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A full week of recon, and Genos has nothing but a french fry to show for it.
It’s not even especially well-made, at that. It’s soggy and far too long to eat in one mouthful, and Genos throws it to the ground in frustration because it’s just a fucking french fry. A lone, stale french fry in a little plastic bag, sitting there on the floor and mocking him for being just as clueless as when he started out. It’s no help. Nothing is any help, and Genos is just about ready to throw the stupid thing into the trash compactor and throw himself in right after. He might as well, really. He hasn’t had a lead on the mad cyborg in months, and his best chance at becoming stronger is an unsolvable puzzle in a tacky yellow suit.
Something bumps at his elbow. It’s one of Dr Kuseno’s assembly bots, the one that looks like an arm on wheels, hovering behind him like a large metal dog and trying to get his attention. Genos sighs at it. The thing has a prototype AI installed in its database somewhere, which means that it has something of a personality. It spends most of its time following Genos around instead of doing any real work. Exactly why it’s gained sentience is a question that Genos can’t answer, but far be it from him to question his doctor’s life choices.
“There has to be some sort of secret to Saitama’s incredible strength,” he says half to himself. Voices tend to echo in Dr Kuseno’s workshop, and Genos drops his to a murmur out of habit even though he’s the only one there. The Doctor is off in J-city somewhere. He says it’s to collect parts for his new side project, but Genos suspects the man is just tired of hearing constantly about Saitama. “I’ve observed him non-stop for days, but I can’t figure it out. I’ve watched how he spends his time, how he sleeps, how he picks his battles. I thought I must have found something, this time, but this is just another dead end.”
The robot whirs mechanically at him, and Genos crosses his arms and thinks. “No, it can’t be the suit. He was naked the first time I saw him, remember? Besides, I’ve already run preliminary diagnostics on it. It’s just fabric, albeit very strong fabric.”
The metal arm of the builder bot flops around directionlessly. Genos watches the movement for a second, mulling over the idea. “Pure skill? It’s a possibility. The problem is that he destroys all his enemies with a single blow. If he would draw his fights out just a bit, I would be able to see his technique, but so far I see no pattern. Even the exact angle of his punches seems to vary, which suggests that he doesn’t have a specific style.”
So it isn’t skill. Or technology, or magic, or some sort of ancient curse. For all Genos can tell, there simply isn’t a secret. Saitama is just…Saitama.
And Genos is just Genos.
He deflates, very slightly. “Maybe I’ll never understand. Maybe…maybe I was never meant to get stronger after all.”
The robot pats him kindly on the face. Genos sighs again, and decides to throw the french fry away.
“Be careful, my boy,” Dr Kuseno’s voice is a little staticky over the intercom. Genos rubs at his ear, although it does nothing to help the buzzing. “I don’t want you coming home in pieces again.”
“I haven’t done that in a week, at least,” Genos says a little petulantly. That’s really only because he’s been blowing off vigilante work in favour of following Saitama around, but the Doctor is kind enough not to mention that. “Anyway, this is only a Tiger-level villain. More of an annoyance than an actual threat.”
It seems weak enough so far that the news crews are still somewhere in the vicinity, having judged the situation safe enough not to retreat to the shelters just yet. As far as Genos can tell, the Hero Association goons are taking their own sweet time about getting there as well. There only reason Genos ran all the way is because he’d been hoping to see Saitama. That, and he’s been itching to take his frustration out on something other than the blank patch of wall in Doctor Kuseno’s toolshed.
The man in question has gone quiet on the other end of the line, probably having deemed it safe to leave Genos to his own devices. His sensors tell him that the monster hasn’t moved far from where it was last spotted. It’s within a radius of ten metres, moving slowly, making its way through the abandoned shopping district, presumably looting.
Genos skids to a stop. The monster turns out to be some sort of satyr-looking thing, flute in one hand and a stack of money in the other, skipping gleefully around the corner and coming to an abrupt halt when it finds itself facing down the barrel of a loaded incinerator. “Ah, hello,” it says. It speaks without dropping its unsettling smile, and its voice does a weird wobble between being deep and being high. A little like that lobster-man from the cartoon Genos used to watch as a kid, the one about the super-powered little girls.
“Hello,” Genos says flatly, charging up a blast. “Stay still so I can hurt you.”
“Now, now,” says the monster, dropping the money and holding up both hands. “I don’t think we should be quite so hasty. Don’t you want to talk? Find out more about each other? I’m an Aries, what about you?”
“I’ll be sure to include it in your obituary. Do you have any last requests?”
“Just one.” The creature hasn’t stopped grinning, and its teeth are unsettlingly large in its mouth. “Can I play my flute one last time?”
Genos narrows his eyes. “I don’t think th—”
“Don’t worry,” says the creature. The flute’s playing by itself, melody coming from nowhere, and the sound of it makes Genos’s intercom crackle.
The corners of his vision jump; six warning notifications beep at him at once, and Genos fires his incinerator too late. The flute’s the only thing he can really hear, and his knees give out from under him.
The monster keeps playing. “Oh, I think this will be fun.”
Genos wakes up naked.
His sensors come online a moment after. The monster’s nowhere to be found. There are no threats in the immediate area, and the current time is eight fifty-seven a.m. He’s lying on something soft. Room temperature is twenty-six degrees, and there’s a patch of damp on the ceiling that looks a little bit like a beluga. Someone must have found him lying in the streets and brought him home.
He tries to remember if there are any rooms in Dr Kuseno’s sprawling underground lab that have a mouldy beluga on the ceiling, but nothing really springs to mind.
“Good morning,” says a voice in his ear.
He’s lying on a futon. Genos knows this because he damn well jumps about a foot in the air, narrowly missing a window, and he lands flat on his back on the floor instead of a mattress. The disembodied voice makes a small noise of surprise and Genos freezes, suppressing the instinct to blow everything up to fuck because he has no idea where he is.
A head appears, to hover somewhere above him. It’s bald, and the owner is squinting like he’s still half-asleep. “Woah, sorry. You okay, man?”
Genos’s processors give a distressed whirr in response. He’s naked. He’s in somebody’s futon. Saitama is here, and he’s laughing at him.
“What,” he croaks, because, what. Days of fruitless stalking, and now Saitama is here, settling onto Genos’s chest and running his fingers along his sides in a way that Genos is too distracted to notice is pleasant. “You—why am I naked? Why are you naked?”
Saitama offers him a crooked smile. He’s light and his skin is smooth and cool, and he looks remarkably happy about being trapped under an ugly heart-patterned blanket with a bewildered cyborg. “You’re the one who always complains about me getting dressed after we do sexy stuff,” he waggles his eyebrows confusingly. “You’d think you’d be happier about me cuddling you, brat.”
“I’m sorry?” Genos says. He means it in an I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about way, but Saitama seems to take it as a genuine apology about the good-natured ribbing, and he pats Genos’s chest in response.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Come on, I’ll make us breakfast. I’m in the mood for sausage, which may or may not be your fault,” the man grins impishly as he pulls Genos to his feet. “You?”
“Buh,” says Genos intelligently, too stuck on the concept of sexy stuff to really protest.
The room is small, neat, and Spartan, bare save for some essential furniture and a large TV in one corner. A door leads off to what Genos assumes must be a bathroom, although he misses his chance to escape into it before Saitama can steer him into the tiny kitchen. It’s actually impressive, how easily he maneuvers around a large body in a small space, but Saitama manages it nonetheless, sticking his head into the fridge and pulling out an assortment of things even as Genos stands there uselessly. “You made breakfast yesterday, so I’ll handle it this time. Just stand there and look pretty, yeah?”
Who in their right mind calls a sentient weapon of mass destruction ‘pretty’, Genos wants to say, but it’s probably best not to offend what might actually be the strongest man Genos has ever seen. Instead he decides on a slightly safer topic of conversation. “How, uh, how long have I been here?”
Saitama regards him thoughtfully. He can crack eggs one-handed, apparently. “Huh. Dunno. About a year?”
The sputtering in the pan just barely manages to drown out the sounds of Genos’s own sputtering. “One year?”
“Maybe. I don’t really remember the exact date, but I know it was a Monday, because that’s when they had that sale down at K-mart. Is this runny enough for you or should I cook these a little longer?”
“That’s fine,” Genos says, because he doesn’t quite know what else to say beyond the obvious how do you know how I like my eggs. “Can I…do anything?”
“You can go put away our futons, if you want. I’ll bring breakfast out when it’s ready.”
“Futons,” Genos repeats distantly, shuffling out of the kitchen and into the living room-slash-bedroom. “Right. Our futons. The futons that belong to you and me in this apartment that apparently also belongs to you and me.”
“It’s my name on the lease,” Saitama says, peering at him like this entire situation is spectacularly, mind-bogglingly normal. "Listen, are you okay? You’re acting a little, uh, spacey.”
Genos mumbles something inaudible as he sits at the coffee table, because he’s not entirely sure how to articulate the idea that he’s just about ready to manually disengage his core permanently. The surroundings do little to distract him. He doesn’t know how to use the TV and he doesn’t dare turn on the laptop sitting on the desk in the corner, so he lets his gaze wander over the bookshelf behind him instead. It’s full of manga, mostly, and the row at the bottom is full to bursting with slender black journals which, come to think of it, look a lot like the brand Genos likes to buy.
With a furtive glance into the kitchen, he tugs one out of the bookshelf and flips it open to a random page.
This is his handwriting. His shorthand, his chicken scrawl, and he’s got nothing in here but Saitama.
March 10th, 2016-
Saitama-sensei reads manga while reclining at a 135º angle. It is possible that he uses this posture to strengthen his back muscles, although he denies this being the case.
Marth 11th, 2016-
Today, Sensei told me that relaxation is an important part of training. It must be, because Sensei seems to spend almost all of his time relaxing. I wonder if this is the reason that I have yet to attain his level of strength. Do I keep overworking myself?
Tomorrow, I will try to emulate Saitama-sensei’s daily routine.
Addendum: doing nothing is much harder than it looks. I will leave the relaxing to Sensei.
There’s more of it. Pages and pages—no, entire books full of anecdotes and observations. Understanding slowly dawns; Genos lives here so he can observe, clearly in the hopes of finding out the secret to this mysterious Saitama’s power. When he’d failed to learn anything by observing from afar, he’d simply moved closer.
Brilliant.
“Saitama!” he exclaims, making the man in question jump.
Only his impossible speed saves their breakfast before it becomes part of the carpet. “Jesus fuck, don’t yell like that, you scared the shit out of me!”
Genos is too excited to be properly contrite. “Saitama! Have we—have I figured out the secret to your strength, yet?”
Saitama stares at him from across the table, clearly perplexed. “I don’t know, have you?”
“I…don’t know,” Genos frowns, and then blinks at the plate of food put before him. “Just to be clear, what is your secret?”
“There is no secret,” Saitama says. His usually slack expression is uncharacteristically concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he reaches across the table to put a hand to Genos’s forehead, as though he could still get sick. “Okay, you’re really weirding me out now. Are you absolutely sure you’re not wrecked somewhere? I mean, it’s been a little since we’ve fought a monster or anything, but sometimes things just malfunction, right?”
Genos considers this. “You’re right. I will go to Dr Kuseno immediately for a check-up.” Never mind the fact that his diagnostics are coming up clear.
Weirdly enough, Saitama seems a little crestfallen as he glances at the table. Genos follows his gaze, and two eggs, sunny side up, stare back at him from between a pile of fat pork sausages. Genos looks back at the man who is now apparently his sensei, and then sighs.
“Immediately after breakfast.”
To his credit, the Doctor only screams a little bit when Genos comes hurtling into the lab.
The assembly bot beeps at him in alarm, but Genos ignores it in favour of grabbing his godfather by the shoulders. “Doctor!”
The man sets down his wrench and pulls the safety goggles from his eyes. “Inside voice, Genos. What is it? Have you come to complain about your husband again?”
“What?” Genos, despite having nothing to choke on, manages it anyway. “My husband?”
“I’m only teasing, my dear boy.”
“Oh.” Letting his hands fall back to his sides, Genos takes a step back to give the other man some breathing space. “Doctor, listen. Are you aware that I have been living with Saitama for the past year?”
“A year and two months,” Kuseno says cheerfully. “You told me right before you moved in, and I have to say I’m happy for you. You seem to be enjoying yourself, and it keeps you out of my hair. Why do you ask?”
Genos opens and shuts his mouth. “No reason. It’s just…a long time, that’s all.”
The doctor frowns. “If you’re actually thinking about marriage, you’re far too young.”
That’s right, Genos is twenty now, isn’t he. “I’m not thinking about marriage.” He’s barely thinking about anything. “Wait. Are he and I in that kind of relationship?”
“I know you’re dense, but even you should know that you have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t remember asking for a boyfriend. Do you remember me asking for a boyfriend?”
“Son, did you hit your head?”
“I don’t know!”
“Alright.” Kuseno, bless him, is completely calm as he takes Genos by the arm and leads him to the operating table at the back of the lab. Genos supposes, absently, that he must be depressingly used to Genos coming to him in disrepair. “Sit down. Why are you so jittery?”
Genos wonders how much to tell him. “I may have a slight malfunction.”
“Okay. I’m going to scan you, and we’ll find out what the problem is, alright?”
Genos manages to sit still throughout the procedure, and the assembly bot gives him a lollipop after. Kuseno sifts through the data with a slight frown, and Genos clacks his teeth nervously around the sweet in his mouth. “Well?”
“You seem absolutely fine,” Kuseno says blandly, setting Genos’s neurotransmitter report on his desk. “What’s getting you so worked up?”
I don’t remember the past year. I don’t remember moving in with Saitama. I don’t remember anything.
“Can I have my memory logs?” Genos says instead. Telling the truth would probably result in him being confined here until they can figure out what’s wrong with him, and Genos does not have time for that. He’s already lost a year and two months, anyway, and the mad cyborg isn’t going to catch itself. “From last year.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“I want to relive the moment I fell in love,” Genos says with a straight face.
Doctor Kuseno snorts at him, but eventually shrugs and wanders away to rummage through the wall full of shelves. Genos distracts himself by having a thumb war with the assembly bot, which he loses, and Kuseno returns with a box of memory sticks neatly arranged by date. “Here you go. You’d think you’d remember these things yourself.”
“The human mind can be faulty,” Genos lies. Half-lies, anyway, because he does have a human mind and it does currently seem to be faulty. “Thank you, Doctor. Didn’t this robot have three wheels instead of four?”
“No,” Kuseno sighs as Genos springs to his feet. “You will tell me if anything is bothering you, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Genos lies, and scarpers.
He ends up going to the library, because that’s the only place he can think of that won’t involve either Saitama or Doctor Kuseno.
It turns out to be a mistake. The girl in front of him had taken one look at him and almost fainted. Genos had been about to point out that yes, his appearance may be slightly alarming but there’s no need to be quite that rude about it, but he’d been interrupted by a mob of excitable teenagers, and the librarian had threatened to kick him out for causing a ruckus, and, well. Long story short, he’s still in the library, but it happens to be a part of the library that is technically actually a broom closet.
A rogue broom pokes him in the side, and he sighs.
It takes some effort, but he eventually manages to fit his bulky frame into something of a seated position. The memory stick with all his optic recordings from April fits neatly into the USB slot at the tip of his left index finger, and his vision blanks out for a second before the feed starts up.
He remembers this. His failed stalking of Saitama, the french fry, the running off to find a monster and then…
Nothing. There is no satyr. There’s just a weird jelly-creature. Genos doesn’t pass out, doesn’t malfunction, just punches the wobbly thing in the face and drags it off to the nearest police station.
The feed immediately cuts to him standing outside of Saitama’s house; he only records events he thinks are going to be important, and this is evidently one of them. Turns out he’d just invited himself over and told Saitama his life story, which, well, actually seems to have worked pretty splendidly. The rest of it is mundane.
Genos skims through a few days of domesticity and awkwardness, and then turns off the recording. His vision swims back into focus, and he is unfortunately reminded that he is still, in fact, hiding in a tiny closet. A daddy longlegs descends slowly onto his head from some corner of the ceiling, and Genos finally decides against living here forever. As baffled as he is by life in general, he has things to do. Mysteries to solve.
A janitor blinks at him in surprise when he exits the closet, but Genos refuses to be ashamed. He makes it all the way back to Saitama’s without being spotted by his fans, and it’s with a wary greeting that he opens the door.
Saitama’s apparently spent the day moping half-naked on the floor. He brightens up, though, the moment Genos comes into the living room and sits next to him. “Oh, you’re home! How were things with your doc—is that a spider in your hair?”
Genos brushes it away impatiently. “Things were fine. He says I’m undamaged, I may simply be experiencing some,” he casts for an excuse. “Hormonal imbalances.”
Saitama considers this. “Well, I guess you are still pretty young. Well, if you’re feeling bad, you know what the best cure is!”
“Euthanasia?’
“What? No, you weirdo, I meant soup. But, we’ve got a while to go until dinner.” Smiling, he comes forward, stripey blue pyjama pants shuffling as he scoots across the floor. Genos realises abruptly that Saitama has a nice smile and no concept of personal space, and fingers poke under the hem of Genos’s shirt. He stiffens, albeit not in the fun way. “I missed you. And I might have a way to deal with those raging hormones of yours.”
Genos swallows audibly. Saitama’s not unattractive by any means. His blatant flirting sends steam shooting out of Genos’s air vents. “You’re propositioning me.”
Saitama laughs. Soft and clear, and Genos steams some more. “I don’t know if it counts as propositioning when we’re already dating.”
“I. Right. Yes. We’re dating.”
“You’re cute,” Saitama says, managing somehow to climb into Genos’s lap. “I like the way you get all shy, sometimes.”
“Can you blame me?” Genos croaks. Saitama’s doing his best to tip them both over and onto the carpet, but Genos, in a superhuman feat of willpower, keeps his balance. “Wait, Saitama.”
The man in his lap stills. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m…unable,” Genos says, hoping desperately that Saitama isn’t as good at robotics as he is at fighting. “Doctor Kuseno has advised that I stay in a state of low power consumption for a few days at least, to, uh, reduce the uh, strain on my core, at least until he’s finished running diagnostics on all of my subroutines and spare parts. It’s nothing to worry about, but I cannot exert much energy beyond what is needed to perform day-to-day tasks, and, uh—”
Thankfully, Saitama’s eyes have begun to glaze over at the long-winded explanation, and he sighs and clambers off of Genos so he can stand and stretch instead. “Alright, not tonight, then. But your ass is mine as soon as you’re all fixed. Now, come on. Less word soup and more actual soup.”
Genos breaths an inaudible sigh of relief and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Thank you for understanding.”
They end up spending the evening cooking together. Eventually, Genos fumbles his way through getting ready for bed, and although he doesn’t particularly mind being subjected to a goodnight kiss, it does distract somewhat from his initial goal of flipping through some of his journals. Saitama finally falls asleep at a quarter past twelve, but Genos spends a few more minutes listening to his breathing just to be sure.
Saitama doesn’t wake. Gingerly, Genos crawls out of the futon and makes his way to the bookshelf, pulling out the first in the row and cranking his night vision up to high.
There are about forty of these to get through.
Doesn’t matter. He’s got all night.
“Genos? Genos.”
“Wuh?”
“Wake up, dummy. Did you sleep at all?”
“Uh.”
“Look at you, you’ve got ink on your face. What happened to saving battery?”
“S’ry.”
Saitama sighs. “I should tell on you to your doctor. What were you even doing that was so important?”
Genos slumps back onto the coffee table. “Reliving the moment,” he mumbles.
A phone rings. It takes him a second to realise that it’s his, but he eventually identifies the correct buzzing pocket, and tugs the thing out so he can hold it to his ear without checking the number. Saitama pauses his gentle scolding long enough for Genos to clear his throat. “What?”
It’s a voice he doesn’t recognize. Genos listens, chin on the table, as the fog of sleep gradually dissipates. “The Hero Association? What do you want with me?”
Saitama raps him gently on the head. “What don’t they want from their star hero?”
Hero—oh no. He’s a goon.
Helplessly, Genos turns to Saitama, barely listening to the voice as it drones on. “Why did I become a hero? Why did I think that would be a good idea?”
“Okay.” With another sigh, Saitama plucks the phone from his hand and holds it to his own ear. “Yeah, hi, it’s me. Saitama. Ugh, yes, Caped Baldy. His partner. Genos can’t come to class today, doctor’s orders. No, I mean it, he’s under the weather. What’s the trouble?”
He goes silent for a second, a hand on his hip as he makes mental note of the details, and then nods even though the other person can’t see it. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll be right there.” He hangs up, and gives the phone back to Genos. “I’m picking up your slack, but you owe me for this.”
“Thank you,” Genos manages, fumbling to accept it. Saitama frowns at him, evidently concerned, and ruffles his hair. It feels nice.
“Stop doing dumb things, Genos. Sleep is important. Next time wait ‘til morning if you want to go down memory lane.”
“Yessir,” says Genos, already missing the head-petting.
“Don’t call me sir.” Humming under his breath, Saitama pads across the room to rummage through his closet for his hero suit. Uncaring of Genos’s presence, he tugs off his pyjamas to get changed, wobbling a little in place as he sticks one leg in through a pant leg. Fortunately, Genos is too tired to really care. “The monster’s all the way in V-city, so it might take me a little while to get back. Do you want me to get lunch on the way?”
Genos tries to figure out what his response would normally be. “No, I’ll take care of it.”
“Alright, see you later, then. Take a nap or something while I’m gone.”
Genos will not. Instead he plans to stay awake and torture himself some more, and he lets out a truly terrific yawn the moment Saitama’s out the door. He’s made it less than halfway through his journals, but there’s no mention of Saitama’s secrets. Just speculation and an unnecessary amount of detail, and a lot of irrelevant domestic tips. Scratching his cheek, he looks down at the page he’d fallen asleep on.
August 7th, 2015-
Note: Lemon slices can remove odours from inside the microwave.
Addendum: Don’t let sensei put monster meat in the microwave.
Useless. Sighing, he allows himself twenty seconds to rub his temples, and then he goes back to reading.
August 8th, 2015-
I have made a slight mistake. I purchased some fresh scallops for dinner tonight, thinking that Sensei would enjoy them, but he seemed uncomfortable even after I assured him that I did not mind paying for them. I am not sure how abstaining from scallops will help in my quest to attain strength. Perhaps his frugality and self-control are important parts of his power…?
August 9th, 2015-
The redundantly-named ninja seems to have visited a hairstylist after I cut his hair off. Sensei said the new look suits him. How annoying. I suppose I cannot complain. Sensei notices whenever I get an aesthetic change as well, that is simply the kind of person he is. I will try to repay the favour in future.
August 10th, 2015-
I got more scallops, but this time I received them from a fishmonger that I rescued from a mugger. Sensei seems much happier this time. Next time perhaps I’ll schedule my patrols to run outside of the butcher’s.
“Do I spend none of my time looking for the mad cyborg?” Genos grumbles to himself, skipping forward a few pages. He's morbidly curious. August already, which means he’s getting closer to—
August 24th,2015-
Wednesday is the anniversary. An entire village destroyed on that day four years ago. My sister would have been twelve this year. Or was it thirteen? I can’t remember anymore. I’m not sure I want to remember.
I’ll kill that cyborg.
August 25th,2015-
The nightmares have started again.
August 26th,2015-
I wish I didn’t have to sleep. I wish my brain didn’t need it. I wish there was nothing left of me that would ever need sleep. I wish every part of me was mechanical. I wish the cyborg had taken me as well. I dont want to be here. i just want to be normal. i dont want to think anymor e. i
August 27th,2015-
Sensei is helping. He lets me sleep next to him now.
Note: look up how to get oil stains out of Sensei’s hoodie.
August 28th,2015-
Perhaps I should ask Doctor Kuseno to remove my self-destruct function.
He shuts the book.
“Shit.” The word is quiet, spoken under his breath, but it seems to echo all the same in the silence of the apartment. It’s unnerving. Doctor Kuseno’s lab always has some undercurrent of noise, be it the hum of machinery or the gentle beeping of the robots that like to follow him around. Saitama’s apartment is deathly still in comparison. There are no life signatures in about fifty metres, and the closest one he can find seems to belong to a small animal. A cat? Maybe a large bird.
Taking a deep breath, he adds this journal to the slowly growing stack of completed ones, and gets to his feet. He doesn’t feel like reading anymore. The space in his chest feels hollow, which can’t be right because he knows that’s where his core is, but he ignores it. One of his earlier journals had said that Saitama liked katsudon, which he’ll need to make from scratch today. Good. Genos has the urge to do something with his hands.
So, Saitama knows the whole story, then. Which isn’t surprising, given that Genos had come to him with a very specific goal in mind, and he’s not the type to keep secrets. But recounting an experience and reliving an experience are, well. Two very different things.
Chicken, flour, egg, panko. He’s out of practice with this, since he and Kuseno mainly order takeout, but it feels sort of nostalgic all the same. Saitama will probably appreciate it, anyway, because Genos has probably been acting pretty weirdly as far as he’s concerned. Hell, Genos thinks he’s been weird. What kind of person is he supposed to be, now, anyway? The kind who cries on someone’s clean hoodie and makes notes on how to get free seafood?
Saitama seems to like him, though. And Genos seems to like Saitama. A lot, if the evidence is to be trusted, which then leads to the question of why can’t he remember any of this himself. There’s nothing wrong with him. The only real clue he has is that goat-man-thing, which is nowhere to be found, might not even have existed.
Oh, he should probably have started on the rice before heating up the oil. Okay, no problem, he’ll just turn off the stove and go find out where the rice bag is. They’re running low. He should probably warn Saitama so they can pick it up the next time there’s a sale.
By the time Saitama gets home, Genos is feeling a lot happier. The katsu is merrily frying and he’s just about ready to pour the eggs in, and Saitama sheds half of his uniform in the hallway and pops his head in to see what’s going on. “Oh, I figured you were just gonna make instant noodles or something. Need any help?”
Genos turns to survey him. “Not until you go clean all that monster gunk off, Sai—ah, Sensei.”
Saitama grins. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get you to stop calling me ‘sensei’ for a year, don’t go correcting yourself.” Ducking back out of the kitchen, he shuffles around a bit before moving into the living room to get into clean clothes, and then wanders back over to lean in through the hatch. “I’m starving.”
“It’s almost done. How was the monster?”
“Eh, nothing special,” Genos can almost hear him shrug. “It looked a lot like an angry pachinko machine, but didn’t put up much of a fight.” There’s more shuffling and Saitama disappears from sight, only to show up right beside Genos. He settles his chin on Genos’s shoulder, and Genos freezes for only a second before relaxing into the hold. “How are you feeling?”
The food’s ready. Saitama probably can’t see his face from this angle but Genos smiles anyway, carefully lifting a portion of katsu out of the pan and into a bowl. “Don’t worry about me, Sensei. I think I’ll be okay.”
He doesn’t dare look at his journals for a while after that.
In the meantime, they fall into a routine. Genos does, anyway, considering Saitama was probably already in that routine from the beginning. He’s starting to understand why he likes housework so much. The mundane is pleasant. Time spent cooking or aimlessly browsing the internet brings back some sort of normalcy, almost like he never left the village. He could almost be any other man, wasting his afternoon away as the television plays in the background and Saitama-sensei waters his cactus.
Saitama’s presence is comforting, god help him. Genos isn’t sure if it’s the sedentary lifestyle or the knowledge that there’s literally no safer place on earth, but he’s calm in a weird way when he punches a monster in the face on the way from the store.
It’s a fish on legs, which Genos can’t even find it in himself to be too upset about. Saitama seems to find all this hilarious, anyway. He’s clambered onto the thing’s back and is riding it around like a rodeo horse even as it spews some nonsense about being the true king of the mermen.
“I thought mermen were human on the top half,” Genos says mildly, dodging a slimy fin.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the merman burbles crossly. “How would we breathe?”
Saitama kills the thing, eventually. It only takes a punch. The merman implodes and Genos remembers just in time to shield the groceries. It seems Saitama barely used any effort at all, which Genos was fully expecting, but seeing it up close is, well.
Rather breathtaking, actually.
He stands there, star struck, even as Saitama complains about having punched the monster too hard to salvage any meat. “Oh.”
Saitama turns to look at him, groceries in one hand and a fishy eyeball in the other. “Hmm?”
Genos coughs up steam. “Nothing, sensei.”
They go home together smelling slightly of seafood, not quite hand in hand but close enough to bump shoulders. There’s a cat outside the apartment that runs away when Saitama tries to pet it. Genos finds himself personally offended by this, for reasons he can’t quite place, but Saitama turns down his offer to hunt the tiny beast down and teach it the error of its ways.
The front door creaks as it opens. There’s a strange man lying on the carpet, which is somewhat unexpected, but Genos supposes every day is a day for new experiences.
“Hey, Sonic,” Saitama says before Genos can shoot the intruder full of holes. Right. The redundantly-named ninja. Genos knows this person.
Sonic rolls over to look at them. He’s browsing through Saitama’s manga collection, katana leaning against the wall like it has every right to be there. “Fight me, Saitama,” he says, flipping a page.
Saitama kicks off his shoes and takes the groceries into the kitchen. “Not today, my show’s on.”
“Whatever. I brought chicken.”
“Aw, sweet. You want some?”
“Nah.”
Genos regards this alleged Sonic for a second, and then turns and follows Saitama into the kitchen. “Are all of our friends this attractive?” he whispers, remembering when they ran into the Fubuki woman last week.
Saitama snorts. “Birds of a feather, Genos. But, maybe don’t let Sonic hear you say that. He’ll be annoying about it for weeks.”
“If I’m not wrong, he’s already annoying,” Genos says under his breath as Saitama shoos him back to the living room. Sonic takes up more space than he logically should, and he refuses to move over for Genos to sit at the table. Sighing, Genos slowly pushes him across the floor with both hands until there’s enough room. Sonic makes a soft skidding noise as he goes.
Genos would shoot him, if he didn’t think Saitama would disapprove of him doing that indoors. “Why are you even here?”
Sonic shrugs. “Bored.”
“So you broke into our apartment?”
“Hey, I brought food.”
“It’s okay, Genos,” Saitama says, puttering around the kitchen for some plates. The plastic bag on the counter is from the shop he likes, Genos realises, but can never afford. “I mean, I was pretty freaked out too the first few times, but it’s no big deal.”
“Hmm.” Genos isn’t actually sure how well he and Sonic get along, but from his journals, Genos can tell that they’re at least superficially hostile. “When was the last time you seriously challenged Saitama-sensei to a fight?”
Sonic raises an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”
Genos tries to keep his expression as non-threatening as possible. A bit difficult, considering the eternal resting bitch face, but it’s the thought that counts. “I’m just curious. You just…drop in sometimes?”
“You got a problem?”
“You’re fond of Saitama, aren’t you?”
A kunai bounces off his head in response. Not hard enough to leave a dent, thankfully, and Genos watches it clatter to the ground. “Wow.”
Sonic scowls at him. It looks a bit ridiculous, lying upside-down on the floor as he is, but Genos gets the intent. “Stop acting like his guard dog, he’s a grown-ass man. He’s allowed to have other friends.”
“I never said he wasn’t.”
“That’s why you interrogate me every time I show up, right? He’s not yours, you know, even though you think he is.”
“I don’t,” Genos starts and then stops. Tries to remember what he’d written in one of his first journals. I worry about him sometimes. I’m not sure if he still feels that emptiness that he told me about. I should not have let him see me cry. “I’m glad that he has friends. He seems…happy to see you all.”
Sonic doesn’t say anything for a while, but eventually rolls onto his side and huffs. Genos stares at his back. He wonders vaguely why everyone they know chooses to wear such tight clothing, and why Saitama hasn’t picked up on the trend yet.
The man in question eventually comes out of the kitchen with a plate of chicken and a soda. Plopping down next to Genos, he turns on the TV and chatters through an episode of crappy anime. He’s brightened up a lot since losing all that merman-meat, Genos notices. It’s endearing how easy it is to win the world’s strongest man over with food.
Saitama eats almost all the chicken in one sitting, save for a chicken wing he gives to Genos, and falls asleep almost right after.
Albeit a little reluctantly, Genos decides Sonic can stay.
It’s a nice day outside. The sun’s just gone down and the night is quiet, empty save for the gentle noise of the television and some cicadas in the distance. Genos is at the table, looking through the last of his journals, sure to avoid mentions of anything about a mad cyborg.
He’s found that the latter half of his collection is almost entirely full of his own feelings. Little observations about his teacher and happy memories of the day, pretty words and notes on the things he likes about being with Saitama.
February 15th, 2016-
There’s a park fairly near here that looks quite nice, even though I don’t think anyone’s visited in a while. Sensei and I found it on the way back from patrol. I wonder if he’d like to have lunch there with me tomorrow? The flowers are blooming. It’s pretty. I’ll ask when he’s finished his show.
He keeps looking over here. I think the poor man still thinks I’m observing him. Well, I suppose I technically do, just not in the way he thinks.
Now he’s sulking because I won’t let him see what I’m writing. How endearing. Sorry, sensei, I need to gush about you somewhere, and you won’t let me do it to your face.
The next page just has a dried flower taped to it. Genos shuts the books and regards Saitama’s profile, barely illuminated by the light of a cooking programme he doesn’t care about. “Saitama-sensei?” he says, voice quiet because it seems wrong somehow to disturb the silence.
Saitama looks up. He’s on his futon, barely paying attention to the TV, and he tilts his head at Genos with slow, sleepy blinks. “What’s up?”
“Could you tell me how we fell in love?”
Saitama raises his eyebrows at that. He smiles, though, so Genos doesn’t feel he’s put his foot in his mouth. “Shouldn’t you remember?”
“Well, I know how I did,” Genos says. May 28th, when Saitama punched that meteor and then faced a crowd of civilians out for his blood. “What about you?”
Sitting up, Saitama hums under his breath, glancing off to the side as he thinks. “I dunno if I can pick an exact moment, man.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Well,” Saitama sighs, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “You know…you remember what I told you? About how, I dunno, empty I used to be?”
Genos knows, secondhand. “Yes?”
“It’s like,” Saitama says. “Like, did you know that a cactus could bloom? Because I didn’t. I thought, that’s kind of just how a cactus looks. It’s thorny and green. It’s not bad or anything, it’s just, I dunno. A cactus. And then all of a sudden, a flower pops up. That’s you. The flower, I mean.”
Genos stares at him. Saitama shuts his eyes, and tries again.
“I can’t tell exactly when I knew I loved you,” he says, voice low. “I know I don’t tell you that enough, by the way. I really do. Love you. Like, a lot. More than anything, even.”
A tiny smile. “You can go over twenty words, Sensei.”
“Oh, shut up, Rhoomba. Where was I? Right. You really made a mess, you know, coming here. I had to rearrange my whole life because of you. Couldn’t keep you away,” Saitama pauses to crack a lopsided smile. “But you cooked and cleaned, so that was okay. And you noticed my favourite drink, and you taped my shows without me needing to ask, and I didn’t understand why for a long time. I thought you were just studying me.”
A tiny flicker of guilt tickles him uncomfortably, hiding in a deep corner of Genos’s chest. “Do you still feel that way?”
“No. Because you love me. And it made me really sad to think that I honestly never knew what that was like. Having someone care just ‘cause they could.”
“You deserve to be loved unconditionally, Sensei. You’re an extraordinary man.”
“Hmm.” Saitama’s expression is distant, the same flat, unreadable stare he has when he faces down a monster he knows will be crushed in a moment. “I thought it was weird. That you’d care about someone like me. I’m bald and boring and I didn’t know how to love, but you still worried about me and stuff. I’m not saying this so you’ll feel sorry for me, you know, I genuinely didn’t understand why you would do that. But I liked it. And then I realized I liked you, and I liked that I liked you because it felt like my broken part got fixed. I haven’t felt about anything for so long that I wasn’t sure I could. But I did. For you. I eventually figured out how good to me you are, because you want me to be happy, and then I didn’t really have a choice but to fall head over heels for you, you know? Ah, but that makes me sound like one of those lame kids who gets a crush just because someone’s nice to them. I mean, you’re a great guy, you’re cute and smart and nice and driven, and, ah,” he trails off sheepishly. “The point is, me loving you was gradual and unavoidable. I haven’t been happy in so, so long, but now I’m happy almost all the time.”
He falls silent. The cicadas outside continue their ruckus.
“Oh,” says Genos quietly. “Okay.”
He’s vaguely aware that he might possibly be tearing up, because Saitama’s coming forward to mop awkwardly at his face, but he gently brushes the man’s hands away and presses their foreheads together instead. “You deserve to be happy, Saitama-sensei. I will tell you that, every day, until you’re ready to see the truth in it.”
Saitama huffs a soft laugh against his mouth. “I dunno about deserving it, but I can’t imagine my life getting any better than you.”
“I have something I should tell you, Doctor.”
Kuseno looks up from fiddling with Genos’s elbow. The magnifiers on his face make his eyes look like a bug’s, and he squints when he takes them off his face. “You’re not still thinking about marriage, are you?”
“No, Doctor. It’s,” Genos verbally flops around for a second. “Do you remember when I asked you for those memory logs?”
“Yes?”
“It’s because I’d…lost them. My memories.”
Doctor Kuseno doesn’t panic. Holding up a hand, he pulls up a chair and sits down opposite where Genos is perched on the operating table, still undressed from his monthly check-up. “What happened, my boy?”
Genos tells him the story. Spares some of the unnecessary detail, because he’s learnt firsthand how annoying they can be. Starts with how he stalked Saitama, the monster, and how he woke up in some other reality with friends he doesn’t remember and a lover he never asked for (but is growing to appreciate). Kuseno’s eyes widen, and he leans so far forward in his seat that Genos worries he’s going to fall off.
“You’re telling me,” he says, “that you’re a Genos from another dimension?”
Genos sighs. “Please try to focus, Doctor.”
“Nonsense!” the man exclaims, mushroom hair flouncing as he springs from his seat. “What a wonderful curiosity! Tell me more about this parallel universe of yours.”
“Well, it was largely the same, I suppose the only real difference would be that monster—are you writing this down?”
“Of course I am, dear boy! This is an excellent opportunity! I’m not a man of space-time travel myself, but there are some people at the university who’d be delighted to find out more about this. Now, you said the monster sent you here?”
“Please at least pretend to be concerned,” Genos says, more than a little put-out.
Kuseno flaps a hand at him flippantly. “Oh, you’re fine, aren’t you? I’ve just done your check-up.”
“Doctor, please.”
“Alright, alright.” Sighing, the old man settles back in his chair, although his eye hasn’t lost that spark of excitement. He looks more like a counsellor than a robotics professor. “What’s bothering you?”
“Well aside from me feeling like I’m losing my mind, not much,” Genos says dryly, and then sighs. “It’s disconcerting. Waking up in somebody else’s life.”
Kuseno makes a quiet, thoughtful humming noise. “Strange things happen, you know. If you’re remembering everything correctly, the evidence does indeed point to the possibility that you were transported here.”
“So I’m not crazy?”
“You might not be, no.”
“That’s good.” Genos almost wants to laugh, but mainly so he doesn’t cry. “If I hadn’t found those journals, I’d have thought this was some elaborate trap.”
“Does it seem like a trap?” Kuseno asks. “Do you think something bad will follow?”
“I don’t know. I feel…safe. With Saitama. I mean, he is the strongest man in the world, so there’s logically nothing that should be able to harm me while I’m near him. But I still worry. I don’t know exactly what’s going on.”
“Are you content? Being away from your own dimension, I mean.”
Genos considers this. “It’s nice. I still haven’t found the mad cyborg, and I’m starting to doubt that I’ll ever reach Saitama’s level of strength, but I’m finding that this lifestyle really isn’t bad. There are people who like my company, and I do good things. Did you know I was a hero? Because I didn’t.”
“What are things like in your version of events, then?”
“I don’t have Saitama. I don’t have anyone except you.”
“I imagine you must not have enjoyed that.”
“Don’t be silly, Doctor, I like your company.” Fiddling with the hem of his discarded t-shirt, Genos exhales slowly. “I’m different. He makes me different. I can see myself becoming the person he knows. I used to be angry, and now I’m not.”
Kuseno smiles. “I sense a ‘but’.”
Genos falters. “I feel as though I’ve missed the point where I fell in love with him. I don’t know if what I feel now is what I felt when...I don’t know if this is what I should be feeling.”
“And what are you feeling?” the doctor prompts gently.
The floor is very interesting today. “I’m. Happy. With him. He’s a good person and I enjoy being around him. He’s also attractive and I think he’s amazing,” he gets out in a rush.
Dr Kuseno pats him kindly on the knee. “As long as you like him, and he treats you well, I give you my blessing.”
A small puff of steam escapes Genos’s air vents. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Genos admits. “I like it here but I don’t know if I belong. I’m lying to him, aren’t I? I’m not the Genos he knows. I’ve lived as his lover without really being his lover. Would he not hate me if he knew? That’s I’m not his Genos?”
“You very much seem like his Genos to me. Perhaps not exactly the same one, but still his. And he loves you still, even if you see yourself as being different.”
“But he doesn’t know.”
“Think of it this way,” Dr Kuseno says, standing up and sighing as his joints pop. “There are some rather impossible questions to answer here, yes? What really happened? Have you simply travelled to a possible future, or to your own? Do you know any of these things?”
“…no…”
“No. Even if we ever did figure out how to send you back, it would take a long time. And you haven’t been able to track down that monster, have you?”
“No.” More like he hasn’t even tried.
“Then my advice is to just take what comes,” Kuseno says. The assembly bot rolls slowly in to deliver a cup of tea, and Kuseno takes a languid sip. “You’ve got a good man waiting for you at home, you know. He might not know the whole story, but he knows you, and he’s still there for you. You can tell him the truth when you’re ready. I’ll help if I can. Until then, there’s nothing wrong dealing with things as best you can.”
“And Saitama? What should I do about Saitama?”
“Whatever you like. Nothing wrong with falling in love a second time, either.”
“I suppose there isn’t,” Genos echoes distantly.
He goes home in a daze, medical reports clutched in one hand and a promise to tell the doctor all about the time travel still fresh in his mind.
His soft call of I’m home echoes a little before Saitama answers, leaning out of the kitchen with an apron on and a ladle with one hand. “Hey, you. How was your appointment?”
Genos doesn’t bother answering the question. “Saitama, do you think you can fall in love with someone a second time?”
Saitama blinks. “Sure, I guess so.”
Genos exhales slowly. “Okay. Then, I think I love you again.”
A drop of curry drips off the ladle and onto the floor, and the corner of Saitama’s mouth twitches into half a smile. His face is slack, but his eyes are warm, and he doesn’t bat an eye as Genos crosses the space between them to get right into Saitama’s personal space. “Why, did you stop at some point?”
“No, I think it just slipped my mind.” His skin is still nice and cool, Genos realises, wrapping both arms around the other man’s neck and letting Saitama take his weight. “What are you making?”
“Chicken curry.”
“Leave it. Let’s go to bed.”
Saitama shifts around like he’s looking at the clock. He’s in his flannel pants, and he smells like soap and sleep. “It’s noon.”
Genos nips his ear. “No. Bed.”
“Oh.” He can feel Saitama’s smile bloom, wide and slow. “What about your core?”
“Fixed it. Clean bill of health.”
“That’s good.” Reaching behind them, Saitama flicks the knob of the stove to off, sets down the ladle, and takes Genos’s face in his hands. “What’s gotten into you anyway?”
“Nothing, Sensei,” Genos says, kissing him. Saitama tastes like curry and toothpaste, and he hums in approval when Genos tilts his head to kiss him harder. “I think there are some things I need to re-learn, that’s all.”
“Can I help you with something?”
“No, Sensei.”
“Is there a reason you’re staring a hole into the side of my head?”
“No, Sensei.”
“Okay then.”
The two hundred and ninety-six kilograms of metal (and about one point four kilograms of brain) sitting on the floor of Saitama’s apartment make a shuffling sound as they scoot closer. Saitama snorts; Genos keeps going until he’s pressed right up against Saitama’s side, knees meeting Saitama’s thigh and warm breath barely ghosting across his cheek. That expectant stare holds for just a second, and then a pair of synthetic lips clamp around the shell of his ear.
Saitama smiles, but doesn’t look up from his manga. “Can I help you?”
“No, Sensei.” Genos is murmuring, but his voice is probably still a little loud this close to Saitama’s ear. Saitama lets him do as he pleases, though, content instead to let a pair of cyborg hands, capable of levelling mountains, paw at the front of his hoodie like those of a very large metal cat. “Can we have spaghetti for dinner?”
“I was just gonna make a potato, but sure,” Saitama says, tilting his head a little to let Genos nip curiously at his lobe. “Red, white, or oil?
Genos presses his nose into Saitama’s ear and snuffles. “Red. With beef.”
"Okay. You're tickling me."
"Sorry," Genos says, but doesn't move.
His phone rings, and Genos peels himself from his (somewhat new) boyfriend with a sigh. It’s the Hero Association again, and Genos seriously considers telling them to fuck off, but it might actually be an emergency this time. “Demon Cyborg.”
The call’s mercifully quick, and Genos hangs up just before getting to his feet. “Monster in Y-city, we’re the closest ones. Probably a Tiger-level, but they’re not sure.”
“Alright, I was getting bored anyway.” Standing up in an endearingly awkward motion, Saitama busies himself with getting ready, and Genos googles the location on his phone. It’s not too far, and it turns out to only take about ten minutes of running to reach.
They get there without a single wrong turn. It’s not quite deserted. The threat’s low enough so far that there hasn’t been an emergency evacuation yet, and the news teams are still hanging around, hoping to catch some live footage.
The threat hasn’t moved too far. He’s been told that the monster’s been looting the shopping district, but there’s probably nothing too valuable that Genos needs to worry about protecting.
Saitama perches himself on the hood of someone’s parked car. “You wanna handle this yourself?”
“Yes, sensei,” Genos says, scanning the area. The monster’s hovering around the corner but not coming this way, which is absolutely fine. Genos can meet it halfway. “I will shout for you if I need assistance.”
“Alrighty,” Saitama picks at his ear. “Have fun.”
Genos waves over his shoulder and goes running full-speed towards his target. If he can take it by surprise, then the fight should be over quickly and he’ll be able to hand it to the authorities without too much damage and—
“You,” Genos spits, incinerators powering up immediately.
A very familiar goat-man drops a bag of loot. “Oh, hello again.”
“Don’t you hello again me,” Genos hisses, advancing fast enough to make the monster yelp. “What the fuck did you do?”
The monster’s grin widens further, lazy and slow. “Ohoho! You seem a little upset. What’s the problem, pray tell? What terrible fate has befallen you since I cast my spell?”
Genos thinks. “I got a boyfriend.”
“Ahaha! Terrible! Truly horrifying, I couldn’t have picked a worse—wait, what.”
Genos lowers the incinerator, only slightly. “It’s quite nice, actually. We have sex. A lot.”
The monster scowls. It’s disconcerting, seeing it with anything other than a smile, and Genos feels his own lips tug upwards in smug satisfaction. “What? You’re not supposed to be enjoying this, you’re supposed to be suffering.”
“I’m really not, though.”
“Drat.” Very slowly, the creature reaches for its flute, but Genos is expecting this, and he makes a threatening motion with his gun.
“Hand it over.”
The flute is tossed to him with bad grace, clattering as it lands on the asphalt in front of Genos. Somewhat gleefully, Genos stomps a foot on it, incinerators charging for a high-strength blast.
The flute breaks clean in half, and the monster clears its throat. “He’s not yours, you know,” it says, and smiles. “Even if you think he is.”
Genos looks down at the flute.
“And now,” says the monster, “the spell is broken.”
Oh, no.
The satyr laughs. “Oh, yes.”
He wakes up naked.
To his credit, Doctor Kuseno only screams a little bit when Genos bolts upright on the operating table, accidentally ripping his oxygen tube straight out of his mouth. “Saitama!”
Kuseno sets down his welding equipment and takes his mask off his face, allowing Genos to grab him by the shoulders. “What? What is it, my boy, are you injured—why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” Genos says automatically, obscured as his vision is by oily black tears. “I need to—am I fixed? Where is Saitama?”
“Calm down, calm down,” Kuseno pushes ineffectually at his shoulders. Genos, finally getting the message, lets himself lie flat. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, son, but this Saitama of yours can wait until I’ve finished checking you over. You just passed out, there, and I don’t know what that thing did to you but—”
“The monster!” Genos shouts, sitting upright again and making Kuseno stomp his foot. “Doctor, the monster—what happened to it? Did it get away?”
“Eh? I don’t know. Could you sit still?”
“You saw the same monster I did, right? The one with the goat legs? Not the gelatinous one?”
“Yes, of course. There was only the one, wasn’t there?”
“Was I alone?”
Kuseno’s frown deepens. “Yes, you were. It sounds like you may have a concussion, Genos, you seem a bit confused.”
“Don’t worry about me, Doctor, I’m fine. We need to find that monster. It’s dangerous, we can’t just let it go—memory logs,” Genos says suddenly.
“What?’
“Yes, I can check.” He force-starts a memory review, and his vision immediately darkens.
He has everything recorded, and it goes the way he remembered it the very first time, right up until the monster played its flute. He’d collapsed. Only the emergency systems continued in his recording, flashing warnings about possible system failure. The satyr had gradually stopped playing, and Genos hadn’t moved.
And then the proximity alarm went off. A tiny beep, registering another life signal, and another human, and someone showed up, someone who looked like—
“Oh,” he breathes, relieved.
Kuseno peers at him. “What?”
“Nothing, Doctor.” Genos leans back, suddenly calm, and lets the old man fuss over him. “Just a bald man in a yellow suit. I don’t think we need to worry at all.”
This is it.
Saitama’s apartment building is somehow rather less pleasant that Genos remembers it, somehow older and less cared for. There’s moss growing up the side of the staircase and the rail creaks when Genos leans his weight on it. He keeps going, though. He memorized long ago which door was the only one worth opening.
It’s exactly the same as he remembers it, at least, still a nice clean white with one chipped corner. Behind it is a small room, neat and Spartan, bare save for some essential furniture and a large TV in one corner. A door leads off to what Genow knows is a bathroom, although right now it’s missing a blue toothbrush by the sink.
But Genos will fix that. He’s seen what could happen, and he knows what he has to do.
He takes a deep breath, and knocks.
It takes a few seconds but Saitama eventually opens the door, head barely poking out. His eyes are narrowed, like he’s equal parts incredulous and suspicious. Genos’s core hums a little louder. Saitama somehow seems older than Genos is used to, face clearly not yet used to smiling.
Genos will fix that too. Every broken part fixed. “Hello, Saitama. It’s Genos.”
“Huh.” Clearly not quite believing it, Saitama looks Genos up and down. He does that a lot, Genos knows. Tries to memorise the way Genos looks. As if Genos will ever leave for long enough for him to forget. “You actually came.”
Genos smiles. “Of course I did, Sensei. I may have said this before, but there are some things I want to learn.”
March 3rd ,2015-
Something extraordinary happened today.
The threat I was sent to eliminate turned out to be a humanoid mosquito creature, who had been feeding off of blood to make herself stronger. It seemed at first that I would be successful, but she proved far stronger than I imagined. I let my guard down. It seemed that there was no choice but to self-destruct.
Just before I could do so, I was saved by a bald, naked man.
Not only was he completely unharmed even after getting in the way of my incinerators (by my calculations, temperatures reached in excess of 3,000 °C. Normal human skin begins to show signs of damage at 44 °C), he destroyed the monster with a single blow, sending her splattering into a nearby building. Never in my life have I seen such strength. This man is extraordinary. He might be a god.
Even as I lay damaged on the ground, I decided that I needed to learn the secret to his immeasurable power. As it stands, I am not powerful enough to destroy the mad cyborg on my own, but if I follow him, I may one day reach the point where I can avenge my family once and for all. I will put my family's honour in his hands.
I trust him to guide me. I trust him to teach me everything I need to know.
His name is Saitama.