Chapter 4 – A Visit
Inside Zenin Kyūjō's room...
To celebrate the day Saitama officially became a "Professional Hero," Kyūjō had prepared a full set of premium shabu-shabu. Now, the two were eating heartily at the low table, steam rising from the bubbling pot.
— — —
As the final slice of marbled beef swirled in the broth, a soft whistle of tension filled the air. In a flash, Saitama's chopsticks shot forward, aiming to claim the last bite.
A mischievous grin spread across his face. Just as he was about to grab it—
Clack!
Kyūjō's chopsticks, moving from the opposite direction, intercepted his with perfect timing. The impact sent Saitama's chopsticks flying off target.
For a brief moment, the usual dull glaze in Saitama's eyes vanished. In its place burned a fierce spark of competition.
"It's been a while… since I've felt pressure like this."
His expression turned serious.
He had entered... Serious Chopsticks Mode.
Without another word, the two launched into a rapid-fire duel, their chopsticks dancing through the air. The movement was so fast that faint afterimages flickered with every clash.
In seconds, they had exchanged hundreds of strikes—yet not a single chopstick snapped. They both skillfully manipulated the Pressure Release Technique, a trick Kyūjō himself had taught Saitama back in the day.
But then Kyūjō withdrew, sighing deeply.
"Damn it... I can't even eat in peace."
Over a piece of beef, he had unintentionally pushed Saitama's power up another notch.
If Saitama's strength had been hovering at the Dragon level before, then now—he had definitely broken into its peak.
Seeing Kyūjō back off, Saitama's face relaxed. He resumed his usual dopey look and casually picked up the last piece of beef.
"You sure you're not gonna take it? Guess I'll just eat it then," he said innocently.
Kyūjō rolled his eyes and muttered inwardly, As if anyone could take food from you. If I kept pushing, you might sneeze and destroy the planet.
— — —
Still fuming from his defeat in the beef war, Kyūjō dragged Saitama into his room and planted him in front of a gaming console.
They each grabbed a controller and booted up The King of Fighters '97.
"I'm picking Orochi! And you're banned from using Iori Yagami!" Saitama announced as he selected the white-haired boss character with a smug look.
Kyūjō gave a shrug and casually picked the red-clad kunoichi, Mai Shiranui, with her iconic... assets.
— — —
"In real life, I can't beat you, baldy. But in this game—prepare to get wrecked!"
The next several hours echoed with Saitama's desperate cries. Even with Orochi—the game's broken final boss—he suffered defeat after humiliating defeat. Over a hundred straight losses.
Kyūjō, of course, looked smug as hell.
Next to him, Saitama had gone completely blank. Eyes hollow. Soul detached.
By the time their brutal gaming session ended, the only clear winner was Kyūjō.
That was when a loud mechanical wuuunnggg echoed from outside the window.
The rapid thrum of rotor blades cut through the silence.
— — —
The top-ranked hero in B-Class—Hellish Blizzard—had officially arrived before these two monsters in human skin.
"Kyūjō, it's really noisy outside... Don't tell me there's another monster?" Saitama asked, already rising to go change into his iconic yellow hero suit.
"No need. It's not a monster—it's a helicopter," Kyūjō replied, putting down the controller and heading out of the room.
— — —
Kyūjō sat calmly on the living room sofa, arms crossed, staring coolly at the woman across from him.
Hellish Blizzard sat with elegant posture, flanked by several sharp-looking men in matching black suits. They looked more like mafia enforcers than professional heroes.
Her gaze twitched. There was something about the way Kyūjō looked at her...
It was the look you give to an annoying insect. Or a neighborhood cat scratching at your door.
And sitting next to him... that bald idiot!
That dumb blank face...
Oi! Do you two not understand who we are?
This is the Blizzard Group from B-Class!
Show some respect, will you!?
Before she could speak, Kyūjō cut in, his tone dry and direct.
"I know why you're here. But I'm not joining the Blizzard Group. Your organization is a joke. I'd rather die of shame."
Instantly, the men behind Fubuki exploded in anger.
"What did you just say!?"
"Are you insulting the Blizzard Group!?"
"You're just ranked sixth in B-Class and you dare talk like that?!"
"Boss, allow me to teach this punk a lesson!"
— — —
But Fubuki didn't move.
She calmly raised a hand to silence them.
This guy... He's not like the bald fool next to him. There's no way he's just another loudmouth.
If someone has the guts to say something like that... it usually means one of two things.
First possibility—He's supremely confident in his own strength. People like that often rise to A-Class within months. Even she, personally, found them hard to handle.
People like that... weren't worth making enemies of.
Second possibility—He has backing.
Like the Tanktop Army, led by S-Class hero Tanktop Master. They had members in all hero classes—from S to C—and were way more dangerous than the Blizzard Group.
Kyūjō may not wear a tanktop, but who knew? Maybe he had ties to one of the S-Class elite.
And someone like that... was not to be provoked lightly.
Even if she had her own trump card—her older sister, Tornado of Terror, ranked second in S-Class—Fubuki had always refused to use that connection.
— — —
Truth be told, even if she never said it aloud, Fubuki knew.
If it weren't for her sister's fearsome reputation... the Hero Association would've long shut down her recruitment tactics.
The only reason she could force B-Class heroes to join her group without consequence... was because of one thing.
Tatsumaki was too strong.
— — —
After a short silence, Fubuki stood and locked eyes with Kyūjō.
"Fight me," she said coldly. "If you win, we'll leave you alone. But if you lose... you're joining the Blizzard Group."
— — —
For those wondering, let me clarify.
The reason I haven't changed my name is simple.
This body still belongs to Zenin Kyūjō.
Without this vessel, my power reconstruction would never have progressed this fast. It's only because this body was already trained and honed in its previous life that I've regained so much.
Every bit of progress I've made…
It all started with the strength of this flesh and blood.
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