Was Saitama a good person?
In Noah Vale's eyes, the answer was simple.
Yes.
He had desires—of course he did. Everyone did.
He wanted recognition. A comfortable life. Maybe even a little fame. None of that was unusual. What mattered was what he didn't do.
He never abused his strength.
Never used it to force the world to give him what he wanted.
And that was the strange part.
With power like his, recognition should have been inevitable. Someone should have noticed. Opportunities should have followed. That's how things were supposed to work.
But they didn't.
For three years, Saitama had remained invisible—living in obscurity, barely scraping by, like the world had collectively decided to ignore him.
It wasn't that he lacked ambition.
It was that nothing ever connected.
If Noah had been in that position?
He wouldn't have tolerated it.
The world didn't get to ignore someone like that.
And if it tried—
He'd make it notice.
Noah stepped forward and clapped a hand on Saitama's shoulder.
"Alright," he said. "I'm fixing this."
Saitama blinked.
"…Fixing what?"
"Your life," Noah replied. "We're getting you recognized. Properly."
He gestured vaguely, like he was sketching out a future in the air.
"Fame. Money. A decent place to live. No more chasing discount sales like it's a life-or-death situation."
Saitama scratched the side of his head, clearly tempted.
"…That does sound kind of nice."
"Great," Noah said immediately. "Decision made. Let's go."
"Wait—go where?"
"To register you as a hero."
Saitama frowned.
"…I already am a hero."
Noah gave him a look.
"You are. But to everyone else? You're basically a rumor."
He kept walking, expecting Saitama to follow.
"A few years ago, they set up an official system. Rankings, evaluations, the whole deal. If you're not in it, you don't exist. The higher your rank, the more people care."
Saitama trailed after him, listening.
"Right now? You beat monsters, and someone else probably takes the credit. You get nothing out of it."
That stopped him.
"…Nothing?"
"Nothing," Noah confirmed. "No money. No recognition. You've been doing this for years, and it's all gone to waste."
Saitama stared ahead, stunned.
"…Seriously?"
"Seriously."
They walked in silence for a moment.
Then Saitama's eyes lit up slightly.
"…They pay heroes?"
Noah snorted.
"Yeah. Even mid-tier heroes make a solid living. You've basically been working for free this entire time."
Saitama stopped walking.
"…I've been robbed."
"Exactly."
Noah grabbed him by the arm and kept moving.
"Come on. Let's fix that."
"Hey—hey, I'm coming! You don't have to drag me!"
Back at the Hero Association—
Noah walked straight up to the staff and pointed at Saitama.
"This is my friend. He's taken down threats way above your pay grade. Bit of an oddball, but he's legit. Run him through a strength test."
The staff didn't hesitate.
Noah had already proven his value.
More importantly, everyone upstairs had made it clear—if he asked for something, they were supposed to make it happen.
"Of course," the staff member said quickly. "Right away."
Noah leaned casually against the wall, waiting.
Then—
A voice boomed from outside.
"Nemesis! Get out here!"
The entire building seemed to pause.
Heads turned.
At the entrance stood a massive man in a tank top, muscles packed tight across his frame, radiating barely-contained aggression.
Recognition spread instantly.
"That's Tanktop Master—S-Class Rank 14."
"He's here for Nemesis."
"Didn't Nemesis take down one of his guys earlier?"
"That explains it…"
The whispers spread fast.
Noah glanced over.
Ah. Right.
The guy he'd flattened earlier had been wearing a tank top too.
Connections made.
Tanktop Master's gaze locked onto him and didn't move as he stepped inside.
"You're Nemesis," he said, voice low and controlled. "You storm into the Association, injure heroes, and still think you deserve S-Class status?"
Noah didn't even bother straightening up.
"I'm not interested in explaining myself," he said. "You didn't come here for a discussion."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You want to fight. Doesn't matter what I say—you're still going to swing."
The tension spiked.
Around them, people leaned in.
This was about to get interesting.
Tanktop Master's fist tightened.
He stepped forward—
And Noah moved first.
Not to attack.
To intercept.
He grabbed Saitama by the shoulders and casually placed him between them.
"Go through him first," Noah said. "If you can't beat him, you're not worth my time."
Saitama blinked.
"…Wait, what?"
Tanktop Master's expression darkened.
"You're mocking me."
"Not really," Noah replied. "Just setting a baseline."
Saitama raised both hands.
"Hey, maybe let's not do this—"
Too late.
Tanktop Master swung.
A wide, powerful strike meant to knock Saitama aside.
It didn't land.
Saitama caught his wrist.
Just… caught it.
Like someone stopping a door from closing.
He looked up, deadpan.
"Hold on. Can you not start swinging before I finish talking?"
Tanktop Master froze for half a second.
Then his eyes sharpened.
"…So that's it."
He pulled his arm back slightly, reassessing.
"No wonder he put you in front."
Saitama sighed.
"That's not what—"
This time, Tanktop Master didn't hold back.
He drove forward with real force, his punch carrying enough power to crush reinforced concrete.
Saitama raised a hand—
—and stopped it.
Again.
Effortlessly.
"…You really don't listen, do you?" Saitama said, tone flat.
For the first time—
Tanktop Master's confidence cracked.