Mystery Airdropped Opponent

The white light dissipated, and Saitama landed steadily on the soft wool carpet.

Before him was the luxurious suite reserved for fighters on the 150th floor and above of Heaven's Arena, where the floor-to-ceiling windows captured the neon lights of the entire city. The living room was spacious enough to fit five standard boxing rings simultaneously, and the coffee table was piled with imported fruits and iced drinks sent by the organizers; even the air carried a faint hint of aromatherapy.

He had just touched his bald head, not yet having time to voice the words, My strawberry daifuku!, when he was nailed in place by a uniform battery of gazes cast from all over the room.

The sofa, the single-armchairs, and even the carpet by the window were filled with people, all maintaining the posture of looking up at him, their faces still lingering with the lingering shock of watching the combat playback three hours ago.

"Sensei!"

Genos was the first to rush over, the red light of his electronic eyes not yet fully faded, a lingering fear and relief in his tone. "It's good that you've returned safely. We've been waiting here for you for three hours, and the system has synchronized all your combat records on Kukuroo Mountain."

Saitama gave an "oh," walked straight to the refrigerator to fetch a can of iced cola, gulped down more than half of it, and wiped his mouth. "Oh, you all saw it. That earthquake was indeed a bit fierce, and the house collapsed completely."

He turned his head to encounter over a dozen pairs of straight-gazing eyes.

The celadon teacup in Bang's hand was steaming with curling heat, yet he hadn't touched a single sip; King was hugging his portable gaming console with the screen black, his fingers still