Two days later.
Saitama lay sprawled at home, listlessly flipping through channels.
Now an S-Class Hero, the Bald Demon King had upgraded to an even bigger TV; even the manga on his shelf were author-signed—luxury pushed to the limit.
Of course, that standard of "luxury" was one Saitama had set for himself.
The memory of yesterday's flavor made him smack his lips.
He really wanted another taste of wagyu… Ever since he'd had Bang's, every other high-grade beef felt like it was missing something.
He clicked off the TV; vacant eyes stared at the white ceiling while he scratched his hip.
They say idle hands invite wandering thoughts.
For no reason at all, Saitama recalled that recent battle that had spilled into outer space.
Back then… I actually felt the thrill of a fight, he mused, the corner of his mouth lifting.
That guy KING really is something.
Ever since he'd gone bald, no one had survived a single punch; even a Normal Punch could obliterate any foe.
Which had killed his interest in fighting—one-hit kills made every match pointless.
But sparring with King had rekindled that excitement.
It was the first time he'd met someone who could take punch after punch.
Serious Punch was off-limits, yet throwing Normal Punch after Normal Punch still left him more satisfied than ever.
He itched for another round with KING; the guy had eaten a chain of Normal Punches without a scratch. Next time he'd bring out a Serious Punch for fun.
Scratching his simply-drawn face, the Bald Demon King rolled over and stared blankly at the window.
Feels like I forgot something.
He racked his brain, that egg-smooth dome seeming to flash with inspiration.
Damn it—I forgot to change my hero name!
He remembered: his registered alias was still that cursed "Caped Baldy."
Oddly, every time he'd meant to change it, something weird had popped up and distracted him.
Today nothing would stop him.
Saitama didn't care much about others' opinions, but he didn't want to deck a monster with one punch only to hear a crowd chanting "Caped Baldy."
It would feel like a thousand "bald" slaps to the face.
Aside from hotpot and money, nothing riled him faster than the word "bald."
"All right, let's go."
For a touch of ceremony he suited up in his hero outfit and strode out in sunny yellow tights.
The moment he stepped outside, glaring sunlight poured down and his white cape flared in the wind.
Incidentally, yesterday he'd received mail congratulating him on another rank jump.
He was now S-Class Rank 14, overtaking Puri-Puri Prisoner, Metal Bat, and Tank-Top Master.
S-Class Rank 14: Caped Baldy.
Saitama's eye twitched; his pace quickened.
There was no way he'd keep that name!
…Meanwhile, at King's place.
The patter of water drifted from the kitchen.
Ever since Genos had moved in next door, he'd tackled every chore without complaint.
Housework, he claimed, was part of training—tempering the will and sharpening attention to detail.
King didn't know what to make of this Cyborg with the devilish work ethic, but he wasn't about to argue.
Hey, who'd turn down a free, full-time housekeeping unit?
"KING-sensei! All dishes sterilized, residual grease below 1%. What would you like for dinner? I'll head to the market now!"
King almost suggested eating out; he had his eye on a certain restaurant.
But seeing the earnest glow in Genos's mechanical eyes—and the way his joints practically vibrated with eagerness—he sighed.
Fine; home cooking sounded nice anyway.
Relying on half-remembered recipes from his past life, he handed Genos a shopping list.
"Yes, KING-sensei! I won't let you down!"
Genos answered with steely resolve, vaulted into the air, and rocketed toward the market.
Watching him disappear, King mused.
Nothing much had happened the past two days; he'd basically loafed around eating, sleeping, and gaming—life was good.
Truth was, the S-Class salary of a few million was just for show; at this level you asked the Association for whatever you wanted and got it.
Want a twenty-million-yen house? No need to pay—file the paperwork and the Hero Association hands you the keys.
A pale-blue status screen floated before him; he browsed it at leisure.
Not bad—he was getting stronger.
After that last earth-shaking fight he'd partially shattered his limiter, and his stats were steadily climbing.
The gain was tiny—less than 200 across the board in two days—but it was real progress.
Then something clicked and his eyes widened.
How could I forget this!
If he remembered right, not long after the Deep Sea King arc, that alien who looked like a certain cartoon villain—the Cosmic Emperor—would arrive looking for a worthy opponent.
If it were just a fight that'd be fine, but Boros would blow City A to rubble in the process…