The Familiar Visitor and the Opponent Still Loading

The last wisp of smoke from the 120th-floor arena was sucked away by the ventilation system.

Saitama patted the flecks of stardust clinging to his yellow suit, while his other hand remained firmly wrapped around the bulging insulated bag. After three consecutive hard battles, he was not even breathing heavily. His eyelids had only drooped lower, and his entire body radiated the ultimate exhaustion of someone who had finally survived the end-of-month overtime grind.

"Teacher."

Genos held a cup of warmed barley tea in one hand and a neatly folded light jacket in the other. A little dust still clung to his mechanical arm from helping shield the spectators in the front row from flying rubble. His tone was as respectful as an assistant who had just picked up his boss from work. "You cleared the 120th floor in one minute and twelve seconds. Your oden is at 62 degrees Celsius, which is precisely suitable for consumption."

"Mm." Saitama took the barley tea and gulped down a large mouthful before letting out a long breath. "I'm exhausted. If I'd known the 110th and 120th floors were so close together, I would've come another day."

He found an empty bench and sat down, carefully opening the insulated bag. The daikon was soaking in clear kombu broth, the konjac knots had absorbed the soup, and even the fish tofu, which fell apart most easily, remained perfectly intact. When that cosmic overlord had swung a planet-sized sword at him earlier, Saitama had spent the entire time blocking the shockwaves with his back while standing sideways. He had not let a single drop of soup spill.

Genos sat beside him and watched him slowly eat his oden. After remaining silent for a few seconds, he spoke anyway. "Teacher, speaking of which, our home has