The instant the door opened, Saitama's first glimpse was of Charanko standing there, confusion flickering across his face.
"Huh? Old man Bang still has the energy to dye his hair?"
Bang: "…"
Dude, I'm right here in the hall striking the pose of a martial-arts grandmaster—how do you mistake Charanko for me at first glance?
Charanko didn't catch on immediately, but when she did she shook her head in a panic.
"I'm not Master Bang! I'm Master Bang's sole direct disciple—Charanko!"
Hearing the name, Saitama pondered.
Insert-basket? Sounds awful.
Even King had to stifle a laugh; the Bald Demon King's opening line was a bombshell.
He tapped Saitama's head, motioning him to glance left.
Taking the hint, Saitama looked over and finally spotted Bang trying to stay calm; a grin spread across his face.
"So you were hiding here, old-timer. Still playful at your age."
Bang: "?????"
His carefully crafted masterly aura nearly cracked; Bang couldn't take it.
Saitama, what kind of brain circuit is that? I'm not hiding—you just didn't see me!
"A-hem."
Bang cleared his throat and kept his sage-like bearing, a kindly smile appearing.
"Welcome to my dojo, gentlemen. Charanko, bring tea for our honored guests."
"Yes, Master!"
Under Bang's invitation the three stepped inside.
Once through the gate Charanko bustled off to pour tea while King unhurriedly studied the dojo.
Big—his first impression.
Several thousand square metres, bright and spacious, but one flaw: it felt utterly empty.
The place lacked human presence; though tidy, it seemed abandoned.
King turned his gaze to Bang.
This was his first look at S-Class Rank 3 "Silver Fang," the martial-arts grandmaster of the One-Punch world.
Watching Bang's movements, King understood at once.
Every motion of the seemingly frail old man flowed as if the essence of water were carved into his soul—effortless and agile.
Physically frail compared to himself or Saitama, yet Bang's consummate skill let him punch above his weight.
While King studied Bang, Bang covertly studied King and Saitama.
Saitama was as casual as ever; Bang's keen senses were a joke before him, every probe swallowed like a stone in a black hole.
As for King… Bang narrowed his aged eyes, wrinkles deepening.
The Strongest Man on the Surface, the one who defeated Tatsumaki—S-Class Rank 6 "KING." In Bang's eyes King was an unfathomable ocean of vitality; there was no gauging how vast his energy was.
If an ordinary person's vigour is a torch, King is a blazing sun scorching the heavens.
The more Bang looked the more awestruck he became.
No wonder he beat Tatsumaki—truly formidable.
Once seated and seeing the two staring at each other, Saitama grew puzzled.
What are they doing? A staring contest?
After ten seconds he gave up and cut straight to the chase, eyes sparkling.
"Old man, where's that wagyu beef? Let's hot-pot it!"
Bang's smile widened—yet it looked oddly mischievous.
He beckoned with feigned kindness and dropped words Saitama couldn't ignore.
"Easy, Saitama. Before the wagyu, how about a few little games?"
Games?
Saitama's expression shifted; in a flash he slipped into the same stance he used when facing King in fighting games.
You just said "games," right?
King, sitting nearby, looked oddly amused.
He read the mischief in Bang's smile; the Bald Demon King was about to suffer.
Competitive fire ignited, Saitama's eyes gleamed.
If I can't beat KING, surely I can beat an old man—bring it on!
Disappointment followed: "What, not a fighting game?"
Bang stroked his beard, smile as kindly and harmless as ever.
"My game isn't the online sort you know, but a special dojo drill to hone reflexes and adaptability."
He produced an opaque rectangular box, turned his back, and—sure the other two couldn't see—tossed in a handful of beans.
Closing the lid, he shook it to mix the beans evenly, then unhurriedly explained the rules.
"Inside are red beans and yellow beans; their different textures make distinct sounds when rolled."
"Shake the box, listen to the clatter, and tell me how many red beans there are. How about it, Saitama, Mr. KING?"
King and Saitama exchanged glances and accepted.
For King this rare downtime since transmigrating was worth a casual brain-teaser.
Saitama, ever the addict, longed to crush an easy opponent after constant losses to King.
Taking the box, Saitama held it to his ear and began shaking, listening carefully.
Seconds drifted by; he kept shaking, apparently gathering sonic clues.
Even Bang thought so.
Only King realized Saitama hadn't a clue, yet his pride kept him shaking the box.
Stubborn baldy—way to go, tough guy.
...
(End of Chapter)
[Throw some stones]