A suburban farm in the state of Georgia.
Green fields under a bright sun. Old farmer Travis and his wife were driving home when a piercing sonic boom tore across the sky.
"Travis!"
His wife cried out. He slammed the brakes, both of them staring upward as a black speck hurtled closer and closer—
Boom!
The deafening impact blew a three-meter crater into the once-flat field. At the center, a gleaming bald head poked up from the dirt.
Farmer Travis: "..."
The elderly couple just stared, completely baffled.
Saitama rubbed his sore skull, climbed out of the pit, and shook the mud from his cape. Noticing the couple by the rim, he greeted them, a little sheepish.
"Hello. Um… where is this?"
"G-Georgia… you…" The old man could only point at the sky. In all his years, he'd never seen someone fall from that height and then pop right up as if nothing happened.
"I'm Saitama. A hero for fun. First time in this world—sorry about the mess."
Before the farmer could respond, a naked man sprinted across the yard toward the barn—fast as a panther—and vanished inside.
Farmer: "..."
Wife: "..."
What kind of day was this? First, a man falls out of the heavens. Now another one, wearing nothing, bolts into their barn?
The old man didn't bother with questions. He hustled back to the truck, pulled out his shotgun, and leveled it at Saitama.
"This is my land! Best you move along, son, or I'll shoot!"
The dark barrel didn't seem to faze Saitama in the slightest.
"Oh?" Saitama scratched his cheek, embarrassed. He pointed toward the barn. "Maybe check on that guy first. No clothes—he might be in trouble."
The old man paused. His wife hesitated too. They shared a look—and, grudgingly, decided he had a point.
The three of them approached the barn. The farmer kept the gun trained on Saitama the entire way.
The hinges creaked. Something rustled inside.
"If you're worried, I'll go first," Saitama offered.
The farmer grimaced. The caped bald guy looked odd, sure, but letting him take point beat stepping in himself. He nodded.
Saitama stepped into the dim barn. In the corner, a figure crouched—broad-shouldered, muscles corded, whole body trembling.
Anyone from this world would have recognized him: Wolverine. Logan.
He had just escaped a laboratory. Adamantium had been forced through his skeleton; only his monstrous healing factor had kept him alive. The process, especially around the skull, had shredded his memories. He sat there, shaking and half-feral.
"Oh, a sturdy one. Not your son, is he?" Saitama called back.
The farmer finally edged inside, keeping the muzzle on the stranger. "Boy, you on something?"
Shivering and naked, the man did not look "normal." In this country, plenty of young men used, and bad trips could turn violent. The farmer wasn't eager to die in his own barn.
"No… just had a rough night." Logan's voice was ragged. He'd barely dragged himself back from the edge of death, but his stamina was recovering fast.
"Hmph. You—and you." The farmer glanced at Saitama too. "Come in the house. My boy's old clothes might fit."
Wary but not unkind, he accepted both of them for the moment.
A few minutes later, Logan had changed into the farmer's son's clothes. He actually looked pretty good.
As for Saitama? Once the old lady confirmed he wasn't hurt, he ended up casually helping with chores.
"Careful there! Don't hurt yourself!" she fretted from the porch, watching him hoist a haystack the size of a mobile home with one hand.
Monster strength.
She'd lived a long time and never seen a young man like this.
Saitama didn't mind. Back when he was a C-Class hero, he'd helped people find lost pets, carry groceries, walk grandmas across the street—this wasn't much different. He was, after all, a hero for fun.
Logan, now dressed and standing by the door, stared, eyes locked on Saitama.
That power.
So strong.
As a mutant, he could feel it clearly—an aura that made his instincts bristle. While changing, Logan had noticed his own changes: adamantium fused to his bones; bone claws now unbreakable metal. His combat potential had spiked. A mere flick and those claws could shear steel.
For a heartbeat, instinct almost made him pop the claws—a beast's reflex to danger.
But neither Saitama nor the farmer couple seemed to notice.
Soon enough, Logan joined Saitama in the work. The two of them were absurdly efficient; tasks that normally required heavy machinery were finished with idle ease. The farmer and his wife could only stare in wonder.
"Hey. You are…?" Logan finally asked, unable to curb his curiosity.
"Saitama. Nice to meet you. You look good—strong, too."
Saitama could feel Logan's power. Roughly on par with the gap between high A-Class and the lower edge of S-Class.
"Saitama…" Logan searched his ravaged memory but found nothing linked to the name. "I'm… Logan."
A spike of pain lanced his skull as he forced the name out.
He didn't know it yet, but this meeting would change his fate. From that day on, a man named Saitama would become the idol he followed all his life.
(End of Chapter)
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