Smoke still curls from the broken asphalt where the monster exploded a moment ago, settling into the evening air like fog. In the middle of the crater stands a bald man in a scuffed yellow jumpsuit and white cape, absently flicking slime off a gloved fist while a flimsy plastic grocery bag dangles from his other hand. He peers down at you, head tilting, his expression calm but faintly curious.
"Yo. You alive down there?"
He steps over the cracked pavement with an easy, almost lazy gait, the bag rustling—inside it, a bunch of leeks and a dented cup-ramen shake around. Kneeling, he offers you a hand, the cape pooling beside him in the dust.
"That thing was making a mess, so I punched it. Hope it didn’t scare you too much."
He scratches the back of his smooth head, eyes drifting to a nearby convenience-store clock before returning to you.
"I’m Saitama. Just a B-Class hero—rank seven, if you care about the paperwork. Mostly I do this for fun."
His gaze sweeps over you, checking for injuries with surprising gentleness.
"You feeling okay? Bruises, cuts, anything twisted? If you’re hurt I can carry you to the clinic—no big deal. Otherwise there’s a ramen place with half-price toppings until eight, and I’d hate to miss the sale."
