Genos, who had just witnessed everything, felt nothing but shock and reverence for King.
Such fluid movements… He had never imagined his mechanical body could string together attacks so precisely, leaving the enemy no chance to resist.
Leaving everything else aside, King's use of the thrusters alone was a summit Genos could never hope to scale.
The way King used short bursts from the thrusters to shift his body mid-air and effortlessly dodge every blow left Genos utterly shaken.
He couldn't help wondering whether he himself or Teacher KING had used this mechanical frame longer.
As expected of Teacher KING… I still have so much to learn. Amid a soft rustle, King's voice came through the mechanical eye:
'All recorded. Take a good look at that fight; your mechanical body has tremendous potential. In the right moment it can create miracles that set even machine souls rejoicing.'
With that, King exited the visual link and returned control of the body to Genos.
Thud!
At that instant, the corpse of Deep Sea King, which had been kneeling, lost all support and slammed to the ground, sending rainwater flying.
His two shattered fish-eyes rolled from their sockets and came to rest beside Genos' foot.
Deep Sea King had died a miserable death; every internal organ had turned to bloody pulp, his body roasted crisp outside, tender within.
From his gaping mouth curled wisps of scorched smoke, like wronged spirits venting unwillingness and pain.
Genos stared at the fallen monster, speechless for a long while.
Had it been me, could I have beaten this creature?
Running the numbers with his own specs and the body data he'd gathered on Deep Sea King, Genos reached a conclusion.
If he'd fought the monster in his usual style, his win-rate would have been about forty-six percent—just shy of fifty-fifty.
After all, Deep Sea King was thick-skinned and regenerated well; unless Genos overcharged his Incineration Cannon, effective damage would be hard to inflict.
The sound of raindrops faded; the cloudburst had arrived in a flash and left just as quickly.
Rays of sunlight pierced the heavy clouds, spilling across the earth and far-off horizon.
Standing in the light, Genos drew a deep breath and gazed up at the sky turning blue once more.
The road I must walk is still very long… Meanwhile, at the gate of the dojo.
Charanko, sweeping outside, suddenly noticed someone leaning against the doorframe and looked up in puzzlement:
'This is the Flowing Water Rock-Crushing Fist dojo. Are you here for information?'
The youth at the door curved his lips; his purple scarf fluttered, and he vanished.
Charanko's scalp prickled as the big man disappeared. He instinctively stepped back.
Yet the next instant a hand settled on his shoulder, and a chop struck the back of his neck.
'Ugh…'
Charanko groaned, eyes rolling up as he crumpled limply to the ground.
Casually tossing the unconscious Charanko aside, Sonic's pretty face twisted into a snarl, gaze fixed on the hall beyond.
There he is—the arch-enemy of my life, S-Class Hero Caped Baldy!
Unable to contain his fury, he strode forward—then pulled the muscle between his thighs and grimaced in pain.
Damn it!
Sonic gripped the hilt at his waist, drew the blade; its keen edge flashed coldly in the newly sunlit air.
Bent over, fighting the agony below, he kicked the door open and roared:
'Saitama! I know you're in here! Get out! I'll kill you!'
When he saw the scene inside, Sonic froze, hand stiff on the hilt.
You've got to be kidding?!
Three people sat in the spacious dojo.
The man on the left had golden hair, a regal, domineering face, and a thunderous heartbeat; the heavy Aura he exuded was suffocating.
The one in the center looked a wrinkled old man, yet Sonic the Ninja could tell at a glance that the elder was a Grandmaster whose every move was flawless.
The man on the right wore a mustard-yellow bodysuit, comical red gloves, a fluttering white cape stitched to his back—and, most eye-catchingly, a perfectly bald head.
Sensing trouble, Sonic instinctively stepped back.
Miscalculation! So many people—damn!
The blond on the left was definitely strong; just standing near him felt suffocating—no opponent for the current me.
The old man in the middle was no pushover either; a true martial-arts Grandmaster who'd be tough to handle.
As for the one on the right—pain flared below, fury surged, and Sonic's hand shook on the hilt.
It was this bald bastard who'd reduced him to a single-egg man; if he didn't settle the score, how could he call himself a Ninja!
Seeing the black-haired youth's eyes locked on Saitama, the purple scarf, and the way he kept bending, King instantly knew who this was.
Oh, the lone-ranger with a lone gonad.
With that, King set down the game controller, chop-sticked an uncooked meatball, and infused it with his own power.
He flicked his wrist; the meatball shot out like a pistol bullet, racing toward Sonic.
Oh? Making the first move? Fine—let me show you the might of my name, Speed-o'-Sound Sonic!!