That's wrong, he thought. He understood it in his head. There was no way the fist that crushed monsters could somehow translate into legal authority or political power. Going to bring Tatsumaki back — how exactly was he supposed to do that? He couldn't think of a single method. But he understood one thing. She was calling for help. That alone was enough. Two in the morning. Room 203, Green Heights Z. Saitama sat on the floor of the dark room, back against the wall. The lights were off. Only the moonlight slipping through the gap in the curtains illuminated the bargain-sale flyers on the kotatsu table, casting them in a pale blue glow. The tears he'd been gripping until just moments ago had already dried. — *Ksssh… kssshh…* A noise like static ran through the back of his mind. (*…It came.*) Tatsumaki's telepathic wave. She was sending it desperately from that underground lab. Much weaker than before. Fragmented, more than half of it buried in noise. But the emotion alone came through clearly. *'…Sai…tama…'* Her voice was trembling. Hoarse and thin, like a child who'd cried herself to exhaustion. And along with the voice — fragments of images flickered behind his eyelids. A dim metal ceiling. Cold concrete walls. The faint vibration of a distant train, transmitted through the ground. The smell of oil and machinery drifting from the ventilation shaft. (*Underground.*) Saitama slowly opened his eyes. He'd heard about it before, at Silverfang's dojo. Beneath City A, old subway lines remained intact, and some of them had been repurposed into Hero Association facilities. That was where Tatsumaki was. *'…Help…me…'* The last words vanished into the noise. Saitama stood up. He glanced at the hero handbook he'd tossed onto the kotatsu — then grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket. At least the GPS would work. Association procedures? Written orders? Legal barriers? "…Like I care." He threw on his yellow jersey and opened the front door. Cold wind blew into the midnight ghost town. There was no hesitation left in him. ◇ City A, before dawn. Saitama walked alone down the main street, illuminated only by streetlights. He'd run here after getting off the late-night bus. He wasn't out of breath. Only the inside of his chest felt strangely hot. The entrance to the abandoned subway line was located a little ways from the center of City A. It was the site of a disused station, surrounded by high-rise buildings. The former entrance had been sealed off by the Hero Association with a thick iron door. A yellow sign reading "SEALED." Beneath it, three heavy padlocks. Saitama stood before the door. He drew back his arm. — *DOOOOOM!!* A single swing of his fist blew away the iron door and the padlocks together. The hinges were torn off, and the heavy metal slab slammed into the far wall with a sound like an earthquake. "Who's there?!" From deep within the passage, armed guards came running, shouting. Helmets, bulletproof vests, special batons. Six of them in total. One of them caught sight of Saitama's face and stopped short, as if stunned. "B-Class… Saitama…!" "If you know who I am, this'll be quick." Saitama spoke flatly, still walking. "Where's Tatsumaki?" "[angry]You bastard, do you have any idea where you are?! This is an official operation by the Association's upper echelon—" "I'm the one asking the questions." He stepped in. — *Thud, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!!!* All six of them, one punch. The guards' bodies were sent flying together, slamming into the walls on both sides of the passage. Bulletproof vests crumpled, batons clattered to the floor and rolled away. Unconscious. No one was dead. But they wouldn't be getting up for hours. Saitama pressed onward. The passage continued down, deeper underground. The white light of fluorescent lamps illuminated the sterile concrete walls. Surveillance cameras on the ceiling. Plates everywhere reading "NO ENTRY" and "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY." After advancing for a while, he saw the passage ahead glowing with a pale blue light. — An electromagnetic barrier. The air itself was vibrating with a crackling hum. A high-output defensive wall that would blast away any human who touched it in an instant. Something that would give even conventional weapons — or psychic powers — serious trouble breaking through. Saitama didn't stop walking. The barrier's generator was embedded in the wall right beside it. A square mechanical box emitting that pale blue glow. He clenched his fist and swung. — *CRASHHHH!!!* Sparks scattered as the device shattered to pieces. At the same moment, the electromagnetic barrier blocking the passage vanished with a sharp *bzzt*. Further in. This time, a thick concrete blast wall blocked his path. Easily a full meter thick. A design meant to withstand both psychic attacks and heavy firepower. But — apparently, the designer hadn't considered the concept of just punching it. "…Move." He drove his fist into it. — *DOOOOOM!!!* A round hole opened in the concrete wall. A clean hole, about a meter in diameter. Cracks spread from it like a spiderweb, and dust rained down from the ceiling. Saitama stepped over the rubble and kept going. ◇ The center of the underground lab. It was a vast space. Three-meter-high ceilings. Countless monitors and instruments lined the walls. And embedded in the central wall — The core of the giant psychic suppression device. A cover made of super-hard alloy, gleaming with a dull silver light. Across its surface ran innumerable circuit patterns, and red control lamps blinked. It was so enormous it stretched from ceiling to floor, and the low-frequency hum of its operation made the entire room tremble. "This it?" Saitama stood before the core. He clenched his fist. One hit might not be enough — he thought that. Even though there'd never been anything he couldn't destroy in a single blow before. "…Well, whatever." He threw his fist. — *GANN!!* The first hit. A crack ran across the super-hard alloy cover. The sharp metallic sound echoed through the underground space. The second hit. — *GAGIIN!!* The crack deepened, widened. Fine dust pattered down from the ceiling. Third hit, fourth, fifth — With every swing of his fist, the entire underground space shook. The monitors on the walls flickered, and the instruments blared shrill warning alarms. The ceiling lights blinked on and off, and eventually some of them burst. — *DOGON!! DOGON!! DOGOGOGON!!!* Above ground, no one knew what was happening. The high-rise buildings of midnight City A swayed with unexplained tremors. Window glass vibrated violently, and sleeping citizens jolted awake. Earthquake alarms rang out somewhere, and people rushed outside still in their pajamas. — The tenth hit. "—Almost there." Saitama drove the final blow into the center of the core with all his strength. — *ZUDOOOOOOM!!!!* A shockwave rippled across the entirety of City A. The glass of the high-rises resonated all at once with a violent shudder, and car alarms parked along the roads blared in unison. The streetlights all went dark for an instant — then flickered back on. Underground, the core had been completely pulverized. The super-hard alloy cover lay scattered across the floor in countless fragments, its internal circuits exposed and shorting out. The blinking of the red lamps slowly — went dark. At the same moment, all the lights in the passage went out. Silence. In the darkness, only the small metallic sounds of *click, click* echoed. ◇ "…Ugh… ah…" In the darkness, Tatsumaki's suppression devices deactivated one by one, automatically. Her wrists, then her neck. The cold metal rings came off and fell to the concrete floor. With a light, ringing *clink*. Still seated in the metal chair, Tatsumaki lifted her head. Saitama was standing there. Through the hole he'd smashed in the wall, the dim light of the passage's emergency lamps filtered in. Standing with that light behind him, only his silhouette was visible. But — she knew. That jersey, that careless stance, that seemingly lazy presence. "…You're late, idiot." Tatsumaki's voice took the form of an insult, but it trembled as if she were about to cry. Her face was pale, dark circles heavy beneath her eyes. Her emerald-green hair was a disheveled mess. In the hours her psychic powers had been sealed, she'd been utterly drained. And yet — the moment she registered Saitama's figure, her large golden eyes grew wet. "[gentle]Can you stand?" Saitama held out his hand. Tatsumaki didn't hesitate. Without a moment's wavering, she reached out with a trembling hand and grasped his. — For the first time in her life, she took someone's hand of her own volition. The hand she grasped was far bigger than she'd imagined, thick, and — warm. The moment she tried to stand, her legs wobbled. From being seated so long, her knees had no strength. As her body began to topple, Saitama reflexively grabbed her arm and supported her. "…Ngh." Saitama's hand, touching her arm. His body heat seeped slowly through her chilled skin. A stable center of gravity. A silent certainty that he would never let go. In that instant — Telepathic waves, out of control, spilled out from Tatsumaki. *'I was so scared…'* *'I didn't want… to be alone…'* *'I wanted you… to touch me… all this time…'* Saitama heard that voice. His face was as expressionless as ever. But the hand supporting Tatsumaki — squeezed back, just a little tighter. "—!!" Tatsumaki noticed and hurriedly turned her face away. Even in the darkness, it was obvious she was blushing to the very tips of her ears. But her hand — didn't let go. ◇ That was when it happened. — *Step, step, step, step!!* Multiple footsteps. From the emergency exit of the underground lab, more than a dozen black shadows poured in. A unit in black armor. Faces covered by visors, specialized firearms in their hands. Not the Hero Association's regular forces — their movements, their equipment, the killing intent they radiated. Everything about them declared they were private soldiers under Silverfang's command. "[cold]Confirmed destruction of the psychic suppression device. Restrain both targets." The cold, mechanical voice of a man who seemed to be the leader. The unit raised their guns in unison. Tatsumaki gritted her teeth and tried to thrust her hand forward. But her body wouldn't obey. Her psychic power had returned, but her physical strength hadn't fully recovered. A large-scale attack was impossible. "…Tch." Just as she clicked her tongue in frustration — Saitama stepped in front of Tatsumaki. He looked at the unit. Over a dozen of them. And — without a word, he clenched his fist. "[serious]I'll handle this." He said just that, shortly. His figure was nothing like that night in the ruins, when the Association's written orders had been thrust before him. The man who had stopped his fist back then was no longer here. — *There's nothing here that can stop me now.* If it was to protect Tatsumaki, this fist — no one could stop it anymore. In that instant, a fleeting image streamed into Saitama's mind. City Z General Hospital. Fubuki's figure, seen through the glass of the ICU. Her younger sister, still asleep on the white sheets. Her thin arm connected to an IV tube. — *I saved this one. But that one still hasn't opened her eyes.* Saitama clenched his fist tight. The fight wasn't over yet.