Chapter 2 – The Lights of Z-City
"Hm?"
The phone booth monster turned its boxy head toward the stranger beside him, still gripping the receiver tightly in one hand. Its eyes narrowed as it pointed a long, wired finger at Zenin Kyūjō.
"If you want to report this to the police... what phone are you gonna use?"
"Eh..."
Kyūjō scratched the back of his head, looking vaguely annoyed.
"I don't have a cellphone. But that phone on your body still works, right?"
"If it connects just fine, then I'll use yours."
— — —
Silence fell for two full seconds.
Then, the phone booth monster suddenly dropped the receiver, covered its face with both palms... and burst into tears.
"Uwaaaa..."
"So there really are still humans out there... who need phone booths like us?"
Zenin Kyūjō blinked.
...Huh?
As the creature continued sobbing dramatically, the blonde teenager—its previous opponent—quietly slipped away, clutching his smartphone and fleeing the scene without a word.
Seeing that the "victim" had bailed, Kyūjō simply shrugged. Not his problem.
With that, he turned and casually continued his walk toward the city center.
— — —
Once he arrived downtown, he used what little cash he had left to buy a new phone and a SIM card.
Then, using his ninja-style illusion techniques, he headed straight to the local police station and... handled the necessary identification documents for legal residency in this world.
"Z-City...?"
He glanced at the address printed on the newly issued ID card, looking puzzled.
What kind of world... has a place called Z-City?
Kyūjō slowly shook his head. No use thinking too hard about it.
He had more pressing matters to handle—like robbing a bank.
Well... withdrawing a generous amount of cash, let's say.
Soon after, he walked out carrying a large box filled with money, fully prepared to purchase a new house.
Old habits die hard, after all.
No matter the world—real estate first.
But just as he was browsing housing listings, his Infinity Perception System suddenly detected a nearby disturbance.
— — —
In a narrow alley not far away, a humanoid crab monster stomped furiously down the street, its massive red pincers snapping open and shut with each step. Panic broke out instantly—people screamed and scattered in all directions.
Kyūjō narrowed his eyes.
Why is this world filled with so many bizarre creatures...?
He was about to leap in and destroy it—until something caught his attention.
Just a few hundred meters away, near a small park with a sandpit, a strange little boy was playing with a rubber ball all alone.
He had... a butt growing out of his chin.
A child with a butt on his chin...
There was no mistaking it.
Kyūjō's eyes lit up with sudden realization.
No way... This world is—
One Punch Man.
That bald monster of a man… Saitama-sensei…
His gaze shifted to the figure standing near the kid—a young man with thick, unruly hair and a pretty decent-looking face.
Nothing about him stood out. His presence was so ordinary, it was almost invisible.
Kyūjō's lips twitched.
That ridiculous anime protagonist... whose power breaks every rule of logic...
The man who can end anything with a single punch—One Punch Man himself.
No matter how terrifying the enemy, no matter how monstrous or destructive… as long as Saitama gets serious and throws a punch, it's over.
Kyūjō exhaled slowly.
Yeah, no way I'm interfering with that.
So, instead of jumping in, he calmly stood atop a tall building and watched from a distance.
The battle began—just like in the manga.
An unemployed salaryman filled with resentment... versus a giant crab monster.
Saitama yanked off his tie, used it as a whip, and tore through the monster's guts with one brutal motion—cracking it open like a crab feast gone wrong. A flood of crab eggs spilled onto the ground.
Game over.
And before leaving, Saitama carefully scooped the crab eggs into a bag to take home.
Kyūjō's expression stiffened.
This man... really is dirt poor, huh.
As he watched Saitama's retreating back, Kyūjō couldn't help but smile faintly.
Then an idea popped into his head.
If I follow Saitama-sensei's three-year routine... could I break my own limits too?
— — —
And so began Zenin Kyūjō's new life as the neighbor of the man who would shake the world to its core.
When Saitama learned a new neighbor had moved in, he showed up at the door with a giant bowl of—what else—boiled crab eggs.
Standing at Kyūjō's doorstep with a warm smile and steam rising from the bowl, he offered his welcome.
Kyūjō stared at him for a moment, then said calmly,
"Thanks, Saitama. But... I'm allergic to crab."
"You can have it all."
Without a shred of hesitation, Zenin Kyūjō refused Saitama-sensei's offer of a meal.
— — —
Even though he'd turned down the crab egg offering on their very first encounter, luckily Saitama wasn't the type to hold a grudge. As time passed, their relationship grew surprisingly close and easygoing.
For the next three years, Zenin Kyūjō lived the "hard life" right alongside Saitama. Whatever training Saitama did, he copied it exactly—down to the last rep.
Granted, for someone like him, it was as effortless as breathing and offered zero challenge. Still, Kyūjō never slacked off. He followed the routine to the letter.
The famous training menu:
100 push-ups
100 sit-ups
100 squats
10 km run
— — —
Every. Single. Day.
No breaks. No excuses.
And the most crucial rule—never use air conditioning, no matter how hot or cold the weather got.
According to Saitama, it trained mental fortitude.
Mental fortitude, my ass...
Kyūjō knew the truth—it was just because Saitama couldn't afford the electricity bill.
Yet, despite how childish the whole regimen sounded, Saitama's power had grown at a terrifying rate. Or maybe… it had evolved.
The once-thick hair on Saitama's head had gradually thinned out—until one day, it was completely gone. Not a single strand remained. His head now gleamed under the sunlight like a freshly peeled hard-boiled egg.
And his physical strength… had reached absurd levels.
Even now—three years later—after Kyūjō had merged all his powers into the celestial energy known as Star Force and attained Starburst-level combat potential, he still wasn't confident he could win in a real fight against the bald man across from him.
Over and over again, his Infinity Sight System confirmed it—
Saitama was an existence that defied all balance.
No matter how much power was released into the world... Saitama's strength would always increase exponentially. And permanently.
If Kyūjō ever fought him seriously—outside the safety of Infinity System simulations—there was a genuine risk Saitama's strength would skyrocket beyond calculation on the spot.
Even an enemy as overwhelming as Boros, the Dominator of the Universe, probably couldn't survive a single Normal Punch.
As for Kyūjō himself… he hadn't yet sensed the presence of a Limiter inside his body. Maybe that meant he hadn't reached his true limit.
He hadn't touched the ceiling yet.
But seriously... how the hell did Saitama reach such ridiculous heights... just from that training?
Kyūjō had only one conclusion:
"Every body… is built differently."
And so, after three long years of imitating Saitama's ascetic lifestyle, Zenin Kyūjō finally decided to put an end to his self-imposed madness.
It was time to live a little.
His house now overflowed with luxury—high-end appliances, sleek tech, a full home theater setup, and every modern comfort imaginable.
Most importantly, he installed two high-capacity diesel generators.
He had no choice. This world was constantly under monster threat. Blackouts had become common, and the power grid often went down.
To make matters worse, the neighborhood he and Saitama lived in was increasingly overrun by monster attacks.
Almost all the residents had packed up and left.
Rumor had it, the city's power company was considering halting maintenance and cutting electricity supply to the area altogether.
Only two "stubborn residents" remained.
If not for them, the place would've been fully disconnected by now.
— — —
Midday sunlight streamed through the kitchen window.
Wearing earphones, Zenin Kyūjō stood by the stove, preparing lunch for two.
Why two?
Because like clockwork, whenever it was mealtime, Saitama would appear—always uninvited, always armed with some half-baked excuse.
As Kyūjō opened the front door, there he was again. Standing in the doorway with a plastic bag of half-priced vegetables from the discount aisle.
Kyūjō let out a small sigh, lips twitching in amusement.
"Saitama, didn't I tell you? If you're coming for food, just show up. No need to bring anything."
The bald man scratched his shiny head with a sheepish grin.
"Can't come empty-handed, man. It's basic adult manners... right?"
Kyūjō: …
Manners? You show up every day with discounted cabbage just to mooch food, and you call that manners?
Still, he said nothing—just took the bag and waved him inside.
"Food's not ready yet. Drinks are in the fridge, help yourself. If you're bored, go play something in the game room. That card game you mentioned—'Cockroach Warrior'? I bought it. It's on the top shelf."
The moment he said that, it was like someone had poked a wasp nest.
Saitama lit up like a child on Christmas morning.
"Huh!? You already got 'Cockroach Warrior'?!"
"Wait, wait—have you played it? Don't tell me you played it without me?!"
"How is it? Fun? Don't tell me you already finished it?! That's so unfair!"
Kyūjō stood silently for a beat, as if mentally reliving a terrible memory. Then, in a deadpan tone, he answered.
"It's garbage."
"Utter trash. Honestly, 'garbage' is too kind."
"The person who made that game… should be shipped to Mars. Maybe the aliens there would enjoy it."
Saitama: …
"You're always like this, Kyūjō… But I don't believe you! I bet it's not that bad!"
Determined to prove him wrong, Saitama stormed off toward the game room and grabbed the controller with a fierce look in his eye.
— — —
A few hours later…
His eyes were bloodshot, twitching. His hands trembled. His soul… was exhausted.
He hadn't felt this much pressure in years.
Even the strongest monsters rarely made him flinch.
Maybe… that was the price of becoming too strong.
And another price…
...was on top of his head.
Yeah, the baldness. That was part of it too.
— — —
Behind him, Kyūjō's voice came from the kitchen.
"Easy there, Saitama. That's your fifth broken controller this month."
"You know how much those things cost?"
Saitama turned slowly, face blank with guilt.
"…How much?"
Kyūjō rolled his eyes.
"One controller… could pay a year's worth of electricity."
"For someone like you… maybe two."
Saitama: "Soka…"
Then one second later—
"NANI?!"
Five controllers?! That's five years of electricity?!
The number hit him like a freight train.
Saitama slumped to the floor like a salted fish, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
With a defeated mumble, he asked,
"Kyūjō... A few years ago… you were like me, right?"
"We promised to suffer through poverty together… so how come you're living like a millionaire now?"
"Wait... did you win the lottery?!"
Kyūjō looked down at the bald man sprawled on his floor and let out an exasperated breath.
"Saitama-kun. You disappoint me."
"Do you really think sane people rely on lottery tickets to get rich?"
"Besides, if I did win the lottery, I'd have told you."
"This money… is the result of my part-time job!"
But the way he said it lacked conviction.
Saitama knew Kyūjō well enough to doubt him.
They didn't always hang out, but he knew Kyūjō's routine.
Train. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
And lately?
He hadn't left the house in weeks.
Where would the job even come from?
Saitama squinted, suspicious. But before he could press the issue, Kyūjō pulled something from his pocket—a small ID card.
"Don't believe me? Look."
Saitama took the card—
Zenin Kyūjō – Rank 6, B-Class Hero
Hero Name: Light of Z-City
— — —
"…What's this?" Saitama scratched his shiny head, clearly confused.
Kyūjō: …
"Saitama, have you been living under a rock?"
"You've been dreaming about being a hero, and yet you've never heard of the Hero Association?"
"Do you have any idea how much you could've earned for all those monsters you defeated?"
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