"Has this world changed because of my interference? Are people appearing now who never once showed up in the Marvel universe? Characters who didn't exist before… suddenly stepping into play?"
Zenkichi left the scene with calm steps. He knew exactly what had just transpired, but he didn't care much.
Even if this world produced strong men, even if they could be considered dangerous, what of it? To him, it didn't matter.
If he wanted to become stronger, he needed worthy enemies. Fighting weaklings endlessly would only waste time. His path forward demanded greater challenges, and if fate offered them, he would meet them head-on.
Still, the figure he had sensed earlier intrigued him. Someone new—someone who had never appeared in the original Marvel storyline. A complete anomaly.
"That only makes things more interesting," he murmured to himself, withdrawing his perception of the stranger.
When he had first obtained Saitama's abilities, Zenkichi hadn't felt any sense of urgency about survival. Why should he? With that overwhelming strength, even if he met an enemy he could not defeat outright, he could never be killed. At worst, he could always escape.
That absolute security was the very reason he had stepped back, allowing events to unfold without rushing to control them. He wanted to see where this world would go, how unpredictable forces might emerge.
In fact, Zenkichi had even considered restraining himself—suppressing his own strength deliberately. Otherwise, he might never meet a true rival, never experience the thrill of standing against someone equal. Of course, the odds of that happening were slim. His power was already monstrous, beyond reason. In this world, very few could fight him to a standstill, let alone surpass him.
When that time came, if ever, the system would always be there, waiting to push him even further. Revenge, victory, growth—all would still be within his grasp.
…
Meanwhile, within the secured conference room, tension thickened.
"What did you say?" the old man whispered, his voice trembling. "You want us to join forces with you… to kill Zenkichi within this one-month gap?"
His disbelief was plain. The suggestion felt absurd, almost suicidal.
"Do you even understand who he is?" the old man cried, his voice rising. "How could we possibly be his opponents?"
The dragon-headed figure gazed at him with cold amusement.
"I know exactly who he is. And I know you cannot defeat him. But with me," he said, his tone low and certain, "what was once impossible becomes possible. If you cooperate, if you follow my lead, Arakawa Zenkichi will fall."
The words hung in the air, heavy with dangerous promise.
The old man clenched his fists. Silence pressed on him. He wanted to agree—part of him longed for the chance to strike—but he also knew the risk. If they failed, the cost would be unbearable.
Zenkichi would not simply forgive. He would investigate. And with his power, their schemes would be uncovered easily. When that happened, retaliation would be swift and merciless.
The dragon man's gaze sharpened, cutting through the old man's hesitation.
"Old man," he said, his voice smooth as steel. "Do you really think you have a choice?"
The elder froze, his throat dry.
"In truth," the dragon continued, his tone calm, merciless, "you never had a choice at all."
The room fell into silence, every official present feeling the weight of his words.
A choice that was not a choice.
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Milestone
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