I watched Sweet Mask for a long time. He was an enigma, a flawless idol on the surface, yet I could sense the steel beneath.

  His obsession with the Hero Association's strength, his almost desperate need to be the symbol – it wasn't just vanity. It was a fierce dedication, twisted perhaps, but undeniably present. He craved a strong Association, and that meant strong heroes.

  I saw it when Genos joined the hero association in the future, that genuine welcome, that almost eager encouragement. Sweet Mask wanted powerful allies, maybe even rivals to push him, to elevate the whole. His ego, that blindingly bright ego, was intrinsically linked to the Association's standing. They were two sides of the same polished shield.

  Mumen Rider… admirable, truly. That unwavering heart, that refusal to back down. But against a Demon-level threat? Against something truly monstrous? It felt like a beautiful but ultimately futile gesture. Saitama… well, his power was undeniable, a cheat code in this chaotic world. But his lack of seriousness, his "hero for fun" attitude… could we truly rely on that in the darkest hour?

  No. What this world truly needed, what offered a real chance against the relentless tide of monsters, was someone like Sweet Mask. Ruthless, yes, undeniably so.

  He'd crush a threat without a second thought, without the agonizing moral debates that could cost lives. But beneath that polished exterior, I'd seen glimpses of genuine care, a desire for the safety and happiness of the innocent. It wasn't just about being strong; it was about using that strength, however brutal, to protect.

  So, I formulated my plan. A gamble, certainly, and one that would likely leave me bruised and aching for days. But a necessary one. I approached him, the idol hero, with a carefully constructed challenge.

  I told him, with as much conviction as I could muster, that I had honed my Biting Dragon Fist to a new level, one that I believed could rival, perhaps even surpass, the legendary Bang's art.

  I saw the flicker in his eyes, a spark of interest beneath the usual cool gaze. He wouldn't back down from such a claim. His competitive spirit, that burning desire to be the best, wouldn't allow it.

  And more importantly, the prospect of a new, powerful martial artist emerging within the Association… that would appeal to his deeper motivations.

  He agreed to the spar. I knew what was coming. A whirlwind of speed and power, a brutal demonstration of the gap between us. But as I stood before him, ready to face the inevitable beating, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

  My gamble, I believed, had paid off. Whether I could truly challenge him was almost irrelevant. The fact that I had presented him with the possibility, the potential for a stronger Association, that was the key. Sweet Mask's ego and his dedication were intertwined, and I had appealed to both. The pain would be temporary, but the potential gain for the world… that was worth it.

  “Ready, Sneck?” Sweet Mask’s voice, smooth as polished stone with that familiar undercurrent of… something I couldn’t quite place, echoed in the training room. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. My first time truly testing myself against someone of his caliber.

  “Yes, Sweet Mask,” I replied, my voice sounding far steadier than the nervous flutter in my stomach. I had sought this out, this specific engagement for a special orb.

  “I’ve been working on something new.”

  No pleasantries, no further delay. My nerves vanished, replaced by a focused intensity. I launched myself forward, my body a coiled spring finally released.

  My movements felt different, more substantial than before. Each fist that shot out wasn’t just a strike; it felt like a physical embodiment of my will, carrying a weight I hadn’t known I possessed. But there was more to it than just brute force.

  There was a subtle current, an almost visible ripple that accompanied each blow.

  “Biting Dragon Fist!” I roared, the words ripped from my throat as my fist aimed for Sweet Mask’s chest. This wasn’t just a display of my new technique, honed in countless solitary hours; it was a probe, a deliberate attempt to elicit a reaction.

  Stolen story; please report.

  It felt like a dragon’s maw lunging forward, the air itself seeming to compress and crackle before the point of impact.

  Sweet Mask, with that infuriatingly graceful speed I’d only witnessed from afar until now, simply sidestepped. His eyes, however, widened a fraction, a flicker of something other than his usual detached amusement.

  “Interesting. More… forceful than I expected.”

  That small reaction fueled me. My first time sparring him, and I’d already surprised him? A surge of adrenaline coursed through me.

  I pressed my advantage, unleashing a relentless flurry of Biting Dragon Fists. Each strike was broader, more encompassing than my previous, untested attempts.

  I wasn’t just aiming to hit; I was aiming to overwhelm, to saturate the space around him with potential damage. My focus narrowed, my senses heightened, straining to catch any sign of that extraordinary… special orb. The sharp, percussive sound of my fists cutting through the air filled the training room.

  Sweet Mask was actually moving now, his usual composed stance broken. He weaved and blocked, his movements fluid but clearly reactive. A flicker of genuine interest now danced in his expression.

  He could feel it, I knew he could. The raw power behind these strikes was undeniable, a significant leap from… well, from anything I’d done before. Perhaps, just perhaps, this wouldn’t be the dismissive exercise he’d likely anticipated.

  My heart pounded with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

  Just as he seemed to be finding his rhythm, I shifted my stance, my body coiling inwards, drawing on a different kind of energy. “Coiling Dragon Defense!” I declared, the name feeling foreign yet powerful on my tongue.

  I saw the opportunity flash in Sweet Mask’s eyes. He threw a sharp jab towards my exposed side, confident in his speed and precision.

  But the moment his fist connected, a bizarre sensation washed over him. It wasn’t just the expected resistance of my guard; it felt like his own force was being subtly redirected, a surprising pushback against his arm.

  Even in defense, my focus remained absolute, my inner eye searching, waiting for any sign of the orb.

  Sweet Mask recoiled slightly, a hint of genuine surprise – almost disbelief – etched on his perfect features.

  “That’s… unexpected for a first attempt.”

  Before he could fully process it, before the surprise could fully register on his face, I uncoiled, the defensive posture snapping back into an aggressive stance. I lunged again, another powerful Biting Dragon Fist aimed directly at his head. I wouldn’t give him a chance to regain his composure, pressing my attack with a surge of adrenaline. My gaze was locked on his every movement, every flicker of his eyes.

  The spar escalated rapidly. Blow after blow rained down, each one pushing my newly developed techniques to their absolute limit. Beneath the surface of this first proper encounter with Sweet Mask, my true objective burned fiercely.

  Sweet Mask, initially caught off guard by my sudden improvement and surprising resilience, was now moving with a focused intensity I hadn’t seen before.

  He blocked, parried, and occasionally countered with lightning-fast strikes that I barely managed to evade, each near miss a testament to his incredible skill and a stark reminder of the gap I still needed to close.

  The training room echoed with the brutal symphony of colliding fists and strained grunts, a testament to the escalating intensity of our exchange. My lungs burned, my muscles screamed, but I pressed on, hoping to get the special orb.

  Finally, as I unleashed a particularly ferocious Biting Dragon Fist, pouring every ounce of my will and training into the strike, aiming for his vital points with a desperate hope, Sweet Mask ceased his purely defensive maneuvers. His eyes narrowed, and a subtle, almost imperceptible shift occurred in his posture. He didn't block. Instead, he met my fist head-on with his own.

  The impact was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It wasn't just the immense force, which threatened to shatter every bone in my hand and arm. It was that.

  For a fraction of a second, as our fists connected, my vision seemed to sharpen in that unique, inexplicable way. And then I saw it. A big orb.

  This was it.

  This was what I had been searching for.

  Sweet Mask stood motionless, his expression unreadable, betraying none of the power he had just unleashed.

  “Interesting, Sneck,” he said, his voice calm, almost conversational, despite the lingering phantom pain in my hand. “For your first time sparring with me, you’ve shown significant potential.”

  His words were almost dismissive, but I didn’t care. I had seen it. I had glimpsed the source of that big orb.

  After the spar, the ache in my muscles a dull reminder of the beating I’d taken in my first real encounter with Sweet Mask’s power, I was the only one left in the training grounds. My gaze drifted across the matted floor, and I noticed something unusual.

  Nestled in a corner, almost hidden in the shadows, was an unusually large orb.

  Charisma?

  And it five?

  I blinked, a seed of something unfamiliar, something akin to confidence, beginning to sprout within me.

  At my age, looks aren't everything, right? But with a bit more charm, a 5 charisma, maybe I can finally connect with someone. It's about how I talk, how I make them feel. Perhaps that spark, that confidence, will make me more appealing, help me find a wonderful woman, and maybe, just maybe, marriage isn't out of reach after all.

  So, Sweet Mask was generating that kind of… orb.