That's wrong, he thought. The air that lingered in the room after Tatsumaki left that day felt strangely lukewarm, and he could have sworn some cloyingly sweet scent had soaked into the walls. Even staring at the supermarket sale flyer, nothing registered in his head. (What the hell was that?) Saitama slumped over the low table. His invincible fists were completely useless against this vague, murky feeling. Getting dragged into that troublesome mind-reading phenomenon had reduced his already scarce motivation to absolute zero. In the end, he'd just gone straight to sleep after that. And then the next day. Friday. Evening came, and the doorbell rang again. "……Now what?" He opened the door, fully expecting a hassle. The person standing there was not Tatsumaki. Semi-long hair, black and glossy, with a faint bluish shimmer woven through it. Translucent, pale-blue eyes gazed steadily at Saitama. She stood about a hundred and sixty centimeters tall, and her body was wrapped tightly in an evening dress of black so ostentatious it felt wildly out of place. Through the dress's slit, a glimpse of pale thigh peeked out. Fubuki, the Blizzard of Hell. Rank one in B-Class. The charismatic, cool-headed woman who commanded the Blizzard Group. (Why her, now?) "[gentle]Good evening, Saitama-san. Might you have a moment to spare?" Her voice was calm, yet it had a resonance that lingered deep in the ear. A perfect smile graced her lips. But behind those pale-blue eyes, something cold glinted — as if she were appraising prey. She had been aiming to scout him, drawn by his unfathomable strength. But after witnessing that scene yesterday — the extraordinary agitation her older sister Tatsumaki had displayed — something inside her had shifted. Rivalry toward her sister. And a surging fixation on this man who bowed to no one. Those two things were churning in a whirlpool inside Fubuki's heart. "I've got time…… but what do you want?" Saitama asked in his usual listless voice. Today he wore a freshly washed white T-shirt and cargo pants. A hopeless mismatch for Fubuki's dress. "[gentle]I'd like to talk a little. And perhaps dinner as well. My treat, of course." "……Your treat?" "[gentle]Yes. There's a restaurant in A-City called 'Altar of the Sky.' Their A5-rank wagyu is simply exquisite." A5. Wagyu. Her treat. Those words crackled and sparked inside Saitama's flat, featureless brain. The fridge still had that pork scraps he'd bought at yesterday's sale. But free, top-grade meat. Nothing could beat that. "……I'll go." Instant answer. Fubuki's smile deepened. Just as calculated. Start with the stomach. That was the strategy. —But somewhere in her heart, a heat that wasn't purely calculation had begun to mix in, just a little. She herself hadn't noticed it yet. ◇ The heart of A-City. The top floor of a super-high-rise hotel, close to the Hero Association headquarters building. The restaurant "Altar of the Sky." Through the wall of glass windows, the night view of A-City glittered like an overturned jewel box. White tablecloths, candle flames flickering faintly, a live piano playing softly in the distance. Every other customer looked wealthy. Suits and dresses. Amidst them, Saitama in his white T-shirt and cargo pants was the very picture of "out of place." But Saitama didn't care in the slightest. "Amazing view," he said honestly, looking out the window. "[gentle]Fufu, I'm so glad you're enjoying it." Fubuki sat not across from Saitama, but right next to him on the same sofa seat. Close. The sweet, slightly spicy scent of her perfume tickled Saitama's nose. Appetizer, soup, fish course. Dishes arrived one after another, and Saitama silently dispatched them to his stomach. The taste was probably really good. Tender, and beautifully presented. But he felt just a little unsettled. Because the presence of Fubuki sitting beside him clung to his skin far too much. "[gentle]Saitama-san, why do you continue being a hero? It doesn't seem like a hobby, exactly." "It's a hobby." "[surprised]……Oh my." Fubuki's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Not like I've got anything else to do." "[gentle]Fufu, you're an interesting one. Then——" Just then, the main dish — the wagyu steak — was brought to the table. On a sizzling iron plate, the thick cut of meat rose with steam. When the knife went in, it was unbelievably tender, juices welling up and spilling over. "Looks good." The very moment Saitama picked up his fork. Under the table, something moved. A smooth, warm sensation. Fubuki's bare foot slid up, stroking Saitama's calf. The pale leg peeking through the slit of her evening dress slowly entwined itself around his. (Hm?) Saitama's chewing paused for a beat. "[whispers]More mature than my sister…… don't you think?" Fubuki's breath brushed against his ear. Ticklish, and just a little irritating. Saitama gulped down the meat in his mouth. "Your foot's bumping into me." It was an honest observation. For a moment, Fubuki looked blankly bewildered. Then she tightened her lips, and this time, more boldly, pressed her entire thigh against him. "[gentle]It's not bumping into you. It's on purpose." "Why?" "[sad]……Honestly. You really are dense, aren't you?" Saying that, she gently entwined her fingers with Saitama's left hand. They were cool to the touch, yet slightly damp with sweat. "[whispers]I will protect you. Far better than my sister ever could." Her heart was pounding, enough to surprise even herself. This is a tactic. Just calculation. If I can take him from my sister, that's enough. That's what she had thought. (I want to hold this hand a little longer.) That feeling was bubbling up from deep in her chest. Just then. Bzzzt. Static raced through his mind. '……………I'll……………kill you……………' (Ugh, not this again.) Cold sweat beaded on Saitama's forehead. Outside the window. Two hundred meters above the ground, a small silhouette floated in midair. Emerald-green hair stood on end, wild in the wind, and golden eyes blazed with fury. Tatsumaki, the Terrible Tornado. The light of psychic power radiating from her entire body distorted the night sky like an aurora. 'This thieving cat…… I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you kill you kill you kill you!!!!!' The telepathic waves hammered directly against Saitama's brain. It was like a siren wailing inside his skull. 'Why, why……! I haven't even held his hand yet! Why did you get to hold his hand first!! Holding it so gently like that! So nice…… no fair, no fair, no fair……' The voice, trembling with rage, shifted midway into a sob. 'I want to sit next to him like that too. I can't wear a mature dress or anything, but still, I want to…… next to you……' "……Hey, Saitama-san? You look terribly pale." Fubuki peered at Saitama with a puzzled expression. "No, it's just…… my head is……" Pressing his temple, Saitama carried the steak to his mouth with a trembling hand. He could no longer taste the meat. 'Fubuki! Let go of him right now! Let go of that hand! Right now!' CRAAAAAASH!!! An explosive roar, and the thick glass covering the entire wall shattered into countless fragments. Shrill screams echoed throughout the restaurant. As customers dove under their tables, Tatsumaki landed slowly. Barefoot, stepping on shards of glass, she breathed heavily, her shoulders heaving. Her face was bright red, boiled over with rage and embarrassment. "[angry]What do you think you're doing, Fubuki!! That man is…… he's…… he's……!!" Fubuki was unshaken. Without releasing their entwined fingers, she turned cold eyes toward her sister. "[cold]What are *you* doing, dear sister? You're not even dating him, so would you kindly not interfere?" "[angry]Wha—……! Th-That's none of your business!!" "[sarcastic]It's not *not* my business. You're always like this, sister. Because you can't be honest, you complicate everything and cause trouble for everyone around you." "[angry]You're the one who's too calculating! You always are! Pretending to be nice, when all you ever think about is your own gain!!" Saitama just chewed his meat. Or rather, he was trying to chew it. It tasted like nothing but sand. The sisters' psychic screaming match and their actual screaming match played in stereo inside his head — a living hellscape. 'I'm not handing Saitama over to you……! I've been…… way, way longer than you……' The telepathic waves were crying. This is bad. This is, seriously, a huge pain. Saitama slowly swallowed the last piece of meat, then set his fork down on the plate with a soft clink. "……Both of you, calm down." His voice was flat, as always. But strangely, both of them stopped dead in their tracks. "[angry]Y-You shut up! This is partly your fault too, you know!" Tatsumaki glared sharply at Saitama. In that instant, a telepathic wave flowed in — a small, thin voice. '……You're the last person I want to hear that from. Because you're the one who makes me like this. It's all your fault that I've become this way. So why don't you understand……' The voice was wet with tears. Saitama closed his eyes. And then, he said it. "……The pork scraps I bought at yesterday's sale tasted better than this." Silence. A silence so deep you could almost hear the ice clink in a glass settled over the ruined restaurant. Tatsumaki and Fubuki stared at Saitama, mouths hanging open. The murderous aura that had been radiating from Tatsumaki just moments ago suddenly lost its force. Fubuki blinked several times, then let out a small sigh. And then, with a soft chuckle, she laughed. "[laughing]……Oh my. When you put it that way, I find my will to fight quite gone." "[sad]……Are you stupid? You really are an idiot. Someone treats you to top-grade meat, and that's what you say?" Tatsumaki's voice trembled with exasperation and disbelief. The peak of anger had passed. Through the shattered window, a cold night breeze blew in. Fubuki finally released Saitama's hand and rose gracefully. Stepping on glass shards with her high heels, she brought her face close to Saitama's ear. "[whispers]……Let's meet again. Next time, somewhere private, where we can take our time." Her breath tickled the fine hairs of his ear. That voice unmistakably reached Tatsumaki's ears as well. "[angry]……Fubukiiii!! If you try anything again, I really will kill you!!!" Her voice shrill and cracking, Tatsumaki floated lightly into the air and flew toward Fubuki. With a cool expression, Fubuki clicked her heels and walked away toward the elevator. What remained were shattered glass and the remnants of a luxury meal. A few wealthy customers who'd missed their chance to flee. And Saitama. "……Women are such a pain." Saitama muttered it to no one in particular. And yet. Deep in his chest, in a place that had long been bored and parched dry, there was a faint stirring. An unknown emotion he couldn't even process himself — just a single drop of it seemed to have seeped in there. (Well, whatever. The meat was free, anyway.) Saitama started walking toward the hallway outside through the broken emergency exit. Unnoticed by the two sisters still glaring at each other in the distance, two gazes quietly watched his retreating figure. Even as they went their separate ways, the same man's face was burned into both their hearts. That man, knowing nothing, thinking only of tomorrow's sale, slowly disappeared into the night city.