Having finished off the monster that had been defeated earlier, I headed in the same direction Saitama had recently run off to. But he was no longer at McDonald's, so we never did get to meet. Contacting the Association again, I informed them that the giant cicada would no longer be bothering anyone and provided the coordinates to which a cleanup team would need to be dispatched. After that, I made my way straight home. The day had already been far too packed with events — I had no desire to give fate a chance to drop yet another incident on my head.
Arriving at the porch of my rented house, I noticed that Fubuki's car was still parked outside. Apparently she hadn't yet... no, wait — she had already come around.
Stepping inside, I found the girl fully conscious, sitting on the sofa and sluggishly combing through her hair, which had taken quite a beating in our recent skirmish. At my appearance, she sharply turned her head and almost immediately dropped her gaze to the floor.
"You came back quickly..."
"And where are the two stooges?" — looking around and not spotting her two attendants in the living room, I raised a questioning eyebrow.
"I sent them back to our base."
"Hopefully not for reinforcements?" — I smirked sarcastically and, walking to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water. "This neighborhood has already suffered enough from your antics. I'd rather not cause my neighbors any additional inconvenience..."
"I'll restore everything!" — sharply lifting her head, Fubuki spoke a little louder than before. "My group has the resources, and since using my powers did such a number on the road in front of the house, I'll cover all the costs for its repair!"
"And you'd better not lie about it." — having very satisfyingly restored my body's water balance, I closed the refrigerator and, wagging a finger at my interlocutor, folded my arms across my chest. "Now then, since we've settled that, and the doors of my house were open... why are you still here?"
"Those words you said — about how we look more like villains than heroes. They got to me!" — fixing her gaze on my face, Fubuki apparently tried to rise to her feet, but didn't yet have the strength, and sank back down onto the sofa. "The Fubuki Group helps various cities every single day and keeps order on the streets, taking out countless monsters. My group has existed for almost as long as the Hero Association itself! And..."
"Which isn't particularly long." — I smirked again. "About a year and a half in total, if I'm not mistaken."
"That's not the point!" — the girl shook her head vigorously. "You simply don't understand why I decided to create it!"
"Because you have childhood complexes about your older sister's incredible power?"
"No... I mean yes, but... ughhh, it's all very complicated!" — Fubuki slammed her fist on the small table beside the sofa. "As an esper, I could have stood at the very top — if not for Tatsumaki and her incomparable strength. Because of her, I was fated never to achieve anything in this life. So when I became a hero, I decided that if I stayed here and took all of B-Class under my control, I could surpass my sister, who always does everything alone. That way—"
"Surely you understand yourself how completely senseless that strategy is?" — unable to hold back, I cut off my interlocutor and raised a questioning eyebrow again. "Even if you gathered every hero from every class — from C to S, excluding the top rank — they still couldn't beat Tatsumaki."
"How would you know?!" — Fubuki made another unsuccessful attempt to get to her feet. "My sister—"
"She is ranked number two in S-Class." — giving a grunt, I shook my head. "My teacher and mentor sits right after her at number three — and it's from his words that I can judge that your scheme doesn't have the faintest chance of working."
"Number three..." — the girl's eyes slowly grew wider and wider and wider, until finally the realization dawned on her... "So that means your teacher... is Master Silver Fang?! An S-Class hero? But how..."
"You should check the internet more often. They figured it all out and dug it all up ages ago." — I dropped into the armchair at the computer desk with a smile. "You were probably only looking at my file for hero communication operators. Old-fashioned way to work. And yes, your group still looks like villains..."
"Even if your teacher is an S-Class hero, that guarantees you nothing. Climbing to the top alone is hard!" — like a broken record, Fubuki quickly recovered from the shock and returned to her previous topic. "Atomic Samurai, the rank four hero, also has students. They started in B-Class and quickly moved to A, but then their progress slowed and eventually stopped altogether. Now they hold second, third, and fourth place — but they'll never rise to first. Do you know why?"
"Because they're not strong enough." — spinning in my chair, I met the gaze of my agitated interlocutor again. "Believe me, I know that the person holding first place in A-Class is stronger than a good half of S-Class, and he lets no one through who he deems insufficiently strong for it. I believe his hero name is Handsome Kamen."
"It's not only about personal strength!" — I wasn't sure whether Fubuki herself believed what she was saying, but she still sounded extremely confident. "A hero's rank advancement depends on many factors: how often they participate in eliminating monsters, how quickly they respond to threats, how well they work in a team, what their public approval rating looks like. Groups like mine allow you to advance along that path extremely quickly. We work together, share the rewards, the fame, and of course the information, work with PR managers, and—"
"And none of that interests me in the slightest." — beginning to grow genuinely tired of this pointless conversation, I shook my head with a sigh. "Fubuki, I'll tell it to you straight. The way I see it, you've simply convinced yourself that you can't surpass your sister. That's probably true. But it also doesn't mean that instead of developing yourself, you should be running hero gangs. Believe me, I know what it means to see only the unreachable back of the person ahead of you. My teacher — an unmatched martial arts master, and most likely the strongest in the world in that discipline — is a perfect example. And I, more than anyone, know that no matter how many mediocre fighters I gathered under my command, defeating him would still be an impossible task..."
"That's different!" — Hellish Blizzard leaned forward. "Esper abilities—"
"Different form, same essence." — I shook my head again. "Power, in whatever form it manifests, operates by the same laws. You want to surpass your sister? Then work on yourself. Get stronger, even just a little. You aren't going to A-Class simply because you're afraid of Handsome Kamen, aren't you? Well, he's certainly not as strong as Tatsumaki — so why not start by setting yourself the goal of getting past at least him?" — spinning in my chair again, I turned my back to Fubuki and turned on the computer monitor. "And yes. Overpowering someone with sheer numbers, when it's not a matter of life and death, is weakness. Do you want to stay that way your whole life? That's your choice — but don't try to drag me into that swamp. You can just stand and watch as I first surpass my teacher and then your sister. It won't be quick, but I'll put every effort into speeding up the process... the exit is over there." — without turning around, I gestured toward the door. "If you ever want to do something real, come back — I'm willing to cooperate. But I won't be playing faction games. For now."
About a minute later, Fubuki left my rented property. And a little while after that, her car started up and drove off down the street.
To her credit, the repair crew did in fact arrive a couple of hours later. By nightfall, the road in front of my house had been fully restored and not a single trace of the recent skirmish remained in the area.
Well, it would be very interesting to see what Fubuki did going forward. Whether she would take the path of reason, or continue chasing the unrealizable idea of surpassing Tatsumaki through sheer numbers... in any case, neither of her choices would alter my own plans.
Now that I had reached a certain ceiling at Bang's dojo, it was time to expand my arsenal. To that end, starting from the very next day — alongside ordinary hero work — I began visiting various martial arts dojos across all twenty-six cities.
Of course, among practitioners this kind of thing was frowned upon, as it often created conflicts that served no one's interests. However, I acted with extreme caution and strictly within the framework of sporting conduct. In simpler terms: I would arrive at a foreign dojo, ask the master's permission to enter, introduce myself, observe the training of the local students, demonstrate my own skills, and then propose a friendly unofficial sparring session. Under such conditions, no one usually refused me, and the dojo would put forward its strongest fighter — or even the master himself.
After that, all I needed to do was watch carefully, memorize, and analyze. In terms of sheer combat power, the vast majority of dojos had simply no match for me. But at this stage that wasn't what I required from them. Far more important was to familiarize myself with as many fighting styles as possible — or in simpler terms, with as many different ways of applying inner power as possible — and absorbing them through the strikes of my opponents, weave them together with the skills already at my disposal.
A fairly clear understanding of how exactly power worked in this world, the natural talent of my body, and the training I had already completed at Bang's dojo allowed me to pick up the most interesting moves and techniques from my opponents almost at a glance, and immediately use them against those same opponents — putting the knowledge gained into practice in real time.
If one recalled the canon, the original Garou also possessed a similar talent. Only he used it more unconsciously and with a significant time delay. As for me — having an adult mind and extensive knowledge from the canon to begin with — I made use of my talent far more rationally.
After just one week of wandering through the dojos of masters of other styles, I once again felt what I had felt before — an intoxicating sensation, better than any drink no matter how strong, of constant growth and the reaching of ever newer heights. Weaving other styles into my original Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist, I was making it — and myself — more flexible, more multifaceted, and far more powerful.
In the end, after about a month of wandering, I felt strong enough to visit the last two places I hadn't yet set foot in.
Bang's brother Bomb's dojo — master of the Whirlwind Iron Cutting Fist.
And the dojo of Suiryu, master of the Void Fist.
From the strongest practitioners of these two styles, I intended to draw the greatest number of skills...