Hearing the news, King was a little surprised.
In the original story, Saitama and Tatsumaki did end up fighting—but that was much later. Why had it been moved up so soon?
After two seconds of thought, King understood.
It was mostly his own fault; Saitama had probably been targeted by an enraged Tatsumaki and dragged into a brawl.
Rather than worrying about whether the Bald Demon King would be okay, he might as well worry whether Tatsumaki would collapse again from mental exhaustion.
Sitch was still waiting for King to respond when he heard a single sentence through the receiver:
"When the time comes, be ready—send medical staff to bring her back. She'll probably be unconscious for a while again."
Sitch reflexively assumed King meant Caped Baldy, but then he caught one particular word.
"Again?"
Could it be…? His eyes shot wide; an unbelievable guess slowly formed.
To confirm his suspicion, Sitch asked cautiously:
"Mr. King, the person you say will need rescue is…?"
"Tatsumaki, of course. Saitama's strength is on par with mine."
The remark came over the speaker and echoed through the entire control room.
The staff members exchanged glances; they'd just seen Saitama—his simple art style and gleaming cue-ball head gave off a cheap extra vibe.
Yet the Strongest Man on the Surface of the Earth had just declared that this newly promoted S-Class Hero was his equal?!
The idea felt absurd, yet somehow… utterly reasonable.
After all, it was King—The Strongest Man on the Surface of the Earth—who had said it.
Saitama flailed happily in mid-air, savoring the novelty of flight.
At the same time, he kept one arm clamped tight around the bargain items he'd just scored at the supermarket; no way some kid's antics would ruin his hard-won haul.
Seeing Saitama still fussing over a plastic bag, Tatsumaki felt belittled; her expression turned even icier.
"Caped Baldy, it's unbelievable—you still don't grasp how serious this is. Drop that trash this instant!"
Concentrating her psychic power on Saitama's arms, she tried to pry them open and toss the mystery bag away.
Realizing this green-haired kid wanted to trash his discounted goods, Saitama panicked; with a little force he shattered the psychokinetic grip around him.
"Hey-hey-hey! Kids these days don't know thrift. These are treasures—can't just throw 'em out!"
Freed from the psychic power, Saitama lost lift and plummeted straight toward the ground.
Feeling her power broken in an instant, Tatsumaki froze mid-air, disbelief filling her emerald eyes.
No way! Scarface, the so-called Strongest Man on the Surface, slipping free was one thing—how could this random bald guy break my psychic power?!
Tatsumaki's confidence wavered.
In just a few days, she'd met two people who could shrug off her psychic power like it was nothing.
Before this, even Dragon-Level monsters capable of massive destruction couldn't budge under her power and were crushed into pulp.
Humiliation she'd never known surged through her; Tatsumaki yelled in mid-air, torrents of psychic power erupting toward Saitama on the ground:
"You wretched Baldie! Unwanted small-fry! Forever-hairless egghead! Perpetual Boiled-Dumpling moron!"
The string of insults might not wound an ordinary person, but each line was a critical hit on Saitama.
With every word, Saitama's face darkened further.
By the final jab, a vein throbbed on his temple; his fists clenched.
"I swear the Hero Association's name for you—Caped Baldy—fits perfectly! Not just an ugly bald head, but that ridiculous cape and yellow jumpsuit? Hilarious!"
As she mocked, her vast psychic power wrapped around Saitama, wreathing him in deep-green light.
Idiot… caught in my psychic power and he doesn't even notice—and he wants to be an S-Class Hero?
With a thought, her oceanic power condensed into countless cords, instantly binding Saitama where he stood, ready to haul him sky-high for a beating.
As the power erupted, the ground beneath Saitama shattered; spider-web cracks raced across the surface for kilometers.
Tatsumaki was stunned.
Why…? She pushed again; countless psychokinetic cords snapped taut, yet that single human figure wouldn't lift an inch.
For some reason, the scene felt familiar.
Ah, right.
The last person who'd casually resisted her psychic power was Scarface—two days ago.
Clenching her teeth, Tatsumaki kept pouring it on; for kilometers the ground had been ground to dust, trees and soil flung sky-high.
Still, the yellow-jumpsuited bald man stood like a nail hammered into the planet—utterly immovable.
Then Saitama raised a hand and casually slapped the air; space itself twisted and shattered under the force.
With a roll of his shoulder, the psychokinetic cords snapped like cheap plastic.
His face now hard-edged, even his simple drawn eyes sharp and serious:
"Brat, today you'll learn what respect means—and why insulting nicknames are off-limits!"
Yep—Saitama had been roasted into full-on rage mode…
...
(End of Chapter)
[Throw some stones]