After their spar, Saitama's status in T'Challa's mind skyrocketed. He'd heard the stories—"strongest man on Earth"—but now the young king of Wakanda revered him outright, basically a loyal fan.
Nearly every day he treated Saitama to the finest dishes and took him sightseeing across Wakanda. What surprised T'Challa was that Saitama's favorite spot turned out to be his sister's lab.
To be precise: the multi-trillion-dollar Hyper Brain.
Why? Because that computer never lagged when gaming.
It ran like a dream.
These days the bald slacker practically lived there. Princess Shuri played with him—head-to-head fighting games. Poor Shuri might be a technical prodigy, but in gaming… not so much at first. Saitama steamrolled her.
Having been crushed by KING back in the One Punch world, Saitama finally found his confidence again. Turns out he wasn't bad at games after all!
T'Challa: "..."
Okoye: "..."
That Hyper Brain controlled most of Wakanda's smart infrastructure, and it was currently running retro head-to-head brawlers. Even Shuri, the great scientist, seemed to have "stopped advancing and embraced decadence."
If the late king saw this, he might cough up blood.
Days slipped by.
The King of Slack seemed very comfortable in Wakanda—eating, drinking, playing, living his best life.
Until one day—
A stranger was brought before T'Challa under guard.
"Speak," Okoye, the Dora Milaje general, said coolly.
The stranger traded a glance with W'Kabi, Wakanda's defense minister standing not far away, then locked eyes with T'Challa. "I came here to punish this man who steals vibranium and kills the innocent—to accomplish what your king failed to do!"
T'Challa's face chilled. He knew exactly who this was.
Erik.
His uncle's son—the one who died by his father's hand. Toward this younger "brother," who bore him hatred, T'Challa felt an unshakable guilt.
"I know who you are. What do you want?" T'Challa said, voice cold.
Erik's father had betrayed Wakanda; his death was earned. Letting Erik stand here and speak was already magnanimous.
"I want the throne."
Mockery rippled through the gathered royals.
What a joke. A random outsider claims the throne? Did he think Wakanda's crown was a street-side trinket?
"You feast here, carefree, while billions across the world live like us—in misery. Wakanda can help them win their freedom," Erik pressed.
"What are you implying?"
"Vibranium. Your weapons."
"Our weapons aren't for warmongering. And Wakanda doesn't decide the fate of outsiders," T'Challa said.
"Outsiders? Did humanity not arise on this continent? Are all earthlings not your people?"
Erik argued back, relentless.
Before coming, he'd already made contact with W'Kabi—the elder statesman who once had the best shot at the throne. W'Kabi was sore about T'Challa's succession; in his view, a more senior royal like himself should have inherited.
But things hadn't gone his way. Under T'Challa, Wakanda had grown even more prosperous. Now, with a chance at last—a royal bloodline claimant, a strong rival for the crown—W'Kabi wasn't about to let it pass.
Their philosophies diverged sharply. W'Kabi believed Wakanda should rule the world—after all, their science was a thousand years beyond everyone else.
The late king, and T'Challa now, believed vibranium must protect Wakanda first and foremost; the more it leaked, the greater the danger.
"I'm not the king of all mankind. I'm the king of Wakanda. My duty is to protect my people and make sure vibranium never falls into hands like yours," T'Challa said icily.
"Son, we don't need to waste words on this liar. Reject him," said the queen mother.
"I haven't asked for anything yet. You haven't even asked who I am," Erik sneered.
He'd come for vengeance—to kill the Black Panther, seize the throne, and then use Wakandan technology to burn the world, to take revenge on it all.
At the same time—
Perhaps because Saitama was around, the princess who should've been at the palace was currently gaming with him—straight PvP.
As expected of the genius Shuri, after being farmed for a while she grasped the true essence of gaming. Her skill spiked—what had been even matches days ago had swung to her completely suppressing Saitama.
"KO!"
The giant screen flashed Saitama's defeat. The bald slacker nearly crushed his virtual controller in a huff—yes, their tech used a holographic interface.
"Your Highness, he woke up—and a stranger has been brought before the king," a lady-in-waiting at the door reported.
"Why are you only telling me now?" Shuri asked.
"Uh…"
The attendant didn't dare say it: you were gaming with Lord Saitama—who would dare interrupt?
"That man isn't a Wakandan. He's one of ours!"
Just then, Agent Ross—fresh from treatment—stepped down from the medical bed, staring, stunned. The entire scene was beyond anything he knew. He'd had a spinal injury, likely permanent; now he was fine—couldn't even find the scars.
"You're awake?" Shuri said.
"H-How did you save me? Is this… Wakanda?" Ross was baffled.
He'd flown over so-called Wakanda back when he was an Air Force pilot—nothing but endless savannah, poverty and backwardness as far as the eye could see.
Later, as an agent, he'd heard the same—barren land, so poor that even international mercenaries didn't take jobs here.
And yet—
Everything here shattered that idea.
And then he saw—
That bald legend known throughout the U.S.!
The prototype for the Mark armor—Saitama!
"Mr. Saitama?! W-Why are you here?"
A flood of wild possibilities hit him—was Saitama actually Wakandan?
"Oh, I'm just playing around," Saitama said, puzzled. He had no idea how notorious he'd become in the States—among agents and the political elite he was practically a taboo subject.
"But we need to go—now. He's one of ours!" Ross said urgently.
Shuri's face tightened. They moved for the door.
But the palace was some distance away—hopefully they weren't too late.
"Alright. Looks important. I'll take you," Saitama sighed, dismissing the virtual controller. He grabbed Shuri in one hand and Ross in the other.
The trio vanished.
A heartbeat later—
Ross nearly stumbled—he'd materialized in the palace hall.
And T'Challa and Erik's argument had already hit a breaking point.
(End of Chapter)
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