Charanko flipped the scoreboard and announced loudly.
"Round two—begin!"
This time Saitama locked his gaze on Bang, trying to read the old man's next move.
Bang stayed perfectly calm, the picture of a grandmaster unmoved even if Mount Tai collapsed before him, a faint smile never leaving his face.
Sure enough, Saitama lost again.
Bang threw rock; Saitama threw scissors.
Before his hand could even reach the iron pot, a hammer smacked his head.
"Again!"
Dong!
"Damn it! Again!"
Dong!
"Why am I still losing? Again!"
Dong!
"Argh! Again!"
Dong!
The pot sounded like a gong in a festival band.
Time crawled on; Charanko, keeping score, grew tired and flipped the board once more.
"Round sixty-five: Master maintains a perfect record."
King kept filming, lens fixed on a certain gleaming bald head.
Or rather, what had been gleaming was now glowing red.
Bang remained unruffled, apparently unbothered by the game.
Saitama, on the other hand, was so furious his face twisted; veins bulged on his smooth scalp, his whole body trembling with rage.
The spot repeatedly hammered looked sunburned, white steam rising from it.
King, watching from the side, couldn't help wondering.
His own Night Guy—strong enough to shatter a planet—hadn't scratched the Bald Demon King, yet this tiny mallet had.
He figured the redness wasn't from the hits; Saitama was simply so mad his blood had surged.
"Damn it—why can't I win even once!"
"Round sixty-six—begin!"
At the call, both shot out their hands.
Bang threw paper; the Bald Demon King threw scissors.
Saitama's pupils shrank in delight; he lunged for the little hammer.
Maybe dazed from sixty-five losses, or just too excited, his fingers slipped forward as he grabbed.
The handle slid past them, skittering away.
"Crap!!!"
Seeing that, Saitama's frustration exploded; his features knotted, forehead veins writhing like worms.
Watching him, Bang calmly lifted the iron pot between them and gently set it over his own head.
He closed his eyes; memories of his life flashed past, beautiful scenes glittering in the river of time.
He used to play this game with his many disciples; they'd fume yet be helpless, every face flickering in his mind.
"How nostalgic… those warm days…" He opened his eyes again.
In the next instant, a deadly chill shot from his soles to his skull; every cell screamed a warning.
In Bang's eyes the world turned blood-red; a violent aura erupted from the yellow-clad bald man, power so dreadful it froze the soul.
Saitama finally gripped the hammer, channeling every ounce of frustration into one blow aimed straight at Bang.
In that split second his whole life flashed before his eyes.
The earlier memories had been warm moments with his students, evoked by the familiar game.
But what he saw now was a full-blown life-review—aka a death reel!!
"If I don't dodge, I'm dead!"
Pupils shrinking to pinpoints, Bang ignored the rules and vanished in a flicker, leaving only the falling pot behind.
The very next instant Saitama's hammer smashed the pot, the force forming an invisible shock-wave.
Had he not held back, the whole dojo would have blown apart.
"Hey, old man, where's your sportsmanship? You're not supposed to dodge!"
Bang scratched his gray hair awkwardly, at a loss for words.
He knew he'd broken the rule, yet every fiber of martial instinct screamed that, had he stayed, his head would've burst like an overripe watermelon.
King calmly sipped his tea and stopped recording.
"Perfect blackmail material; I can play this for baldy every day."
"Don't be mad, Saitama. I concede—plus I'll throw in a box of wagyu beef."
After dozens of rounds Bang had basically mastered the Saitama manual and put it to use.
Sure enough, the moment "wagyu" hit his ears Saitama's anger deflated like a punctured balloon, and he grinned again.
"Sounds great. Just don't cheat again, old-timer."
With that settled, Bang turned to King, who'd been secretly filming, wondering if he should invite him to play.
Sensing the look, King instantly grasped the old man's intention.
He wasn't keen on such a petty game; it would be outright bullying.
With his ridiculous luck he could random-pick and still hammer the opponent into despair.
Besides, he wanted to try something else.
So before Bang could speak, King asked first.
"Master Bang, I hear your Flowing Water Rock Shattering Fist has reached perfection—how about letting me experience it?"
Bang blinked, then a sharp light flashed in his aged eyes; smiling gently he replied,
"Of course. But the dojo can't take that level of impact—let's go outside."
Outwardly calm, inside he was already thrilled.
"Excellent! I may have failed to make Saitama love martial arts, yet KING himself is interested—perhaps my style will finally find a worthy successor!.