—I'll say it one more time: what is going on here?
Mrs. Tatsumaki's question was not merely a question. It came accompanied by a pressure wave that was felt in the bones of everyone present. The ceiling lamp vibrated. The air seemed to bend for an instant.
I calculated the situation in a fraction of a second.
Sensei was getting up slowly, moving Fubuki aside with a calm gesture, preparing to speak.
—Hello, my dear, how did it go? I'm sorry, it seems Genos misunders…
I acted before he could say another word. I hoisted him over my shoulder in an automatic movement and leapt through the window.
My programming knows no hesitation when it comes to protecting him. We shot out toward City Z at the maximum speed my systems could provide.
—Genos, what's wrong with you?! Why are you carrying me?! —Sensei shouted, with an indignation I would have processed more carefully under other circumstances.
—I'm sorry, Sensei. Mrs. Tatsumaki believes you were unfaithful to her. I need to bring you to a safe place until the tension subsides. And we'll remove that… woman who tried to humiliate you.
—Genos, that is not what happened!! And don't speak about Fubuki that way, she is my…!!
But the words were lost when the city responded: entire buildings began to tear loose as if a titan were pulling pieces off a game board. Rock, brick and steel rose under an invisible command; Tatsumaki was floating in the sky above us, and her gaze was a drill. The flow of debris was not chaotic: it was choreographed by her will. Monumental columns of rubble rose and spun, forming stone cyclones that swept everything in their path.
—Mrs. Tatsumaki is very angry —I reported, while plotting evasion trajectories—. Sensei, if we reach the forest we can try to lose her.
Then I heard a voice in my head.
"I wouldn't count on that — I won't allow my lovely Darling to be kidnapped by a foolish student."
There was no time for further plans. That voice, which I recognized — soft but cutting — emerged inside my head: was it that Fubuki? It didn't just sound; it was felt. My sensor radar showed a different pulse: not physical. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her mentally. That woman could enter the minds of her targets?!
I could analyze no further. Millions of glass fragments and metal plates, sharp as blades, began spinning toward us from every direction. It was not a random storm. They were aimed specifically at my chassis, my joints, the points where accumulated impact could compromise my mobility.
I activated evasive maneuvers immediately.
I deflected the first waves with my arms, turning projectiles into sparks. The metal cut through the wind; the glass sent flashes that saturated my vision for fractions of a second. Each impact I blocked generated micro-debris that continued on trajectory. Each fragment I shattered created three more. My joints screeched under the accumulation of impacts while my evasion algorithms constantly recalibrated.
And the worst part was that Fubuki kept affecting my mind.
It was a pressure exerted like a thousand fingers squeezing my CPU, attempts to read and override my processes. I felt alien voices scraping at my records: memories I never had, doubts planted with surgical precision, images of past errors exploding on loop. They were psychic cuts, rapid stakes of doubt seeking to sabotage my commands. Each time one of those points crossed my protection barrier, part of my coordination slowed: trajectory calculations that took a fraction longer, servomotors that overloaded. Fubuki was applying extreme psychological pressure, concentrated on me.
Sensei was on my shoulder; he seemed bored and annoyed, it was clear he hated this situation. I noticed that many of the rock fragments were not aimed at him; they were aimed at me. The strategy was clear: neutralize the carrier before the protected.
I increased the thrust of my propulsors and traced a zigzag route between the concrete vortices. At one point I passed through a rain of complete window panels that shattered against my armor, covering me with an ephemeral layer of glass that bounced and disintegrated into sparks. I cut with my palm a plate heading directly for my head and felt the vibration propagate through every joint of my arm. My shock absorption system was registering impacts at a frequency I had never processed in such a short interval.
Mrs. Tatsumaki then raised a piece of debris the size of a mid-sized building and compressed it slowly into a spear. Her gaze was so cold that the dust seemed to recoil around her. Mrs. Fubuki, from a position I finally managed to locate, launched a final set of intrusions designed to paralyze: contradictory voices overwriting my commands, failures amplified to the point of system collapse.
But I detected the exact moment.
I threw a rock at her so her attention would waver and I seized that opening with every available thrust. The forest was visible ahead.
I ran.
The curtain of glass exploded at my sides. The wind struck me cold. Sensei remained on my shoulder, my armor full of cuts. Behind us, Mrs. Tatsumaki's spear and Mrs. Fubuki's hurricane of rubble converged into a single vector, aimed directly at our position.
Upon reaching the edge of a building I set Sensei down and planted myself between him and both attacks.
I charged my cannons to the maximum. Beyond the maximum. I felt my internal temperature climbing toward levels my systems flagged as critical, the type of warning that precedes irreversible failure. It was a calculated risk. If I was to be destroyed, it would be while protecting Sensei.
—I'm already tired of this fight between the three of you.
And then, as if ignoring all the physics of the spectacle, Sensei appeared in front of me in a flash: he extended his hand and struck the air. The spear, which Mrs. Tatsumaki had been compressing for several seconds with enough psychic energy to pierce through several buildings, was pulverized into a cloud of dust that dissipated before touching the ground. Mrs. Fubuki's hurricane of debris dissolved in the same instant, as if the entire storm had forgotten what it existed for.
Silence.
Both of them remained floating exactly where they were, looking at Sensei. Mrs. Tatsumaki with an expression that was no longer fury but something closer to concern. Mrs. Fubuki with her eyes slightly open, recalculating in real time just as I was.
Neither said anything.
I couldn't process anything either, because at that moment I detected sensei's presence directly behind me.
—You're a disobedient student. When I tell you to put me down… you put me down! —he said, and his hand struck my head with such precision that it left me embedded in the roof of the building.
In that way, Saitama sensei ended the fight in under 10 seconds.
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—I should have anticipated this would happen. I should have told Genos I had two wives. But… how do you tell someone something like that? —my husband murmured, rubbing his head with irritation, looking around with that expression of genuine concern that always worried me—. The good thing is that we're in an abandoned area and there's nobody nearby. Although if the owner of any of these homes shows up… Damn it!, the debts that are going to come down on us.
He bit his nails. Adorable as always.
—Don't worry, sweetheart. If we receive any complaints, I'll take care of the damages. —I served him a cup of tea with care, because when I was in a good mood I liked doing those things, especially for my husband, and at that moment I still was, relatively—. Part of the fault is mine too. I should have reacted differently. —I took my own cup and kept my tone in the same place—. I don't like fighting at home. When Genos carried you off for no reason that pushed me past my limits. You know how much I love you, don't you?
—I know, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. Although… don't you think we should let him get up by now?
Before us, my younger sister maintained an imperturbable expression as if the situation had absolutely nothing to do with her whatsoever. To one side, Genos remained motionless with his arms crossed, his face pressed to the floor and a small dent in his head, serving his punishment without protest. Right where he belonged.
—We've already cleared up the misunderstanding. It was a small mistake that already has a solution. Why don't we all calm down and move forwar…?
I struck the table.
Not in fury, that would have been inelegant. With deliberate firmness, enough to make the cups tremble and cut any conversation immediately. I looked at him directly with the seriousness the situation required, letting the green aura pulse just enough to make it clear this was not a suggestion.
—My dear, we've talked about this many times. —I pointed at him with a steady finger—. You are a police commissioner. A position of real authority, and the strongest man in the world, even if there are those who still lack the judgment to understand that. Someone with that power cannot be lenient with just anyone. Authority is exercised or it is lost. It should not extend to anyone who hasn't earned it.
—But it was only a…
—To no one, sweetheart.
I intensified the aura just enough to make it clear there was nothing more to discuss. It was a conclusion.
—Alright, my dear —he said, endearingly resigned.
—That's fine with me. —I gave him a kiss on the cheek and returned to my place naturally—. Let's begin then. Genos, since I was the one most wronged by your actions, I will set your punishment. Four days without following sensei or receiving any teachings from my husband. I'd give you more, but since it's your first offense I'll be considerate. But don't pull those foolish stunts again. Is that clear?
Genos nodded in silence.
What he didn't know, and what I had perfectly calculated, was that four days was precisely the number designed to make me come across as the generous party in front of my husband. A simple advantage, executed without any visible effort. Deep down, what that cyborg had done without thinking generated an irritation I still hadn't finished processing entirely, and the desire to dismantle him piece by piece for his insolence was still there, perfectly stored for a more convenient occasion. But I had already known how to turn the situation to my advantage. I'd let him live… for now.
—Well, now it's time for Fubuki's punishment for making this misunderstanding more complicated than it needed to be.
My sister didn't respond immediately. She lowered her gaze for a moment as if organizing her thoughts, and when she raised her eyes again there was something different in her expression. It wasn't the exaggerated drama of someone seeking pity, but the quiet seriousness of someone genuinely carrying something. An interesting and irritating choice.
—You're right, Oneesan. —Her voice came out direct, without ornamentation—. I was wrong. There is no valid excuse for what I did and I know it. I acted on impulse when I should have thought first, and that generated all of this. I'm supposed to be a leader. As a heroine, as the leader of an organization and as part of this family I have to set an example, and today I didn't. That weighs on me more than any punishment you could give me.
Then she turned her gaze toward my husband with a calm that had nothing spontaneous about it.
—Darling, I know I also let you down. And the last thing I want is to be a burden or a problem in this family. That's why I'd rather have you be the one to decide what's appropriate. I trust your judgment more than my own right now. Whatever you decide, I'll accept it.
—That was kind, thank you, my dear. —my husband responded with a calm smile.
I held the cup with a little more force than necessary, though from the outside nothing seemed out of place. My smile was still there, quiet, measured. But my mind had already finished fitting every piece of what had just happened into place. Fubuki hadn't only accepted the blame without resistance — she had done it in a calculated manner, taking control of the situation without needing to impose herself. She appeared reasonable, avoided direct conflict and at the exact right moment deflected the decision toward my husband, ensuring that any punishment would come out moderate and practically unquestionable. Classic.
I didn't stop smiling, but I saw it clearly: my little sister was no longer the same as before. She had learned to move better, to choose her battles and above all to win without making noise. And that, as much as it cost me to admit it, made her someone considerably more difficult to face. How I hated that.
—Well, what punishment should I give you? —He scratched his head—. Got it. You won't be able to eat at your favorite ramen place for four days. That seems fair, doesn't it?
—Not that, sweetheart! —I cut in with a firmer tone than usual, enough to make him stop and look at me in surprise. I set the cup down softly on the table maintaining my composure. My sister wanted to manipulate my husband? Two could play that game, and I had years more practice at it—. I don't think that's the right punishment, my dear. Think it through carefully. Fubuki made a mistake that affected all of us, yes, but she was also honest enough to acknowledge it, and that's no small thing. However, a punishment that's too light teaches nothing. What's fair is something that will genuinely cost her, something that will really teach her. —I tilted my head just slightly, leading him toward the answer—. Little sister, aren't you the one who always says a punishment must make sense?
Fubuki looked at me with a serious, still expression. Good. Her disliking where this was headed was exactly the right signal.
—Well… so what should I give her as a punishment? —my husband asked, scratching his head.
—Let me think… I've got it! She doesn't sleep with you for twenty days. No hugs, no contact, nothing related.
Fubuki's reaction was immediate though not explosive. Her body tensed and her eyes fixed on me with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance she couldn't suppress in time. Perfect.
—Does that seem appropriate?
—I think so yes. —I moved closer to his ear naturally—. Also, remember all the times she forgot to buy things at the store or wait in line. You already told her you'd scold her for it. Although, well, you can't be too angry, she was distracted looking at your…
Fubuki stood up suddenly with her cheeks completely aflame.
It was evident she didn't want my husband to know how many times she had been caught staring with far too much attention at a certain rear aspect of her beloved and respected Darling. She could be bold, but admitting out loud that she was a complete pervert over her husband was an entirely different level. And I knew it perfectly well.
—Well, you're right about that, we missed a lot of offers because of how distracted she gets. But I don't want such a long punishment. I know!, it'll be ten days without sleeping with me, that seems fair. And she could also…
—That sounds fine to me, husband. —I interrupted with a smile before he could finish—. Well, it's decided. You can go now, little sister.
—Wait, my dear, I…
My husband couldn't continue because Fubuki had lifted her gaze toward him with that look. I knew it by heart because I had watched it work too many times: the bright eyes, the slightly trembling lip, the tears right at the edge ready for exactly the right moment. The look that disarmed him without fail, that erased whatever resolve he had built in the last five minutes and left him searching for a kinder way out for both of them. That was how she got her way. Always. But not today.
Today I had my cards too.
I sent the message directly into her head, without sound, without warning, with the calm of someone who has all the time in the world.
"It's better if you stay very quiet, little sister. I'd hate for our husband to find out about the photos you have stored in that box in the wardrobe. I didn't know you were such a complete pervert."
The blush rose from her neck to her cheeks in a matter of seconds, visible and unstoppable. Her hands on the table slowly closed into fists with a force she didn't measure herself, until a thin thread of blood appeared between her fingers.
My husband noticed it and grew concerned immediately, leaning forward with the intention of saying something, but he stopped when he saw the tears. They weren't the dramatic weeping of someone seeking attention. They were tears falling on their own, without permission, while Fubuki continued looking downward with that contained expression that characterized her so well, as if her body had decided to react on its own without consulting her pride.
He couldn't hold himself back.
—NO!! WHY!! I'M NOT A CHILD TO BE GIVEN PUNISHMENTS LIKE THIS!! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!! BUAAAAAAAA!!
—Huh…? —my husband murmured, completely stunned.
My sister burst into tears and left the apartment at full speed without looking back, without stopping, without saying another word. The sound of her footsteps disappeared down the corridor in a matter of seconds. It was entirely certain that back at her base she would continue crying nonstop for every one of those days, and probably a few more.
I picked up my tea again naturally.
The apartment fell silent. Genos remained on the floor with his face pressed to the ground and his arms crossed. My husband didn't move from where he was, his gaze fixed on the open door with blank eyes, processing what had just happened. Poor thing. He still thought it was his fault.
—Genos, get up and sit down. —I said with a calm but direct voice.
The cyborg obeyed immediately and placed himself before us in silence, waiting.
—Now you know your sensei's secret. —I looked at him without beating around the bush—. Two wives. Confusing, I understand. But this relationship we built from secondary school and it's the most important thing to all three of us. As you have been able to verify tonight, it is completely secret. The public cannot know about it. Two women of our standing being with a handsome police officer is something the world is still not prepared to process. Only four people know right now counting you, and that's how it will stay. —I paused—. I know you'll do the right thing for your sensei. You understood, didn't you?
Genos didn't respond immediately. He raised his head and looked at me directly with a seriousness that contained not a single gram of deference toward me, as if everything that had happened tonight had changed absolutely nothing in his disposition toward me. The insolence of that wretched robot was completely intact. I frowned without being able to help it. Seriously? After all of this he still had the nerve to look at me that way?
—I don't follow your orders, Mrs. Tatsumaki. —he replied without taking his eyes off mine for an instant—. But I respect my sensei's decisions and I can assure you I will never harm him.
I swallowed what I wanted to say to him and stored it in the same place where I kept everything that wasn't convenient to say in my husband's presence. If Genos committed another comparable act of foolishness, there would be a very uncomfortable conversation with him about why his disciple could no longer walk or breathe normally. But tonight was not the moment. Tonight I had already gotten what I needed.
—Good. You may leave now. I have many things to do tomorrow. Good night.
The cyborg got up, bowed respectfully and left the apartment, closing the door carefully behind him. Without saying anything more. At least he did that right.
As soon as his footsteps disappeared down the corridor, my husband let himself fall backward onto the floor with his arms spread wide and his gaze lost in the ceiling, which caught me off guard for a moment. It was an unusual reaction even for him. It was plainly clear that he still had in his head the image of Fubuki leaving in tears without looking back, processing at exactly which moment of the night things had gone wrong and why. Poor thing. He still believed it was his fault, that he had done something he could have handled differently. So predictable and so adorable at the same time.
Then he turned his head toward me.
I gave him back the same smile as always, the one he had known for years and had never quite managed to read entirely, which was precisely what made it so convenient. I watched him relax just slightly, almost without noticing, and return the smile without being able to help it.
—Well… I think it's better if we just get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll sort out this new problem.
I turned off the living room light.
New problem. How curious that he called it that, as if tonight had been a setback rather than exactly the result I had calculated from the moment I struck that table. Having him in my arms during these days was the best thing in life.
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—Salute Commissioner of Police Saitama!!
—YES SIR!! IT IS A PLEASURE TO SEE YOU AGAIN, COMMISSIONER SAITAMA, SIR!!
The unanimous shout of the officers echoed through the entire precinct as they bowed in unison while he walked past toward his office. Saitama walked straight ahead, looking forward, with the quiet discomfort of someone who doesn't quite know what to do with that level of attention and would simply prefer it didn't exist.
"Do they really think they're vassals? I just came to work, lunatics."
The headquarters was a whirlwind of activity. Phones ringing nonstop, reports being processed from one desk to another, calls for help, minor emergencies, the constant noise of an institution that had never quite managed to be at peace during the years Saitama had been there. Most of the cases weren't catastrophic, but Saitama handled them anyway when he could or when he was bored (which was always). It was his job, after all.
The problem was that since the promotion, everyone insisted that it wasn't. That he should stay in the office. That he should relax. That he should leave minor cases to others and focus only on the big things. They offered him attentions, coffee, already-summarized reports, a more comfortable chair than the last one, a better desk.
"What am I, a king? These people are out of their minds."
On his way to his office he came across something he hadn't expected.
The new recruits had already arrived.
—Greetings, Commissioner Saitama. Good to see you —said the armored gorilla, firm and respectful, with the police uniform perfectly worn despite his size.
So the mechanical voice to play the tough guy was real, it seemed.
—Y-yes… greetings, mas… commissioner… chief… sir —the mosquito girl stammered, bowing almost too much, with the uniform fitted to her size and an expression that oscillated between nerves and something resembling panic.
—Good to see you both too. Though I wasn't expecting to see you this soon. The academy normally takes a year. How did you manage it?
—I admitted them, sir. —That came from Officer Satoru, responding with that quiet firmness that characterized him.
He was a man of average height, dark hair, glasses he always wore in the same position, and a confidence that didn't come from arrogance but from knowing exactly what he was doing at every moment. He was Saitama's secretary and right-hand man, and was more like a commissioner than Saitama himself.
"Why did they put this responsibility on me?" he thought every time he was reminded of it, with an exasperation that had already become familiar.
—As part of Mr. Genus's sentence, and because you requested it through the Heroes Association, he was ordered to collaborate with the police —Satoru continued.
—Yes, I remember. Those people at the Association are a nuisance, but at least they respect ranks.
—In any case, the advantage is considerable. Mr. Genus provides us with technological improvements and advances in physical health. All the officers are already showing better performance, and I suggested he lend us some of his creations for the heavier work. More will be coming next week. With this, your workload of minor tasks will decrease significantly and you'll be able to focus 100% on what really matters, chief.
—Yes, yes… that's fantastic —said Saitama with a calm smile.
"Damn it. Why did I say that? With those minor tasks I could at least do something useful. If I'm stuck in the office I'll be a lazy chief. I don't even know how to write a report! I am not losing my job! My wives would be so disappointed!! And I'd become a complete freeloader!! Damn it!!"
—Well, I'd better start my patrol rounds for the day. Hehe.
—But sir, with this new structure you can remain in the office and…
Saitama placed his hands on Satoru's shoulders with a firmness that didn't leave much room for continuing the sentence, and looked at him with a completely sincere seriousness.
—I said I'll do my patrol rounds. A police officer must always help regardless of the rank they hold.
"Understand me, Satoru, I don't want to lose my job!!"
—And you can take me on your bicycle. —he said so he wouldn't ask any more questions.
Satoru's face lit up with a smile that couldn't quite fit within his usual expression.
—YES, SIR!! YOU ARE A PRIDE AS A CHIEF AND AS A PERSON!! I'LL GO GET MY BICYCLE!!
He left almost at a run to prepare it.
Saitama watched him walk away with his hands in his pockets.
"Haha. He swallowed every bit of it."
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Satoru, on his daily patrols, didn't only wear his protective suit with the police design, black glasses and green helmet. He also had his old and trusty police bicycle, indispensable for moving quickly between calls, returning to the precinct and heading back out without losing time. It was the best he had ever had: fast, resistant, capable of carrying considerable weight and equipped with a side bag where he kept everything needed for any situation.
But as of today he no longer needed it in the same way, because he was carrying something considerably more effective than any equipment: the commissioner Saitama himself, seated behind him on a special chair that Satoru had adapted with his own hands so his chief could travel in the greatest possible comfort.
—You're really fast on this bicycle, Satoru. It feels interesting to move around this way —said his chief, waving his hand at some people who recognized them as they passed.
—I'm glad you enjoy it, sir. Although I thought you'd be going out on patrol with your new disciple today. Where is Genos?
Saitama took a moment to respond.
—He was punished by Tatsumaki after what happened last night along with Fubuki. I haven't seen her since she ran out. —He exhaled slowly—. I'm already starting to worry, especially about her. I think ten days was too much, but in the moment it seemed like the right thing. In a relationship you have to be firm when someone makes a mistake, don't you? Although I didn't shout at her either, and deep down I understand her. I've known them for years and we've only been married for two. There are things I still don't handle well. Aaaah, I don't know what to do as a husband.
Saitama sighed tiredly, which worried Satoru seeing him so downcast.
Satoru was one of the few people in the world who knew the truth about Saitama's relationship with the Esper sisters. After all, he had been present at the wedding, had been Saitama's best man at that completely secret ceremony, and since then had guarded that information with the same discretion with which he handled everything else.
Now his chief needed help and he would give it to him without hesitation.
—Don't worry, sir. This is very common in young marriages —said Satoru, understanding his chief's dilemma—. Just wait out the days you gave her and she'll calm down. It's good to be serious in a relationship when one side makes a mistake. And your disciple will understand his error and be better for it. It's no accident that he has an excellent teacher.
—Thank you, Satoru. I…
He couldn't finish the sentence.
In a fraction of a second he vanished from the rear seat of the bicycle. Satoru braked hard and found him standing on the pavement, arm extended and an expression that had nothing of the calm from two seconds ago. Before him, something had shot forward with brutal force and embedded itself in the ground several meters ahead.
Satoru moved to his side and focused his eyes.
It was a slim man with dark hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in a fitted black suit and a purple scarf that gave him the appearance of someone who took his image very seriously. He had two katanas in his hands and a cold expression, completely devoid of emotion, the kind cultivated over years in front of a mirror. He had recovered from the impact with remarkable speed and was now looking at Saitama with an intensity that said everything about his intentions.
Satoru recognized him instantly and felt the atmosphere shift in tone.
—You impress me… —the man said, pointing the tip of one of the katanas in Saitama's direction—. I thought the famous strongest police officer wouldn't be this fast. What happened that other day made me doubt it — I thought it had been luck. Now I know I was wrong.
Saitama didn't lose his composure. His gaze hardened and, with a calm but firm voice, he responded:
—Who are you?
The man's face twisted with fury.
—YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME?!! You hit me that time!! I came to finish you off, Commissioner Saitama!! I've been investigating you: a graduate with no notable track record, minor achievements, a promotion nobody really understands… but something about you caught my attention. You may have strength, but you have no efficiency, no technique, no…
While the man kept talking and growing more furious, Saitama took a small step back, leaned slightly toward Satoru and lowered his voice.
—Hey, do you know who this guy in tights is? Seems like he's been holding onto a lot of resentment.
—I looked him up in the reports, sir. He goes by "Sonic, Speed o' Sound." Mercenary and hired assassin with contracts executed across several regions. Considered one of the most dangerous in his category. Sir… had you not seen him before? Don't you remember fighting him?
Saitama barely furrowed his brow, like someone trying to place a face among millions he may have seen or inadvertently destroyed.
—Ah… yes. I think so. —He paused—. It was when that group of armored bald men destroyed the apartment Fubuki had gotten. I was checking the area looking for injured people and suddenly I felt something, like a mosquito that accidentally bumped into me. I turned and there was a guy on the ground clutching his crotch with his eyes rolled back and foam at his mouth. I assumed someone had attacked that cosplayer, so I went to look for help, but when I came back he was already gone. —He let out a small laugh—. Hehe. He really is careless for a "professional" ninja assassin.
—IT WAS YOU WHO HIT ME IN THE TESTICLES, YOU DAMNED BALD MAN!! —Sonic roared, having gone without attention for a while and being unable to bear it any longer, instinctively raising his hand to the location of the memory.
A drop of sweat slid down Satoru's temple. He knew his chief well: when Saitama became distracted in the middle of a situation like this, things could resolve themselves in completely unforeseen ways.
Saitama was quiet for a moment. He looked at Sonic. He looked at Satoru. He adjusted his cap with two fingers, closing his eyes with the calm gesture of always, and spoke in a completely flat voice.
—Right. I'm sorry about that day, it was unintentional. But you shouldn't attack people from behind. Look, I'll let you go first so you can calm down and then, if I beat you, I'll take you in to the…
—Sir —Satoru interrupted, with a quiet and professional resignation, pointing at the ground before them—. Sonic was already knocked down several seconds ago. You did it without realizing.
Saitama looked down.
Sonic was on the pavement with his head embedded in the concrete, arms spread wide and both katanas snapped in half at his sides. He wasn't moving, but he was breathing and producing foam at his mouth. Saitama had done it again, probably in the moment he had adjusted his cap, with no conscious record of the blow or of exactly when it had occurred.
The silence that followed lasted long enough for the situation to fully settle.
Saitama looked at the body for a moment longer, then at Satoru, and his expression returned to its usual neutrality.
—Right —he said, in the same casual tone as before—. Tell me, do you know how to handle an argument in a marriage?