Food street.
After a supermarket run, Saitama and Fubuki treated themselves to a hearty meal. Even with money now, Saitama hadn't forgotten the glory of Saturday super-sales.
Then he reached for his wallet—nothing.
"My wallet?!"
Did he leave it by the cabbages? Great. And Genos wasn't around.
"Did you bring yours, Fubuki?" he asked, sheepish.
"Wallet? Weren't you carrying it, Saitama?"
Saitama: "…"
Cold sweat prickled beneath the shiny dome. Worse, the restaurant loudspeaker blared:
"Due to the recent crime wave, we will take severe measures against robbers, thugs, and dine-and-dashers! A former pro hero is stationed in our security office. Please enjoy your meal with confidence!"
With the Monster Association's incursions, law and order had buckled across multiple cities. Petty crooks were getting bold.
Saitama grimaced. If he went to "explain," it would sound exactly like a confession.
"Hey! Stop him! Dine-and-dash!" someone shouted.
Chaos rippled through the hall. A man in a black bodysuit with spiked silver hair flipped a table and bolted.
Garou.
Fresh from the monsters' hideout—empty stomach, empty pockets, full of bandages and pain.
Pay? The would-be strongest "monster" didn't think so.
"It's Garou!" Fubuki's eyes narrowed. The Association's notorious "hero hunter."
She rose to act, but Saitama cleared his throat once and she paused.
The doors exploded inward. Onlookers who'd stayed to gawk went down screaming. Panic surged.
Garou was suddenly the least of anyone's worries. Two towering figures stalked through the entrance:
A bandage-wrapped man with seaweed-wild hair and blades for forearms.
Royal Ripper.
And a monster plated head to toe in spiked carapace.
Bug God.
Two Demon-class monsters.
"Orders from Gyoro Gyoro," one rasped. "We're here to monitor your movements, Garou—to see if you actually deserve to be our comrade."
"Hero hunter… are you a human pervert playing at 'monster,' or the real thing?" they sneered.
"Hmph. Spare me the posturing," Garou said flatly. "I'm already disappointed in your lukewarm methods."
"In that case, kill the kid," Royal Ripper grinned.
Only then did the room notice the scrawny, homely boy behind Garou—straight brows, a permanent sniffle.
"A 'monster' abandons humanity," the pair pressed. "We saw you save that brat. Unacceptable. Kill him."
"If you want into our Association, earn our trust. You haven't discarded your human self."
"We don't need half-baked trash. We'll crush human society and rule it. Brats get culled."
They bore down, certain Garou was merely sub-Demon while they were elites among Demon-class—even here on the Association's turf.
The snot-nosed kid trembled and hit the floor. "I… I can't move!"
Smack!
Garou slapped the prayer booklet from the kid's hands.
"Idiot! Don't wait for a hand to lift you. No one can help you. Protect yourself!"
Most diners had fled. Saitama and Fubuki watched, calm.
"Garou's not as bad as the rumors," Saitama murmured. He hadn't killed the child—he'd shielded him.
"See?" Royal Ripper chuckled coldly. "Exactly as I thought. Just an ordinary human. Spare us the 'I cast aside human dignity' act. He's not trustworthy. Good thing we caught this early."
His blade screamed down toward the boy.
Air tore with a white shriek. Bystanders scattered—yet the killing stroke stopped short, caught between two battered hands.
Garou.
"Run, snot-nose!" he roared. "Stand up. In danger, you protect yourself!"
The kid quaked—but he straightened.
"Then I'll cut you both," Royal Ripper sighed, almost apologetic.
Garou was still a mess of wounds. Against two Demon-class monsters, he had no chance.
In a few breaths, he was overwhelmed. Even flowing with Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist, he couldn't break their pincer.
A blazing arc of steel carved across him. Blood sprayed; Garou grunted and flew back. Midair, Bug God stepped in and punted him, a crackle up his spine like splitting ice.
By rotten luck, Garou crashed at Saitama and Fubuki's feet.
"Move it, brat!" Garou snarled through blood, still shielding the petrified kid.
"You've nowhere left to run, Garou," Royal Ripper purred, blade dripping. "Die here so we can report to Gyoro Gyoro."
Despair. Fury.
To die to small-time trash like this…?
A hand settled on his shoulder.
"You okay, Garou?"
That voice—simple, flat—and terrifying in his memory. Garou turned like a wind-up doll.
Dead-fish eyes stared back.
"Saitama?!"
(End of Chapter)
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