The sky split open with a sound like a building being torn in half. For a few seconds, the clouds just swirled around. Below, the people of Chicago were already way ahead of them.
Sirens blared. Helicopters scrambled. Someone screamed something about aliens. It wasn't an unreasonable guess.
The air rippled with pressure, bending light like a mirage. Children pointed. Tourists backed away, phones trembling in their hands. Police shouted orders over loudspeakers, cordoning off the area. And then, just like that, the glowing tear in reality snapped shut. No explosion. No laser beams. Just a small popping sound, like someone had opened a soda can with too much pressure.
What remained behind was a bald man in a yellow jumpsuit and a blank expression, standing on top of a ruined hot dog cart.
Saitama blinked. Slowly.
He looked around.
"...Huh."
People stared. Some took out their phones. One guy dropped his sandwich.
"This... definitely isn't the supermarket."
He stepped off the cart with a squelch, eyeing the half-squashed hot dog beneath his boot.
"Aw, man. I was actually kind of hungry."
Mark Grayson had just finished his physics homework when his phone lit up with an alert.
"Sky rift? Potential alien threat? Downtown?" he muttered, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, shutting his textbook. "Guess dinner can wait."
He peeked out his window. The sun was already dipping behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the city. Another peaceful evening ruined.
Downstairs, he heard his mom call out, "Mark? Don't forget to take out the trash!"
"In a minute!" he called back, already tugging on his suit. He wasn't officially on patrol, but with stuff like this happening weekly, who could afford to be picky?
With a quick burst of energy, Mark soared into the sky, the yellow-and-blue blur of his costume trailing behind him. The goggles locked into place over his eyes as he climbed higher, angling toward the smoke curling up from downtown.
It took only two minutes to get downtown. The crowd was dense, but people had already pulled out the yellow caution barriers and made a respectable circle around the man in the yellow suit. Mark hovered above, scanning the area for the threat.
Then he saw the bald guy just... standing there. Eating a hot dog.
Well, more like chewing on the burnt remains of what might once have been a hot dog.
Mark finds the whole situation weird.
Saitama glanced up.
"Yo."
Mark landed a few feet away, cautious but trying to appear confident. He tried his best to channel his dad's serious hero vibe.
"Hey, uh, I'm Invincible. You okay, sir? You kinda fell out of a... hole in the sky."
"Did I?" Saitama looked around again. "Oh. I guess that explains the headache."
Mark squinted. The guy didn't look like a threat. But appearances were deceiving, especially in this line of work.
"You're not... invading, right?"
Saitama tilted his head. "Invading what?"
"Earth."
"This is Earth? Dang. I was trying to get to a supermarket on Z-City Street back home. Must've taken a wrong turn at that teleporting toilet."
Mark blinked. "Teleporting toilet?"
"Yeah, it's a whole thing. You wouldn't get it."
Mark didn't know how to respond to that.
Cecil Stedman watched the feed from his control room, stroking his chin. The new arrival didn't match any known alien race. No energy signatures. No enhanced readings. Just a bald guy in a yellow onesie.
But the rift had definitely been dimensional. And the moment it closed, a huge spike of energy had been detected—brief, but intense.
"Send a drone in. Scan everything. And keep the Guardians on standby," he said.
"Sir, he's eating the wreckage."
Cecil frowned. The monitor zoomed in. Saitama had picked up a bent piece of hot dog cart and was chewing the hot dog he found inside and eating it thoughtfully.
"...Alright. Keep watching." Cecil ordered
Mark cleared his throat. "So... you've got a name?"
"Saitama."
"Just Saitama?"
"Yeah. I'm a hero. For fun."
Mark blinked. "Wait, seriously?" You're a hero.''
"Yep."
Mark couldn't decide if he was joking. But before he could ask anything else, a massive explosion rocked the nearby plaza. Rubble flew, people screamed, and a familiar roar echoed across the street.
"Mauler Twins," Mark groaned. "Of course."
Two identical blue-skinned giants stomped into view, flinging police cars and taunting civilians.
"Back off, hero-boy!" one shouted. "We're just here for a quick score."
Mark shot into the air. "Sorry, wrong day for that."
He dove at one of the twins, fist cocked back—only to be swatted mid-air like a fly. He crashed through a Starbucks window, glass and coffee beans raining down on the startled baristas.
Saitama, meanwhile, was brushing dust off his cape.
"Big guys, huh. Reminds me of those rhino brothers last week."
He casually walked toward the commotion, hands in his pockets. A gust of wind kicked up debris around him, but he didn't flinch.
Mark groaned, lifting himself from the broken coffee machine. He looked up just in time to see Saitama standing between the twins.
"Hey," the bald man said. "You guys know where the nearest supermarket is?"
The Mauler Twins looked at each other.
"Is this guy serious?"
"I think he's lost."
One twin reached forward to grab him. "Listen, cue-ball, if you don't want to get hurt—"
SPLAT.
There was no build-up. No dramatic music. Just a sound like a watermelon meeting a freight train.
One of the twins crumpled into the pavement, leaving a crater ten feet wide.
The other blinked. "Wait. What—"
SPLAT.
Same result.
Mark hovered in the air, jaw unhinged. He flew down in disbelief.
"You punched them."
"Yeah," Saitama said, flicking dust off his glove. "They were kind of loud."
Mark stared at the craters. "You one-punched them."
Saitama shrugged. "It happens."
Back at the Pentagon facility, Cecil stood up so fast he knocked over his coffee.
"Get me everything on this guy. Now."
End of Chapter 1.