The testing floor had turned into a spectacle.
"…Strength output—three hundred thousand tons?"
"Running speed… one thousand meters per second?!"
"Directional changes… seventy times in a single second?"
The staff stared at the screens like they'd stopped making sense.
Because they had.
One after another, the applicants—Noah's so-called "friends"—stepped up and casually shattered every benchmark the Hero Association had ever relied on.
Some pushed into clear A-Class territory.
Several crossed the invisible threshold into S-Class.
And a select few…
Didn't even register a ceiling.
The machines simply… gave up trying.
It wasn't just raw physical stats either. Almost every one of them demonstrated some form of ability—energy projection, enhanced durability, strange hybrid powers that didn't fit neatly into any category.
The staff exchanged looks.
Then looked back at the group.
"You're all… associated with Nemesis?" one of them asked carefully. "From the same background?"
The question sounded ridiculous even as he said it.
When had S-Class potential become something you could mass-produce?
The situation escalated quickly. Headquarters sent specialists to verify the results.
They ran the numbers again.
Checked for interference.
Tampering.
Anything.
Nothing.
The results stood.
And when it came to the written exam?
These weren't rookies.
They answered like veterans—clean, efficient, near-perfect scores across the board.
By the end of the day, the Hero Association had quietly gained three new S-Class heroes and over thirty A-Class.
To anyone outside the loop, it felt unreal.
Then the alarms hit.
"Emergency alert. Multiple explosions reported across Z-City. Suspected Demon-level threat. All available heroes, respond immediately."
The room sharpened instantly.
This was what they'd been waiting for.
"Already?" someone muttered. "Multiple incidents, same city… feels coordinated."
It didn't take long to confirm that suspicion.
Z-City erupted.
Figures appeared across different districts—each one leaving destruction in their wake. Buildings collapsed. Fires spread. Entire streets were reduced to rubble within minutes.
At least a dozen threats.
All at Demon-level or higher.
And none of them hid.
They wanted to be seen.
They wanted to be marked.
Then, just as quickly—
They vanished.
No prolonged fights. No lingering presence.
Hit hard. Disappear.
Avoid retaliation.
The pattern was obvious.
They weren't here to win battles.
They were farming chaos.
When it was over, the city was left smoldering—dozens of blocks damaged, casualties mounting.
And then—
Silence.
Noah stood on a quiet street, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the horizon.
Then he spotted him.
"Hey," Noah called out. "Bald guy."
A figure sprinting down the road snapped his head toward him.
Clean-shaven head. Blank expression. Yellow suit, white cape, red gloves.
No mistaking it.
Saitama.
The man slowed just enough to glare.
"…What did you just call me?"
"No complaints," Noah said casually, jogging up alongside him. "Just thought the look suited you."
Saitama squinted at him.
"…Do I know you?"
"Nope."
"Then how do you know my name?"
Noah shrugged.
"Lucky guess."
Saitama stared at him for a second longer, then nodded to himself.
"Got it. I must've saved you before."
"…Not even close."
They ran side by side for a moment.
"I just felt like talking," Noah said.
"Can it wait?" Saitama replied, picking up speed. "There's trouble ahead."
Noah glanced forward.
Then—
He pushed off the ground.
The street cracked beneath his feet as he launched forward, vanishing in a straight line that distorted the air behind him.
Saitama blinked.
"…Huh."
West Z-City—
A massive figure rampaged through the district.
Five meters tall, heavily mutated, fists swinging like wrecking balls. Each strike sent shockwaves tearing through buildings, reducing entire blocks to debris.
Being a hero is too slow, the creature thought. Paperwork, tests… this is faster. Cause damage, move on, rack up results.
It laughed as another street collapsed.
In under a minute, the destruction spread across multiple blocks.
Then—
A blur.
A single, unremarkable punch.
The creature didn't even have time to react.
It exploded.
Not metaphorically.
There was no body left to fall. Just a burst of red mist and fragments scattered across the ruins.
Noah lowered his hand.
Clean. Controlled.
He turned toward the survivors, who stood frozen amid the wreckage.
"I'm Nemesis," he called out. "Make sure you tell the Association who handled this."
Behind him, a familiar figure landed.
Saitama looked around.
Then back at Noah.
"…How?"
Noah raised an eyebrow.
"How what?"
"That speed," Saitama said, eyes sharper now. "You moved that fast… and didn't wreck everything around you."
That was what caught his attention.
Not the punch.
Not the destruction.
The control.
"I've got my own methods," Noah said. "You won't be able to copy it."
Saitama's shoulders slumped slightly.
"…Oh."
Then Noah looked at him more closely.
"You want recognition, don't you?"
Saitama blinked.
"…What?"
"You're strong," Noah continued. "Ridiculously strong. But no one knows who you are. You want a better life, but you're stuck scraping by. You want people to notice you… and they don't."
Each word landed clean.
Saitama didn't interrupt.
"You tell yourself it doesn't matter," Noah said. "That you're above it. That you don't care about fame or money or any of that."
He pointed at him.
"But that's not true."
Saitama opened his mouth—
Then stopped.
Noah's gaze didn't waver.
"You want a real fight. You want stability. You want recognition. Maybe even friends."
A beat.
"And you don't have any of it."
The silence stretched.
Noah's voice softened slightly—but didn't lose its edge.
"You've got everything… and somehow ended up with nothing."
Saitama stood there, unmoving.
For once—
He didn't have a comeback.