Faced with Homelander's questioning stare,
The Deep's brain went into overdrive.
His CPU was practically smoking.
Wait—
Something's wrong with this milk!
The color's off, and even from this distance there's a faint fishy stench!
Are you sure this is normal milk?!
However…
Just as The Deep was about to say "I didn't see anything, I don't know"—
A certain handsome man wearing black-framed glasses, holding Kyōka Suigetsu, let out a cold smile.
You disgusting bastard—
Using Lord Gray Wolf's goodwill to do filthy things inside an illusion?
Die.
"Shatter—Kyōka Suigetsu."
In an instant, The Deep was hypnotized.
With a vacant expression, he said:
"That was fresh milk, right?"
"Yeah, absolutely fresh milk."
"Homelander, you're really sick."
"Looks pretty tasty—how about giving me a sip too?"
As the words left his mouth, the hypnosis faded.
The Deep replayed what he had just said—
And his mind went completely blank.
Who am I?
Where am I?
What the hell did I just say?!
It's over.
I'm finished.
Is Homelander going to erase me right here?
"You're amazing, Deep."
"Yes—just stand right there."
"Kneel down and pray to God."
"Pray that after you die, you'll make it into Heaven."
Homelander's eyes glowed red as his grin stretched wider and wider.
He stepped toward The Deep—
But suddenly remembered the tavern's rule:
No fighting allowed.
If it were just Ron, it'd be a light beating at worst.
But if the Queen got interested and decided to join in?
That wouldn't be a fight—
That'd be a funeral.
The memory of being whipped half to death by a steel lash resurfaced vividly.
Pain.
Unbearable pain.
Homelander stopped abruptly.
His face darkened.
"I'll kill you when we get back."
Leaving those words behind, he turned toward the bar.
But—
Right in front of him stood a bald man in a superhero suit, casually wandering around and curiously inspecting the tavern.
Homelander frowned and reached out to shove him aside.
Going around him?
Impossible.
That's not how Homelander does things.
He pushed.
Nothing happened.
Homelander's pupils shrank.
The bald man didn't budge—
Like an immovable mountain.
Homelander used full force.
Still nothing.
"…Do you want me to move?"
The bald man turned around, staring blankly at him.
Homelander nodded silently.
"Please."
Without another word, the bald man stepped aside.
Homelander secretly let out a breath of relief.
But before he could move toward The Deep—
The bald man suddenly asked curiously:
"Judging by your outfit…"
"Are you a hero too?"
Homelander nodded.
"Yes."
The bald man's eyes lit up.
"That's great! Then let's talk later."
"This doesn't seem to be my world."
"I'm curious what heroes from other worlds are like."
As he spoke, he grabbed Homelander's arm and dragged him toward the bar.
Honestly—
Homelander wanted to resist.
Don't touch me. I can walk myself.
But the bald man's grip was terrifyingly strong.
There was no resisting it.
In the blink of an eye, the two were seated at the bar.
Ron smiled.
"Welcome, Mr. Saitama."
"My name is Ron. I'm the owner of this tavern."
The newcomer was none other than Saitama,
from the One Punch Man world.
The Bald Cape.
The One-Punch Hero.
A being with immeasurable strength—
And the first 'Teacher'-type guest to appear in the tavern.
Saitama's face remained blank, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
"Hello."
"The voice that invited me said there would be opponents here who could rival me."
"Is that true?"
Ron hesitated.
Saitama's power scaling was… vague.
One punch equals annihilation.
Not unlike Gray Wolf casually building rockets and spaceships by hand.
But—
What if he fought the Holy Lord?
Both were rule-based existences.
The Dog Talisman granted immortality.
The Ox Talisman granted absolute strength.
The Rabbit Talisman granted speed capable of transcending time itself.
With all that combined…
Could the Holy Lord stand against Saitama?
After a moment's thought, Ron replied:
"There are a few."
"But if you fight here, this world would collapse."
"Once my arena is finished, I'll give you a battle you'll enjoy."
Just yesterday, Ron had ordered Doflamingo to begin constructing a massive arena—
Spanning Districts 14 through 30.
When it was completed, the first day's ticket revenue alone would be astronomical.
Of course—
Admission wouldn't be paid with money.
Only items. Weapons. Artifacts.
At that moment, Tohru placed a bottle of liquor in front of Saitama.
"Your drink. Please enjoy."
The white glass bottle bore three bold characters:
Erguotou.
"Thanks," Saitama said.
He twisted the cap open and took a big gulp.
Glug—
His pupils trembled.
This was far better than the sake from his own world.
Perfectly balanced bitterness, sweetness, spice, and burn—
The crisp, mellow aftertaste lingered beautifully.
Even someone who rarely drank felt instantly hooked.
"Boss, I'm really looking forward to that fight."
"I just hope…"
"It won't end with a single punch."
Saitama sighed softly as he drank.
Ever since gaining absolute strength—
As the price, his hair fell out.
And emotions like fear slowly faded away.
Without anyone capable of matching him—
The passion he once felt as a novice hero had long since gone cold.
That's why—
He longed for a powerful opponent.
Someone who could reignite that old fire.
Hearing his words, the people present were stunned.
Wasn't that a little arrogant?
One punch?
"Young man, don't get ahead of yourself."
"If we can't fight here, let's arm wrestle."
"Even if I'm old…"
"How could a matchstick compare to a thick, long firewood log?!"
Rayleigh wasn't young enough anymore to claim he didn't know defeat—
But his unwillingness to lose remained unchanged.
Just like when Shakky called him useless and he stubbornly argued back.
Why does everything this guy says sound wrong…
Ron silently complained.
Then he nodded.
"Alright. Just for fun."
Saitama nodded and walked over to Rayleigh.
He extended his right hand and said calmly:
"Old man—use strength."
"All of it."
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