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I am Saitama - Chapter 36: Unexpected visit
🕑 Added 2025-08-22 03:47:55 +0000 UTCAfter Fubuki’s brief appearance at Mizuki’s doorstep, Saitama came back inside to return to his previous “activities with Mizuki.” Unfortunately for him, his girlfriend had passed out for good—in other words, she was sound asleep, sprawled across the couch without a care in the world.
Saitama sighed, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “Man… just when things were getting good.”
He took a clean sheet, draped it gently over Mizuki’s body, and lingered for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall in peaceful rhythm. She looked content, and that eased his irritation—at least a little. With nothing else to do, he shuffled out and made his way back to his own apartment in Z-City.
The trip back was pretty uneventful, the only thing he did was was a detour for a few seconds to buy some things at the grocery store, but the moment he slid his key into the door and pushed it open, his usual sense of dull comfort vanished. His eyes landed on something unexpected: two figures sitting calmly at his table. One he had fully anticipated, and the other… absolutely not.
There was Genos, his ever-dedicated cyborg disciple, sitting stiffly like a guard on duty. And across from him, of all people, was Tatsumaki—the Tornado of Terror—casually sipping tea as if she owned the place.
Saitama froze in the doorway, his grocery bag dangling limply at his side.
What the hell?! Do I have a magnet for esper chicks today? he thought, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
Both Genos and Tatsumaki turned their heads toward him in unison.
“Sensei! Welcome home!” Genos exclaimed with visible relief, almost as if he’d been waiting for backup.
Meanwhile, Tatsumaki remained as she was, sipping tea with an unusual calm that looked completely out of character for the hot-headed esper. Her eyes, however, tracked him like a hawk.
Saitama walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. “Genos… what the hell is she doing here?”
The cyborg disciple looked uneasy, his mechanical hands resting awkwardly on the table. “Well, sensei, while you were gone, Tatsumaki knocked at the door and asked for you. I… obviously told her to go away. But she didn’t take no for an answer, so then she… ah…” Genos trailed off, a hint of embarrassment crossing his usually stoic face.
“I kicked his ass,” Tatsumaki said flatly, interrupting without hesitation. She set the teacup down with a soft clink. Her expression didn’t change, but the smirk tugging at her lips made it clear she was proud of herself. “I’ve been waiting for hours, baldy. Where the hell have you been?”
Saitama’s eye twitched.
This little—!! He clenched his fist slightly, fighting back a wave of irritation at her audacity. The gall to just waltz into his place, rough up Genos, and then demand answers as if she was his boss.
“It’s none of your business, little goblin,” he shot back, his tone sharper than usual. “So why don’t you spit it out? What do you want? I don’t exactly have the patience for this today.”
Tatsumaki crossed her arms, floating just a couple of inches off the chair to make herself look more imposing. “Hmph. Touchy, aren’t we? What, did I interrupt something?”
Saitama’s scowl deepened.
Why was he upset? Simple: he couldn’t finish what he started with Mizuki. On top of that, he didn’t get to spend the day with her like they planned, since she was now knocked out cold. And realistically, he knew she wouldn’t be ready for round two until much later—probably around 10 p.m. at the earliest. Which meant he had nine, painfully long hours to kill.
And now, instead of resting or zoning out with his video games, he had a nosy green-haired tornado in his kitchen, sipping his tea like she lived there.
“Listen, Tatsumaki,” Saitama said, rubbing the back of his head with exaggerated tiredness, “if you came here just to bust my chops, you can go float back to your own place. I’ve got enough crap on my plate already.”
Tatsumaki hovered just above the floor, her small frame rigid, the faint hum of psychic energy surrounding her like static. She tilted her head slightly, her piercing green eyes narrowing as if she were dissecting him with her gaze. “I came here because I thought we were still going to help with A-City reconstruction.” Her voice carried that sharp, condescending tone she usually reserved for idiots who wasted her time, but there was something softer lurking underneath it.
“Huh?” Saitama raised a brow, blinking at her blankly. “Didn’t you hear? They’re almost finished. It’s not necessary to keep going anymore.” He said it casually, as if the monumental task of rebuilding a city was no different than sweeping his apartment.
“Yes, but…” Tatsumaki’s voice faltered. For the first time, she didn’t sound like the untouchable Tornado of Terror. Her floating body dipped ever so slightly, her psychic aura flickering unevenly. Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned her face just enough to avoid his eyes. “I-I, well, I heard it too. The thing was that I was hoping to meet you here because I wanted to ask you to do something for me.”
Now that’s a surprise, thought the bald hero as he scratched his cheek, eyeing her carefully. He had seen Tatsumaki throw fits, crush monsters, and belittle other heroes into silence, but never once had he seen her hesitate like this. Never had he seen her blush. Not even the manga panels he half-remembered from before gave her this kind of… human awkwardness. What could possibly make the Tornado of Terror blush like a high-school girl confessing behind the gym?
“I-I w-wanted to a-ask you…” Her words came out in a series of stammers, completely unlike the usual fire that blazed from her tongue. Tatsumaki clenched her fists tightly at her sides, as if she had to squeeze the courage out of herself. Finally, with a deep breath and a glare meant to mask her vulnerability, she blurted out: “If you will train me?”
The question hung in the air, heavier than the debris she normally hurled around with ease.
Oh… so that’s what all this is about, Saitama thought, blinking slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but his mind was already piecing things together. She probably asked this because of that talk we had the other day. Maybe also because of Boros. That guy pushed me harder than anyone before… and everyone saw the fight and they seemed to be pretty impressed with it, so it was predictable that some like Tatsumaki would begin to doubt her strenght after that…
He sighed, a long, weary exhale, and tilted his head toward the ceiling as if searching for the right words up there.
“I’ll have to be honest, Tatsumaki,” he began, his tone steady but not unkind, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how I could make you strong. Your powers don’t have a single thing in common with mine. And frankly…” His eyes flicked to the side, toward Genos, who had been standing quietly like a statue, watching the exchange without interrupting. “…I already have a disciple.”
Genos’s cybernetic eyes gleamed faintly, and though he said nothing, the almost imperceptible nod he gave confirmed his silent agreement. Saitama could practically feel the “Yes, Sensei is correct” radiating from his metallic frame.
“Besides,” Saitama added, scratching the back of his neck again, “you’re already a pretty experienced hero by now. I don’t know what I could even teach you.”
The words slipped from his mouth simply, but each one seemed to land on Tatsumaki like a weight. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her face shifted, transforming in a matter of seconds. The flustered blush remained, but the embarrassment hardened into a scowl. Her emerald eyes narrowed, not with hesitation now, but with simmering fury.
It wasn’t just rejection—Saitama could see it. It was more like…humiliation.
Her small figure trembled, and the atmosphere around the room thickened like the air before a storm. A low, vibrating hum filled the space as the psychic pressure built up, rattling his ceiling lamp and tugging at loose items scattered across the floor.
“Oh crap…” Saitama muttered, realizing a split second too late what was about to happen.
An invisible grip wrapped around him like a giant’s hand, unmistakable in its crushing force. Tatsumaki.
“Hey, wait—” he managed to get out before the telekinetic shove launched him upward. The ceiling cracked like brittle plaster as his bald head punched through, chunks of debris raining down behind him. In a blur, his body shot through the roof and into the open sky.
The city shrank beneath him as he soared higher and higher, propelled by sheer psychic wrath. Clouds whipped past as the air grew colder, his cape flapping wildly in the rush.
And just before the wind swallowed everything else, Saitama thought he caught the faint, furious cry echoing from the tiny esper below:
“IDIOT!!”
Saitama burst through the thin plaster ceiling like a missile, arms and legs flailing comically as he was sent rocketing into the night sky. Bits of roof and dust trailed behind him like confetti, showering down on his poor, long-suffering apartment.
“Ah crap, I had just fixed the roof,” he muttered in midair, still spinning lazily while the moon loomed above him.
Genos, who had remained silent through the whole exchange, slowly looked up at the new hole in the ceiling. His robotic eyes whirred, scanning the damage, before sighing in his usual monotone. “Sensei will have to fix the roof. Again.”
Down below, Tatsumaki’s tiny figure floated above the floor, fists clenched, face beet-red. She huffed and puffed like a boiling teapot, clearly torn between storming out or waiting for Saitama to fall back down so she could yell at him more.
“Stupid, stupid baldy!” she growled, kicking an empty noodle cup near the couch. The plastic container clattered pitifully against the wall and flopped to the ground—hardly the kind of destruction the Tornado of Terror was known for, but it was the best she could do without leveling the entire apartment. “Who does he think he is, brushing me off like some rookie?! I’m the Tornado of Terror! The number two S-Class hero! If I say I want training, then he should—ugh—he should…”
Her words trailed off. Tatsumaki’s cheeks ballooned as she puffed them out, her anger momentarily faltering. “He should at least take me seriously…” she muttered, voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.
That admission hung awkwardly in the air. She hugged her arms close, as if she were trying to squeeze the words back into her chest before anyone else could hear. Unfortunately for her, Genos stood only a few steps away, silent but observant, every twitch of her expression already being cataloged in his memory banks.
Genos tilted his head slightly, his mechanical pupils narrowing as data flickered across them. “...Interesting,” he remarked, his voice cool and clinical, though internally, dozens of probability trees lit up across his processors. Is this… jealousy? Perhaps a demand for validation? Or… something else entirely?
Before he could say more—or decide whether to report this curious moment to his master—Tatsumaki’s aura surged. Her body shimmered with an emerald glow, the air around her crackling with psychic energy that ruffled Genos’s cloak. She shot him an indignant glare, as though daring him to repeat what he had just thought.
“Tell that ‘sensei’ of yours,” she spat, her little fingers sketching mocking air quotes around the word, “that I hope he burns in hell. Goodbye, douchebag.” She said as she flipped off Genos with her middle finger.
With that, she launched herself upward in a streak of green light, the windows rattling in their frames as she blasted through the open sky.
The apartment fell quiet, save for the faint hum of Genos’s core. He stood motionless, staring at the space Tatsumaki had just occupied.
“…Sensei’s interpersonal relationships are… increasingly complicated,” he finally said aloud, his tone betraying no emotion. His eyes flicked to the noodle cup she had kicked, now upside-down on the floor. “Still… for someone so adamant about being taken seriously, she spends an extraordinary amount of energy seeking Master’s acknowledgment.”
He crouched down, picked up the discarded cup, and disposed of it with robotic precision before adding quietly, “I must observe further.”
(Meanwhile up in the sky…)
Saitama finally slowed his ascent, gravity pulling him back toward Earth. He pinwheeled helplessly until he landed with a spectacular thud in a neighboring park, cratering the ground and startling a flock of pigeons into the air.
He sat up, brushing off dirt from his cape, and sighed again.
“Man… she’s really something else.” He stared up at the stars, his plain expression hiding the fact that, deep down, he actually was kind of surprised. “Tatsumaki, huh? Asking me to train her…”
It don’t make sense. She is already ridiculously strong—strong enough to squash dragons-level threats without breaking a sweat, strong enough to outmatch almost anyone in the Association. And yet…
“She looked serious, though,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “Weird.”
His thoughts briefly returned to Boros, to the overwhelming power he had unleashed, and to the rare excitement that fight had brought him. Maybe Tatsumaki had felt something similar when she saw him fight. Maybe she wanted to know what it was like to push past her limits, the same way the old Saitama once had.
Saitama stood, dusted off his hero costume, and started the long walk back home, he took it easy as he knew that after that outrage, Tatsumaki probably was gone and he wasn’t in a rush to fix the roof...again.
Comments
StoryMasterKick
Sorry if it was a little bit too ahort, the next chapters are way larger, thanks for reading
finnikin finnikin
This chapter is a bit short
