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Saitama couldn’t remember the last time he was really happy. Not that he was distracted from the ever growing hollow inside his chest, but truly, really happy. Maybe as a child, he supposed, getting decent but never exceptional grades through middle school. Maybe never, each moment of contentment just a scrap of respite. He thought becoming a hero would be the solution. He’d get to fight monsters, hear people cheer his name, finally be good enough at something. He didn’t need to get the best grades or the best job, he just had to be the best hero. People couldn’t help but love someone who saved their lives. He went three years training, trying, striving for the goal of being a true hero. And yet every time he defeated a monster, as the battles grew easier and easier, he found himself feeling less and less. The excitement of battle left as more and more foes fell to a single punch, and there was no recognition for his troubles aside from a few bounties from the more wanted villains. He found himself staying awake for days, eating cheap instant noodles, watching TV for the monster that would finally let him feel something. Sometimes he’d do nothing but lay in bed for days. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t even sleep, just stare at the ceiling unable to reconcile his actual existence with the body he was in, or what he was experiencing. Sometimes he’d get angry, and have nothing he could take it out on. Once he got so fed up with nothing at all that he went out past the cities and leveled a mountain range, each punch felling the stone structures. He screamed, he cried, he tried everything to get his heart beat to raise, to feel a jolt in his chest. Anything at all. Even that just left him feeling more empty inside, and he stumbled home, eyes red rimmed from sobbing, and every inch of him unfeeling. He gave up training, wishing the strength would go away, so that he could get back to actually being able to fight, but no matter how much junk he ate, or how much he used his air conditioner, or how little training he did, it was always one punch.He stopped dodging attacks, hoping to at least feel pain. Pretty soon, his body stopped feeling pain at all. He could feel pressure, yes, but he was so strong that none of it hurt. It was all numb. He would let the bad guy beat him up for a while, seeing if it could surpass the others, then with a half-hearted punch, it was dead, splattered all over half a town. Sometimes he’d try and hit himself, but even smacking himself did nothing. He couldn’t feel more than the air over his bald head. Once, at a low point, he’d put a gun he’d stolen from a criminal in his mouth, and fired. He’d felt a bit of a shock wave, his teeth rattled, and then he nearly choked on the bullet that didn’t go through a single layer of skin on the roof of his mouth. Distressed, he spit it out, and went to the kitchen. He bent three knives trying to cut his own throat, he nearly lit the house ablaze turning the gas stove up, hand on the burner trying to feel the pain. Nothing worked. He’d become so strong that he was too weak to hurt himself. He was devoid of feeling, even annoyance a blessing simply because it was better than numbness. And of course it was annoyance that brought him to Genos, a mosquito that refused to die nearly as much as he did. The swarm, the fire encompassing him. He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get a mark on him from the inferno, but he was shocked, enjoying the feeling, that Genos actually found him and showed up to his house, asking to be his disciple no less. They worked well together, and the kid was eager if nothing else. He would never have agreed to it, but he saw such passion in Genos. He saw literal fire in his eyes, and Saitama wanted that back in his own life. He didn’t intend to teach the cyborg much of anything, but he did hope that he would be able to figure out how someone could lose their whole family, their whole town, most of their body, and still be so passionate about anything, even if it was revenge for that loss. He was shocked when Genos showed up, bag packed and throwing down an exorbitant amount of cash down on the table for rent. It was more than Saitama actually paid for the apartment itself, which was more or less abandoned at this point thanks to the surge of monsters. He refused most of it, splitting expenses more or less half and half with his disciple regardless of the difference in their pay grades. S-rank heroes were rewarded extravagantly, it seemed, and Genos had no need for such wealth, not caring about the luxuries it could afford him. Still, Saitama felt bad enough leading the kid on to take all that money as well. He had watched Genos take notes on everything he said. A simple sentence took up sixty pages, he found meaning through Saitama wanting to frugally eat a cabbage monster, he looked up to Saitama, and Saitama had no idea how to handle that. So he just made shit up, and moved on, pretending like he wasn’t a terrible person. He wondered sometimes which hero was going to save Genos from his lies, and when Genos would figure out that he had nothing left to really teach. When Genos would leave, angrily, destroying everything and telling the public that Saitama really was a fraud. Saitama found that the thought brought a tightening in his chest after a while. More than the “fan” letters that were hastily written, full of hatred and terrible grammar. More than people shouting at him that he had destroyed their city rather than saving it. More than anything else, the idea of Genos leaving him never failed to put him in a foul mood, wishing that something drastic would happen. Begging for a God level threat that he might get to fight seriously just to get out the bottle up something inside him. As much as he’d longed for emotion, now that it was returning he hated it. There was no way to handle it, and he was close to just wishing for the hollow to return. The first time he had the nightmare was about a week after Genos had moved in. It was the second night Genos made him dinner since then, and the first night he’d made their futons for them while Saitama was in the bath. The dream was just them having dinner at first, replaying the events of the evening leading up to the night of the dream. They were eating lobster (thanks to a nuclear plant melting down and mutating sea life or something. Saitama had stopped listening. He figured the radioactivity wasn’t going to hurt Genos, since he was eating it in spite of all his fancy senses, and he almost thought radiation sickness would be better than the hollowness or the constant anger) and talking about the day’s events. What sales were next week. What they would have for dinner tomorrow. A routine shoving them both into the rut that had been Saitama’s life for as long as he could recall. One route to another, always deeper than the last. It changed when he sat back, leaving Genos to do the dishes as well, taking advantage of his disciple’s willingness to do anything for his master. It was something Saitama resolved to do rarely, but indulged in now. Only instead of gathering the dishes and heading to scrub them like cleaning them would avenge his family, He frowned deeper than his resting robot bitch face. Genos shook his head, and scoffed. He told Saitama that he was lazy, and the least he could do was take the dishes to the sink, even if he was apparently incapable of washing them. He was a bit surprised by the defiance, but supposed it was reasonable. Just Genos finally getting tired of him, like he knew the poor teenager would eventually. He got up, deciding to just wash the dishes himself. It was only fair since Genos had cooked. Genos was watching him when he accidently snapped one of the plates in half, unable to keep his strength in check for a moment. It was odd, he rarely slipped up like this anymore, but still, he was confused when Genos scoffed. He wasn’t sure why, but he was filled with a sense of dread. Genos yelled at him, told him that he couldn’t do anything right. Asked him what good it was to be able to hurt everything if he couldn’t do something as simple as wash a plate. Asked him if he was even human, called him a monster in disguise. And Saitama couldn’t even bring himself to argue, dropping the broken glass into the trash and trying to just make himself breath as his chest closed up. He couldn’t breathe, and he felt his heart rate start to increase. He grabbed at his throat, dragging shallow bursts of air into his closing lungs but still feeling like he was dying. Odd, he’d wanted to feel for so long, now that it was happening, he didn’t think he liked it. Still, he wasn’t sure this was actually worse than what he normally felt. Even when his vision started to get blurry. Even when he heard Genos calling him weak, a fake, a liar who was taking advantage of everyone. Even when Genos said that he was leaving, to find a new teacher. Even when he woke, still gasping, his eyes opening and taking a moment to adjust enough to see Genos above him, looking more worried than the kid was about being ripped in half. “Master!” He was yelling, and there was no telling how long he’d been doing that, shaking Saitama if the hands firmly gripping his shoulders were any indication. Saitama looked at Geno's. He put his hand on his sweat-covered chest, the chilled sweat soaking into his pajamas and made himself take more even breaths. To make himself calm down. It was slowly working, but Genos was never known for his patience or subtlety. “Are you alright, Master? I’ve never seen you like this before. Are you ill, is there a monster doing this?” He asked, not giving Saitama any time to get himself together. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Just a weird dream.” He replied, faking a smile to keep from having to explain his nightmare when he barely understood it at all. Sure, he knew that the events of the dream was inevitable, or at least the core idea of Genos realizing he was a fraud, but that was the point. He’d dealt with this already. He was supposed to be keeping Genos far enough from his heart that it wouldn’t hurt, much less cause some sort of panic attack at just the thought of it. “I didn’t know you had nightmares, Master.” Genos replied, grabbing one of his notebooks lying about just in case he needed to record something on short notice, and started writing. “Oi! Don’t just write about something like this.” Saitama demanded, embarrassed by the weakness, “Besides, who says it was a nightmare?” “I just assumed. Your heart rate increased, you breathing grew shallow, you were squirming...Oh.” Genos stopped, and steam show out of his ears and nose. “Master, were you...having a wet dream?” “What? No!” Saitama threw his pillow at Geno's, jumping up and managing not to have to use anything for support for his still shaky legs. He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go, so he just went into the bathroom, just not wanting to have to look Genos in the eye right now. He’d come up with some lie later but now, well, he wasn’t really helping the wet dream issue by heading straight to the bathroom was he? HE stared into the mirror, clenching his fists. He tried to calm down but the more he focused on that, the faster his breathing got, the more the void in his chest warred with feeling like he was going to explode. His vision got blurry, then cleared when the tears fell. He hadn’t cried in so long, and now he had to do it in the bathroom, staring at grout that had been scrubbed by his roommate, and inhale the goddamned lemon scent that Genos liked in all his cleaners “So that the smell would be uniform and not unsettling”. He just laughed, until it became a sob. Until that sobbing tired him out and he was empty again, staring into his own puffy eyes, running nose, his own self-pity. He turned on the shower, running it in the hottest setting, his skin turning an angry pink, then a light red as he scrubbed it raw. But there was no pain. Saitama was disappointed. He let Genos think that the nightmares that happened a few times a month were just wet dreams. It was added into his routine, the thing that kept him going since he certainly didn’t have the motivation to do much of anything at this point. Get up, run to the bathroom, and to save time, he sobbed in the shower now, rather than the shower after. He tried to scrub away the dirty feeling he felt lying to Genos, and then went out, ate his breakfast and watched the news until something worthy to fight came up. He read manga sometimes, always finding himself drawn to the characters who were reckless. Who ran into battle without thinking, but continued fighting no matter what. He wanted to become that kind of hero, full of passion and the desire to protect everyone. But Genos was that kind of hero. Then again, he’d succeeded in becoming the sort of hero who could defeat bad guys in just one punch, exactly as he’d put it when he was a child. He couldn’t have it all, he supposed.They started becoming more frequent, and that became more awkward. Because having wet dreams every night like he was twelve was really not the sort of thing becoming a 26 year old, especially one who was supposed to be holding his student/roommate's respect and saving the world. He was thinking through the right way to explain to Genos what was happening if nothing else to abate the awkwardness that was slowly sinking into the apartment with every nightmare on the way back from the store. There had been a sale on toilet paper and they were both walking out of the store with bags full of the stuff when someone stopped Saitama. They called him by his hero name, and he sighed, not having very many fans. HE expected some sort of verbal berating, maybe even being spit on. He kept walking, but he didn’t expect the sound of a gunshot, and a brief moment of pressure on the back of his head, right where it met his neck. An instant death for anyone who was a normal human. Too bad for this guy that Saitama was anything but.“Oi...that almost hurt.” he complained, setting the paper down and putting a calming hand on Genos’ wrist as the cyborg flared up like someone put kerosene on him, death in his eyes. “You...you didn’t die? But I shot you in the head!” The man who did it cried, jumping out from behind a pile of rubble. Honestly he should have just run away, never letting them know who had done it. “I know. Shocked me the first time too. I’ll let you try again though. Oughta be fun, right, Genos?” He smiled a fake smile, while Genos looked like he was going to kill a man and then puke on his body. The would-be assassin, again rather than just running, emptied the rest of his bullets with less precise aim into Saitama’s torso. Again, all would have been fatal on most people. Saitama scowled, annoyed. “Did you have to ruin my outfit? Kinda rude when I’m giving you free shots.” He complained. “Master…” Genos put a hand on Saitama’s shoulder, giving him the serious-but-worried face (all his faces were serious, so one had to be specific). “Ah, let him go. He learned his lesson, right? And if there are any other heros who end up shot in the back of the head, we know what he looks like. We’ll find him.” Saitama added, shrugging. “Gotta get home and make sure dinner is started. We still have some leftover curry in the fridge, right?” “Y...yes, Master.” Genos said, slumping his shoulders in defeat. Saitama gathered up their bags and left at a slightly faster than normal pace. They got home and put the groceries away. Saitama went to the living room, turning the TV on and hoping for some God level threat that would show up so that he didn’t have to answer for what he just did. Genos went to the kitchen, setting dinner cooking. It was the longest twenty minutes of saitama’s life it seemed, and yet he couldn’t help but wish it would stretch on forever. Long enough for Genos to forget what he’d said, and move on. Long enough that Saitama could just ignore it and say that it was a long time ago and he didn’t remember what his reasonings were. When Genos came in, he still looked like his world was falling apart and Saitama was desperately coming up with any excuse that would sound right. There was always more lies, but the guilt of lying was better than the guilt of watching Genos fret over him, of watching the pain in Genos’ eyes. Or worse, the pain of watching Genos leave when he found out that Saitama was the worst teacher he could have picked. And anything was better than the empty feeling that was being replaced the more he hung out with his cyborg student. “Master...why did you let that man shoot you?” He asked, looking desperate for some sort of wisdom, for some sort of secret insight. “Well, I figured why not? I mean, he’ll tell his friends and maybe they’ll leave me alone?” He responded, sighing like this was the most pointless conversation he’d ever had in his life. “What could it have hurt, I’ve taken a lot more damage without taking any damage.” “It hurt me…” He said softly, looking away. “I don’t enjoy watching you get attacked, even if it doesn’t hurt you. There’s always the moment when I don’t know if you’re going to get hurt.” Saitama went quiet for a second, thinking that over. It was ironic, coming from the guy who got himself blown up all the time without any second thought. But getting into an argument about who was most reckless wouldn’t get anywhere, and he’d have to admit to Genos and himself that he cared if the kid got hurt. So he just sat, letting the silence speak way more than he ever wanted to as he grasped at straws for any answer. “Did you hope it would hurt you?” Genos asked after a while, and Saitama felt himself going white, hands shaking the slightest bit. Genos would notice. THe jig was up. His heart was speeding up, his breath along with it, and he again felt like a child being scolded. “You did, didn’t you? Why, Master?” Genos put a hand on Saitama’s shoulder, and it took all the restraint Saitama had left not to smack it away, most likely taking the whole arm off with it. Unfortunately some of that control was keeping him from crying, so the tears fell down his face, at least passing the sobs off as half-hearted laughs. “Because I want to feel human.” He responded, too tired to lie. “I can beat anything in one punch, nothing can hurt me, and I should be happy, but I can’t remember the last time I actually was. But if I was shot and bled, well then, it would be proof wouldn’t it?” And now it was time for Genos to be quite, taking it in like a computer buffering on slow internet. Saitama looked down, waiting for the explosion, and hoping that there would be a real explosion from some sort of monster, preferably one that could swallow him whole and digest him so that he never had to answer for his actions, much less explain their backgrounds. “Have you ever tried to hurt yourself, Master?” he asked next, and turned to look at Saitama, his scanners no doubt searching for signs of lying. Saitama scrubbed over his head and sighed. “Yes. I’ve tried, and I can’t. Even I can’t hurt myself. I bend knives and spit bullets out. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing can hurt me.” He laid down, spreading his arms out and closing his eyes, waiting for anger or, even worse, worry. What he didn’t expect was to feel the heat of Genos laying down beside him to wrap him in an awkwardly angled but well meaning hug. “I don’t want to see you hurt, Master. Please stop.” Was the simple reply, almost whispered, robotic as his false vocal chords struggled with the volume, more comfortable with a shout. Saitama couldn’t help it. He sobbed. He sobbed like he had in the bathroom, in the shower. As he had on that first day when he came home and had felt nothing at a fight. As he had the day after his twelfth rejection from a job. The day after his college graduation when he realized that his father hadn’t been busy doing anything more than a normal day at work. As he had the day he walked in with his first straight A report card to find his mother bleeding all over the kitchen floor, her eyes blank and whitening, her skin pale and cold. He wished he could punch something and feel some sense of resistance. This was a close second, fisting Genos’ shirt until it ripped in his fingers. Genos didn’t seem to mind, but Saitama honestly wasn’t paying enough attention to his roommate to tell. It was a while, it seemed like forever to Saitama, until he calmed down, sniffling and curling up like a child for another brief minute before trying to wiggle away, embarrassment setting in, but strong metal arms resisted. He could have gotten away with ease if he really wanted to. He could take Genos’ arms with him, could waste the whole building if he really wanted to. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay right here, but herod didn’t cry, especially wrapped up in the arms of their student like a kitten. “I’m sorry, Master.” Genos said softly, “I was so busy looking for what made you strong I never thought that you could have sort of weaknesses as well.” “Don’t apologize.” He demanded, comign out more like begging. Don’t leave me he didn’t say, just laying still instead. “Then I’ll just do better from now on. It’s my duty.” “You don’t have to stay just because you’re my student, or whatever…”“My duty as your friend.” He concluded, finally loosening his grip, letting Saitama pull back just enough to see his face, the artificial skin stained black with…“Is that oil?” Saitama asked, wiping the dark streaks with his hand, finding it kinda funny. “It’s the greatest equivilent my body has to tears, Master. Crying is important for removing negative emotions from the brain, even if that’s most of what your body has left, but keeping a tank of water for this purpose inside my body would be inefficient.” He explained, blushing (and how he did that was a lesson for another day) like he should be ashamed out of all this. “That’s badass…” Saitama muttered, feeling a tiny ray of light from the veritable sun that was Genos’ response to the praise. “I think we’ve over boiled the soup, haven’t we?” Saitama pointed out, looking over at the clock to find that nearly two hours had passed. Genos got up, running over to it, desperately trying to save the nearly pureed ingredients. Saitama thought it was rather adorable, but worried that Genos might actually die if he said that out loud, and just as well because Saitama was dying of embarrassment just thinking it to himself. But still, watching his...friend...flit about the kitchen with what was terrifyingly more concentration than he put in the battlefield he couldn’t help but feel like tomorrow might not be so bad after all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Genos was not a sad child. He’d always excelled. His grades were excellent but he never really cared about them. He could have been first in his class if he wasn’t just purely lazy. He tutored some of the younger students for pocket money and spent it on clothes and hair gels and anything else that caught his fancy for more than a few minutes. His little sister got a good chunk of it too. Geno's liked spoiling her, buying her dresses and dolls, the cutest notebooks for her first days at school. He was carefree. Every morning his mother made breakfast and he walked to school with his elder brother. Life was good. He could never forget the moment when everything changed. When the lightness in his chest became a heavy metal core. When the joy in his eyes went away with the flesh that made them up. When the smile on his face disappeared just as quickly as the skin that covered soon to be metal bone. He was climbing a tree in his backyard with his little sister, helping her up the branches that were just the slightest bit too big for her tiny body. He nearly fell out dragging her up higher, hanging on with his his legs while his arms dangled, shirt bunching up over his skinny frame. He blinked a few times when he saw light glinting off something, like it was metallic. It was odd, since he’d been in the woods behind his house and often, but never saw anything resembling metal. And then he realized the glint was growing closer, and was human in shape. Some kind of robot. And it was headed right for his house. He tried to get up, but it took a good minute before he could get an arm on a branch to start to pull himself up, shock starting to set in while he shook. By the time he was tugging himself upright, there was an impact with the trunk of the tree. He looked into red eyes under black hair when the tree started to fall. He tried to scream but his hitting the ground knocked the air out of him. His sister, higher in the tree than he was, tried to jump out of it to save herself, and he got to watch as one she hit the ground. Her bones made a sickening crunch when they broke, and her shrill scream was cut off when the trunk of the tree fell onto her, blood spattering everywhere. Genos was pretty sure that parts of her brain were on his face, but his arms were both too broken--scratch that, he was pretty sure half of one was just plain missing--to wipe it away. The cyborg looked at him, and a black screen where a mouth would be showed green-lit teeth in graphic detail, down to one of them being chipped. Genos managed to scream now, the sound being cut off after a few seconds by the blood that bubbled up inside his pierced lungs. His vision grew blurry, but didn’t give him the mercy of going black just yet. Not until he was able to see the figure of his mother came running out to see why her children were screaming, only to have a laser from the robot go through her chest. She didn’t even have time to cry out, falling to the floor like an inflatable tube man who lost all his air. The house was destroyed and the monster moved on to the rest of the town. Genos finally blacked out to the sound of massacres, to screaming in the streets and explosions. Genos jerked up, panting into the chilly air. He was sleeping in the underground laboratory where he’d been rebuilt from scratch. It was the same nightmare. Every night. Never any other battle he’d been in, and definitely never a good dream, just the sickening sight and sounds of his entire family being massacred. Even his father and brother, who were later found with broken axes in their hands from chopping wood. For roasting marshmallows. For Gino's’ birthday the next week. They had tried to fight off the robot--well now he knew it was a cyborg--and were cut down. Or beaten to death, rather. Just punched so hard their chests exploded. If he had been equipped with sweat glands he would have been soaked in a cold sweat, but all he had were steam vents. He had tanks of oil that lubricated as was needed, and all manner of robotic replacements. Nothing could replace his family though. He got up to another day of searching for the mad cyborg, another day of jumping at every noise and glint, of reminding himself that he was a hero now, and not a scared child. Even three years later it was hard, but cowering wouldn’t get him revenge. And it would be unfair to Dr. Stench who put him back together, who kept him alive all these years so that he could stop the rampaging monster. So that he could get his revenge. Genos had most of his body left when the Doctor found him. Missing an arm, with most of his organs damaged beyond the repair of a cyberneticist, he had his torso and arm replaced but one arm, his head, his spine, and his legs were all his own flesh and blood. There was a lot of left-handed punching to get used to, and the Doctor was hardly a martial arts master. So he just picked it up as he went along. Genos didn’t trust anyone else to teach him, either, so it was really the only option. His first fight was with some sort of weird slime monster. It had been terrorizing City Q, wiggling around and eating anything it thought it could. Genos didn’t stop to think what the thing was, or what it was made of that with no obvious digestive system it was still able to consume massive amounts of matter. So he punched it, with his right hand no less, and he jumped back moments after his hand sank into the gelatinous mass, crying out in agony when it turned out the monster was made of acid. He watched his skin peel away, the muscle dissolving next, until all that was left was the bone of his lower arm. Luckily, before he could be consumed completely, someone had the bright idea of pouring baking soda on it. The simple kitchen ingredient fizzled where it touched the monster, and it faded away into nothing, literally neutralized. The same man who did this, an old man with so many wrinkles Genos couldn’t make out his eyes, offered to take Genos to a hospital (but didn’t seem shaken by the fact that Genos had a skeleton hand that was slowly breaking down itself.). Genos refused, instead using his metal hand to take out his phone and call the doctor. It was easier to just take up to the shoulder, and replace both his arms with a new model of battle gear. This time, for long range attacks, Genos had the ability to shoot fire from the core that functioned as his heart. There were some days when this made Genos more careful. He got used to using the incinerate function more often than not, just in case the opponent had something up their sleeve, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be careful. He couldn’t find it in himself to trust anyone else, either, as the hero association became a common presence. If another hero showed up, Genos would just become that much more on guard. Every new addition was another threat. He saved civilians when he could, as if it made up for the people he hadn’t been able to save when he was 15, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much if he came home or not. He ended up losing nearly all of the organic material he had left. He still had his brain of course, parts of his spine, the muscles of his back simply because he faced everything head on and there was little opportunity to hit this part of him. His eyes went, his face, every inch of skin when he used incinerate and the enemy was made of something highly combustible, creating a massive inferno. At least after that he was made fireproof. After a while, there was little that could defeat him, but there was even less that was leading him toward his goal. He grew hopeless, reckless. He would attack without using the analytics the Doctor gave him, not really caring what damage he incurred. He almost enjoyed the pain, reminding him that he really was human. He wasn’t the monster the mad cyborg was. He wasn’t rampaging, he was being a hero. He wasn’t destroying towns he was saving them. There had to be a difference, and his ability to feel the pain of his failures, and the joy of his successes, was all he had left. No matter how many people he saved, Genos would never feel like a success. None of them were his little sister, or his mother. His brother or his father who fought back but didn’t have the strength. If he had been who he was now he would have been able to save them, even if it cost him this much pain. Nothing that happened to his body could be more pain than he felt when he dreamed at night. It had been four years and counting with no leads at all when a mosquito outbreak hit humanity. The weird swarm that nothing seemed to kill save burning the shit out of it. He responded simply because he had the two things this swarm couldn’t counteract--a body devoid of blood and a whole lot of fire. He hadn’t expected that they have some weird queen. Or that she would become more powerful with each drop of blood she absorbed. Or that she was Going to slice him nearly clean in half with one hit. But that was the problem wasn’t it? That he didn’t expect the unexpected. That he didn’t use his damn robot eyes to run any sort of diagnostic. That he let her get the better of him, and then he was left ready to blow himself to shit, to let down the doctor and his family because he was going to die anyway and he may as well take out this monster (and half the city but hey it was evacuated) with him. And that was when the most important naked bald man Genos would ever meet smacked the big boss straight back to Hell. Just swatted her out of the sky, with a dumb grin and the words “mosquitos suck”. Saitama. That was his name, and it didn’t take long to find the rundown shack he called an apartment with a simple wifi connection (a relatively new addition he mostly used to find monsters, search for the cyborg, and keep his mind entertained while he was being repaired and couldn’t move). It was only moments before he got to see his new teacher in battle. Well, there wasn’t any real battle to be seen. There was just flashes of movement and that terrifying empty grin while all of the enemies disappeared. All except the cyborg that Genos took on, who only started speaking plainly when Saitama appeared before him, not seeming afraid of Genos, who had just beaten him, in the slightest. It wouldn’t be the last time Genos would act foolishly to try and protect Saitama, but it was the first and last time that he thought Saitama actually needed the protection. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t trying to show off when he blew the tower up. To try and show Saitama that he could be strong too. That he wasn’t some metallic damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued all the time. He had defeated countless monsters, he was just a little reckless sometimes. He would also be lying if he said that he didn’t have to take a few breathes to keep from breaking down as he just watched the building collapse, distracting himself looking at Saitama, and turning off his hearing receptors for just a few seconds. Even still, the flashes were still in the back of his mind. They always were. Always waiting for him to slip up and think about it. Always waiting to tear him down again, rip him apart one more time. He was still shaken up when Kabuto came through the hall, smacking him into the wall like the insects he met Saitama losing to. It took him a moment to process what had even happened, feeling even more useless than before. Failure was so much more embarrassing when there were people to watch, especially people one was trying to impress. Like Saitama, who called Genos ‘modern art’. Something told Genos that it wasn’t a comment meant to flatter the Doctor’s work in making his body. He watched, useless, while his sensors reconnected, his nerves remembering how to move after the blow, as Saitama walked down the hall to some battle room. Again with that terrifying grin. Again without needing Genos in the slightest, or even seeming to miss his presence at all. He peeled himself away from the wall, determination spurring him forward into the battle room. Where he failed again, Saitama having to catch him before he ended up embedded in a second wall for the day. He wanted to cry, and nearly did when he realized how ridiculous his hair was from the blast. His strongest attack literally blown away. How was he supposed to defeat the mad cyborg like this? He couldn’t even hit a simple mutant, he’d never be able to destroy the monster that had taken everything from him. And the only secret Saitama gave him for getting stronger--basic muscle training. He was being made fun of, he was sure of it. There had to be more than that. Training in high-gravity environments maybe? Some sort of chamber that changed time and gravity to create stronger heroes? Anything but just working out every day and not using his air conditioner. He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice the beating his teacher was taking until he crashed into the wall, debris falling down. He could barely move, but he had to do something. He couldn’t let Saitama get thrown around like this. He struggled to stand, eager to be useful, to at least use the element of surprise to give Saitama the chance to regain his footing. He had finally gotten up, ready to put all he had left into his incinerator, when Saitama shouted something about a sale and punched Kabuto. The mutant exploded, and Saitama didn’t have a scratch. At the very least he’d made Saitama happy when he told him that they could still make the sale. If domestic matters were the only thing he could do for his master, then he would do them to the fullest. He would find the best sales, get the best ingredients for the best meals. He would be worth having around if it killed him. It nearly killed Genos, looking through thousands of sites for a deal that was better than his Master had already found through paper flyers. He gave himself a virus, and he didn’t notice until he was in the middle of battle and his left eye suddenly gave out, advertising some sort of sex website, where he could find ‘hot singles in his area’ and single mothers who were apparently quite eager for effective intercourse. His right leg gave out in the middle of a final-blow roundhouse kick, leaving him just bouncing off the giant octopus monster he was fighting. Slowly his body started bugging out, his incinerator at least activating at random, injuring the monster. Still, tentacles were coming at him, and thanks to the virus he was currently witnessing what tentacle monsters apparently did to their victims, when he saw a blur of yellow and red. The monster went limp, its center mass blown to mushy bits, and Saitama stood, looking disappointed before noticing Genos lying there, left arm twitching and sparking, while the rest of him just lay still. He felt shame rise in his artificial chest, something as simple as an octopus causing him so much trouble. He didn’t tell Saitama what had gone wrong. He didn’t deserve any sort of excuse for his failure. Instead, he just asked to be taken to the Doctor for repairs, holding back his oily tears until he got there, and Saitama left him at the door. He sobbed then, wishing he didn’t have a mission so he could just self-destruct right then. That is, if he even could, with his systems malfunctioning like this. He couldn’t call on much else, and he felt the virus digging into his core functions. He shut down, hoping that it would slow the progress. When he woke up, he had a talk with the doctor about needing to be stronger. It was a normal conversation, that usually ended with updates on his latest hardware update, and Genos promising to do better. An antivirus was installed, and he had to promise to stay off weird websites. If the doctor didn’t have access to his search history, Genos would never have convinced the doctor that he wasn’t just looking at strange porn, but he ended up feeling like that would have been less embarrassing after the sad smile the doctor gave him when Genos told him that he had just been trying to please his master. Genos was happy when he received the S class rank. He was sure this would mean that he would be in the same class as Satiama, who would undeniably be in the highest rank. His master was too great not to. It was a simple matter of the ethics test and physical tests. A lot of ‘what would you do’ situations that, even if he had no intention of doing something, the answer was clear. You never keep walking while a civilian is in danger, you always put yourself above the civilian population, even before civilian infrastructure. A hero must always put their safety last, and justice first. The other options were things like “stay at home and do nothing” or “Laugh”. It was the most simple test Genos had ever taken. And his Master had failed it. Making a solid 61%, only passing the exam in total because his physical scores were through the roof (literally, he had broken the roof of the exam room in the jumping activity). He realized that part of being a hero was being willing to make sacrifices for honesty, rather than just answering whatever he thought they wanted to hear. Such selfishness was more fit for a villain, and his master had been willing to give up increased pay, even access to research and facilities for the sake of his integrity. Genos again felt shame, knowing that he’d earned this S rank unjustly. He was ready to go complain to the board that they allow him to switch with Saitama until his master begged him not to, saying that it would be embarrassing. Of course! Saitama would rather work his way through the ranks, showing them that the examination was falsely crafted rather than be given S-rank for a test so simple Genos could make a one hundred percent on it. He wished he’d brought his notebook, feeling stupid for thinking that he wouldn’t learn a great deal from Saitama here as he did everywhere. He tried his best to remember everything he would write when they got home, estimating that it would take nearly an entire notebook. Eventually, he decided that moving in with Satiama was the only way he could truly advance. It had come after an upgrade to his arms, as well as his core, giving him more power both as in more charge and more strength. And he still found himself destroyed by some monster calling herself the Mountain Queen, come to take her revenge for humans destroying some range of mountains that she had resided in. Apparently they destroyed them for no reason a couple of years ago, and she and her people had been living in squalor and sunburn ever since without their intricate system of caves to rely on. He punched her, only to watch as his entire hand just crumbled, bursting up to his elbow from the impact with the immoveable surface. Saitama gave him a pitying look. That single eyebrow raised with a small smile. Like he had just watched a kitten miscalculate distance and fall instead of succeeding in jumping from a table to a counter. He clenched the fist he still had, tears welling in his eyes again, wishing he could get something right when Saitama was around just once. He used to beat monsters all the time, but it seemed like he was just getting worse and worse. The Doctor assured him that it was just that he was facing stronger monsters as an S-class hero, especially with the spike in strong monsters coming from City Z. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going terribly wrong as Saitama had to save him yet again, a single half-hearted punch destroying the monster, turning her into a pile of rubble in the middle of the street. Satiama walked by Genos, giving him a thumbs up. “Good try. That one was tough.” Satiama always offered these menial encouragements. Small tokens as if Genos deserved anything other than a scolding for his performance. It just made him feel worse, but he supposed Satiama was a good teacher for trying to encourage him. He wanted to talk to the other heroes about this. Ask how they had gotten strong. Surely not all of them were so inexplicably powerful. But...he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was sure that there was some other agenda they were running on, otherwise they wouldn’t be so intent on making sure that Saitama stayed low in the ranks. He was certain that they were planning something he wasn’t smart enough to notice. Something that his master would. He just went back to the Doctor to get repaired. Again. Trying to figure out some way that he could be useful in battle. He was tempted to just ask that all his weapons be replaced with cleaners, just scrub brushes and sponges where incinerators once were. But he had to defeat the mad cyborg, no matter what, he had to become stronger. When the sea king attacked, Genos was afraid. Not just cautious, which would have been a blessing at this point, but actively terrified. He watched it go through other heroes like a hot knife through butter. There was no way he could win. He should just leave, find Saitama. Find any other hero. Except that the Sea King just broke through the roof of the shelter, and seemed to be ready to kill every civilian there. He had no choice. He had to make time. He had to stall until his master could show up and really save the day. He punched it with all his might. Literally, he put every drop of power his systems could take without overloading into one punch, and let the sea king have it. He was almost hopeful when the monster went flying. He’d watched skin burn, saw exposed teeth through the jaw. He had landed a solid punch, even if he was already feeling the drain, his battery monitor already putting him in the yellow from a full solar charge. After a few moments he straightened up, happy to be able to report to Saitama that he had actually done something right. Until he felt the contact with his entire body. He went flying, his pressure sensors told him that he would still be functioning, but that he was in severe danger if he took another hit. His structural integrity was reduced. He had to be careful. Jumping in front of a ball of acid goo was not being careful. It was painful. Even when he’d turned off the pain receptors, he felt the agony. It was digging into his real flesh. Into his humanity. He watched the horror in the girl’s eyes and wondered if it would have been better to just have killed her quickly himself rather than saving her like this. He knew what could happen to someone witnessing tragedy. She’d just looked so much like is little Yuki...He hadn’t been able to watch her get hurt. He couldn’t let it happen again. He was thrown out like the garbage he was, unable to focus on anything except the pain. He went into shock, his mind neither used to or capable of processing such pain. At least the rain was washing the acid away, diluting it and keeping it from digging into anything more. Still, his spinal cord was exposed. Rain was falling directly onto his nerves, and he twitched with the sheer excruciating pain. He didn’t see much when Licenseless rider tried to fight, and the efficiency with which the poor guy was dispatched. He never stood a chance but at least he seemed to know that. He made himself pay attention, through all the pain, when he saw Saitama though. It meant the people were saved. It meant that he would make it through yet another close call, and be a disappointment again. He tried not to be angry that he was being saved again. It meant that he would have another shot at the mad cyborg. It meant that he could become stronger, become someone worth caring about and caring for. He let his systems shut down, exhausted. Finding out that Saitama was depressed was something that Genos took very harshly. He had been so absorbed in his own fear and self loathing that he hadn't’ noticed until Saitama had literally let himself get shot. Multiple times. It made his reactions to the people shouting at him even more enraging, and gave Genos a different perspective as to why Saitama never retaliated at the slurs thrown his way unless he was making a big show on purpose, to make others look good. It wasn’t that his master was so thick skinned none of it affected him...it was that Saitama agreed with the hate they slung at him. This made Genos far less inclined to allow people to do that slinging. The next time they were out together, picking up some groceries when they couldn’t wait on sales any longer without starving to death, Genos heard the catty whispering that Saitama ignored with such ease. It was a teenage girl and her boyfriend, the latter even wearing a ‘demon cyborg’ t-shirt. “Hey, is that Demon Cyborg?” He asked, his voice filled with child-like glee. “Yeah it is...who is that with him though? Some old man.” The girl answered, and Genos felt his eye twitch in irritation. Still, that he could handle. He would make sure that he said nice things when they got home, no one recognized him, only seeing a bald head and a hoodie. “That’s the Caped Baldy. They’re always together but I dunno why. Cyborg must feel sorry for the poor guy, trying to help him out since he keeps putting himself in dangerous situations and then fucking it up for everyone. Maybe if he learns something he’ll manage to actually help some-” And that was the last straw. Genos stopped and turned around, death in his eye. “What did you say?” Genos hissed, throwing his basket of veggies to the ground and walking over to the kids. “Genos, it’s no big deal…” Saitama told him, like he always did. This was the first time Genos didn’t listen. He grabbed the kid by his neck, and hoisted him up with one hand, the other very obviously activating his incinerator. “You will never speak of my master in this manner again, understand? He is the strongest hero alive. He is humble and beautiful, he is wise beyond his 26 years, and you would do well to give him the respect that he has earned in saving you on multiple occasions.” Genos demanded, while the girl got to her knees, begging Genos to let her boyfriend go, and the boy just started screaming. “Genos!” Saitama shouted, tugging on his shirt, the threat of strength Genos knew he couldn’t compete with in the simple action. His master was capable of such gentleness, not even ripping thin fabric, but he was also capable of ripping Genos limb from limb without breaking a sweat. Genos dropped the boy, and stormed away. It was childish, he knew. He was being petty, showing Saitama that no matter how much he tried to act mature, to be wise and strong like his master, Genos was just a kid at heart. Barely matured since losing his arm. Barely holding it together, too. He couldn’t protect the people who cared about him then, too weak to do anything for his family while the cyborg murdered them. He lived for years closing off his mechanical heart, and when he finally let himself trust someone other than the doctor, it was backfiring. He just wanted to protect his master in the only way he really could. Trying to protect Saitama from monsters was just embarrassing, but from the people who sent him letters and looks, who tried to make Saitama give up the one thing that made him get out of bed, Genos was in the position to act on that attack. He was popular, he was an S rank hero, and people looked up to him. If he defended Saitama publicly, he could lose fans, yes, but he would also change many people’s minds about his master. And now Saitama wouldn’t even let him do that. He sprinted back to the apartment, wanting to be alone if only for a few moments while his master finished the shopping and made sure that the young couple wasn’t harmed in any way. His master would do that too, stop to make sure people who had been so rude to him were okay. Genos threw the door open, wanting to break something, and choosing instead to bury his face in the futons, folded in the corner, and scream at the top of his mechanical lungs. When he felt tears coming, he lifted his face up, not wanting to stain the cloth with oil, and let himself sob. He knew he should head to the bathroom, where Saitama wouldn’t see him. Where his weakness wouldn’t be shown everywhere, because as much as he cared for Saitama anyone seeing him breaking down like this gave him a bit of anxiety, but he couldn’t make himself do it. His body felt heavy, or at least, heavier than the quarter ton it already was, but that wasn’t it. He almost wanted Saitama to catch him. To hold him close and tell him that it was okay, and he would believe Saitama because his master had never lied to him before, not really. He may make things up to sound teacherly, but he never really lied. They were all wisdom, even if Saitama didn’t know it. He wanted someone to protect him, not just in the way Saitama was always there to defeat the monsters Genos couldn’t, but to make him feel really safe in a way that he hadn’t in four years. He couldn’t just bring the subject up, any more than Saitama had been able to bring up his emotional instability, but Genos hoped he would be able to open up with Saitama pressing him. But what if Saitama didn’t? That was the big question. What if Saitama just told him that he’d gone too far, that he didn’t care if Genos was crying, Genos had to pack his stuff and leave for his display of anger? Genos felt his chest compress in a way he knew couldn’t actually be happening just by the mechanics of his plating, but couldn’t convince his brain wasn’t totally real. He wasn’t sure he could go back to sleeping in the lab, going from monster to monster pretending he didn’t hope that it was the one he finally had to self destruct to defeat, mad cyborg be damned because no one could get mad at a martyr and Saitam and the hero organization would kill the damn thing eventually if it ever showed up again. He’d lost track of time, now knowing how long he’d been sitting there when he heard the doorknob turn. It couldn’t have been too long, tears were still running down his face, and he didn’t have enough extra to cry for more than an hour or so. Saitama came in, face in that ever present neutral expression. Genos look up at him, trying to wipe the tears away just smearing them over his synthetic skin. Saitama sighed, eyebrows shifting so that his face was full of pity. That wasn’t what Genos wanted. Genos wanted caring, concern, even anger would have been better than pity. Genos could have just left, forced himself to cut Saitama out of his life and his heart and his mind, but this pity was just maddening. “You didn’t have to do that, really Genos. I’m used to it by now.” Saitama said softly, squatting down in front of Genos. “I’m sorry, Master. I will make sure to be more controlled in the future.” Genos answered softly, feeling his heart break in the most painfully metaphorical way. “I should probably tell you that’s what you should do but...thanks. No one had ever stood up for me like that before. It was kinda cool.” Genos looked up, his face probably showing the obvious shock he was feeling. “You’re not angry?” Genos asked, blinking a few times and being able to breathe again when Saitama smiled. “Nah. As your teacher, I probably should be. Bang would say something about anger being bad, but as your friend...well as your friend it was awesome. That kid was ready to pee his pants. You still shouldn’t do it again, but I can’t manage to be mad this time.” Saitama put his hand on Genos’ shoulder, pulling him into a soft hug. Genos reciprocated, squeezing with all his might and knowing, for once, that he wouldn’t hurt someone without trying to. He’d squished the hands of people wanting to shake, or accidentally touched people too soon after his incinerator, but now he knew that he couldn’t hurt Saitama if he tried, and that was comforting. “Thank you, Master.” He mumbled into Saitama’s shoulder, fingers digging into the cotton of Saitama’s hoodie. That he was careful with, knowing Saitama’s affection for it, though he couldn’t pinpoint why, never having witnessed any particular perversion Saitama held for breasts. “Why did you freak out so much this time though? You always just kinda glared at people before.” Saitama asked, and Genos pondered lying for a moment, before remembering the ethics exam and the notes he took from it. Lying never did anything good in the long run, and more work and higher risk was better than lying. “Because I knew that you were listening.” He said, explaining it as concisely as he could. “You thought lowly of yourself and people like him weren’t helping. I’m sorry, Master.” “That was 21 words, Genos. And call me Saitama, jeez.” Saitama said, blushing and looking like he was going to cry too. “You really don’t need to worry about me. Twerps like that aren’t gonna get me down when I’m friends with the coolest cyborg on the block.” “I’m the only cyborg who takes residence in the entirety of city Z, Mas--Saitama.” Genos tried the syllables on his lips, and they felt foreign, but like foreign food that you couldn’t get enough of. “You know what I meant. Point is, you don’t need to get yourself put on the villain list for beating up punks on the street cause they called me names. Setting all the hate mail I get on fire is already way more than is necessary, I promise.” Genos nodded, “I will try and be as strong as you then, Saitama, and not allow the rudeness of others to provoke violence.” “Good.” Saitama said, and was quiet for a while, just kind of loosely holding Genos, while the cyborg happily basked in the affection. After a while though, with the sun going down and their stomachs rumbling, the two pulled apart and went along with their evening. Genos made dinner (after washing quickly to get rid of any oil, which miraculously hadn’t destroyed Saitama’s hoodie) and they ate it watching the news, just because nothing else was on. They slept soundly, Genos babbling about some article he read about a tree in Country 56 that owned itself, and how interesting that was in terms of property law precedence. It put Saitama right out, and eventually Genos realized he was talking to the air and shut down, barely feeling like dying of embarrassment at having been so boring. The cute smile Saitama wore was more than enough to make up for it. The next day, everything wasn’t all better. Genos still felt like jumping out of his skin every time a pan was dropped in the kitchen, or the toilet flushed at night. He still glared daggers in the backs of nearly everyone save the doctor and Saitama. He still had nightmares nearly every night, and woke up gasping for breath, filled with fear and shame. But it was a little better. He began to convince himself that, even if Saitama saw the gasping, that he wouldn’t hate Genos for it, or think less of him. He even started to not want to stab King, or Fubuki, simply for being someone other than the two people he trusted. And three days later, when he was in battle with an animate chopstick monster, he even managed to think before he acted not only how he was going to prevent harm to civilians, but how to prevent himself from getting hurt as well. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to have to self destruct. And that sounded a lot like progress.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Saitama was starting to get more mail recently. Every Saturday, the drone would pop by with a crate full of letters, and Genos would scan through them dutifully while Saitama made dinner. They could switch, but honestly seeing everyone loving Genos while they just sent him hastily scrawled hatred bummed Saitama out, no matter what he told his cyborg friend. He knew that Genos tended to fry anything mean, only handing him the one or two that were actually thanking him. It wasn’t uncommon that there would be nothing for him to read, or just a note written by Genos like Saitama didn’t recognize his writing by now, just seeing him writing in his notebooks. Satiama didn’t read the notebooks of course, Genos hid them, badly, but enough that it was clear they were considered personal effects. The past few weeks, however, Saitama was getting a few letters, and they weren’t even from people he knew!This week was a little girl from City J, who had seen him defeat one monster or another--she didn’t mention and neither of them could figure it out from the short, barely legible note--and seemed to appreciate her life more than the adults of the country. Saitama smiled at the backwards symbols, every misspelled word, every stray mark that showed someone young enough not to be lying made the simple note. Thanks for saving me, Baldy. Love, Ko.It was just that simple. And it had him grinning like an idiot. Genos was nearly taking notes, marking down every atom of this moment of pure, simple joy on his master’s face. Instead, he chose to just try and remember, thinking that he might ask the Doctor to install some cameras in his eyes for moments such as these. And it did only last a moment, no longer than it took to read the single sentence and glance over the hearts and the rudimentary picture of Saitama with giant, bugg muscles bulging from his yellow suit drawn over the piece of paper. And then Saitama was looking up, blinking at Genos' and asking Genos was he was so happy about. Genos dismissed it, saying that he just thought of a funny joke, and gave some pun about an orange on top of a can. Saitama just glared at him for a moment, all puns being funnier to the person telling them anyway. There were still people who would shout in the streets, but Genos managed not to assault any of them, and wanted to less and less with each good letter his master received, sure that the tide was turning and everyone would soon realize how amazing Saitama was. It was unsettling the first time someone threw the same hate at Genos' however. Saitama didn’t like it one bit, and made quite the bad example of himself. They had arrived to the scene of a monster attack, in city J no less, Something about mountain people, angry that their mountain range had been destroyed one and a half years ago, and that they were seeking revenge by destroying the nearest human city. Satiama already had the sneaking suspicion that this was his fault, and was prepared for someone with no life and an internet connection to have figured that out, but he could hardly be dissuaded from a good fight by something as basic as angry citizens. When he and Genos arrived in the city center, half the buildings were crashed down, and there was a path leading in a single direction, even if it was nearly three blocks wide. The mountain people appeared to be organized at least in their destruction, taking it a few streets at a time, and working their way around the city like they were moving a very large lawn. “Well, at least they’re easy to follow.” Saitama said, excited to potentially have a challenge. “I wonder how many there are.” “It has to be a good number of them to cause this much destruction. If they were big enough for it to just be a few, we would be able to see them from here.” Genos answered, though he was less eager for something that could potentially challenge Saitama than his master himself was. After all, Genos was hardly eager for a fight no one but Saitama had any chance of winning, where he would be useless and there was the chance of losing. No, he was much happier with the sort of enemies Saitama was immune to damage from, and could defeat in one punch, even if it meant that his master would be bummed out for a few hours. It turned out that there were a couple dozen of these mountain people, and the name wasn’t just a place of origin. They themselves were huge, and seemed to be made of rock. Analysis proved that it wasn’t just any rock, but diamond infused metamorphic rock. The hardness was a 9.8, nearly impossible to break. Genos wouldn’t be able to land a hit, and they would definitely ruin his master’s gloves. Before he could relay the information, Saitama was rushing out, punching one in the leg--all he could reach on the twenty foot giants without bothering to jump up. Genos waited for the explosion, and the collapse that people would get angry with them for later. Instead, there was only a crack. The crack ran up the length of the giant, until it caused collapse, still technically beating the bad guy in one punch but still, it wasn’t the usual. And this was just a minion, what would the king be like? Genos worried, and began looking for weak points he could make even weaker with some strategically applied heat. As usual, however, he wasn’t paying attention, and soon found himself missing both the arms that allowed for this. He hadn’t been hit, of that he was sure. There had been a slice, but none of the mountain people appeared to be carrying any sort of sword, or even a spear. He laid useless again, staring at the battle and trying to find the mysterious source of his newest de-limbing. Saitama sighed a bit, much as he tried not to, when Genos got his arms cut off again. He understood that these guys were pretty strong, but he kept telling the kid that he he to be more careful. One day Saitama wouldn’t be there to help him, and he was going to actually get killed. The thought was more than Saitama could deal with right now, so he just focused on the kind of battle that he could only dream of. He was dealing blows that he could actually feel, and there was real resistance to them. These were the strongest things he’d faced in a long time, and it was a shame that they hadn’t beaten up a few S-rankers to get made a God-level threat before he dispatched them. That would move him up to S-rank for sure, and that paid so much better than B. Not to mention Fubuki would leave him alone when he was ranked above her. He tried his best to keep the warriors away from Genos, distracting them being best both for keeping his friend safe, and for getting the best possible fight out of it, making them gang up on him. He was pretty sure that one of them had even taken two hits a second ago, though it may have been another one of the mountaineers. He was pretty let down when they stopped coming, breath coming a little heavy as he stood on top of a giant pile of rubble, his shirt torn nearly clean off, and a grin plastered to his face. “Oi! Genos! You missed out on all the fun!” He yelled before hopping down, ready to collect Genos and get on his way back home when one of the civilians creeped out from the shadows. It was an old man, the only hair on his head being the sort that spilled forth untrimmed from his hook nose. He looked angry, but his face was so soggy Saitama could barely tell. “Thank goodness for you, Caped Baldy! This hunk of scraps sure was useless.” He said, giving the husky rasp of a laugh that indicated a life of screaming or smoking, and usually both. Saitama stopped walking, looking at the man like he wasn’t quite sure what he’d said, and if he realized what he was saying. Saitama hoped the man was senile, and with that assumption was ready to grab Genos and leave, until he felt a pain in his chest. The fact that there was pain was odd enough--he’d been more or less numb for the past year and a half, but the warmth that spread over his right shoulder was even stranger. “What the…” He looked down, seeing a small shimmer for just a brief moment, and blood soaking through his suit. “Master!” Genos yelled, unable to do much without arms. Still, he ran to Saitama, looking like he’d just watched his worst fear pop out of the ground and told him to bone his mother. “Huh…” Saitama turned around, just in time to see an even bigger monster with what appeared to be a coil of wire around her hand throwing a punch his way, grab Genos, and jump away. He set his cyborg friend in an alley, telling him to run away, since this bad guy seemed extra bad and he didn’t have arms. He didn’t look back to see if he was listened to. “I am the Mountain Queen, fool.” The monster announced, and Saitama gave her the same unimpressed look he usually gave monsters when they monologues, and yet now he was more on edge. There would be no free shots to see what happened, or to make himself feel cooler. He would get straight to killing her and going home to hope that nothing in his first aid kid was expired. Or that he could even find it. “Ok.” Was his reply, and he barely avoided, that thin sliver of whatever it was strong enough to hurt him this time, leaving a crack in the sidewalk where he hadn’t held back enough stepping away to keep it intact. Whatever, the monster was destroying enough that no one could get mad at one piece of sidewalk. “My whip is made of pure diamonds, infused with the will of my ancestors. I have trained for a year, day in and day out, to defeat you, and the way you defeated my sisters proves that you were the one who destroyed my kingdom.” She continued, moving faster than he would have thought, clearly moving the wire to try and make a trap. One that he would be hard pressed to get out of unless he finished her off fast. He clenched his fist, feeling blood rush through him and a smile come to his face. He lunged forward, moving as fast as he could to punch her square in the center of her weird rocky body. He almost wanted there to be resistance, but he felt it going through her like a hot knife through butter. And just like that, she fell, the hole he made in her falling over him, leaving him surrounded by a few feet of Queen on all sides. With a frown and a sigh, he jumped out, walking away. He flipped the old man off for good measure, and headed home. Genos was there when Saitama arrived. He was wearing his emergency arms, just small prosthetics with no weapons. They were mostly plastic, but they could do anything normal human arms could do. Saitama had hoped that Genos went to get himself fixed up when he hadn’t stuck around the battle, but realized now that was too much to ask for. Genos had dinner ready, lentil soup that was just leftovers boiled with different spices, and the first aid kit taken from wherever Saitama left it. And again with that damned concerned look. “You...you were hurt.” Genos muttered, like a kid realizing Santa wasn’t real. “Yeah. She wasn’t that strong though. Still just one punch. Wasn’t nearly as fun as I thought it was gonna be.” He answered, hoping that Genos would cheer up knowing that he was still one punching all the bad guys. At the very least that he wouldn’t look so worried. “Are you alright? There’s blood all over your front.” Genos asked, standing and approaching Saitama, even reaching to remove his outfit before his hands jerked awkwardly back to his sides. His face lit up pink, and Saitama chuckled, unzipping the suit and letting it fall away down to his belt. He had no problem with nudity but the way Genos was on edge, he didn’t want to stress the kid out more than was strictly necessary. “Don’t worry about it. There’s barely any bleeding now. They had this weird diamond chord stuff. Maybe none of the bad guys ever tried using something harder than my skin.” He guessed, putting a hand on Genos’ shoulder, “Either way, don’t worry about me. Go get some real arms.” “That explains what cut my arms off. You got the chords, right? Disposed of them in some way?” “No...why would I do that?” He asked, before realizing that they were made of diamonds. He could have been rich! Genos was talking, probably using that damn logic of his again, his mouth moving faster than the rest of him seemed to be able to, when Saitama jerked ramrod straight, and grabbed one of Genos’ arms. “We have to go get them!” By the time they got back, people were already cleaning up. Saitama had tugged his suit back on, but only at Genos'’ urging. He hated the feeling of the congealing blood on his skin, but if they didn’t hurry, Saitama wouldn’t be able to get the gemstone chords. He looked around for them, but found that they were all missing. He cursed himself mentally for not thinking about it before, all the things he could have done with the money flashing before his eyes. For one, he would have been able to buy fresh food that wasn’t nearly expired. He could have bought whatever food he wanted, without having to worry about what was on sale. He could have bought actual cable instead of just getting the local news! And yet here he was, late to his own party so to speak, getting nothing when he was the one who busted open the pinata. He dropped to his knees, shouting to the skies. He was so careless. This was even worse than almost missing the sale to fight carnage kabuto. People gave him glares, and Genos glared right back while he put a hand on Saitama’s shoulder. “It will be alright, Master. I’m sure that they were just pawned off by civilians. Maybe the diamond will just go to rebuilding the city. That would be the best case. Even if the weapons have been taken by other monsters, we just both need to be careful from now on.” He tried to console Saitama, apparently not understanding the reason he was so distraught. But if Saitama told Genos, the cyborg would just try and give him another giant wad of cash, and he didn’t want Genos trying to pay for a half ton of diamond to make Saitama feel better. Even if the guy did get paid outrageous salaries, especially considering S-ranks got bonuses for every dragon level threat or higher they took care of and Genos was present at nearly all of them, getting credited with a great deal of Saitama’s work. “Yeah yeah.” Saitama murmured, getting up with slumped shoulders. “It looks like there are robot footprints though. Not just yours.” He pointed to some that were scattered around. “Wonder what that’s about.”“Maybe Metal Knight responded to the threat?” Genos suggested, the two of them starting to walk back home. “Man, that jerk? He probably took all the diamond too. Like he couldn’t just make his own with all his robot stuff.” Saitama complained, and was going to put his hands behind his head before the tug on his wound actually hurt. He was never gonna get used to actually being in pain again, especially when it stayed so much longer than the thrill of battle did. He was amazed he stayed a hero for so long when he was getting his ass kicked every day. He remembered fighting one gang with a broken arm, and wondered how he managed it. He must have really been bored. “At least it’s in the hands of another hero, rather than a monster.” Genos concluded, his fears of Saitama ever having to face the diamond whips again alleviated. Saitama wasn’t comforted, but then again his worries were very different. He complained about it all the way home, until Genos stopped and they just ate at a restaurant. It was a Western place, and Genos pretended not to like the long squishy fries, those finally succeeding in cheering his master up when Genos handed them over. Saitama healed rather quickly, even though he hated every moment of it. The way it burned when he showered, his body not liking water inside him as much as you’d think. The way his motion was stunted. The way moving the wrong way opened it back up and got blood all over everything. The pain in the ass of getting blood out of everything. Still, two weeks for being run through was the sort of inhuman ability that Saitama had to watch Genos chronicle in his journal and wonder what was taking him 60 pages to write down, even with Genos’ large writing. The best part of being hurt though was that Genos was even more attentive than usual. In addition to his housewife duties, as Saitama liked to call them, if only in his head, Genos took it upon himself to ensure personally that Saitama’s wound was cleaned properly every evening. He even got his arms fixed one at a time so that he could be there to make supper, ensure that Saitama wasn’t over-exerting himself, and be there at night to re-dress the tiny injury. Soft fingers, the delicate skin on the palm side of the hands made of some silicone like material that felt like it was bought from, or at least designed for, sex toy companies, would caress his chest with the greatest care. A soft cloth with warm water would wash away any dirt that could have invisibly gathered during the day, antibacterial cream would be applied, and then there would be the almost too snug bandages. Saitama was never a sexual person, especially since his feelings dulled, and he still wasn’t popping a boner or anything, but he found himself itching like crazy to just pull Genos closer to him and snuggle like a sick child. When he got well though, the worry didn’t go away. It didn’t seem to matter how many monsters he took down without getting a scratch on him, Genos just seemed to mind the part where he was injured once, and was therefore theoretically destructible. Pointing out that Genos got blown to bits all the time didn’t seem to help, but just distress the kid even more. Saitama told him about his early days as a hero, when he got his ass kicked all the time, but always came out on top. Again, Genos seemed more worried than comforted by this piece of information. Without any foreseeable way to comfort Genos, he decided to just let it go. Enough time and his cyborg friend would realize that he was still mostly indestructible as long as no one got a hold of tiny super diamonds and turned them into invisible pokey things. Things were going well in spite of this little bump in the road, however. He was steadily moving through the ranks, people were starting to not totally hate him, and Genos’ fan club started sending them little fruit baskets. Some of them had the fruits cut into adorable shapes, and Genos always shared his food. But if life had taught him anything, it was that happiness was just taking a loan out from future you, and that it would have to be paid back with suffering. It was a normal fight. Genos showed up first, demanded that he be allowed to take on the monster (a giant chihuahua), and then got his arms ripped off after he was reckless. It was predictable, falling into the same rut as the rest of Saitama’s life. He assured Genos that he did a good job and ran after the giant tiny dog to punch it before it destroyed even more of the city. The problem came not with the battle (which couldn’t even really be called that) but that when he got back, Genos wasn’t waiting for him. Genos always waited for him when he got his arms ripped off. Even if he still had his legs like he did now, he would stand around waiting for Saitama to come back and they would go home together. Then Genos would get his temp arms, have a meal, and go to the Doctor for repairs. It was how they did things. He didn’t let himself worry too much about it now though. Genos was a tough guy, as much as he got beat up, and it didn’t seem like there were any monsters who had come after the dog that he needed to worry about. Saitama figured Genos just got tired of waiting around and went straight to get himself fixed up. If there was anything dangerous, he would hear about it on the evacuation alarms. He got home, and found that Genos wasn’t there either, and while part of him hoped that he would find his friend there, he wasn’t surprised. After all, he’d expected that Genos had gone for repairs instead. When Genos didn’t come back after one day, he put it off as getting an upgrade. After two, he let himself worry, though not too much. After three, he panicked, called the hero association, which reported there were no other monsters in the area at that time and the only hero they had recognized as even trying to respond was, of course, Mumen Rider, and he hadn’t even made it close. After a week, his panic became depression. Of course Genos took the first opportunity to leave. Why would he want to learn how to be strong from a man he had found out was actually weak?Genos thought that he could learn from Saitama, and yet Saitama was a terrible teacher. He lied, and tricked, and then hoped that it would all work out. He told Genos to make the impossible task of rising to the top ten of the S-class simply because it would take him way too long to do. He told Genos that he needed mental training and then it turned out that Saitama’s mind was falling apart. Genos came to him because his body was strong, and yet Genos watched him bleed, and tended the wound. He was supposed to help Genos find the mad cyborg, and yet here he was, nearly a year later, with neither more skill nor more information regarding the monster that killed his family. He had been a truly useless master, and Genos finally realized it. He knew it would happen one day, he just didn’t think he’d be left alone in his apartment without any notice. As he looked around, he started to notice that Genos’ things were missing as well. His toothbrush, his giant backpack, his clothing, his spare arms, and even the notebooks he meticulously took notes in. All of it vanished, and he found himself missing the object's presence almost as much as Genos’. They made his apartment feel like a home. Now it just felt empty, and he couldn’t bother getting up on the eighth morning to have to look at it. He just laid in his futon, curled up in blankets pretending that it was any other day, and that Genos was in his own deep sleep a few feet away. He didn’t cook anymore. He’d almost forgotten how, honestly, having quickly gotten used to having most of his meals cooked by his disciple. He would eat pre-made frozen foods, or just not eat. He found that his body’s strength was unfailing even when he was starving, and between Genos paying half his rent, and getting a pay bump from the association in B-class he was able to afford laziness. When he couldn’t, he just didn’t pay the rent. It wasn’t like the landlady, who had long since moved away, would come to the uninhabited part of city Z to collect it,and he couldn’t make himself care about her not getting rent from a building that barely stayed standing. The water stopped running after a month. Saitama didn’t notice for three days. Showering was a lot of effort, and he didn’t do it much any more. He kept getting Genos’ fan mail delivered to him. He lived off fruit baskets for a week, because it was easier than going to the store. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered doing that. He didn’t fight monsters, he didn’t see the point. Most of them were in his area anyway, and he was the only one here. Besides, if the S-class thought they were so cool, they could actually fight their own battles for once. Tornado was apparently picking up a lot of his slack, from what he heard before his TV stopped running. The number one hero Blast had even been rumored to appear, taking down threats after one or two S-class heroes lost. Usually right after Saitama showed up and punched it. They said he had laser vision, and that he could blow things up with his mind. Quite the legend. Saitama couldn’t manage to gather up enough of a fuck for his past hero worship though. When he didn’t eat, he imagined Genos coming in, giving him that gentle scolding that was equal parts respect and concern. When he got thirsty, he could ignore it, until the lecture he got from Genos about the problems caused by chronic dehydration and their effects on the economy came barrelling to the front of his mind and he would grab a drink, until the water ran out. HE probably would have dried out, cold and hungry on the floor of an apartment where no one would find him until a drone came in through his window. He looked at it slowly, waiting for the attack he knew wouldn’t hurt, but would be a pain in his ass. Instead, it planted itself on his table, and a holographic image of an address in city X popped up, like it was typing on a word document. Underneath it, in smaller font, the words Genos' has been kidnapped. Only you can save him. I believe he is being held captive by the Metal Knight for research at this facility. Genos? Genos was missing? Kidnapped? By Metal Knight? That made no sense. Why would a hero kidnap another hero, and who sent this little droid to help him figure that out? Not to mention Metal Knight knew exactly what Saitama could do, the way he gathered information, so how was there any chance that he would take Saitama’s friend and expect to get away with it. It was Metal Knight who took the diamond string, though. Genos had been fine with it being a hero, and Saitama had just thought of all the money going down the drain, and neither of them wondered what he would do with it. He thought that he could use them to keep Saitama away from Genos, then. At the very least, he could hurt Saitama, maybe even kill him, and he assumed that meant he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone coming for Genos. Anyone who cared about Genos' would be thoroughly afraid of whatever traps he’d lain. That was foolish. It was hard to be afraid when you didn’t care if you lived or died. The human element, ironically. Saitama was unpredictable it seemed. He didn’t bother bathing (which was hard enough anyway with no water, and involved a lot of the cleaners Genos left behind) or even changing into his hero outfit. He changed his underwear, tugged on sweat pants and his favorite hoodie, and headed out, his muscles, aching from disuse coming alive like a dusty machine as he ran through the cities, paper and litter fluttering up in his path. The sun was just starting to set when he reached the giant tower belonging to the metal knight. He took a deep breath, kicking in the front door. Rather than a death trap, he was met with a young woman, her black hair tied in a neat, professional bun to match her pantsuit. She blinked at him, looked him over, and pointed to one of two doors on either side of her reception desk. It had his name over it in neon red letters, and he raised an eyebrow. She shrugged her shoulders, and without a word exchanged between them, he kicked open the door into the corridor that would lead him to his friend, and some answers.