The air in the interview room hung thick, a stew of unspoken anger and barely contained frustration. The woman's face, a rigid mask, screamed resentment. "Even Amai Mask won't agree with this," she spat, her voice sharp and laced with a nasty little triumph. "He'll see this as an insult to the A-Class."

  Sitch's jaw tightened. "Amai Mask's opinion is irrelevant," he stated, his voice firm and unwavering.

  "Irrelevant?" she scoffed, her eyes darting towards me with a look of pure disdain. "He's the face of the A-Class! He won't tolerate someone like... him."

  "Sneck has proven his worth," Sitch retorted, his voice unwavering. "He is qualified."

  "But Amai Mask…" she persisted, her voice laced with a subtle threat. "He has influence. He could make things… difficult."

  "I am not afraid of Amai Mask," Sitch declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "And neither should Sneck be."

  I remained impassive, observing the exchange with a detached curiosity. Their petty squabbles held little interest for me. My focus was on the task at hand, the mission, and getting more orbs.

  "Sneck," Sitch announced, his voice ringing with authority, "you are promoted to A-Class, effective immediately. Congratulations."

  I nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in my eyes. I had overcome their resistance, their veiled threats. I was an A-Class hero.

  Just as I was about to leave, the third person in the room, a man who had remained silent throughout the entire interview, finally spoke. His voice was calm, measured, and carried an air of quiet authority.

  "Before we finalize the promotion," he said, his gaze fixed on me, "I have one question. Does Sneck have a formal hero name?"

  I paused, my reptilian eyes blinking slowly. I forgot that, right now, I was simply Sneck.

  "No," I replied, my voice flat. "I have not chosen a hero name."

  The man nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "A hero name is important," he said, his voice gentle. "It's a symbol, a representation of who you are as a hero. It's how the public will remember you."

  The woman, despite her previous anger, looked at me with a small hint of amusement. She thought this was the perfect opportunity to make me look foolish. Sitch, however, looked at me with a look of concern. He knew that the public image was important.

  "Sneck is sufficient," Sitch interjected, his voice firm. "His actions speak for themselves."

  "Perhaps," the man conceded, "but a hero name can enhance one's image, create a sense of identity. It's a matter of branding, if you will."

  He paused, his gaze lingering on me. "Think about it," he said. "A hero name can be a powerful tool. It can inspire hope, instill fear, or simply become a memorable moniker. It's up to you to decide what kind of hero you want to be."

  He looked at Sitch and the woman. "I believe that Sneck should have a hero name before the official announcement of his promotion."

  Sitch nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Very well," he said, turning to me. "Consider it, Sneck. Choose a name that reflects your strength, your dedication. Something that will resonate with the public."

  I nodded slowly, my mind churning. I had never considered this aspect of being a hero. I had always focused on the task at hand, on protecting the city. But perhaps, I thought, a hero name could be useful. Perhaps it could help me to be more than just a weapon, more than just a force of destruction.

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  As I turned to leave, the man spoke again. "Perhaps," he suggested, his gaze fixed on me, "you could use your martial arts style as inspiration. 'Biting Snake Fist' has a certain… ring to it."

  "Biting Snake Fist?" I repeated, my voice flat. I had always considered my martial arts style a tool, a means to an end, not a defining characteristic.

  "It's your signature technique," the man explained, his voice gentle. "It's what sets you apart. It's a name that reflects your strength, your precision, your… ferocity."

  The woman, despite her earlier animosity, nodded slowly. "It's not bad," she conceded, a hint of grudging respect in her voice. "It has a certain… menace to it."

  Sitch, who had initially been resistant to the idea of a hero name, seemed to consider the suggestion. "Biting Snake Fist," he repeated, his voice thoughtful. "It's… fitting. It's direct, it's powerful."

  He turned to me, his expression encouraging. "It's your choice, of course. But it's a strong name. It reflects your fighting style, your abilities. It could be a powerful symbol."

  I considered the suggestion because the real Sneck used it, and I didn't want to change it. It was a name that spoke of my strength, my precision, my relentless pursuit of my objectives. It was a name that reflected my martial arts training, my dedication to honing my skills.

  "Biting Snake Fist," I repeated, my voice slightly louder this time. "It is… acceptable."

  The man nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Very well," he said. "Biting Snake Fist it is. It has a good ring to it, and will be a good hero name."

  Sitch nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. "Excellent," he said. "Then it's settled. Biting Snake Fist, A-Class hero. It has a good sound."

  I nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in my eyes. I had a hero name. I was Biting Snake Fist. I was an A-Class hero now. I left the room, this name echoing in my mind, a symbol of the real Sneck's strength, his dedication, his relentless pursuit of justice. The challenges ahead didn't matter. And now I was Biting Snake Fist, and I was ready.

  The tension in the room remained, even after I, Biting Snake Fist, had departed. Sitch, his expression still firm, turned his attention to the woman, whose name, I vaguely recalled, was likely something bureaucratic and forgettable.

  "Now," Sitch began, his voice low and measured, "about this 'insult to the A-Class' you were so concerned about."

  The woman shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting away. "I was merely expressing my concerns," she stammered. "Amai Mask…"

  "Amai Mask is not the arbiter of the A-Class," Sitch interrupted, his voice sharp. "The Hero Association determines who is worthy, and Biting Snake Fist has proven his worth decisively."

  "But…" she persisted, her voice laced with a hint of defiance, "he's… unconventional. His methods…"

  "Effective," Sitch countered, his voice unwavering. "Brutally effective. He eliminated Fighting Bull-Frog, a Tiger-level threat, with efficiency and precision. A feat that many A-Class heroes would struggle to replicate."

  The woman's eyes narrowed. "I've heard rumors," she said, her voice laced with suspicion. "Rumors of… excessive force."

  Sitch's jaw tightened. "Rumors are irrelevant," he stated, his voice firm. "We deal in facts. And the fact is, Fighting Bull-Frog is dead, and the city is safer because of it."

  He paused, his gaze fixed on her. "If you have concerns about Biting Snake Fist's methods, I suggest you watch the footage of his encounter with Fighting Bull-Frog. It's… enlightening."

  He reached into his briefcase and retrieved a tablet, placing it on the table in front of her. "Watch it," he instructed, his voice flat. "And then tell me if you still have concerns."

  The woman hesitated, her gaze lingering on the tablet. She seemed reluctant, but the firmness in Sitch's voice left her little choice. She picked up the tablet, her fingers trembling slightly, and pressed play.

  The video began, a grainy recording of Biting Snake Fist's encounter with Fighting Bull-Frog. The footage showed the monstrous amphibian, its massive form rippling with muscle, its eyes glowing with predatory hunger. Then, it showed Biting Snake Fist, his movements fluid and precise, his strikes swift and deadly.

  The woman watched, her eyes widening in disbelief as she witnessed the sheer brutality of Biting Snake Fist's martial arts. The speed, the power, the relentless ferocity of his attacks. Fighting Bull-Frog, a creature that could crush steel with its bare hands, was reduced to a mangled heap of flesh and bone in a matter of seconds.

  The woman's face paled as she watched the final moments of the fight, the decisive strike that ended Fighting Bull-Frog's life. She looked up at Sitch, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

  "He…" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "he's… incredible."

  "Indeed," Sitch replied, his voice calm and measured. "And he is now an A-Class hero. So, I suggest you adjust your expectations, and your attitude."

  He retrieved the tablet,