Chapter 37: A Complicated Philosophy, A Simple Backhand.
The fight in the alley was a desperate, brutal affair. Midoriya, his body wreathed in the flickering green energy of One For All: Full Cowling, was a blur of motion. He was faster than he had ever been, but Stain was a seasoned killer. The villain's movements were erratic, unpredictable, his blades dancing in the close quarters, forcing Midoriya onto the defensive. Every dodge was a near-miss, every attack a gamble that could end with a single, paralyzing cut.
Just as Stain's blade was about to find its mark in Midoriya's shoulder, the alley was simultaneously engulfed in a blinding pillar of fire and a jagged wall of ice. Shoto Todoroki stood at the entrance, his expression grim, having received Midoriya's emergency location pin.
"One after another," Stain snarled, leaping back from the flames. "There are a lot of people getting in my way today."
What followed was a chaotic, brilliant, and bloody symphony of teamwork. The three students, three of the most powerful and promising of their generation, threw everything they had at the Hero Killer. Todoroki's ice controlled the space, his fire kept Stain at a distance. Midoriya's speed created openings. Even the paralyzed Iida contributed, his mind clear enough to shout warnings and observations. They were battered, bleeding, and pushing their Quirks past their limits, but together, they were slowly, painstakingly, wearing the legendary villain down.
They had him. He was cornered, bleeding from a deep gash in his shoulder from Todoroki's ice and bruised from one of Midoriya's desperate kicks. He was panting, his movements a fraction slower, but his eyes still burned with a terrifying, fanatical light. He was a cornered viper, ready for one last, lethal strike.
It was into this moment of ultimate, life-or-death tension that Saitama wandered, turning a corner at the far end of the alley.
He stopped, blinking in the dim light. The scene was chaotic. Three kids in flashy, torn-up costumes stood panting, looking exhausted. Across from them was a man who looked like he had lost a fight with a cutlery drawer and had a ridiculously long tongue. It was a very strange street fight. Saitama just wanted to ask for directions.
Stain saw him. He saw a plain, bald man in a simple tracksuit, holding a fancy bag of tea. A civilian. An example. He decided to make this a teaching moment.
"LOOK!" Stain roared, his voice echoing off the brick walls as he gestured with a bloody blade at the exhausted students. "LOOK AT THE STATE OF THESE SO-CALLED HEROES! DRIVEN BY REVENGE AND BLIND OBEDIENCE! THEY ARE FAKES! SYMPTOMS OF A SICK SOCIETY THAT HAS FORGOTTEN WHAT TRUE HEROISM IS! ONLY ALL MIGHT IS A TRUE HERO! THE REST MUST BE PURGED!"
His speech was a terrifying torrent of pure, undiluted conviction. The three students braced themselves, expecting a final, desperate attack.
Saitama, who had been patiently waiting for the man to finish yelling, let out a small, quiet yawn. The sound was utterly incongruous with the life-or-death tension of the alley.
"Sorry to interrupt," Saitama said, his voice a flat, bored monotone. "But your whole philosophy on heroes seems really… complicated. All the talk about fakes and purging… I don't really get it." He paused for a moment, then delivered the final, devastating verdict. "To be honest, it's kind of boring."
Stain froze. His entire ideology, his life's bloody work, his sacred crusade, had just been dismissed by this nobody, this absolute zero, as boring. It was an insult so profound it broke through his fanaticism and struck something deeper: his pride.
"You…" he snarled, his eyes wide with a sudden, murderous rage. "You are the disease! The mindless apathy that allows this world to rot! You will learn your place!"
He lunged, his katana a silver blur aimed not to kill, but to maim, to punish, to carve his philosophy into this fool's flesh.
Midoriya, Todoroki, and Iida all screamed a single, desperate word: "NO!"
Saitama watched the man swing the sword at him. It was an annoyance. A disruption to his quest for grilled meat. He didn't punch. He didn't dodge. He just reacted with the same casual, thoughtless motion he'd used to kill a mosquito. He performed a simple, dismissive backhand.
His knuckles made contact with the side of Stain's masked head.
The sound was not a slap. It was a dull, final, sickening CRACK.
Stain's eyes rolled back into his head. He was launched sideways, a boneless ragdoll. He slammed into the brick alley wall with an impact that shattered the bricks and sent a spiderweb of cracks erupting outwards. He slid down the wall into a crumpled, unconscious heap, his reign of terror ended not by a heroic ultimate move, but by a gesture of pure, unadulterated annoyance.
A profound, ringing silence fell over the alley. The three students stared, their minds refusing to process the scene. They had been in the fight of their lives. And this random bald man had just… ended it. With a backhand.
Saitama looked at the unconscious villain. "Sheesh," he muttered. "No need to get so worked up over a simple conversation." He then turned his blank, placid gaze to the three battered, speechless students. "So," he asked, his voice cutting through their collective shock like a knife. "You guys look like you know your way around this neighborhood. Any idea how to get to a place called 'All-You-Can-Grill Yakiniku'? The principal gave me a coupon."
Before any of them could possibly formulate a response, the alley was flooded with light and noise. Pro heroes, led by a flame-wreathed, furious-looking Endeavor, stormed the scene. They stopped dead, taking in the impossible sight: three of their most promising students, battered and bleeding; the legendary Hero Killer, Stain, unconscious and embedded in a crater in the wall; and a plain, bald man in a tracksuit, asking for directions to a restaurant.
"What in the world happened here?!" Endeavor's voice boomed.
Midoriya, still reeling, could only raise a trembling, broken finger and point at the one calm figure in the midst of the carnage. "H-he…" he stammered. "That man… he just… he hit him."
Endeavor's blazing eyes fixed on Saitama. He saw the simple tracksuit, the bored expression, the bag of expensive tea. He saw his own powerful son, leaning against a wall in exhaustion. He saw the shattered brickwork behind the defeated villain. None of it made any sense.
Who… Endeavor thought, the question a silent, burning shockwave in his mind, eclipsing even his own rage. Who in the world is this man?