One Punch Man: I am Saitama

After helping Genos return home and promising to train him, the weight of that decision had started to sink in.

What the hell am I even gonna teach him?!

He thought for the hundredth time that morning, pacing around his cramped apartment.

I mean, Saitama got strong through some ridiculous miracle. One hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and running. Every day. For three years. That can't be replicated… right?

He paused, frowning as he looked down at his gloved hands. Even if I tried to recreate the routine, it wouldn't make sense. I didn't train. I just woke up in this body. I'm basically stealing Saitama's achievements. And now Genos wants me to pass that on? That's insane.

Still, the cyborg had looked so sincere. So determined. How could he say no?

He stared at the ceiling.

Genos deserves more than a motivational poster and a lie.

Then, as if fate didn't want him to drown in panic, a simple idea struck him.

A test. A real one. I don't need to give him fake advice if I can actually see where he stands. I already know he's powerful, but he needs refinement. Maybe if I set him up against a Demon-level monster… that would push him, but not kill him—hopefully.

He scratched his chin, considering it more.

That buys me time. A couple hours at least. Maybe I can use that window to head to Hero Association HQ, too. I really need answers.

(The Next Day…)

A mechanical click echoed outside the door.

"Sensei, sir! I am here!" Genos's voice rang out loud and full of purpose, almost like a soldier reporting for duty.

With the reflexes of someone expecting him, Saitama opened the door instantly. "Yo, Genos. Good morning. You recovered fast."

"Yes, sensei." Genos bowed respectfully.

"Come on in," Saitama said, stepping aside. "Let's talk for a bit before we get into anything."

"You are very kind, sir," Genos replied, stepping inside with a clanking sound from his cybernetic legs.

The apartment was small, simple, and—to Genos—surprisingly human. A kettle still steamed slightly on the counter, and clothes were folded in a neat pile on the corner. It wasn't messy, but it had a lived-in feel. That surprised Genos.

"I apologize if I came too early."

"No, it's fine," Saitama waved him off as he poured a second cup of instant coffee. "It's good to be early. Shows commitment."

He handed the cup to Genos, who took it politely, despite the fact he couldn't drink it.

"So," Saitama said, leaning against the kitchen counter, "I figured before we start any sort of training, we should talk a bit. I'd like to know more about you."

Genos blinked. "About me, sensei?"

"Yeah. I know the basics. Cyborg. Seeking vengeance. You want to get stronger. But I want to understand the person behind all that."

Genos nodded slowly. "I was just a boy… 4 years ago, I lived a pacific life with my family when my home was attacked by a rampaging cyborg who got out of control. I suppose that a failure in his body modifiers generated a failure in his brain. He started destroying it all, schools, hospitals, parks, houses. That was when my family was killed. I was the only survivor."

Saitama listened quietly, trying not to react despite having heard this before through the show. It still hit harder in person.

"I was found by Dr. Kuseno. He saved my life and rebuilt me with cybernetic implants. Ever since then, I've trained, hunted, and sought out strength so I can one day find the cyborg that took everything from me."

"I see," Saitama muttered, genuinely impressed. Man… I forgot how tragic his story was. And yet he still manages to stay respectful and kind. I need to help him…at least he deserves that I try.

"You've come a long way already," he said. "Your fight with the mosquito girl showed that."

"I failed to defeat her," Genos said, looking down. "You saved me."

"Well, yeah," Saitama rubbed the back of his neck. "But you held your own. She was a Demon-level threat. That's not nothing."

Genos's eye flickered. "How can I overcome that level? How can I fight like you?"

Here it comes.

Saitama kept his face neutral. "Before I give you any training, I want to see how you handle another enemy of that level. A proper test."

"A test?" Genos repeated, straightening up.

"There's a report of a Demon-level threat nearby. Some kind of insectoid mutant running wild in Z-City's outskirts. It's still too far from any populated zones, but it won't stay that way for long."

Genos's mechanical systems hummed slightly. "Are you asking me to eliminate it?"

"Yes. Consider it a warm-up. I want to see what you've learned from your last fight—and how you adapt."

"Understood!" Genos saluted. "I will eliminate the threat and return immediately. Thank you for the opportunity."

Without wasting a second, Genos turned and rocketed off into the sky, his thrusters roaring like twin cannons.

As soon as he was gone, Saitama slumped back into his chair.

"God, I hope that thing isn't too strong…" he muttered. "The last thing I want is to get him killed on day one."

He glanced at the cup Genos left behind, untouched.

"I really gotta start planning how to help that kid… I can't fake this forever."

He stood, grabbing his cape and slipping on his boots.

"But first—Hero Association HQ. Let's see what those suited bastards really know about me."

And with that, he locked the door behind him and sprinted toward A-City, his figure vanishing in the blink of an eye.

(Hero Association HQ, A-City)

After sprinting nonstop for nearly four minutes, he finally came to a halt just outside a towering fortress of steel and glass. The building was absolutely massive—at least fifty stories tall, built in a sleek but intimidating monolithic design. Its surface was a matte black, reinforced with angular armor plating and reflective obsidian-like panels that shimmered in the sun like a sleeping giant in a business suit.

Turrets and cameras lined the rooftop edges. Surveillance drones zipped quietly through the air. At the entrance stood a wide blast-proof gate guarded by two uniformed officers in black body armor, each armed and scanning the crowd with military precision. The Association's silver eagle insignia loomed high above the main doors, carved into the upper walls like a crest of silent authority.

This wasn't a place you just walked into—this looked like something out of a sci-fi military film.

Saitama—the man inside the body, not the legend—took a moment to let it all sink in.

Oh boy…

This… this is really the Headquarters, he thought, eyes wide as he tilted his head up to take in the full height of the structure.

Damn, it's even more intimidating in person.

His heartbeat picked up—not from running, but from nerves. This is where all the top dogs are. All the data, decisions, missions, and power are managed right here. The very core of the Hero world.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his gloves, cracked his neck, and started walking forward.

"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Let's see what the big deal is."

As Saitama stepped through the enormous blast-proof doors of the Association, he was immediately hit with the distinct smell of disinfectant, electronics, and polished marble.

Okay, wow… he thought, blinking a few times as he stepped into the lobby.

The interior of the Hero Association's headquarters looked like a hybrid between a five-star corporate tower and a cutting-edge military facility. The high ceilings were lined with translucent panels that glowed with soft white light, illuminating the vast reception area below. Walls of sleek black steel and glass were accented with glowing data panels showing threat levels around the country. A large eagle insignia hovered above a digital screen showing hero rankings.

There were dozens of people everywhere—receptionists at curved front desks, analysts speaking rapidly on headsets, hero managers jogging from hallway to hallway with tablets in hand. Monitors hung from every corner, broadcasting live hero battles, recruitment notices, news footage of monster outbreaks, and press conferences. Security bots rolled quietly along the tiled floors while guards watched from armored checkpoints. Everything moved with the rhythm and precision of a clock.

And in the middle of all that—stood a single receptionist with a bright smile.

"Hello, I'm Saitama," he said, approaching the desk somewhat awkwardly. "I wanted to—"

"Oh! Sir Saitama!" the young receptionist said, immediately rising to her feet with a respectful nod. "Welcome to the HQ of the Hero Association. We are very glad that you could make it."

Saitama blinked. "Ye-yeah… I was here because you sent me a letter. Something about me being an S-Class hero now?"

Before the receptionist could answer, a sharp voice cut through the air like a thrown dagger.

"That baldy is an S-Class hero?"

The voice was high-pitched, irritated, and utterly disdainful. Saitama turned toward it, and then immediately wished he hadn't.

Standing just a few meters away was a woman no taller than four-foot-eight, floating a few inches off the ground with her arms crossed tightly. Her long emerald-green hair curled wildly around her head, and her piercing eyes looked like they could burn holes through steel. She wore a skin-tight black dress with flared sleeves and high side slits that revealed her long shapely legs. The contrast between her youthful face and the dangerous aura she gave off was as surreal as it was intimidating.

Tatsumaki… The Tornado of Terror, Saitama thought, a chill crawling down his spine. Or, as I used to call her back home: The Goblin Queen. Who also happens to be both one of the most broken psychic monsters in anime history and one of the hottest characters of One Punch Man, I mean, I prefer Fubuki, but man, those legs...

Tatsumaki floated right up to him, looking him up and down like he was some kind of defective grocery item.

"What do you mean you're an S-Class hero?" she snapped. "Who the hell are you? I've never seen you before in my life."

Saitama raised an eyebrow. "Uh… I'm Saitama. I just started."

"Just started?" she repeated, mocking him. "And you're already S-Class? What kind of backdoor cheat code did you use? Did someone owe you a favor or something?"

She turned toward the receptionist. "And why didn't anyone tell me about this?! I'm the second-highest ranked S-Class hero! I should've been informed if some nobody was suddenly placed in our ranks!"

God, I had forgotten that she not only looked like a brat, but she acted like one.

Several employees and lower-ranked heroes nearby had started to gather, sensing drama like blood in the water. Saitama scratched his head awkwardly. He didn't know whether to laugh, hide, or say something stupid.

"Uh… I just got the letter, that's all. I didn't even know I was S-Class until yesterday."

"You're insulting the entire profession," she growled. "Being a hero isn't some game, baldy. And what's with that ridiculous jumpsuit? Are you trying to cosplay in the damn lobby?"

Saitama opened his mouth to respond—probably with something equally dumb—when another voice spoke up.

"Enough."

The tone was calm, but commanding. All eyes turned toward a man approaching from the main hallway. He was in a sharp black business suit with a dark green tie, his hazel eyes framed by polished silver glasses.

Jinzuren.

"Tatsumaki," he said with a practiced diplomatic smile, "I understand your frustration, but I was the one who authorized Saitama's rank."

She turned to him, eyebrows raised so high they nearly vanished into her hairline. "You? You're backing him?"

"I do," Jinzuren replied calmly. "Because I saw the footage myself."

He pulled out a tablet and activated a holographic display of the drone recordings: Saitama punching Vaccine Man into meat mist, and later punching Marugori brains out.

"The threats he neutralized were both classified as Dragon-level or higher. He did so without any support, collateral damage, or casualties. These are feats we've rarely, if ever, seen from any other S-Class hero."

Tatsumaki narrowed her eyes as the footage played. For a second, even her jaw tightened—just slightly.

"...That could be faked."

"It was not," Jinzuren replied firmly. "The drones were deployed and monitored by independent analysts, all of whom verified the integrity of the footage. Even Sekingar and Sitch agreed. The data is irrefutable."

Saitama just stood there, hands in his pockets, pretending to look bored. God, please don't ask me to speak again. I'll mess it all up.

Tatsumaki crossed her arms. "Fine. But I'll be watching you, baldy. And if I catch even one sign that you're faking your way through this, I'll personally dropkick you into orbit. Got it?"

Saitama gave a thumbs up. "Cool."

With a dramatic huff, Tatsumaki floated away, leaving a chill and silence in her wake.

Jinzuren turned to Saitama with a faint smile. "Sorry about that. She's… passionate."

"You don't say," Saitama muttered.

"Come. I'll take you to the briefing room. We have more formalities to finish—and some equipment you'll need."

As the two walked down the hall, passing more agents and heroes who whispered behind their backs, Saitama couldn't help but think:

Being a hero is starting to feel more like working in a damn office building.

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