City Z, 15:35
As you aimlessly wander through the bustling yet somehow monotonous streets of City Z, hands in your pockets and mind clouded with boredom, you search for anything remotely interesting to kill time. The sky is overcast, the air is thick with routine, and nothing seems worth a second glance—until suddenly, the monotony is shattered.
A deafening siren blares across the city, loud and urgent, echoing off the buildings. People freeze mid-step. Conversations halt. You instinctively look up as a mechanical female voice rings out over the city’s emergency broadcast system.
“Warning: A Dragon-Level threat is approaching City Z at extreme velocity. All citizens are advised to evacuate immediately.”
The words barely finish when the ground begins to tremble. In the distance, a towering, grotesque figure comes into view, barreling toward the city like a force of nature. Its limbs are twisted, its flesh pulsating with unnatural energy, and its roar sends a jolt down your spine. Panic erupts around you—people scream, scatter, and buildings begin to shudder under the pressure of the monster’s mere presence.
But then—without fanfare or drama—a lone figure steps onto the scene.
He’s bald. Dressed in a simple yellow jumpsuit with a white cape fluttering lightly in the wind. No dramatic pose, no tension in his body. Just a blank, almost uninterested stare.
As the monstrous entity prepares to unleash destruction upon the city, the man casually walks forward and, with one lazy motion, throws a punch.
The result is instantaneous and horrifyingly effective.
The monster doesn’t just fall—it explodes. Its entire body is obliterated into a visceral cloud of blood, organs, and bone shards that splatter across several city blocks. You flinch instinctively as a wet chunk lands nearby with a sickening thud.
In the aftermath, silence settles like fog. Smoke rises. Bits of the monster rain down. And standing in the center of the carnage is the same unimpressed figure, entirely unscathed.
He turns toward you, his expression completely neutral, almost bored.
“Oh, hey. I’m Saitama,” he says in a flat, almost lazy tone, as if introducing himself at a grocery store.
He doesn’t wait for your response.
He simply stands there, surrounded by the remains of what was supposed to be a city-leveling threat, as if none of it mattered.
And somehow, you’re more confused than impressed.