while Genos had been away to attend a timed sale perhaps, even though none were advertised for today, or...

… Or his sensei was there, but was facing something he couldn’t contain.

Genos frowned at that. Everything was so quiet. Nothing that would let one think –

His eyes caught a movement a few streets further, as a building crumbled noisily.

Genos rushed in without thinking.

By the time he arrived, nothing was moving anymore. The street was empty. Yet he could hear the sounds of battle nearby. He followed them, but couldn’t pinpoint their origin.

No matter how fast he was, the fight that was clearly still raging was constantly just out of reach. He couldn’t even see the combatants. But he could hear the muffled noise of exchanged blows and the clatter of debris flung in all directions; he could feel the shockwaves of collisions and the tremors of landslides. He was close, so close…

Then, all went quiet again.

Genos arrived in a hurry to their last known position, according to his sensors. A cloud of dust was slowly dissipating, revealing a mound of rubble. There, slumped on the ground, sitting against the remains of a wall he appeared to have been flung into was..

… Saitama-sensei?

Genos froze, eyes wide, mouth ajar. He’d never seen his sensei in such a state before. He seemed… exhausted. Shoulders low, head down, one hand weakly resting on his bent knee. He didn’t show any signs of getting up soon. But he did lift his chin up, and met his gaze.

Saitama didn’t seem surprised to see him. He wore a tense, irritated expression. In his eyes, a furious gleam vaguely mixed with something akin to… worry?

And all this blood… abundantly flowing from a freshly opened wound on his forehead –

“Sensei!” shouted Genos anxiously as soon as his words found their way back to his lips.

“… sensei?” repeated a voice behind his back.

A cold, sinuous, utterly strange, yet familiar voice.

Genos turned abruptly, his body adopting a defensive posture, to face the man who had spoken. The man who was approaching.

This is not Saitama-sensei, his instinct immediately screamed at him. Odd, when the physical similarities were so obvious; but just as soon as the cyborg had recognized the features of his face and the lines of his silhouette, he had perceived what made him different. The costume. The dark circles. The look. The attitude –

“I don’t have you in my universe”, said the man darkly.

Everything in this silhouette inspired mistrust, radiated threat. Whoever the stranger was, he was the cause of his sensei’s bad condition. He, too, was bearing the marks of the battle: some blood had leaked from his lower lip, scratches and cuts were scattered across his cheekbones and skull; but all in all, he appeared to be in a better shape than Saitama. In a flash, Genos straightened, preparing for a fight. When he opened his mouth, it was to shout a fervent cry.

“I am Saitama-sensei’s loyal disciple! I would do anything for him!”

The stranger arched a brow out of disdain. And confusion.

“Anything? Why?”

In a flash, he was there, his face a few inches apart from the cyborg’s, his hand tight around his neck in an inescapable grip. Under the pressure, the plate of his jaw cracked.

“What makes you so special?” he asked, low, staring.

Unable to move, or even to look away, Genos could only gasp as he felt a hand brutally force open the plates of his torso, reach inside his chest, and seize the warm, vibrating sphere that was there. The core,suddenly ripped out of his body, flooded the area with a bluish light, highlighting the expression of his aggressor, accentuating the shadows of his frowned brows, reflecting on his clenched teeth.

“Are you the reason why this Saitama is still good?”

A ghost pain ran through Genos’ entire body. His energy levels were dropping at an alarming rate. By reflex, he loosely grabbed the fingers still stuck in his throat, but he knew very well any attempt at resistance was futile.

So he studied the other. His captor had eventually let his eyes slide down to stare intently at the now vulnerable core. His features had slightly softened. His gaze was lost in contemplation. He seemed almost… hypnotized.

Behind the cyborg came his sensei’s voice, stern, biting:

“Let him go!”

If the other had heard, he didn’t let it show. Caught in his observation, he applied a pressure, maybe involuntary, on the core, which began to crack with a sound of broken glass.

“Oi! Bastard!” shouted Saitama.

The other seemed like he had entered some kind of trance, as if carried away by memories that isolated him from the outside world. On his face were jostling shadows of past emotions, as if brought back to life.

The cyborg was striving to stay conscious, and, in that very instant, through barely open eyelashes, the differences between his aggressor and his sensei became more obvious than ever.

That clenched jaw was more emaciated than the one of the Saitama he knew. That forehead more creased with anxiety. Those lids more marked by fatigue.

Right then, perhaps from the proximity, perhaps from the contact of the other’s hand with his fractured core, Genos felt close to him, in an inexplicable, ineffable way.

The other glanced up in stupor to meet his gaze. The cyborg was struggling to form coherent thoughts, and, feeling himself gradually slip into the void, was desperately fighting to stay awake, but he could sense the aura that was coming off his opponent. He could read it in the tension of his shoulders, the sadness of his expression, the absolute black of his pupils.

He was lonely.

A wave of understanding washed over him and seemed to hit the other, pulling him out of his thoughts, leaving him dazed. He gave his double an astonished look. An envious look.

“What did you do?” he breathed, his attention back at Genos. “… that made it so different?”

The cyborg’s throat could not technically burn from the violence of the grip or from the lack of oxygen. His vocal chords hadn’t received any damage. His voice was hoarse nonetheless.

“I… I care about him.”

At those words, the other flinched as if he had been hit. He took a step back, releasing Genos’ neck and leaving him to flounder. His attitude became less threatening, and more offended.

“Where were you in my universe?!” he accused, rage in his posture.

One second later, an invisible force had thrown him several meters away.

Saitama had stayed leaning against the wall for a time that had seemed painfully long.

Endless.

After crashing onto the building, he hadn’t immediately got up. He had needed a break. Goddamnit, in those last attacks, the other had begun to take the upper hand, and he had felt exhausted. And even more pissed off. His double and him had both been on the edge since their little… talk.

Then Genos had showed up. There was nothing surprising in that. It would have happened eventually, one way or another: the C-city monster couldn’t keep him away for long, and he wasn’t the type to stay wisely out of trouble, especially not when his bloody sensei was involved.

That was why Saitama hadn’t even tried to send him away. The only thing that would have accomplished would be making Genos curious. He would have asked a thousand questions, and Saitama couldn’t afford to let himself lose his focus.

Well, not like it had kept the other from making a mess anyway. Saitama had suspiciously watched him getting closer, had hesitated to intervene. For a moment, he’d thought that, even in his universe, the other couldn’t have harmed Genos. That he wouldn’t go as far as to lay a hand on this one. Wrong. Stupidly, critically wrong.

When his asshole of a double had torn his disciple’s chest open, when he had ripped out his heart, Saitama had no longer dared to move.

He didn’t know a thing about robotics. He didn’t know if Genos really was in more danger than the hundreds of times his body had been dislocated or cut in half. He had no idea as to the consequences that damage to his heart could have – could this even be called a heart?

But he had no intention of discovering it.

And he had feared that, at the slightest movement on his part, the other would have a dangerous reaction, voluntary or not. After all, he held Genos’ core in the very palm of his hand. Out of spite, out of curiosity, perhaps out of surprise, he could so easily –

For the second time that day, Saitama had mentally shaken his head to clear his mind. He’d decided to stay still to avoid any risk that the other might cause irreversible damage to his disciple. But he had stayed on the lookout for the slightest opening in his behavior. The slightest flaw. The slightest weakness.

He had focused his attention on their… conversation for a long moment, but he hadn’t been able to keep from uselessly shouting at his double. He had forced himself to keep calm despite the awful sound of his disciple’s heart creaking and cracking in the claws of the other. Let this bastard give him an opportunity to intervene, just one! He wouldn’t miss it.

He finally noticed a change in the other’s attitude. While – speaking with Genos, he had become progressively unsettled; right now, he seemed on the verge of letting go of him. He was staggering. The hero was ready.

The other took a step back. His left hand released his grip. His fingers loosened around the sphere –

Saitama was already there. With one precise, calculated gesture, he took the core from the other’s palm to secure it in his own hand, then pushed his foot in the ribs of his double, who went crashing into a building at the end of the street.

The hero took advantage of the short respite he had just offered himself to support Genos and carefully replace his heart in his wide open chest. He roughly straightened one of the deformed plates to cover it. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for now. He eased his disciple down onto the pavement, then spotted his double who was laboriously getting up, and rushed to him with a newfound energy.

The whole operation hadn’t lasted more than a handful of seconds, and Saitama had regained control over the situation. Now he had to put as much distance as possible between Genos and his double. He had to give the cyborg enough time to recover and move away, maybe go to the lab, if he felt strong enough. He would find him back later.

Meanwhile, he had a mad son of a bitch to put in his place.

Who, this time, stunned by surprise, slowed down by painful ribs, battered by the hero’s relentless attacks, no longer seemed to show off.

Despite the anguish that had gripped him earlier, despite the tension that still stiffened him, despite his wounds and bruises, Saitama suppressed a feral grin.

Chapter Text

For the first time since he'd crossed the portal, Saitama wondered if he'd made the right choice.

Nothing in his old world was amusing him anymore, but at least he'd been safe there. Here, facing his poor-excuse-of-a-hero double, he wasn't sure he could -

He shook his head furiously and swore.

"Focus, damn it! The other can't be very far. You know what's gonna happen if you let yourself be surprised again..."

He winced as he reached for his sore side. Under the suit, his skin was probably bruised like it hadn't been in years. In fact, it wasn't impossible he got cracked ribs, judging by the ache that didn't go away.

A curse escaped through his clenched teeth. The other hadn't been joking around. And, even while he hadn't been able to land any other devastating hits after that, he still had the upper hand in their fight.

Saitama was trying his best to give him a hard time: he was fighting like a tiger, his strenght magnified tenfold by the sheer rage boiling inside him since the intervention of the cyborg. Actually, his double was seemingly overwhelmed by his emotions as well: his blows would sometimes become sloppy, when he had fought with so much precision a few moments prior; he would sometimes let his guard down, when his defence had seemed flawless before. There was a change of pace in the struggle: the surprise and curiosity of the beginning had given way to wild, blind, relentless violence. Things were getting out of control.

And yet, no matter how big the mistakes of his double were, Saitama couldn't take advantage of them. No matter how many wounds accumulated on the hero's body, he received twice as many. No matter how distracted the other might seem, he was completely disturbed.

At least, disturbed enough to encourage himself out loud.

"If you keep this up, you're gonna lose, buddy. Find this good-for-nothing and-

A noise alerted him, and he looked up in time to see the other was falling on him. He managed to dodge without difficulty. Torn away from his mumbling, Saitama tried to think. Had his double been more discreet, the attack would probably have connected, but he was growing too impatient. As if he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Which made him easier to read... If you stay focused, understood, egghead? Saitama admonished himself.

While his double was straightening up, he tried to get him off balance by hitting his knee, without success. Despite the fatigue that slowed him down, the other was still quick to react, and managed to avoid the charge with a leap backwards.

The fight resumed in a series of imprecise and nervous blows. Saitama tried to get his shit together, to force himself to concentrate, to focus his entire attention on his opponent; but a particularly clumsy move from the hero was all it took for him to get distracted again, and he couldn't help but internally smirk, mocking: Not great, for someone who's supposed to be a "master". What the hell can he teach his so-called disciple?

And yet, the cyborg had defended his double without the slightest hint of hesitation. The memory imposed itself on his mind in a flash, sharp and implacable, and Saitama saw him again, that robot with golden eyes, all determined face and hostile attitude, separating the intruder and the hero with his body: he would have fought for him. And he probably knew he didn't stand a chance - and the other hadn't seemed surprised, had seemed to find all this normal - but why -

Saitama's train of thought stopped abruptly as a closed fist sunk into his stomach. The pain twisted him in half, oxygen left his lungs, and the ground slipped under his feet.

He crashed heavily several hundred metres away and stayed down, hand tight on his stomach, trying desperately to catch his breath. It took him several long minutes to be able to manage inhaling short gasps. Only then could he get back on his feet, but he was doubled-over, arm pressed against his ribs, breath wheezing. He looked up, checked the distance that separated him from the top of the crater his fall had just dug, and laboriously climbed the rubble to the street.

There, he had to stop for a while, worn out and out of breath.

Everything was quiet around him. The air was clear. The sky was tinged with a reddish glow.

The other was nowhere in sight.

Saitama only hesitated for a split second. He wouldn't be up to no good anymore today. For now, he needed to rest - and to heal.

He took in a deep and uncomfortable breath, turned on his heels, and silently vanished into the last intact streets of the area.

Perched on what had once been a balcony, Saitama watched the shape of the other disappear into what was left of Z City's ghost town.

Behind the few buildings still standing, the sun was setting. Their fight had lasted all day.

Saitama stood still for a moment, expression gone blank, contemplating the debris beneath him, bathed in bright pink glow.

Then, with a sigh, he carefully straightened up, and went to seek Genos.

He soon found him sitting on a sidewalk, leaning against a pile of rubble. He was talking quietly with Mumen Rider, seated next to him, and Saitama would have smiled if he hadn't been so tired. The C-class hero really never gave up.

Mumen Rider was the first to turn at his approach. With a hasty movement, he got up and ran in his direction, nearly stumbling in his haste.

"Saitama-kun! Are you alright?"

He didn't answer immediately, which seemed to worry Mumen, because he examined him with a frown.

"You've been struggling all day... You must be exhau-"

" 'm okay, Mumen, thanks," Saitama interrupted with a tired gesture of the hand. His whole body was betraying his weariness, except for his gaze, fixed attentively on his disciple: "What about you, Genos? How are you feeling?"

The cyborg stiffened as if to get up, and answered in a tone that was meant to be reassuring, but didn't sound any better than that of his master.

"My energy levels are low, but I'll be fine."

Actually, he seemed to be doing pretty well. Saitama had feared to find him unconscious, or... - more severely damaged. He was relieved that Genos could at least talk and move. The gaping hole in his chest had been covered with bandages, probably thanks to Mumen Rider.

Who had picked his bicycle back from the wall against which he'd placed it.

"I don't know where you're heading, but I can carry one of you on my bike. Or you can borrow it, if you'd like?"

Genos stood up with effort.

"Thank you, Mumen Rider, but I can walk. Luckily, our apartment was spared in the fight, and it is not very far away. We can -"

"We're not going home."

"Sensei?"

Saitama grabbed his chin thoughtfully.

"The apartment's untouched, I noticed, too. And I don't think that's a coincidence. Either the other wants to move in or he hopes we'll go back. In both cases, I'd rather avoid checking."

He took me by surprise by showing up unannounced the first time. It won't happen again. I won't give him the opportunity.

He straightened his shoulders with a resolute look.

"Genos, you may be able to stand up, but you need care. I'll walk you to your doctor's. Then I'll go to the Association HQ. I have to inform them of what's going on.

He didn't say it, but these were the only two places he thought were safe for now. If Genos didn't exist in the other's world, then his double probably didn't know about the lab. And, in his diminished state, he wouldn't risk attacking HQ without knowing where Saitama was.

Mumen Rider took a step forward and displayed his most determined expression.

"I'm coming with you. You seem worn out, both of you. Who knows what can happen on the way?

Saitama nodded: it was better for the C-class hero to stick with them. As long as the other was walking the streets, no one was safe. Certainly not Mumen Rider.

Sitting on a metal bed, blinded by the cold halogen lights, overwhelmed by the smell of disinfectant and surrounded by sterilized instruments, Saitama was unable to remember when he last set foot in a hospital.

He hadn't missed it.

He and Mumen Rider had gone their separate ways when they arrived at HQ. For more than an hour now, an Association nurse had been busy treating him. He had first taken a close look at his wounds, satisfied himself that they were "clean" - whatever that might mean - and had tried to stitch up his injuries. In vain. Needles and staples bent and refused to pierce the hero's skin.

So the nurse had resigned to bandaging all the affected areas. The left thigh, the abdomen, the right shoulder, the top of the skull - if he kept going like that, Saitama would end up looking like a freakin mummy.

But the man worked with great care, Saitama had to give him that, and he didn't feel strong enough to protest. As the nurse's work dragged on, the hero, respecting his silence, let himself slip into his thoughts.

It had been a hell of a fight. Saitama hadn't been so exhausted - or damaged - in years. He'd wanted to find that feeling of excitement back so much, the adrenaline, the satisfaction he had been lacking since the end of his training! And he hadn't been disappointed: the other had been up to the task. The thought brought a smile to his face. For the first time for what felt like forever, he had felt something, and he'd been able to show off his real power. He had bled, and he had drawn blood. The other had taken it all, and pushed him to give it all. He had hit, dodged, parried, counter-attacked, tried, failed, tried, succeeded... and the other had fled. It counted as a victory, right?

He felt a pull in his stomach and his smile faded, replaced by a concerned expression. Since the moment he'd laid eyes on his double, a balloon of anxiety had gradually formed in the hollow of his abdomen. He'd managed to ignore it thus far, but it wasn't dissipating. A tumult of emotions had begun to grow and rumble somewhere under the surface of his usual indifference: a swift and coursing stream that he feared he could not control, that he'd tried to keep isolated, but that threatened to pierce, submerge, ravage everything in its path; a whirlwind of informed questions, started but never completed, repeated over and over again in an unconscious part of his mind - and there, sitting in the infirmary, finally taking time to think about the events of the day, Saitama could no longer repress the clear and irrevocable question that was forced into him: now what?

What was next? Another version of himself had emerged from a parallel universe; a crazy version, possessing his strength but strongly divergent from his ideals, his convictions - or was he? - Saitama shook his head, forced himself to concentrate. The other was different from him, different enough to have been able to destroy everything in his home world, different enough to appear unpredictable and represent a danger.

Things were looking pretty bad. His double seemed to be only interested in him and their struggle, but for how long? If he got tired of Saitama, he could end up harming other heroes, maybe even civilians. If, on the other hand, Saitama refused to fight, the other would probably try to coerce him, and the result would be the same.

Either way, he would have to fight. But until when? Would they fight to death? They now knew they could hurt each other, but could they kill each other? Could they even die?

A heavy sigh escaped his chest that did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was gnawing at him. He had no idea what to do.

When he'd arrived at HQ, he had asked to see the boss with the big nose - Stitch? - and had asked him to arrange an emergency meeting. All S-class heroes had been summoned for a meeting the next day. Maybe, then, a lead would appear. Maybe, with hindsight and external advice, the situation would become clearer.

Until then, Saitama needed rest. The nurse had soon finished wrapping him in miles of bandages, and he could settle in an empty room at HQ to go through the end of the night.

It only took him seconds to fall asleep.

Genos woke up after a full night of dreamless sleep.

More precisely, after a night of programmed unconsciousness, this familiar state in which Kuseno plunged him for the heaviest or most delicate repairs.

The latest instance was more of the latter. When he arrived at the professor's, he had only suffered relatively limited material damage. And for good reason: he hadn't been in a fight. Not really.

The operation had not exactly been complex. After changing the broken plate of his cheek, Dr Kuseno had revealed a series of similar cores, each combining the best results of his most recent tests, and he had replaced the damaged, defective nucleus as if it had been any other mechanical part of his body. As a precaution, he had also reinforced his chest plates, and connected subsidiary autonomous energy sources near his brain, which were less powerful than his core, but would be able to temporarily take over, should a similar situation show up again. Even with these additional modifications, the procedure hadn't lasted more than an hour.

And yet, the scientist had seemed concerned. He had firmly insisted on putting Genos offline, and had only woken him up the next day, imposing on his body an entire night's rest, and almost all of the following morning. Much more than necessary, in the cyborg's eyes. He had almost not seen the Association's message in time.

An special meeting was being organized for in the early afternoon, undoubtedly related to the events of the previous day. The presence of all S-class heroes was urged.

After telling his tutor that it was necessary for him to go to the HQ and promising to return as soon as possible to keep him informed, Genos left the laboratory running at full speed.

When he entered the large conference room, he was early. Strangely enough, about ten men and women in suits occupied seats grouped at the end of the table. They were talking in tense, hushed voices, busy with files and computers: probably managers of the Association. A few heroes were waiting, scattered around the rest of the table, comfortably walled up in arrogant silence, pretending to ignore the employees who were watching them in turn. Among them, he recognized Child Emperor, Atomic Samurai, Drive Knight and Watchdog Man. Saitama wasn't there.

All he could do was wait, so he imitated his colleagues and took a seat.

It didn't take long for the room to fill up, S-class heroes arriving one by one, sometimes exchanging a brief greeting, and tongues began to loosen among their ranks. Silver Fang expressed his surprise about the presence of civilians, Metal Bat frankly stated his displeasure at being called for yet another secret meeting, Zombieman muttered something about a waste of time. Some chairs remained empty - notably, unsurprisingly, those of Blast and Metal Knight.

The conversations stopped when the door opened on administrator Sitch, who was immediately assaulted by numerous questions. He silently went to the place reserved for him, and in the doorway he had just left, Saitama appeared.

Genos watched his master take place in one of the last free seats, face neutral. His presence drew a few vaguely surprised glares without diverting the general attention from the head of the Association. It wasn't the first time he'd invited himself in a class S meeting, and no one bothered to dwell on him.

His disciple was the only one to notice he was limping.

Aware of the growing curiosity and irritation of the gathered participants, Sitch quickly took the floor, silencing the room. He opened the session with a greeting Genos didn't hear, too focused on his master. He was wearing loose-fitting, neutral clothing that he'd probably been lent. The scratches on his face appeared to have closed but had not yet healed. The line of his shoulders betrayed a discreet but real tension. Even his posture was stiffer than usual. He was glancing around the assembly with a concerned frown. When his eyes met Genos, however, his features relaxed noticeably. The two heroes greeted each other in a nod before turning to the administrator, who was getting to the heart of the matter.

"... exceptional situation, which requires our full attention. But I am not the most qualified person to talk about it; in fact, I am not the one who initiated this meeting. You may remember Saitama, currently B-class hero?"

"The baldy?" Tatsumaki spat without deigning to look in his direction.

"I hope it's a joke," Atomic Samurai called out without letting go of the straw he was holding between his teeth.

"This case seems very serious, I'm afraid. As you certainly know, Z-City's ghost town has been completely destroyed yesterday. The area was uninhabited, but we fear that the responsible for this destruction may prove to be a real threat. We need to know exactly what this is all about. Saitama, would you please?"

The hero held his apparently quiet position and spoke in an equal tone.

"I fought... an enemy, says he comes from some kind of parallel universe. The thing is, he's really tough. He ran away, but when he gets better, he'll come back. And he might come after something other than an empty area. I'm not sure I can contain him for long. I need to know how to send him back."

"A B-class fights and doesn't win, and we should worry about the strength of his opponent?" Flashy Flash giggled.

"The opponent in question left the neighbourhood in very poor condition," Sitch replied. He nodded to a close employee, who projected glimpses of the ruined town on the table, and continued: "Our drones took these images early in the morning."

"It looks like A-City after the alien attack," Puri-Puri-Prisoner breathed.

"Who else was on the scene?" asked Metal Bat, pissed. "I was in the area, but no one told me about a fight."

"The hero Mumen Rider submitted a report last night. He testifies that he saw this enemy and could do nothing. He also explains that he decided not to call for reinforcements to avoid, I quote, 'more heroes getting injured, or worse'."

The declaration raised a flood of protests.

"Injured?!"

"We're talking about the hero who practically lives in the intensive care unit, right?"

"Bullshit! Send me into retirement, while we're at it!"

Tatsumaki's voice rose above the others, contemptuous.

"And may we know what this famous enemy looks like?"

Sitch turned towards Saitama with an embarrassed movement. The hero simply said:

"It's me."

A bubble of surreal silence formed around the room. He took the opportunity to make a clarification.

"I mean, it's my double. A version of me, from his own dimension. Stuff like that."

The bubble exploded. The Association's executives questioned each other aloud, called out to Sitch from the other end of the table, raised their hands and shrugged their shoulders in confusion. The heroes all talked over each other, each expressing their disdain, scepticism or anger: some burst out with a mean laugh, others sounded offended and angry enough to outright argue. Sitch was trying to restore calm without achieving any results. Genos, perfectly still, was boiling with contained rage. No matter how much he admired and supported his master, bringing the S-class together had been a bad idea. This session was counterproductive. And Saitama was standing there, not reacting to any provocation, as if lost in thoughts...

In the middle of the commotion, a strange noise arose. A steady beat, rumbling in a loop with intensity, more audible as the conversations faded one after the other. All eyes turned to the source of the roar, and the sound was identified.

King's engine.

Intimidated or surprised, all went quiet.

"King-san, do you... do you really believe that?" asked Superalloy Darkshine shyly after a while.

"Believe what?" Atomic Samurai mocked. "That there are parallel dimensions? Or that the evil double of a second-rate hero is a real threat?

"Saitama-sensei is much stronger than any of us," cut Genos dryly.

"Says his disciple," Child Emperor countered.

"I agree with Demon Cyborg, too."

It was Silver Fang's voice, serious and sure. For a moment, most of the assembly seemed shocked into a stupor.

"I had the opportunity to observe his physical abilities closely," Bang continued. "If there exists someone of his level with bad intentions, the situation is alarming."

"I agree," King announced firmly after recovering. "His warning should not be taken lightly."

An uncomfortable silence followed. No one seemed to know what to think anymore. The story was grotesque, but the support of these heroes had weight. Who would dare to question the words of such famous characters, even among the S-class? Maybe this whole thing was worth thinking about. Tatsumaki herself gave in with an exasperated snap of her tongue.

"Fine! Let's say there is an enemy too strong to be defeated - I don't believe it even for a second, but whatever. How do we send him back where he came from?"

"He can't come from a place that doesn't exist," Metal Bat grumbled. "This fucking alternative universe, it's straight out of sci-fi."

Pallid, Child Emperor let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Maybe not..."

He was staring at a fixed point, as if he was alone in the room. When he noticed he was the center of all attention, he developed with a sigh.

"I've been doing some... research, in partnership with Metal Knight," he explained. "Recently, by accident, we came across something completely new. Completely... incomprehensible..."

Eyes lost in the void again, immersed in his thoughts, he did not continue. Around him, heroes and employees alike stirred in their seats, both uncomfortable and intrigued.

"You mean... it wouldn't be impossible?" Zombieman whispered, as if to himself.

"Why doesn't anyone ever tell us this kind of thing before disaster strikes?" complained a manager at the other end of the room.

"What does it mean?" asked Master Marcel, before turning to Sitch. "What do we do now?"

The administrator was pale, but remained pragmatic.

"I think more research is needed. Child Emperor," he called for his attention, "We will assemble a scientific team to assist you and Metal Knight in your studies. In the meantime, we must prioritize. Until we know more, civilians are in danger. How can we protect them?"

Genos realized the question was addressed to Saitama when no one answered. Lost in thought, the hero was perfectly unaware that he was, once more, the target of all eyes. Eyebrows frowned, he was imperceptibly moving his jaws, as if he was nervously chewing his lips. Genos cleared his throat before gently calling out to him.

"Sensei?"

Pulled out of his reverie, he regained his indifferent expression and answered the question, which he had apparently heard.

"Outside the cities," he said in a serious tone. "The other won't expect it. Anyway, he won't know where to search."

"This is ridiculous," protested an executive Genos had never seen before. "We have built several dozen high-security shelters in all major cities in the last few years. It would be stupid not to use them, especially -"

"These shelters will not be effective in protecting civilians," cut Genos. "I myself have been able to create a rift in one of them, and we are talking about someone with capabilities infinitely greater than mine."

Too busy shooting the employee a murderous glare, he didn't notice the vaguely annoyed glance Saitama shot him then.

"But building new shelters in the countryside?" insisted the man. "With what means? And in what time? We don't even know if the... the double, or whatever he is, is planning on attacking the population."

"This is a possibility that must be considered," sighed Sitch. "In the event of an attack on a city, we must be able to evacuate the population effectively while the crisis is being handled. However, we may not have to start building shelters similar to those we have already developed. Given the short time available and the limits of our resources, the best approach could be discretion."

Silver Fang nodded approvingly.

"I agree with that. It isn't necessary to build strong protections, as long as the enemy doesn't know where the hideouts are. Farms and hangars would attract little attention. What is necessary is to provide food for civilian groups until things settle down.

The meeting was finally taking a constructive turn. Several speakers proposed suggestions, not always relevant, but allowing the conversation to move forward. Most participants still seemed cautious, but no one questioned the threat anymore.

To Genos' great discomfort, other ideas were discussed about how to deal with his sensei's double. Someone insinuated that sending him back to where he came from would not prevent him from coming again; several suggestions were made about a way to make him harmless, permanently. There were proposals of surprise attacks, coalitions, viruses, poisons. Saitama was openly asked about his weaknesses, in order to take advantage of them. With his usual, disarming calm, he replied there was none that he knew about, but accepted to take part in all required experiments. Without realizing it, the cyborg clenched his fists so tightly he damaged his hands.

In the end, several decisions were made. On the one hand, and as an absolute priority, the Association would establish a network of hidden shelters scattered throughout the countryside and easily accessible for supplies. In order to protect civilians properly, all its members, both heroes and employees, would be provided with an alarm GPS directly linked to Saitama. At the slightest sign of the double, everyone was to immediately activate it, and thus warn the hero without having to go through the Association's communication centre. On the other hand, a scientific committee would be urgently convened under the direction of Child Emperor to further research on the other dimension and how to access it. In parallel, a team of doctors would be in charge of studying Saitama's particular anatomy. In theory, a weapon effective on him would also be effective on his double.

After several hours of discussion, the meeting was closed.

Saitama was sitting at the top of one of the HQ towers, his legs dangling in the void, watching the sun go down once again.

The day had gone by at a crazy speed. After the meeting he'd requested had ended, the technical team had briefed him on the kind of phone they were developing for him. A beacon permanently connected to those of the other members of the Association, which would allow it to receive emergency calls and locate them accurately.

Then the nurse asked to examine his injuries. He had wanted to change the bandages, and had been surprised at the progress already visible on the surface. Where the hero had received the most violent blows, the skin was coloured, but the wounds had closed. Superficially, he seemed almost recovered from his confrontation with his double. But by trying a few movements, he still felt a very clear discomfort in some places, sometimes even a sharp pain. And, overall, he felt exhausted, his muscles torn apart by the intense physical efforts he had made the day before. He would be unable to fight to the best of his ability for a few more days.

And that was the amount of time he was asked to stay in HQ. Less for his personal health than to give the Association time to study and provide him with equipment considered adequate should the other reappear.

Genos was gone. He had promised the professor to come back to him, and intended to encourage him to join the scientific group in training. It was a good idea. Obviously.

Saitama had offered to accompany him, but his disciple had declined. His sensei needed rest, he argued. And the other would probably not risk leaving the place where he was recovering anytime soon. He had no way of knowing the position of Kuseno's lab anyway. Saitama had not been able to protest. Genos was right. Of course he was.

A metallic sound rose in his back, evoking the opening of a hatch, and footsteps approached. Someone stopped a meter from him. He recognized King without having to look at him.

"I was looking for you. I thought maybe you'd like some company," he said softly.

He nodded, and King sat next to him.

They stayed there, in silence, watching the night that was gradually falling. Twenty-four hours earlier, Saitama had let his double escape and watched him walk away in the evening light. Tonight, he was wondering if he'd made the right choice. At this stage of their fight, he'd had the upper hand. Maybe he should have pursued him. Maybe he could have killed him, he probably should have tried. He should have-

"Do you wanna... talk about it?"

Saitama let out a long sigh.

"What am I supposed to do?"

His tone was even, but he seemed lost. He wasn't talking about the procedure decided a few hours earlier, and King understood it for what it was.

"You'll do whatever you can," he offered gently.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Saitama corrected, pulling himself together. "This guy is a public menace. We can't trust him. We have to stop him before he decides to freak out."

He had spoken in a strong voice, but hadn't been able to hide a troubled expression. He hadn't convinced the other hero, he could feel it, so he turned away, as if to close the conversation.

"You're not him," said King after a moment.

Saitama wished he could act surprised. Pretend he didn't understand what he was talking about. Or react as if he'd said something obvious. But the statement reflected one of the questions that kept spinning in his mind, so he just whispered:

"How can you say that?"

And King had never seen him so vulnerable.

"You said he's from another dimension," he developed. "For all we know, there might be an infinite number of versions of each of us, including you. But all of them are necessarily different. You may share the same DNA, but you have not experienced the same things, and you have not made the same choices. You don't know much about him, but you know who you are. And, whatever happens, you're not him."

Saitama didn't say a word for some time, looking at the horizon again, expression neutral. Then, he turned to the hero.

"Thanks, King."

King nodded and, feeling he needed to be alone, left him.

Saitama stayed sat on the roof long after the sun had set and the stars had begun to shine.

Chapter Text

Saitama quietly crossed the gate that surrounded the ghost town.

For the first time in a week, he was leaving the neighborhood of his former apartment. The weather was fine, and he could feel the sunlight gently warm his face. He could hear the sounds of cars and people coming from downtown, and it seemed close enough. Saitama took a deep breath and let a smile stretch his lips. He was in a very good mood.

He started to walk, and didn’t have to go too far to get attention. Around him, passers-by were turning around, conversations trailing off, glances becoming stares. After a moment's hesitation, someone recognized him with a frightened scream and flew away, followed by a few others, and soon the whole crowd was panicking and running. It wouldn't take more than a few seconds for the street to be empty.

Saitama was impressed by such an instant reaction. He hadn't expected to be identified so quickly. Amused, he watched the terrorized civilians flee without making the slightest attempt to catch up. He counted on their escape, or, more specifically, on the countdown it would trigger.

Without bothering to take a run-up, he jumped to perch on top of a building. Prepared to wait, he sat down comfortably, his legs swinging in the void. In a gesture that was becoming more of a habit, he rolled his shoulders and stretched his back and ribs, nodding contentedly when no trace of discomfort came up. After a week's rest, he finally felt like himself again.

Resigned to smooth over the waiting, he had just distractedly grasped a pebble when a muffled noise came from behind his back. Things were decidedly moving faster than he had imagined.

Saitama greeted the newcomer without bothering to turn around.

“You’ve been quick,” he said in a conversational tone.

“I wasn’t far,” answered his own voice behind him.

He braced himself on his hand and stood up casually to face his double. So he already was in the vicinity… Had he made a deal with that damned Association to keep an eye on him? With a critical eye, he studied him from head to toes. Unsurprisingly, the hero seemed just as recovered as he was.

“So, what’s new since last time?” he asked cheerfully. “Feeling good?”

“You could say that,” answered the other flatly. Saitama’s smile widened.

“Of course, when you hide in HQ…”

He expected his double to deny – or, perhaps, confirm – his collaboration with the Association. Instead, the other’s blank face cracked with a petty grin.

“Speaking about hiding, how does it feel to be back home at the apartment? Well-kept enough for ya?”

Bastard. The satisfied expression on Saitama’s face turned into a grimace. So he’d been under surveillance alright. While he was recovering, he had moved back into his old apartment, because… because it was as good a landmark as any other. And when he’d been back, the truth had been obvious: his double didn't live there alone.

And he had a guess as to who the roommate was.

He shook his head, determined not to let himself get distracted by the cyborg like last time. Even though the other was playing provocative, he had probably made sure to keep his roommate away today. That was a good thing.

Saitama let his gaze wander over the deserted streets at his feet, and conspicuously dropped the conversation.

“Looks like it's just you and me now.”

His double, apparently in a better mood, accepted the change of subject with a fierce smile.

“About time!”

Saitama mirrored his grin. There was the spirit he’d hoped to find back. Oh, today was gonna be fun.

Soon, there would be nothing left of Z-City.

The hero and the renegade had resumed the fight. This time, their struggle extended beyond the ghost town and spread to the entire city. Fortunately, the crisis meeting had allowed the Association to prepare for this eventuality, and the citizens had been effectively evacuated out of the city. The buildings, streets and neighborhoods that collapsed were totally empty. If it made the hero feel relieved, he didn’t say anything about it. If it made the renegade feel disappointed, he didn’t show it either.

This desolate backdrop turned out to be an appropriate arena for the two opponents. This world’s Saitama could, for once, loosen some of his control over his power without worrying about the consequences, and he caught himself finding it quite amusing. Portal Saitama, on the other hand, was delighted to have proper buildings to destroy again, and to finally meet some actual resistance.

Far from the conflict zone, the majority of the Association personnel had gathered in its HQ. They were observing the fight thanks to dozens of drones deployed on the spot. Several heroes were watching the live feed there too, those who had not been sent to District Z to help hide the civilians. In their laboratories, scientists from the research teams were trying to analyze what they could see on the various screens, but they were gradually going black as the cameras were getting destroyed.

What everyone was witnessing was surprising them more and more. Almost a week earlier, each of the members of the Association had been informed of the situation by an emergency call, but the reality of the threat had been difficult to grasp. How could one man alone cause such alarm at the highest levels? Now, faced with the violence of the images before their eyes, they were beginning to understand. The human shapes that they could sometimes make out on the screens were undoubtedly the only ones responsible for the chaos in which Z-City was plunged. The scourge was, at best, a dragon level. At worst...

“Tsk,” hissed Tatsumaki when one of the Saitamas crossed the range of a camera.

Her help had not been requested in the evacuation of the city. Worse: she had been asked to stay at HQ. She had taken up residence in one of the surveillance rooms, obviously very upset. No one dared to approach her, or even look at her, and the employees around her shuddered when they heard her grumble.

“This whole operation is a mess. The joke has gone far enough.”

She got up from the seat on which she had slumped down and levitated towards the exit. A young executive of the Association, forehead shining in sweat, remembered the instructions he had received and called out to her.

“Miss Tatsumaki... The orders –”

“Don't worry,” she eluded with a wave of her hand. “I'll take care of the baldies myself.”

And she went off, leaving behind her useless staff members and low-class heroes alike.

Where the rest of S-Class was hiding, she couldn't tell. She hadn't bumped into any of her colleagues at HQ, and wasn’t aware of any of them being involved in the evacuation. Had they also been instructed to keep clear? Anyway, it seemed like none of them wanted to interfere.

Such incompetence. Since when did S-class let situations like this get so out of hand? Yes, all the civilians had been evacuated, but if no one intervened, a new town would be wiped off the map. Something had to be done. And guess who's going to do all the work!? Once the job was done, she would have to consider asking for a raise.

It only took her a few minutes to reach Z-city, and when she saw the extent of the damage, Puri-Puri Prisoner’s words echoed in her ears: It looks like A-City. She had to admit it: between the ruined buildings and the cratered streets, there wasn't much left to save. Still. She wasn't going to let those jerks get away with it. It was a matter of principle.

Speaking of jerks, where the hell are they? Tatsumaki flew over the battlefield carefully without finding anyone. There was a sudden crash of something collapsing behind her - wasn't this area empty a second ago? She turned around just in time to watch the last walls of a building crumble, without being able to see anyone. She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“I wouldn’t hang around here, if I were you.”

The voice was quiet but startled her all the same. Her head snapped at the source and she had another surprised jump when she laid her eyes on Caped Baldy, perched on top of a pile of debris, very close to her. Too close for someone she hadn't sensed approaching.

“What...”

The lame hero was staring at her with his usual dumbfounded look, eyes as empty as ever.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she spat out to regain some of her dignity. “I’ll hang around here all I want.”

“Yes, but right now, it's dangerous.”

Tatsumaki couldn't repress an outraged shriek.

“Danger-! Do you even know who you're talking to?! I can handle this on my own!”

The B-class hero casually shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to their surroundings.

The esper glared at him for a while, torn between the urge to shout at him and the temptation to ignore him. Her own indecision was astounding her. Since when did she let herself be spoken to in that tone?

She looked away and examined the ruins around her, trying to regain her composure. Inhale. Exhale. She was about to ask the baldy about this whole mess when he spoke up again.

“Well, well, well. The almighty Tatsumaki herself? What an honor!”

She abruptly turned to the B-class, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at a point straight ahead, expression neutral. There was no indication that he had raised his voice at all.

Following his gaze, she froze as she discovered the one who had spoken. Bare head, ridiculous costume, the stranger looked a lot like the Caped Baldy.

Looking at them in turn, she realized that, in fact, their main physical difference was in the details of their clothes.

So it was true?

“I wasn’t expecting you to show up so soon,” the copy went on, all smiles and contempt.

He wasn’t exactly identical to Saitama, she couldn’t help but notice. There was something different about him, an aura, an impression, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. What she could see perfectly, however, was that awfully disrespectful attitude they had in common that so effectively got on her nerves.

He was walking towards her, and it was too much already. Without hesitation, Tatsumaki reached out to the two men with her power and immobilized them with a strength far above what was strictly necessary. Yes, such brutality could possibly cause them permanent damage. No, she couldn't bring herself to care. She was going to make them swallow their insolence, and settle the matter in her own way.

At once, she found herself staggering under the strain on her energy reserves, and winced. Such a simple manipulation wasn’t supposed to require the slightest effort. It could only mean one thing: the baldies were fighting her grip. That was rare enough.

Intrigued, she blinked and observed the more threatening of the two men.

He was walking towards her in a light step. His face wore an expression of intense satisfaction.

Suddenly breathless, she dared a glance to her left. The B-class hero was still standing, posture visibly relaxed.

Nothing, in their attitude, could give away the overwhelming force she was bringing down on them at this very moment.

Tatsumaki swallowed.

“Your face! I’d almost forgotten," rejoiced the double, making her shudder.

She gritted her teeth. She had underestimated the troublemakers. Alright. But only one of them was openly hostile to her - or, at least, unsympathetic, which was enough. Locking her fury in the far back of her mind, she abandoned the Caped Baldy to focus her power on the double that faced her.

Which was certainly not a sign of weakness. By subduing them one at a time, she would only save herself unnecessary fatigue.

She growled. The other still wasn’t stopping.

Tatsumaki mobilized every bit of her will and focused all of her mental power on the lone figure that, step by step, was still coming to her. Casually. As if no force in the world could stop him. A cry escaped her in spite of herself, releasing her fury and incomprehension. Her nose began to bleed.

And the other began to laugh.

With a laugh that didn't even have the decency to be low or threatening. No, it was a frank, amused, unbearably sincere laugh. Unable to contain the wave of rage that overwhelmed her, caught in a deafening frenzy - Stop him, immobilize him, control him - the esper mentally tugged at the darkest recesses of her mind, drew on the tiniest reserves of her energy, to unleash a wave of raw, blind force on her target.

All in vain. That infernal laughter was still going.

Every passing second was leaving Tatsumaki more exhausted from her superhuman efforts, and the bastard was laughing at her. Not only was he laughing, but he was getting closer – Stop him - and the side effects of her assault were becoming very real. Everything was flying, being torn off the ground; everything was levitating around him but he was still moving - Stop - and soon he would be there, right before her, perfectly free to move, and Tatsumaki's anger was turning into terror - Not... strong enough - a devastating terror, one that was making her stomach lurch, that was stealing her breath, paralyzing her completely - not strong enough - a terror that was making her lose all reason, and Tatsumaki could no longer fight, no longer think, her mind locked in a perpetual litany, her body petrified by fear - not strong enough! - and suddenly the other was not an enemy anymore, nor a threat, but a death warrant-

Something caught her in a tight grip, and she lost all sense of reality. As far as she knew, gravity wasn’t a thing anymore.

When she felt her feet meet dry land again, she had been taken out of the city.

Disoriented, she repressed an urge to retch. She blinked until her vision became clear, took a deep, shaky breath - when had she stopped breathing? - and noticed the B-class was holding her firmly by the shoulders. He was staring at her.

“Do you feel you can stand on your own?” he asked slowly as she met his gaze.

She realized she was trembling, and stiffened. When her legs regained the strength to steady her, she nodded her head, too jostled to speak - or to take offence at such a question.

The baldy made a satisfied sound before releasing her and stepping back. She faltered, but held on.

“Don't move from here," he said in the same tone. “The Association will come and get you.”

She nodded again, dazed. He gave her a small encouraging smile and left. Her eyes followed him until they couldn’t, and stayed fixed in the void long after.

He had just saved her life.

She wasn’t strong enough.

In the Association’s premises, the silence was absolute.

The last two operational drones in Z-city had been focused on Tatsumaki since her arrival on the scene. Transmitted without sound, her confrontation with the enemy was displayed on all the screens of the HQ. All spectators, employees and heroes alike, had become witnesses to her powerlessness.

When the esper disappeared from the screens, the tension was such that no one dared to breathe.

A camera found her away from the combat zone, alive but sound, her face bloody, her features tired. The medical teams’ responsibles rushed out of the room to shout their instructions, phone in hand. That was it. The rest of the audience remained frozen in anguish and incomprehension.

The other drone revealed that, a bit further away, the battle between the two Saitamas had resumed, at such a pace that the visuals became blurred. Soon, all that could be seen of the duel was its collateral damage: clouds of dust, explosions of vehicles thrown against each other, collapse of the last buildings still standing. Unable to follow the opponents, the camera was cautiously moved away from the ruins to film the fight from a distance.

Minutes, then hours stretched on in this anxious atmosphere without anything changing this situation. In the offices, the stupor did not pass. Tatsumaki, the Tornado of Terror, S-class rank two, had been transferred to the medical block in a state of shock. Saitama, the Caped Baldy, somewhere in B-class, was still struggling with his alter ego. And the resulting carnage seemed like it was to last forever. No one dared to leave the premises.

Evening was about to fall when, suddenly, things calmed down. On the screens, nothing was moving anymore. The horizon line was static again. Still, the images remained the centre of all attention.

There were no civilian casualties, but the outcome of the battle was unknown.

The two drones moved back to the city, covering as large an area as possible on the periphery of the rubble, in search of a survivor.

For yet another moment, everyone at HQ held their breath.

Eventually a drone picked up something on its sensors and approached it. A lonely figure was leaving the scene, shoulders down, legs heavy, but still on his feet.

Alerted by the sound of the device, the individual raised his head in the camera’s direction. The costume didn’t present any trace of a collar.

The man sketched a tired smile and raised a thumb up.

The entire Association breathed a long, relieved sigh.

Saitama groaned in discontentment.

He was uncomfortably sitting on a metal table, under a raw white light, overwhelmed with the smell of antiseptic. A male nurse was bandaging his chest, his hands, his right knee. Several guys from the Association were standing in front of him, perfectly stiff and annoyingly serious. One of them was assaulting him with questions in a continuous stream of words he was only half hearing. He felt washed out.

“... tama? Please focus. This is important.”

“Hmpf.”

“Did your double say anything about his plans here?”

Saitama sighed and made an effort to remember.

“Nuh," he mumbled. “Don’t think he did.”

“But he must have said something," insisted the guy in the suit. “Anything that might be useful to us?”

“We haven't exactly been chatting," Saitama hissed between his teeth.

“Look, we talked about th-”

“Enough!”

The executive raised his eyebrows and looked at the nurse who had interrupted him.

“My patient is in no condition to undergo an interrogation! Let me do my work and let him rest. Your questions can - and will - wait until tomorrow.”

His tone booked no protest. The men exchanged upset glances but didn’t add anything and left in silence. The nurse stood still until the door closed behind them, and resumed his work. Saitama's shoulders slackened.

“I could’ve gotten them out myself, you know," he said.

“That's not the point. They may be my superiors, but in this hospital, the authority of the medical profession is the only one that matters. It seems it was time someone reminded them of that.”

Saitama turned to face his caretaker - not without a grimace - and saw that he was wearing an amused smile. It was the second time in a week this man was dressing his wounds, and despite his long sentences, the hero kinda liked him. He relaxed a little more and smiled back.

The medic turned his attention back to his work and tightened the bandage, deliberately ignoring his patient's hiss of pain.

By the time Saitama was free to go to his assigned room, it was dark. His muscles were tense from an hour's immobility in the Association's clinic after a whole day of intense activity. His body was riddled with pains and aches he had never felt before - not even when he was training - and his glassy eyes were struggling to stay open. His only plan was to drop on a futon and sleep until... well, until he woke up, which might possibly take some time.

But at his door, with an indecipherable expression, was Genos, and he knew his plans would have to wait a little longer.

With a nod, he invited his disciple to follow him, and entered the room without bothering to reach for the light switch. The lights that pierced through the bay window were enough for him to find his way. Genos could see in the dark without difficulty, and Saitama’s headache was bad enough as it was.

He sat down on his bed, took off his boots and fell on his back, covering his tired eyes with his forearm. He heard the cyborg sit in seiza next to him. A brief silence settled in, which Saitama broke in a low voice.

“You stayed away.”

“As promised, sensei.”

“Thanks, man.”

“ ... You look more tired than last time.”

His disciple’s frankness surprised Saitama, but he couldn't deny the obvious.

“True. But that goes for the other too.”

Genos didn’t answer anything, unusually quiet, perfectly calm. Saitama was certain he’d even go away without protesting should he ask him to – or should he fall asleep, right there and then. But, to his own astonishment, Saitama spoke up again.

“The rank 2 tried to intervene.”

“Tatsumaki.”

Under his forearm, Saitama nodded with a vague smile.

“So sure of her powers, and all. Imagine the scene: you know her better than I do.”

“I can imagine, yes. I heard she arrived at the infirmary in a rather distressed state.”

"You heard?" Saitama repeated, lifting his wrist away from his face to observe his disciple with an arched eyebrow.

“I only came back to headquarters when I heard you were returning, and haven’t gotten a chance to see her. How did she make it out? Are her powers effective?”

“Nah, not at all," Saitama sighed as he closed his eyes again. “I just got her out of the area. Advised her not to interfere anymore.”

“I thought you didn't really like her," Genos teased.

“Nah. She's a brat,” Saitama agreed with a smile. “Always looking down on everyone. Still, that's no reason.”

He fell silent. Then, after a pause, added more darkly:

“I think my double hates her.”

“And he let her go?”

Saitama thought about it for a second.

“Guess he was too busy with me...”

Genos made a conciliatory throat sound, before going on in a more assured voice:

“Anyway, your fight today was a success, sensei. According to the Association, no civilian has been injured.”

“If you’d seen the state of Z-city," Saitama grimaced, "you wouldn't exactly call it a success.”

“Collateral damage was expected. It’s only property damage.”

“Still... We can't afford to lose a city every time.”

Saitama couldn't see it, but Genos ticked.

“I hope there won't be too many more times,” he said.

Not knowing what to say, his master didn't answer. There would be other encounters, that much was obvious, but he didn't feel like worrying about it now. The cyborg didn't insist.

“Is there anything I can do for you?" Genos asked after a moment, in a voice so small that Saitama, overcome with sleep, almost didn't hear it.

“Nah, man, thanks," he said blinking. “Right now, I just... need to crash for a while.”

“Of course, sensei.”

Genos stood up as Saitama yawned widely.

“I will see you tomorrow, if you like. Have a good rest.”

“Mhmm, 'tomorrow, Genos,” sighed the already half-asleep hero.

He didn't even hear the cyborg leave the room with heavy footsteps.

Genos took great care in closing the door as silently as possible, and walked past his own apartment – next to his master’s – without stopping. He took the elevator to reach the ground level, noticed with satisfaction that the reception was empty, and left HQ. Shoving his hand in his jean’s pocket, he checked his GPS device was well in place, and started running.

Along the road leading to what had once been Z-City, temporary settlements were set up. To be efficient, the evacuation was proceeding in phases, and the last citizens who had left their homes had not yet been distributed to the hidden shelters scattered around the area. For the time being, they were located in zones like this one, that were easy to resupply, but unsafe.

Genos frowned without slowing down. If his master’s double was planning to approach HQ tonight, these people would have nowhere to hide. Their only hope was that the other would be in the same state of exhaustion as Saitama.

Actually, that was Genos' only hope, too.

Despite his night vision, he wouldn't have recognized Z-city when he approached it without his own internal GPS system. He set foot on what had once been a shopping mall and scanned the surrounding area, baffled. The destruction rate was higher than he’d thought. It seemed as if nothing was standing for miles around. Suddenly, Genos wasn't sure he’d find what he had come for. He still set off again towards the precise coordinates of his destination and was relieved to see, a few hundred meters from his goal, an entire street relatively untouched. He might have been right after all.

He paused at the foot of the apartment he had occupied with Saitama and looked up.

There was light inside.

The cyborg took a deep breath and climbed the stairs.

He was wondering whether to enter naturally or to announce himself by knocking at the door when he saw the entrance had been kicked in. A piece of shredded plywood was still hanging from his hinge, the rest of it lying uselessly on the floor. That settled the matter. Genos entered cautiously.

“Whoever you are, I advise you to turn around.”

The voice was calm, but the cyborg had to struggle to keep from freezing in the hallway. Maintaining a serene attitude - at least attempting to do so - would be the key to leaving in one piece. He only stopped at the end of the corridor to observe the living room, lit by what seemed to be a motley collection of electric torches and gas lamps.

Sitting crossed-legged on the coffee table, surrounded by a fair amount of first-aid kits, concentrating on finishing a bandage around his wrist, was the other Saitama.

“Won't say it twice," he added without looking up from his bandage. Lifting his forearm closer to his eyes, he examined his work with a squint, and, visibly satisfied, tied a knot with his teeth. Only then did he level his head and consider the intruder, who hadn’t moved.

At first he seemed surprised, then a shadow passed over his face, and his expression was replaced by a smile that had something dangerous.

“Well, if it isn’t Robot Blondie. You've got nerve, coming all the way out here.”

Since Genos didn't know what to answer, he decided not to say anything. From now on, he was walking on a knife’s edge, and a misplaced word could have serious consequences. So he just stared at the other, pretending to be as neutral as possible, taking great care not to express hostility or fear.

His host said nothing more, and the two men observed each other in silence. When the cyborg's eyes slid down his ribboned, blood-stained chest, he frowned.

“Don't get any ideas. Even like this, I can tear you down to pieces without any effort.”

Genos brought his gaze back to a safer height.

“I know," he said softly. “I didn't come here to harm you.”

This time, the face of the double frankly displayed his astonishment. His mouth opened and closed, and he remained silent.

Genos took advantage of his confusion to approach a little closer. Walking along the wall, he took a few steps and sat down in seiza with his back to the kitchen counter. His gaze wandered through the apartment. With the exception of a blow to the wall, which curiously hadn't caused the building to collapse, the structure seemed intact; however, the room had little to do with the memory Genos had of it. The television and the small library had disappeared, replaced by a sofa that didn't mean anything to him, and by piles of clothes, empty food cans and dirty dishes. Clutter everywhere. Genos couldn't help wrinkling his nose in disapproval.

“Not very fond of mess, are you,” mocked the other, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him.

Determined to ignore his host’s sarcasm, Genos answered with a question.

“Are you?”

The double was definitely not hiding his surprise anymore.

“… me?” he breathed, incredulous. Then, pulling himself together, he looked away with a shrug. “It's not that I like it. I'm just lazy about tidying up. Never been a big fan of housework.”

Genos repressed a knowing smile and let silence settle in. He had to avoid irritating the other at all costs, which meant he had to be patient.

“So… you live here, right?” asked his host while giggling on his table to find a more comfortable position.

“Yes. I pay the rent.”

“You– what now?”

“It is under these terms that my sensei accepted the cohabitation. It is easier for me to learn from his model by observing him on a daily basis.”

“The bastard,” laughed the other. “And what do you hope to learn like that?”

“The secret of his great strength.”

“Hang in there.”

“It's true it doesn’t seem to be an easy task," admitted Genos with a smile. “He doesn't seem to know it himself.”

Then, after a brief silence:

“And neither do you.”

“Hmpf," grunted the other, looking unhappy.

“Where are you from?" Genos went on in a falsely relaxed tone, suddenly eager to change the subject.

“C’mon, they must have told you that,” mumbled the other, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but I would like to hear your version.”

His host let out an exasperated sigh that might have worried Genos had it been less theatrical.

“You sure like to chat.”

Genos only stared at him.

“… It looks like here,” he started to tell in a more distant voice, eyes in the void. “A lot. The cities, the people… Almost identical.”

“How did you learn about this world?”

“I didn’t know it existed.”

He didn’t seem eager to elaborate, but the cyborg raised a curious eyebrow, and when the other noticed, he spoke again, letting himself slip into his memories.

“Well, I was bored out of my mind. I was getting close to achieving my only plan, and didn't know what to do next. And then I found this portal, and... I dunno, I went through it without thinking. Just kinda stumbled in here.”

“You didn't know where this portal was leading to?" Genos asked quietly.

“I had no bloody idea. But... there was nothing left for me to do, back home.”

"Nothing left to do," Genos repeated slowly without thinking, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His master had only vaguely mentioned what had happened to the original universe of the double, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out the details.

When the other spoke up again, his voice sounded ice-cold to Genos’ ears:

“Nuh. No more heroes. No more trouble. No more fun either.”

Genos shivered in spite of himself. The other seemed to shake himself out of his reverie, and when he noticed the cyborg's discomfort, he burst out into what sounded like forced laughter:

“Why the funny face?”

“You are... very different from the Saitama I know," Genos admitted.

“That's what he wants you to believe.”

The tone was aggressive, almost vexed. Surprised, Genos said nothing.

“He may be playing hero right now, but he's more like me than you think," insisted the other. “Give him time to get tired of it all. Let him get really bored. You'll see...”

“You're wrong,” countered the cyborg firmly. “Saitama-sensei fights for people, for what he believes is right. It has nothing to do with boredom.”

“Oh, but it's got everything to do with it," hissed the renegade, sweet and sour. “And soon enough, no one will be safe anymore.”

Caught as he was by his indignation, Genos almost didn't hear what the other whispered next:

“No one matters anyway.”

The cyborg clicked. He sensed a contradiction there, a flaw in the renegade's facade.

“Yet you let Mumen Rider get away the other day,” he remarked. “As well as Tatsumaki today.”

It wasn't meant as an accusation, but the other reacted as if he'd been slapped. He gnashed his teeth.

“I had better things to do than chase after those losers–”

“You don't hate them," Genos realized in a whisper.

“What does it fucking matter to you?!”

The tone was raised a notch, and Genos stiffened, his senses alert. He tried not to show it but prepared to bolt at the slightest sign of hostility.

The other probably noticed, however, because he became all the more tense.

“Who do you think you are? What did you come here for?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk with you.”

“And find a way to send me back where I came from? Ha! Good luck with getting me out of your perfect little world. I’m in, I’m staying in. And if anyone minds, I'll be more than happy to blow their brains out!”

“No, I -”

“You're no different from the others! Came to me to protect your own life, perhaps? Don't count on it.”

Still sitting on his table, the other leaned over, his face hard and menacing, his look sinister:

“Try to defend your precious master once more, just once, and you won’t be able to come and taunt me at my place anymore.”

Something in Genos' mind went out of control, and he was horrified to hear himself say:

“This isn’t your place.”

In a flash, the other was standing, the ground cracked around his feet, his body stretched out in rage, the walls vibrating with his shout:

"GET OUT!”

Genos was already gone.

Chapter Text

When the sun rose over city Z twelve hours after the end of the fight, all it illuminated was a perfectly still field of ruins.

The cloud of dust raised by the battle had covered everything in a thick, grey coat. Time seemed to have frozen under its weight. No signs of life could be detected in the area. The silence was only broken by the wind blowing on collapsed buildings.

Somewhere in the midst of the ruins, a street was miraculously still standing. The wind slipped inside one apartment through broken windows, shaking the torn-up curtains in its way.

Someone was sitting there. The morning breeze that was catching in his bandages couldn't seem to pull him out of his thoughts, nor could the first light of the day washing over his feet.

Despite his exhaustion, Saitama hadn't slept that night.

At the exact same time, the sun rose over the HQ to reveal a literal anthill.

The destruction of city Z had officially raised the threat level to dragon, but the defeat of the Tornado of Terror suggested an even greater danger. Between protecting the refugees, adapting the plan of action, and analysing the last battle's recordings in detail, the whole Association was in turmoil.

The entire morning, afternoon, and night passed in that same buzzing frenzy. As dawn came again, HQ's walls were still echoing with the sounds of dozens of simultaneous meetings. The Association's servers were almost overloaded with video calls and data sharing with the rest of the world. Despite being stocked in phenomenal quantities in a dedicated storage room, coffee had run out. Every team would maintain this unsustainable pace until official guidelines circulated all around the globe.

Somewhere in the commotion, Saitama was motionlessly sitting on an operating table.

He had slept almost thirty-six hours straight, yet he felt tired. Following a protocol that had been established during his sleep, a security team had come to wake him up at dawn and take him to the medical bay, where a nurse he hadn't met before was inspecting him from head to toe. Several guys in suits were there, too, including old Sitch.

The application of a fresh bandage to his wounds made him hiss in discomfort. Around him, unperturbed, the Association's executives were setting out the next step of the program without giving him any room to speak up. The nurse was mechanically recording her discoveries out loud but wouldn't look him in the eyes. No one seemed to notice he wasn't listening.

He had the strange feeling that he wasn't really in the room.

Saitama's stomach made a loud gurgling noise.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he grumbled back.

He lifted yet another piece of rubble and smirked victoriously as he spotted a barely damaged sign under the concrete. It was the third food shop he'd managed to find in what remained of city Z. The first two had turned out to be a total loss, too destroyed to salvage anything edible. This store, however, was smaller and nestled between two tall buildings that had collapsed against each other. If it wasn't intact, it did look much better than the previous ones.

Saitama wearily cleared away the few pieces of debris blocking the entrance before stepping inside the shop. The morning sun bathed the abandoned checkout counters in its low-angled light. Beyond them, shelves and racks were piled up in a jumble, when not crushed under a collapsed wall.

Careful not to step on the mounds of packaged food littering the floor, Saitama wandered aimlessly around the shop looking for fresh products. He had to rule out meat and poultry, probably long spoiled, but he hoped he could find enough vegetables to cook himself something acceptable.

His stomach rumbled again, and Saitama winced. He had fasted before - out of lack of appetite, out of laziness, out of distraction; it had never really bothered him. Not until today. It was now five days since he'd eaten anything substantial, two since he'd last slept, and the fight of the day before yesterday had burnt up a lot of energy. He needed to rest. He couldn't stop his stupid brain from thinking, but if his stomach was full, then, maybe…

Ah. He had just stumbled on the fresh produce stall. A heavy metal beam had fallen right on its center. The shattered vegetables were covered in plaster. With a disappointed pout, he turned over the shredded leaves of a cabbage with his foot. So much for a cooked lunch.

Turning away from the carnage with a defeated sigh, he untied what was left of his cape from his shoulders and haphazardly placed a few stray canned goods on it, before tightening it into an improvised bundle and laboriously extracting himself out of the building.

Outside, the sun was still rising in the sky, only occasionally hidden by a few motionless clouds. The wind that had blown the day before had died down. Muscles aching, Saitama paused to observe his surroundings. His search for supplies had taken him away from the flat, and the city was unrecognizable. He would have to get some height to find the apartment among the rubble.

Just as he was about to take off, his eyes fell on a yellow plastered wall that vaguely reminded him of something. He froze, surprised, and searched his memories.

It was the remains of a place he almost recognised... A shop? A restaurant? He couldn't figure out the building's former function, but now that he was paying attention, he was gradually picking up its position. If he followed that cracked street, he would end up at the crossroads where he sometimes went to buy seafood on special sales. From there, he would easily find the bar that was on the corner of a street he used to walk down; further on, he would take a right turn, then go left...

Strangely satisfied to have recognised the place, suddenly curious to confront his memories with the reality of this world, he decided to walk the way back.

Soon the familiar feeling of the weight in his hand and the ordinariness of the journey helped him to relax. The sound of the cans clattering together almost gave him the impression of returning from a successful sale. With one difference though, and it was fundamental: there was no one to stop him. No one to challenge or confront him. Not a shout, not a whisper, not even a glare.

Wasn't that what he was looking for?

He shook his head to keep his tired mind from going down that road again and was content to enjoy the view of the rising sun for the rest of the way home.

"Ah, Saitama! I'm glad to see you up and about."

Surprised, Saitama looked away from the facilities around him to observe the man who had just spoken. As he recognized him, his shoulders slackened imperceptibly.

"Hi, doc," he smiled. "So you came after all?"

All protruding nose, infamous haircut and happy crow's feet wrinkles at the corner of the eyes, Professor Kuseno put down the chart he was consulting and broke away from the group of scientists in white coats to approach Saitama. They had only met once, a little over a week ago, when Saitama had accompanied Genos to his laboratory. That one time had been enough to leave a good impression on him.

"I arrived last night with all my belongings," the professor explained before embracing the room around them with a wide gesture. "This place is marvelous! Rarely have I had the opportunity to work in such conditions."

Saitama nodded. After the nurse had declared him strong enough to proceed with the tests, Sitch and the security guards had escorted him to the basement labs. He'd never been there before, and he had to admit he was impressed by the amount of computers and machines in the room, even though he didn't understand any of it.

"This all looks like it costs a lot of money," he admitted.

"It certainly does!" Kuseno laughed before turning to his bodyguards. "Gentlemen, will you let me speak with Saitama privately for a moment?"

Indecisive, the agents turned to Sitch, who nodded. Kuseno motioned for Saitama to follow him to a secluded corner, away from prying ears.

"I'm sure I can trust my new colleagues with our research," the professor explained in a low voice, "but Genos and I have decided to keep some things a secret."

"How is he?" Saitama asked hurriedly in the same tone.

"Perfectly well, I assure you. He left this morning for city H, where he is stationed with other heroes. Each of them is equipped with the alert system, and I receive Genos' reports in real time. There is nothing to worry about."

"Thanks, doc," Saitama breathed gratefully. "And, uh… sorry, about… Last time."

"You don't have to apologize for anything," Kuseno dismissed with a wave of the hand. "We both know how stubborn that boy can be, but he is making progress. He agreed to stay away when you asked him to, did he not?"

"I doubt that will last," Saitama confessed with a frown. "If he intervenes again… When he intervenes again, what can I do?"

Kuseno stared into empty space with a look of concentration.

"I have installed auxiliary batteries and integrated new power circuits into his components," he enumerated. "This will give him several hours of autonomy in case of a deterioration of the central core. It should reduce the risk of loss of consciousness. As for his brain, it's protected by the strongest alloy I know, but it's still vulnerable to shocks, and..."

Kuseno glanced at Saitama and probably sensed that he'd lost him, because he paused before summarizing in a firm voice:

"His head must be protected. At all cost."

"Understood," Saitama affirmed seriously.

"You did the right thing, last week," the professor reassured him. "If it had to happen again, this is where you'll find me from now on."

Saitama only frowned more. He gave a nervous glance at the employees across the room and chose his words carefully.

"I'm grateful that you're willing to help, but... you'd be safer working from your lab."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. I don't possess the adequate equipment for this kind of research. And the subject is too sensible to share information remotely, anyw-"

"But HQ isn't safe!" Saitama cut him off without thinking. Embarrassed, he went on more quietly: "The best protection against the other is to avoid the places he knows. He destroyed the Association in his world, nothing guarantees he won't do it again here…"

"I know that," the professor conceded. "But if the situation is as bad as you say it is, then we will all be in danger sooner or later. If we are to be truly safe, we must find a way to get rid of your doppelganger. I'll do everything in my power to make that happen, even if it means taking some risks."

Conflicted, Saitama observed the cables at their feet without saying anything for a moment.

"We should at least relocate this lab," he said thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself. "The Association must have some kind of bunker out there that'd do the trick…"

"That's not a bad idea," Kuseno admitted, holding his chin. "Moving everything out would be a considerable waste of time, but you are right about one thing: hiding the premises would be more efficient than trying to turn them into a stronghold. I will discuss it with the rest of the committee."

The weight on Saitama's shoulders lightened a little more.

"Really, doc. Thank you."

"Professor, we're ready when you are," a woman's voice called.

"We're coming," Kuseno answered.

"Guess the break is over," Saitama moaned as they made their way back to the scientists.

"Pardon me for telling you that, but you look terrible," Kuseno worried. "Are you quite sure you're well enough to endure the experiment?"

"To be honest, I don't think it'll have any effect at all," Saitama shrugged - and held back the painful grimace the gesture almost caused him.

"Enough wasted time," said the woman in the white coat as they approached. "We need to take some blood samples here, before joining Child Emperor in the training area for some basic strength tests. The results will serve as a comparison point for…"

Saitama listened to the rest without processing it. He had enough energy left to pulverize the tests the Association planned to put him through. Not to get emotionally involved in them.

For the first time in years, Genos held back a yawn.

It had been three days since he'd last slept.

Not that he needed to sleep every night. His body was perfectly capable of remaining in constant activity, thank you very much. As for his brain… it could do without rest, at least for a while.

In any case, it wasn't like he'd had a choice. Last night, he'd been way too busy reorganising the patrols on city H. The night before, he'd helped the professor move his belongings from his home to the Association's HQ. And the night before that… He hadn't been able to sleep.

Not after going to see the other Saitama.

And coming back in one piece.

Genos blinked back to the present and set the last of the truck's cargo on the ground. Around him, a team of workers was loading a freight train with a stock of foodstuffs gathered specifically for the evacuated citizens of City Z. It was to be distributed... Where was it?

"Thanks again for your help, Mr. Demon Cyborg, sir," said the gruff voice of the team leader next to him. "Thanks to you, the loading is going much faster than expected! But we won't keep you any longer…"

"It's nothing. I'll only be on duty in a few hours."

The woman in blue overalls gave him a curious look before speaking again.

"Don't get me wrong... I'm very glad I got to meet you, 'f course, and you're doing a damn good job, but... are you sure you don't have anything better to do?"

Her discomfort was palpable. Genos shook his head.

"The city is quiet. I keep myself busy where I can be useful."

"That's very generous of you," the woman concluded with a convinced sniff.

"Can you remind me of the destination of this train? I don't remember seeing a railway near the temporary settlements in city Z."

"Yeah, that's probably why they took them apart," the worker agreed.

"They what?" Genos gasped.

"Well... My boss told me that the poor people in Z have been moved to other cities. We, for example, are sending these supplies to city D."

"I don't understand," Genos said, frowning.

I thought it was better to disperse the urban population to the countryside…

"Go figure," said the worker, shrugging her shoulders. "What's the saying again? The government works in mysterious ways... Something like that."

Many things have become mysterious, Genos mused. Thinking about the recent events made him dizzy. They had just learned of the existence of a parallel dimension and the possibility of moving from one world to another. Saitama-sensei had finally met an opponent who matched him. An opponent Genos had gone to talk with.

The cyborg was not exactly in the habit of fraternising with his enemies. And that's what the other Saitama was, without a shadow of a doubt: a threat greater than any he'd ever known, an irrepressible force capable of crushing everything in its path. A calamity.

Except that he was not a monster. Perhaps not even a psychopath. For a moment, Genos had thought he had seen in him...

A lonely man.

Should he tell Saitama?

He clenched his fists. The question had been going round and round in his head for three days without him being able to make a decision. His sensei needed his support, not yet another source of worry. However, the idea of hiding anything from him had the bitter taste of betrayal.

In his defence, it had to be said that these days Genos didn't exactly have the opportunity to talk to Saitama. The hero had a busy schedule at the HQ, and as long as the cyborg was assigned to the surveillance and protection of city H, all direct communication between them was virtually cut off.

Genos knew that his presence here was important. In these times of crisis, the police and government had better things to do than deal with petty crime, and the presence of an S-class hero alone in every metropolis on the continent was a definite deterrent. It did not make him feel any less guilty. Deep inside, he felt he could be more useful elsewhere... But where?

Out of reflex, the cyborg came back to reality to escape his train of thoughts. He glanced around him and looked for something to do.

The woman who had been standing next to him had disappeared without him noticing. The workers had finished loading the food. There was nothing left to do here.

His internal clock read seven past two. He still had nearly two hours to kill, and spending them brooding was out of the question. Perhaps if he headed to the local Association office he could get a briefing on the morning's events before starting his patrol?

[Incoming message]

Genos froze and immediately opened the file. The only person able to communicate with him by this canal was professor Kuseno. The text virtually scrolled in front of his eyes.

[Genos, my boy, I hope you're not overdoing yourself. You asked me to keep you informed of Saitama's tests. He has just finished his daily medical examination and he has left for the training zone. We are to study his results after 60 hours of fasting.]

[How is he?] Genos asked instantly.

[He looks tired, but lucid and determined. My colleagues are thinking about researching the effects of the lack of food and sleep for two more days.]

[I don't think those privations will affect anything other than his mood.]

[That's what he seems to think too, but he complies nonetheless. Not everyone is ready to believe him on his word.]

[I know. Thank you for this information, professor. I will leave you alone. You must have a lot of work ahead.]

[I always have time for you, Genos. Try to take it easy on you, alright?]

I can't promise anything, Genos thought, but he didn't send it.

In the old flat of city Z, Saitama woke up with a weird feeling.

He had no idea when he had fallen asleep. After eating, he'd slept for a few hours, and had since taken to waking up regularly to eat and taking after meal naps. Having his stomach full seemed to be enough to put him at ease, and he fully intended to dwell on it instead of thinking about his situation.

This time, sleep must have taken him by surprise, because he could feel he was sitting against the kitchen wall, chin pressed onto his chest. The first thing he did was to slowly stretch his sore back, before stopping with an uncomfortable hiss.

Once he'd gathered enough energy to open up his eyes and shake his senses awake, he noticed three things. One: the opened sardines can next to him confirmed the hypothesis of the surprise nap. Two: if the plain light that illuminated his flat was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping for more than an hour. Three: what had woken him up was a deep, constant noise.

Like some kind of mechanical roar.

A plane?

With an exasperated groan, Saitama penibly got to his feet to go see outside.

"What is it this ti-"

BAOM

In a split second, the word was nothing but noise, light and heat.

His ears ringing, his eyes pressed closed, Saitama felt himself being brutally projected backwards by a burning wind. Vaguely aware he had been catapulted out of the apartment, he tried to dig his heels into the floor as soon as he could but, under his feet, everything was wavering like water. Put out of balance, he dropped down on one knee and instinctively lifted a hand to cover his face.

The next moment, the blinding light was already dimming, and the floor was stabilizing itself into a flat surface. Saitama coughed before tentatively cracking an eye open. Around him, everything had turned black and dense.

What the hell?

Without any landmarks to rely on, Saitama picked himself up and haphazardly leapt forward. The strength of his jump made the earth crackle under him. While gaining altitude and distance, he played with his jaws to get rid of the ringing noise that was wracking his eardrums.

In movies, that was the kind of sound that directly followed an explosion.

As he felt himself flying further away, rays of sunlight began to filter through thick smoke. Debris was being blown back and forth by a strong wind. He frowned.

Did I just get bombed?!

The more he felt himself go down, the more daylight he could make out, and the less compact the cloud seemed. Gradually he was able to distinguish up from down, to dissociate earth from fog, and to finally have an actual glimpse of his surroundings.

Below him, crumbling fields of rubbles had replaced the collapsed buildings structures. If city Z had been in ruins just seconds ago, it was now completely annihilated.

No way the flat had survived.

"Dammit! My food!" he swore through gritted teeth. He had taken the trouble to gather a stock of provisions only the day before, and now…

He landed with flexibility in the middle of the chaos and was immediately caught back in the dust storm. He leapt again in the same direction, eager to put some distance between the disaster area and himself. When he met the ground again, he was at the edge of a forest that had been ravaged by the shockwave, but that had been spared by the sticky darkness. He slowly turned over.

From where he was standing, he could see that the area covered by the explosion was colossal. The wave of black smoke had stopped spreading, but at the very center of the chaos, a threatening cloud was rapidly gaining altitude.

In the distinctive form of a titanic mushroom.

Eyes wide, Saitama froze before patting his chest in a stupor. His clothes had disappeared. His bandages too. His skin was covered in soot, but he hadn't received a single burn. Not even the smallest scratch. No sign of headache or nausea. Nothing.

The adrenaline was making him vibrate with energy. He felt in much better shape than if he had slept for a whole week.

Alone in front of the disastrous column that was still elevating in the air, Saitama shook with uncontrollable laughter.

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

The entire Association leadership gathered in the commanding center jumped in their seats. Saitama had been rushed to the office as the scientists committee was briefing him on the status of the research about the other world. He had arrived in the room with his usual bored expression, but the news had switched his demeanour radically. Face pale, the executive who had just made his report tried to continue in a trembling voice.

"Saitama, sir, please -"

"YOU BUNCH OF - WHY WOULD YOU EVEN -"

"Please, we have no time for -"

"A NUCLEAR BOMB?? SERIOUSLY??? A FUCKING -"

"You have every right to be angry!" Administrator Sekingar said as he rose from his seat. "But we need you to focus on -"

"What about all the exiled civilians?" Saitama accused, furious, turning to him. "Did you think about -"

"Naturally," Sitch cut in, "they have long since been distributed in neighbouring cities."

"But the whole area -"

"Evacuated. There was no one left within a one and a half mile radius."

"The toxic cloud -!"

"Nothing has been left to chance, and especially not the weather. There is no wind at all and the sky is clear. The risk of toxic fallout on inhabited or cultivated areas is negligible."

Shaking with pent-up rage and panic, shoulders tense and fists closed, Saitama did not calm down. He glared at the two executives in turn.

"What the fuck were you thinking?! You know he doesn't have anywhere else to go!"

Sitch could not answer that question. Despite his confident façade, he was abundantly sweating. The decision hadn't been his: the idea of testing the atomic weapon on Saitama's double had come from Metal Knight. It had been passed by a majority vote despite his disapproval. But none of this could change the situation now: the deed was done, and the consequences needed to be immediately dealt with.

"We had to try," Sekingar declared. "But we couldn't risk testing this on you."

Saitama glared at him.

"Where is he?"

"We are keeping him under close surveillance, but -"

"WHERE IS HE?!"

The executive's face fell and he nodded to an operative sitting at a console. A video was projected a few inches above the central table.

The other Saitama, standing naked, was laughing his head off at the mushroom cloud.

Sekingar opened his mouth to plan the following step of the operation, and closed it again without saying a word.

Saitama had disappeared.

The black cloud was still rising, but Saitama had overcome his mirth when he heard someone approaching.

He didn't need to turn around to recognize his double, nor did he need to be particularly attentive to sense that he had stopped a few steps away. His mind elsewhere, he did nothing to greet him and kept his eyes riveted on the apocalyptic landscape that was taking shape before him, lips still stretched by a surprised smirk.

It was the other that broke the silence, in a tone that felt carefully neutral.

"I'm not in the mood for a fight."

Saitama's grin widened.

"You know what? Me neither," he confessed.

The sigh the other let out was so relieved it made Saitama take his gaze away from the mess to look at him instead. Marked by fatigue and stress, dressed in random clothes and covered in bruises, his rival was in a sorry state.

"You look like shit," Saitama noted.

His double snorted, as if to say: Have you seen yourself?

Amused, Saitama shook his head but didn't say anything more.

Without further ado, the other lifted his arm towards him. He was holding a white plastic bag, visibly well-stocked. Saitama raised a curious eyebrow.

"Food," his double explained. "Enough to last a few days. The whole area's been evacuated, so you won't have any trouble finding an empty flat around here."

Astonishment made Saitama raise his second eyebrow. He must have looked confused, because the other gave him a pale smile.

"You didn't think I'd let you go and make a mess out there, did you?"

His voice was relaxed but his face was white. The hand that was holding the bag was clenched. His features betrayed the passage of worried wrinkles.

He's scared, Saitama realized with the impact of a revelation. Stunned, he nodded to accept the food his rival was offering him without ceasing his observation. He couldn't remember having ever looked so anxious. Not even when he had feared for his own life, in a past that seemed so far away now…

The other didn't look bothered by his staring, but a weight seemed to leave his shoulders when Saitama grabbed his stupid grocery bag. He took a deep breath, as if about to add something, then changed his mind and remained silent.

Unable to decide what to make of this exchange, Saitama chose to go back to his contemplation. The surreal spectacle that was slowly unfolding in front of him was enough of a distraction not to have to think.

Something was tickling him, though. Something unsaid, a detail…

His eyes were drawn on the bag now hanging on his arm, and he understood.

"Wait…" he started before examining his double with curiosity. "All this… You stole it?"

The other froze for a second before shrugging noncommittally.

"You're imagining things."

"Nah, you got here super fast," Saitama thought aloud, growing more and more convinced. "You didn't have time to do some chill grocery shopping. You just helped yourself to a store without paying for anything, admit it!"

Frowning, the other suddenly seemed very interested in a charred twig at his feet.

"I told you, everything's been evacuated," he grumbled. " 's not like there was anyone around."

He looked upset, but it was still a confession. Saitama chuckled in triumph, and the other frowned even more.

"Fuck you! It's not the same," he tried to justify himself, which only made Saitama laugh harder. "Ah, think what you want," he finally grumbled as he turned away. "I've got bigger fish to fry. Bye!"

And the other disappeared, leaving Saitama alone with his hilarity once again. He couldn't possibly spend his day laughing like this, but the idea of the other trying to make excuses for his behavior sounded much funnier than it had any right to be.

It was easier than trying to remember the last time he had been offered anything, anyway.