leisurely pace froze in an instant, then turned into a terrified sprint. Panic spread like a plague—people shoved and screamed, rushing toward anywhere they thought might be safe.
Saitama looked toward the source of the commotion. His brows knit together out of habit, forming a standard "ugh" expression.
"Again?" he muttered under his breath, his tone carrying that familiar, resigned helplessness—as if what he was seeing wasn't a disaster, but a leaking pipe outside his apartment. Annoying, but somehow not surprising.
As the dust thinned, the culprit finally came into view.
It was a mutated giant crocodile, so massive it made people gape—nearly ten meters long, like a small locomotive that had time-traveled straight out of prehistory. Its scales no longer had the texture of living flesh. Instead, they gleamed with a cold metallic sheen, like alloy armor, flashing dangerously under the sunlight.
Most terrifying was its gaping maw. Each time it opened and closed, two rows of pale fangs jutted out viciously. Thick saliva dripped to the ground, hissing with faint corrosive sizzles.
With one casual sweep of its thick tail, a parked sedan at the roadside was flattened like a toy. The car alarm wailed uselessly.
The giant crocodile clearly treated the fleeing pedestrians as moving prey. Dropping low on all fours, it launched into a charge at a speed completely mismatched with its enormous body—its target a little girl who had fallen to the ground, too terrified to move.
Saitama sighed. The relaxed expression he'd had while thinking about dinner vanished. He stepped forward, not running, but moving with an easy, unhurried gait that was actually incredibly fast—slipping precisely into the path between the crocodile and the girl.
The giant crocodile noticed this bald human daring to block its "meal." Maybe it couldn't sense anything like a strong aura from Saitama, but the sheer act of defiance enraged it. It released a deep, rumbling roar. Its thick, muscular tail lifted again, whipping toward Saitama's waist with a shriek of torn air.
The force of that strike was enough to warp a tank's armor.
Yet Saitama only shifted his body slightly, as casually as dodging a puddle on the sidewalk. The tail swept past the hem of his tracksuit, striking empty air. The gust it kicked up fluttered his bright red rubber gloves (buy-one-get-one from the supermarket) and his white cape (a certain brand of bath towel, repurposed).
The tail missed, but the crocodile's momentum didn't slow. Its massive head lunged forward, and that blood-red mouth—big enough to swallow a compact car—snapped down toward Saitama's head. A wave of foul, fishy wind blasted into his face.
Saitama didn't dodge. He didn't even raise a fighting stance.
Right as the jaws were about to clamp shut, he lifted both hands as if it were no big deal—one hand bracing the upper jaw, the other supporting the lower jaw.
Time seemed to freeze.
The crocodile's bite force exploded with terrifying power, yet it felt like it was biting down on an ancient mountain—unable to budge even a fraction. In its huge vertical pupils, confusion flickered for the first time… then instinctive fear.
Saitama's hands tightened slightly.
"Ka-crack———BOOM!"
A chain of teeth-grinding sounds erupted—bones snapping, tendons tearing. That fang-filled maw that could bite through steel was ripped straight down the middle by nothing but the most pure, primitive brute force—torn apart from the center!
(End of Chapter)
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