"Director..."
Jordan turned to Director Zee with a questioning look.
The old man sighed, waving one hand dismissively. "Go. I'm just the middleman here. Don't worry about my opinion on this."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
Jordan signed his name on the Hero Association contract Bucky had brought.
The Association was still in its growth phase—casting wide nets, actively headhunting talent, offering generous compensation packages to anyone who showed promise. Everything Jordan had heard suggested they were throwing money at the problem.
Which explained Director Zee's frustration. His superiors had ordered full cooperation before the recruiters even arrived. And since this affected his officer's career prospects, he wasn't about to play the villain and block an opportunity.
Still couldn't be happy about losing good people to a private organization, though.
"Mr. Evans, my mission here is complete!" Bucky collected the signed documents, passing them to his associate. "However, per Association regulations, you'll need to visit our Z-City branch to complete some simple ability assessments. They'll determine your hero rank, initial placement, various administrative details. Hope you understand!"
Hero testing. Made sense.
Jordan nodded. "No problem. Happy to cooperate."
"Excellent! Looking forward to working with you!"
"Likewise."
Heroes. People who fought because it was right, not because it was profitable.
He knew how this world worked. He'd seen the canon timeline. The Hero Association would become bureaucratic, political, corrupt in places. Rankings determined by popularity contests instead of actual capability. Egos and sponsorship deals.
But the core would remain pure.
People like Mumen Rider, who'd throw himself at Deep Sea King knowing he'd lose. People like Bang, who'd trained his whole life to protect others. People like Genos, searching for justice. People like Saitama, who became a hero "for fun" but meant it with his whole heart.
Those souls won't change, Jordan thought. No matter what happens to the organization around them.
That was enough.
Before leaving the station, Jordan made one last stop at the director's office.
Director Zee looked up from his paperwork, exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes. He simply patted Jordan's shoulder once, gruffly said, "Do good work," then gestured toward the door.
"Get out of here."
Jordan grinned. "Yes, sir."
First stop after shift: convenience store.
Jordan's appetite had grown proportionally to his physical enhancement. Makes sense—a high-performance engine burns more fuel. His superhuman body demanded superhuman caloric intake.
He loaded up on household necessities and enough food to stock a refrigerator twice the size of his actual one. By the time he reached the checkout, plastic bags hung from both arms, threatening to cut off circulation.
Jordan paid, shuffled outside, and found a secluded corner between buildings.
Blue flames ignited. The bags vanished into cards, which disappeared into his deck.
Much better.
He turned to head home—
—and nearly collided with a familiar face.
"Good evening, officer!"
Saitama stood there with that simple, earnest expression, one hand raised in greeting. He scratched his head absently.
Two strands of black hair drifted down from between his fingers.
Jordan's eye twitched. Don't notice, don't notice, don't—
"That just now..." Saitama gestured at where the bags had been. "Was that a superpower? Are you one of those legendary esper people?"
Damn it.
A white card materialized in Jordan's palm, unbidden.
[Fantasy Card: Limiter Fragment] +1
Another one?
Jordan pocketed the card smoothly, mind racing. Saitama was staring at him with bright-eyed curiosity, completely unaware he'd just triggered another automatic card generation.
This changed things.
"Oh no," Jordan said, voice deliberately low and ominous. "You've discovered my secret."
Saitama's expression turned serious. He clenched his fists, settling into a ready stance—poorly executed, no real technique, but the intent was there.
"Ah, according to TV shows, this is when you kill me to keep me quiet, right?"
Jordan walked over and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Of course not! Since you've seen my secret..." He grinned. "You're coming with me."
Gurgle. Bubble. BOIL.
Crimson chili oil churned violently in the hot pot's center. Thick slices of discounted beef—beautiful marbling, perfect cut—hit the surface one by one. Within seconds, the bright red raw meat cooked through, releasing an aroma that could wake the dead.
Two men sat across from each other, sweat beading on their foreheads, eyes locked on the bubbling meat with laser focus.
"Thanks for the meal!"
The moment the beef reached optimal doneness, both moved.
Chopsticks flashed like sword strikes—two masters testing each other's limits, seeking openings, calculating trajectories. Their gazes met mid-air. Sparks flew.
Snap-snap-snap-SNAP!
Chopsticks clashed. Meat slices were seized, dipped in spicy sauce, devoured.
"Hsssss—hot! No, wait—spicy!"
Saitama's face went crimson, eyes watering. He frantically fanned his mouth, reaching for his beer.
Jordan, by comparison, remained elegant.
Enhanced physique meant the scalding meat posed zero threat. His reinforced jaw crushed the beef effortlessly while Saitama was still gasping for air. Jordan's chopsticks descended again, claiming the remaining slices.
"Ah... despicable!"
Saitama watched in devastation as Jordan consumed the last of the beef, actual tears streaming down his face.
"Hmph." Jordan wiped his mouth with theatrical precision, smirk spreading across his features. "When it comes to hot pot mastery, you're still ten years too early, Saitama!"
Another card appeared in his hand. He pocketed it smoothly.
[Limiter Fragment +1]
"Want to defeat me? Try again next time!"
"Next time..." Saitama scratched his head—five more hairs drifted loose—completely missing Jordan's wince. "I still can't believe you invited me. Thanks for the meal, Officer Evans. Seriously."
"Don't worry about it." Jordan waved dismissively, palming yet another fragment card. "Besides, you don't understand the true essence of hot pot."
Saitama straightened, eyes wide with genuine interest. "Eh? What is it?"
Jordan leaned forward conspiratorially.
"The essence of hot pot..." He paused for effect. "...is having someone to fight over the food with! A hot pot meal without competition is soulless!"
Saitama's expression turned reverent, like he'd received profound wisdom. He nodded seriously. "I see! I've never heard it explained that way before. That's... that's deep!"
"Glad you understand." Jordan patted his shoulder. "As tuition for this lesson, you're washing the dishes. Thanks."
"...Eh?"
They ate until late—past midnight by the time Saitama left, belly full, spirit satisfied, hair noticeably thinner.
Jordan summoned his Stand and stored the purchased ingredients in his now-empty refrigerator. He opened the balcony doors, letting the cool night breeze sweep through and clear the lingering hot pot smell.
The fresh air helped him focus.
[Fantasy Card: Limiter Fragment] x10
Ten white cards floated in the air before him, spinning lazily.
Jordan's eyebrow rose.
His Stand had never displayed this kind of behavior before. The cards had materialized on their own, arranged themselves without instruction. And through their connection, he felt something he'd never experienced from his Stand ability:
Emotion.
Intense, urgent emotion. Not words. Not commands. Just raw feeling that could be summarized as one concept:
COMBINE THEM.
"Alright," Jordan murmured. "Let's see what you've got."
He willed the fusion.
The ten cards ignited simultaneously—white light flaring bright enough to hurt. They overlapped, edges dissolving into each other, geometric patterns interlocking as they merged into a single form.
The light faded.
A new card floated in the air, still white-bordered, still N-rank.
The same grinning bald head with dead-fish eyes stared out from the card face.
But the text had changed.
[Fantasy Card: Limiter Break ACT1]
Type: Special • Rarity: N
Formed from the fusion of unknown fragments. Conceptual power given form.
Effect: Restriction Removal
Designate any target to break through one racial growth limit.
Jordan stared at the card, heart hammering.
One racial growth limit.
Any target.
The implications crashed through his mind like dominoes. Species-level restrictions, shattered. Biological ceilings, broken. The fundamental rule that separated humans from S-Class monsters, rendered obsolete.
This wasn't just powerful.
This was world-breaking.
Jordan's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the card.
The same goofy bald face grinned up at him, completely at odds with the cosmic-level ability it represented.
Saitama, Jordan thought, somewhere between awe and disbelief. What the hell are you?