Z-City's deserted district loomed before me, a skeletal graveyard under the pale afternoon sun. My first official mission as an S-class hero, and it was a rescue. Not a glorious debut, not a chance to prove my worth against a formidable foe, but a desperate scramble to salvage a failure.

  Golden Ball and Spring Mustache. Two A-class heroes, ambushed. The initial report had been chillingly brief: contact lost after engaging a powerful monster.

  Now, seeing them sprawled on the cracked asphalt, their once-bright costumes ripped and soaked with a sickening crimson, the reality hit with brutal force. Their shallow, ragged breaths and the alarming pallor of their skin painted a grim picture.

  My mind raced, piecing together the fragments. The severity of their injuries, the faint, unmistakable tang of brine clinging to the air… it all pointed to Kombu Infinity. That Demon-level nuisance with his relentless seaweed and surprising strength.

  A knot of guilt tightened in my stomach. I was S-class. I should have been here sooner. I should have prevented this. The familiar, unwelcome sting of inadequacy pricked at me. Always a step behind.

  I knelt beside Golden Ball, my fingers finding a weak, fluttering pulse. Spring Mustache was in slightly better shape, but both were teetering on the brink. As I began a preliminary assessment of their wounds, something felt… off. The scene was undoubtedly violent, the evidence of a brutal attack undeniable.

  Yet, it lacked the chaotic destruction I'd expect from a prolonged fight with Kombu Infinity. His signature tangled web of seaweed, usually a hallmark of his encounters, was conspicuously absent. There wasn't a single strand, not a trace of the creature to be found.

  Confusion flickered, then sparked into a sudden, exasperated understanding. The complete absence of monster remains… it was unusual, even for a swift defeat. And then it clicked. Saitama. I knew that bald-headed anomaly. I'd witnessed his… unique approach to monster disposal firsthand.

  The almost casual annihilation, followed by an equally casual disregard for the typical hero protocol. And more importantly, his peculiar habit of… well, not letting anything go to waste.

  A wave of weary resignation washed over me. "Looks like Saitama got here," I muttered under my breath, my gaze sweeping the unnervingly clean surroundings.

  "And knowing him…" The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh. "...he probably took the whole kombu home to cook." The ridiculous image of Saitama meticulously stir-frying seaweed tentacles or concocting some other bizarre culinary creation from a Demon-level threat flashed through my mind.

  It was utterly ridiculous, and yet, with Saitama, entirely within the realm of possibility.

  My inaugural S-class mission. No epic battle, no heroic triumph. Just the familiar, anticlimactic cleanup after Saitama's unintentionally thorough – and apparently gastronomic – interventions.

  The focus now shifted. The monster was gone, dealt with in Saitama's usual bizarre fashion. My priority was the two heroes bleeding out on the pavement.

  I reached for my emergency communicator, my voice firm despite the anticlimactic turn of events. "This is Sneck," I stated, my voice cutting through the eerie silence of Z-City.

  "Requesting immediate medical evacuation for two severely injured A-class heroes at the designated coordinates in Z-City. The threat, Kombu Infinity, has been… thoroughly dealt with. There are no remains present at the scene."

  Another day in the life of a hero. Or, more accurately, another day in the bizarre orbit of Saitama. The weight on my chest hadn't lessened, but its nature had shifted. It wasn't the pressure of expectation anymore. It was the weariness of the utterly unexpected.

  The weight of Golden Ball and Spring Mustache’s crumpled forms being hauled away still sat heavy in my gut. Seeing them like that, after that damn monster, had stirred something… inconvenient. A flicker of… well, not friendship, exactly. More like a begrudging acknowledgement that we were all in this ridiculous mess together.

  I’d even considered, briefly, a gruff word or two of something resembling encouragement.

  But then, as always, my thoughts drifted to the bald bastard. Saitama.

  He’d been there, hadn’t he? Done the heavy lifting, as usual. And a strange, unfamiliar urge nudged at me – a need to… acknowledge it. His contribution. However late.

  The image of his dump in that ghost town flickered in my mind. A desolate sprawl of crumbling concrete. I knew the general direction, the overall feel of the place, but pinpointing his exact unit felt like trying to grab smoke.

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  The monster’s rampage hadn’t helped. Debris was everywhere, familiar landmarks were gone. It was a testament to the sheer destructive power that I’d even managed to find Golden Ball and Spring Mustache in the chaos.

  A blind search was pointless. Grudgingly, I reached for my phone. My thumb scrolled through the contacts, past the self-important names and the overly enthusiastic ones, until I landed on Busho’s. I jabbed the number. The dial tone dragged on, each buzz grating on my nerves, before his usual impatient grunt answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Sneck,” I snapped, skipping the pleasantries like they were poisonous. “I need Genos’s phone number.”

  A beat of silence on the other end. “Genos? The cyborg kid? What for?” Suspicion dripped from his tone.

  “That’s none of your damn business,” I retorted, my own impatience spiking. “Just give me the number.”

  Busho let out an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright, no need to get your scales in a twist. Hold on.” I could hear the clatter of keys. Finally, his voice returned, lower this time. “It’s 090-XXXX-YYYY. Happy now?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled, the word feeling foreign on my tongue, before I cut the call. I stared at the number on the screen. I’d given both Saitama and that tin can my own number ages ago.

  The fact that neither had ever bothered to use it… it pricked at me, a small, irritating sting beneath my tough hide. It wasn’t about wanting some kind of reciprocal… friendship. Gods, no. It was a matter of practicality. I needed to get in touch.

  Taking a deep breath, I punched in the number. It rang twice before a crisp, mechanical voice answered. “This is Genos.”

  “It’s Sneck,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “I… I wanted to visit Saitama’s place.”

  “Sneck-san?” A hint of surprise in his metallic tone. “Very well. Are you familiar with the location?”

  “No,” I admitted, the word feeling like swallowing gravel. “I’m in the ghost town now, but it’s a mess after the fight. I can’t pinpoint his house.”

  “I understand,” Genos replied. “Please wait there for one moment.”

  One moment? What the hell did that mean? I frowned, holding the phone tight against my ear. The silence of the ruined city pressed in, broken only by the mournful whistle of wind through shattered windows.

  Just as a familiar wave of impatience began to churn in my gut, a distinct whirring sound sliced through the air. I looked up, squinting against the pale sky. A metallic figure was descending rapidly. It was the cyborg, Genos, his form sleek and powerful as he dropped towards me. What a damn show-off.

  A sheepish smile felt plastered on my face as Genos approached. "Genos-san, I apologize for causing you trouble earlier," I mumbled, bowing slightly.

  He just gave a curt nod, those metallic eyes of his unwavering. It always felt like he was analyzing your very soul.

  "My latest mission is actually quite close to Saitama-san's residence. I was hoping to... well, I wanted to stop by and see how he was doing."

  I shuffled my feet a little as we started walking together, the silence of this creepy ghost town pressing in on us. It was unnerving how quiet it was, knowing what kind of things could lurk in the shadows.

  Finally, Genos broke the quiet, his voice as precise and measured as always. "May I inquire as to your mission in this location, Sneck-san? It is not a common area for hero activity, especially since no one other than Saitama-sensei and me lives here."

  I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Right, well, the Hero Association tasked me with checking out this ghost town and searching for the monster that attacked those A-Class heroes recently.

  It was initially considered a Tiger-level threat, but after it managed to beat those A-Class heroes, it was reclassified as Demon-level." A hint of frustration crept into my voice. "But, as usually happens, it seems Saitama-san got to it first. There wasn't even a trace left."

  Honestly, it was becoming a running gag in my head. You get all hyped up, strategize, maybe even lose a night's sleep worrying, and then… poof. Saitama.

  Genos's head tilted slightly, his curiosity evident. "Saitama-sensei was in this vicinity?"

  "Must have been," I said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. "Honestly, it's almost comical. You get all geared up, strategize, and then... nothing. Just another monster vanished without a trace. It's always Saitama-san." I chuckled softly, a touch of self-deprecation in the sound.

  "It reminds me of back when you two had just passed the hero exam. I offered you both some advice, remember? Before you even got your official rankings."

  A few more minutes passed in comfortable silence, though my own thoughts were racing. Would Saitama even remember me? It had been a while. And what would I even say?

  Then, the familiar, slightly modern apartment building came into view.

  It looked exactly as I remembered it, and he live for free. Genos approached the door one of apartment there and pressed the doorbell. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Saitama in his usual casual attire – that yellow jumpsuit and his perpetually bored expression.

  Saitama blinked, taking in the sight of Genos and me. He squinted slightly, like he was trying to place me.

  "Huh? Oh, hey, Genos. And... you're...?" He paused, his gaze drifting over my hero suit.

  "Did you change your suit?"

  I straightened up, forcing a slightly more confident smile onto my face, though I could feel the strain in it. "Saitama-san, good to see you too. It's Sneck. And yes, it has been a while. My mission brought me nearby, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello." Please remember me, please remember me…

  Genos, ever the helpful sidekick, interjected smoothly, "Sneck-san was also assigned to investigate the monster that was initially thought to be Tiger-level but reclassified as Demon-level after defeating A-Class heroes in this area, Sensei. However, it appears you have already dealt with the threat."

  Saitama scratched his head, his bald head gleaming slightly in the dim light.

  "Oh, right, Sneck! Yeah, it has been a while. You got a new suit. Looks... uh... different." He paused, then continued, "Oh, yeah, there was some weird Kombu monster earlier.

  Didn't really punch it, just kind of... ripped all the kombu off of it. It just sort of deflated after that." He looked from Genos to me, a hint of genuine, if fleeting, curiosity in his eyes. "So, Sneck, just a friendly visit then?"

  A friendly visit. Right. That's what I'd tell myself too.