Lin Mo slowly took off his glasses. "Today is my personal time… I'm not in the mood for that."
"Allow me to make my position clear."
The thought of a mob of fans gave him a headache. Before and after transmigrating, he'd always been the low-key type—he hated being the center of attention.
But King's sheer "power" drew a fandom to him anyway.
He shook his head and told the long-haired man seriously, "I'm not here to serve you. Understand?"
He stepped forward—just a tiny step—and the five men opposite him reacted like he'd swung a sword, all shuffling back at once.
"My job is to slay monsters—to protect this city's peace!"
His voice wasn't loud, but each word hammered their hearts. "I won't do anything meaningless."
In truth, Lin Mo just wanted to veg at home with games and manga—but he couldn't say that in front of "fans."
The scene reminded him of when he'd tested Intimidation (Dragon-class) in the park.
He'd been in a great mood—Dragon-class aura really was no joke. One glance had cowed a whole pack of mutant strays.
But his mood died the moment he left the park.
A swarm of fans with signs like "King Engine Unrivaled" and "King, Humanity's Guardian" rushed him from all sides.
They screamed his name and fired off a thousand ridiculous questions.
He'd barely escaped one wave before another surged from around the corner. Endless—like low-level mobs in a bad game.
Helpless, he'd bled a touch of aura and walked past them stone-faced.
Looking now at the "excited" "fan" shaking before him, he decided to cut it short.
He gave a warning, slow and firm: "This is my final advice—your road is yours; my bridge is mine. Our paths should never cross."
The long-haired man was about to wet himself. He shot his comrades a look—time to bail.
Watching their dejected retreating backs, Lin Mo felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he'd been too harsh. He called out.
"Hold it."
Faces went pale. They thought King had changed his mind and would erase them on the spot.
Survival instinct had them reaching for hidden weapons for a last stand—
But Lin Mo's next words froze them mid-motion.
"Heroes… get tired, too." His gaze drifted, voice tinged with world-weariness borrowed from a certain fighting-manga protagonist.
"I'll retire someday. Maybe in five years… maybe ten…"
He paused, as if remembering a "life of battle," then looked back at them with a veteran's quiet expectation.
"If, when that day comes, your passion hasn't faded… come find me. I'll set everything aside—and be your opponent to your heart's content."
The killers were stunned by King's "realm."
"Not only did he see through our ambush… he's letting us go?"
"Five years… ten… He's not threatening us—he's giving us time. He's looking forward to us growing strong enough to face him?"
"In the face of monsters, everyone is someone he protects… even assassins are treated equally…"
The same thought rose in every mind:
"So this is the breadth of King—the strongest S-Class hero's mind!?"
A scar-faced bruiser among them murmured, moved in a way he couldn't name, "What a vast heart… Our little assassin tricks are laughable beside his. We're… defeated without a fight."
The whole squad bowed their heads. The mission was over—they were done.
"Busy today. Eat somewhere else," a bouncer at the door was telling a bald man impatiently.
"But someone's waiting for me," said Saitama.
"I said it doesn't matter who you are."
Hands in pockets, the big man looked Saitama up and down—yellow jumpsuit, red cape—and sneered.
Saitama tried to explain. "No, really, I'm meeting a friend to play a game."
That lit the fuse. "Can't you understand human speech, cue-ball!?" the man snarled and swung a fist for Saitama's face, hoping to hospitalize him for a few days.
One second later, he was out cold.
"Don't block the door. What's your problem," Saitama muttered, lugging the two-hundred-plus-pounder to a corner like a sack of rice.
Night Owl stepped out just in time to see it.
"Who the hell are you!?" one hissed.
Another whispered, "Relax. We've just seen King in person. A random bald guy… how strong can he be…"
Saitama brightened. "Oh! King's inside? Great—right place."
Cut to Saitama at King's table.
He still held the handheld Lin Mo had lent him. "King, what are you doing on your computer?"
"Looks like you're as free as I am," Lin Mo sighed. "I'm building a game. Want to try it?"
"I even lowered the AI's combos and reaction time just for you."
Saitama perked right up. "Let's go. This time I'm gonna crush them!"
-------
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