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I am Saitama - Chapter 27: The Preview of the Meeting
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 17:35:50 +0000 UTC(Z-City, Downtown – 11:15 AM)
“Okay... I didn’t expect to spend my Saturday like this,” Saitama thought with a flat expression, casually dodging another swipe from the monster’s massive claw. He hopped to the side with the ease of someone avoiding puddles, not death.
One Punch Man. S-Class Hero, Rank: 5
“You fucker!! Stop dodging my attacks!!” snarled the beast in a guttural voice.
It looked like a wolf—or at least what a lunatic might think a wolf should look like. Its fur was thick and dark gray, mottled with grime and splashes of blood. The face was an exaggerated snarling muzzle, and its hunched frame towered at nearly four meters, broad-chested and bipedal like some unholy fusion of horror movie villain and fairy tale monster.
“I am a man who read too many fairy tales, and because of my sympathy for the villain... I became the Big Bad Wolf!” he roared, slamming both paws together. “Tremble before me!!”
A shockwave tore through the air as he swung again, a raw burst of pressure launched toward Saitama. The hero blinked as he sidestepped it. The wave missed him but struck the building behind.
BOOM!
The structure cracked, then crumbled in on itself with a deafening crash. Debris filled the street as people screamed and fled the area.
Big Bad Wolf – Disaster Level: Wolf
Saitama landed lightly on the pavement, hands in pockets, cape fluttering behind him. His expression flattened even more.
“Tch... if he keeps this up, someone’s gonna get hurt,” he muttered, glancing at the destruction over his shoulder. He sighed and adjusted his loose glove.
And I have a meeting in less than an hour... Can’t waste the whole day babysitting fairy tale rejects.
He stepped forward, calling out to the beast.
“Hey, buddy! I’ve got a busy schedule today. S-Class meeting in, like, forty-five minutes,” Saitama said, gesturing toward his imaginary watch. “So how about we wrap this up? You stop attacking pig farms and terrorizing grandmas, and I don’t turn you into roadkill. Sound good?”
The wolf blinked, then burst into cruel, echoing laughter.
“HAHAHAHA! You dare try to reason with me, the Big Bad Wolf?! You fool! Don’t you understand?! I won’t stop until I’ve eaten every damn pig and every last grandma in this city!”
Saitama’s eyelid twitched. He raised a brow.
“You know I have to punch you now, right?” he asked flatly, already squaring his shoulders.
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow you and your house down!” the Wolf roared, flexing his muscles in a show of dominance.
A vein popped visibly on Saitama’s temple.
This fucker is way too into character. I’m done playing, he thought as his silhouette suddenly vanished from sight.
The Wolf blinked.
“Wh-What did he just do? Where’d he—?”
THUD!
A blur, a shockwave, and then silence.
The last thing the monster saw was a fist—calm, ordinary, inevitable—barreling toward his face. The punch connected with such force that the Wolf’s head launched from his shoulders, pulverizing on impact with the concrete wall behind him.
His decapitated body stood for a second, blood arcing from the stump like a twisted fountain, before slumping over and collapsing onto the pavement with a heavy, wet thud.
Saitama stared at the mess and sighed.
“Gross.”
He flicked a piece of fur off his glove and turned to walk away.
“Well, that’s done. Time to get back home, shower, microwave something, and head to HQ before they start the meeting without me.”
He paused, then added with a frown: “…though I doubt they’d start without me.”
He walked off, cape fluttering behind him, as emergency sirens began to echo faintly in the distance.
(Y-City, Circus Plaza – 11:15)
"AAAAAHHHH!!"
"RUN!! A MONSTER!!"
Screams erupted across the plaza as families and staff fled in terror from the small local circus now engulfed in chaos. Brightly colored tents flapped violently in the wind as frightened children sobbed and balloons floated aimlessly skyward. The source of the panic was striding through the heart of the circus ring: a grotesque parody of joy, twisted into something nightmarish.
Standing nearly 3 meters tall, the creature wore a torn, oversized clown suit dyed in faded reds and purples, covered with filthy polka dots. Its arms were elongated and rubbery, with white gloves now torn at the fingertips, revealing jagged, claw-like nails underneath. Its face was a horror-show hybrid of makeup and monstrous anatomy: the white face paint peeled away in chunks, revealing grayish, textured skin beneath. Its mouth stretched far wider than humanly possible, filled with multiple rows of mismatched, yellowing teeth. Blood-red hair burst out wildly from either side of its elongated head like a frizzled explosion, and its red nose had fused into a swollen, pulsating lump.
It waddled with exaggerated, bouncing steps in giant shoes that squeaked with each impact, trailing shreds of balloon rubber and partially digested props behind it.
“Monster? Me? Hahaha—” it cackled, spinning dramatically before tripping on one of its massive shoes and slamming into the ground with a loud, theatrical BOMP!
"Well, the only monster I see is the one that ate all my polka-dotted socks! You see, they're not just socks, they're my friends! And now, I have to find a new way to keep my tootsies cozy!"
Standing just a few meters away, a lone child watched him without a hint of emotion. He was short and young-looking, perhaps around ten or eleven, with soft brown hair that curled into a cowlick, large amber eyes, and a plain, unreadable expression. He held a popsicle to his lips, unfazed by the chaos.
"Wow, that was the lamest joke I've ever heard," he said flatly.
He wore a sky-blue polo shirt, dark cobalt shorts, and bright orange sneakers with white rims. Slung over his back was a bulky black backpack, metallic seams and panels hinting at its hidden purpose.
The clown blinked, seemingly thrown off. “Now, what are you supposed to be?”
The boy didn’t answer.
The clown took a deep, rattling breath. “Don’t you know me?! I worked at this circus for twenty years! But then one day, poof! Fired!” He made exaggerated air quotes. “They said I wasn’t ‘funny’ anymore. Can you believe that?! So I decided to take revenge. I devoured the other clowns, the ringmaster, the magician’s rabbit—hell, even the cotton candy machine! I became the ultimate clown!” His face split into a gruesome grin. “I am Zobo the Clown!”
Zobo the Clown – Disaster Level: Tiger
The boy slowly raised an eyebrow, still sucking on his popsicle.
Zobo continued, trying again to provoke a reaction. “Hey kid, do you know what you call someone who eats popsicles?” He leaned forward, his grotesque face close. “A pop-sicle-ologist! Get it?! Because—”
“Aha,” said the boy, unimpressed.
Zobo’s smile twisted. “Y-you dare mock me?! If my jokes won’t break you, maybe this will!!”
His muscles bulged grotesquely, tearing through the fabric of his already tattered costume. His jaw unhinged, mouth stretching downward while thick cords of muscle pulsed across his limbs. His eyes turned crimson, glowing with sadistic glee as veins bulged across his now monstrous frame. His voice deepened into a guttural roar.
“IF YOU DON’T FIND MY HUMOR FUNNY, MAYBE YOU’LL FIND IT FUNNIER WHEN I RIP OUT YOUR VOCAL CHORDS SO YOU CAN NEVER LAUGH AGAIN!!”
But the boy didn’t flinch. He didn't even blink. He simply let the wooden stick of the finished popsicle drop from his mouth.
“…Backpack, attack.”
In a flash, a mechanical appendage sprang from the backpack like a serpent, snapping into position above his shoulder. A panel opened, revealing a high-powered plasma cannon. It charged for half a second, humming with intensity, then—
BOOM!
The detonation was massive. The shockwave leveled the surrounding circus tent. When the smoke cleared, all that remained was a smoking, circular crater, still glowing at its edges.
The boy licked his fingers clean and muttered, “That one was mango. Not bad.”
He adjusted his backpack as the mechanical arm folded itself back inside, and flicked his wrist to check the time on his high-tech smartwatch.
11:20 AM.
Child Emperor. S-Class Hero, Rank: 6 (Formerly 5).
He sighed, turning away from the destruction like it was a morning chore. "The S-Class meeting starts in about 40 minutes. Still enough time to drop by HQ."
New intel requiring reclassification of potential extinction-level scenarios… tsk. That’s just a cover story. There’s more to this. They wouldn’t summon all of us unless it was serious.
He pressed a button on the remote control that extended from his backpack. A pair of thrusters unfolded, igniting with a soft blue flame. He floated upward, soaring above the city ruins like a metallic cherub of judgment, already leaving the mess behind.
"The Association's cleanup crew will handle the rest."
As he flied through the air, while he keep eating his popsicle, only one thought was on his head.
Hmm, I wonder if rank 5 and rank 1 will attend, I am very interested in knowing them. Specially rank 5, he outranked me from one day to the next after all.
(Somewhere in the Countryside, 11:25 AM)
The gentle clinking of porcelain echoed softly through the open-air room as a breeze whispered through the sliding paper walls. The faint scent of tatami and incense filled the air. Seated in seiza before a low wooden table, Atomic Samurai finished the last sip of his green tea, eyes half-closed, savoring its warmth. The bamboo leaves outside rustled as if acknowledging the moment’s serenity.
He slowly placed the ceramic cup back onto the tray with careful precision, then wiped his mouth with a simple cloth before folding it neatly and setting it beside the cup.
“Peaceful mornings like this...” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “...are rarer every year.”
Atomic Samurai. S-Class Hero, Rank: 4
He rose to his feet in a fluid motion, not a muscle wasted, and walked toward the weapon stand resting near the back wall. His katana — a beautiful, lacquered sheath housing a blade that had tasted more monster blood than most heroes could count — waited for him. He tied it to his waist with a practiced movement, the cloth sash perfectly aligned.
“Monster threats, prophecies, political maneuvering... I can smell the tension behind this meeting from miles away,” he said as he slid open the wooden panel door.
On the porch sat his three disciples: Iaian, Okamaitachi, and Bushidrill — each kneeling respectfully, already aware of his plans.
“You won’t be joining us, Master?” asked Bushidrill.
Atomic Samurai gave a small nod but didn’t look back. “This one is S-Class only. Stay here. Keep training. Watch over the dojo.”
Okamaitachi grinned. “Try not to cut anyone in half during a staff meeting.”
He finally turned his head with a faint smirk. “Can’t promise that.
As he stepped off the veranda into the gravel path, the sunlight caught the glint of his blade. Without breaking stride, he plucked a falling leaf from the air with two fingers, examined it for a moment... and then let it drift away in the wind.
“I’ll be back by sunset... unless this meeting turns out as bad as it smells.”
With that, he strode off down the stone path that led to the main road — where a black, armored Association vehicle already waited in the distance, surrounded by the silence of nature and the quiet hum of approaching war.
(Z-City, Bang Dojo, 11:30 AM)
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath Bang’s bare feet as he completed his final kata of the morning, each strike crisp and deliberate. His breath was steady, his old yet powerful frame glistening faintly with sweat under the filtered light coming through the open shōji screens. Outside, the courtyard garden swayed gently under the wind, the bamboo stalks whispering in rhythm with his movements.
He ended the form with a sharp exhale, returning to a resting stance. Silence followed — not the silence of stillness, but one filled with years of discipline, regrets, and responsibility.
“Master Bang…” a voice called from behind.
Charanko stood at the edge of the dojo, dressed in his white gi, looking slightly nervous, as always. He rubbed the back of his head. “Are you really going to that meeting?”
Bang gave a quiet nod, wiping his hands with a towel. “The Hero Association doesn't summon all S-Class heroes lightly. If they’re calling us together, something’s coming.”
Silver Fang. S-Class Hero, Rank: 3
He walked over to a small rack and retrieved his gi top and cloak, slowly tying the sash around his waist.
“While I’m gone, the dojo is your responsibility.”
Charanko blinked. “M-me? But master, I’m the only one left…”
Bang smiled faintly, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. “Precisely. You may be my only disciple now, but that means you carry the weight of this place. Sweep the floors. Keep your forms sharp. Don’t break anything.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
Bang’s expression darkened slightly as he looked out at the garden. “...And if a strong monster appears, do not engage. Just run. Understood?”
Charanko straightened up. “Understood!”
With a slow breath, Bang stepped into his wooden sandals by the entrance, the same ones he’d worn into countless battles. His cloak billowed gently in the wind as he paused by the threshold.
“Train hard while I’m gone. If you’re going to carry the Bang Dojo’s name, you must become more than just enthusiastic.”
“I won’t let you down, Master!” Charanko said, trying to sound confident — though his voice cracked just a little.
Bang chuckled softly and waved without turning back. “Then don’t.”
And with that, he leapt gracefully over the front steps and began walking down the stone path toward Z-City’s central district, the looming Association HQ visible in the far distance like a steel mountain. His mind sharpened like a blade as he considered what might await.
A storm was coming — he could feel it in his old bones or maybe it was just his old age.
(Eastern Mountain Range – 11:30 AM)
The sky above the rocky expanse cracked with thunder, though there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. Birds fled, and even the wind seemed to retreat in silence.
Below, the earth trembled.
A colossal roar echoed through the valley as the ground split open and something ancient emerged — towering over 100 meters, covered in armored scales of jagged obsidian and moss-ridden ridges. Its form resembled that of a monstrous dinosaur, but twisted by time and something far more malicious. Its glowing red eyes scanned the terrain with primal fury.
Ancient King – Disaster Level: Dragon+
“TREMBLE, MORTALS… FOR I HAVE RETURNED AFTER A MILLION YEARS OF SLUMBER. THE ERA OF HUMANS IS AT AN END!”
A sudden flash of green light descended from the sky.
A petite figure floated down slowly, her arms crossed, expression unreadable — save for the familiar, permanent scowl of irritation.
Tatsumaki. S-Class Hero, Rank: 2
Tatsumaki, the Tornado of Terror, arrived without fanfare.
She stopped midair about 50 meters above the beast’s head, her green hair flowing in the windless sky. “Ugh. What a loudmouth. I was in the middle of a nap.”
The Ancient King roared again and raised one massive clawed limb, shattering a mountain peak with ease.
“You DARE float above me like some insect?! I AM—”
Tatsumaki rolled her eyes. “I really don’t care.”
Suddenly, her aura flared — a radiant green force that crackled with psychic pressure. The very air warped around her as she raised a single hand toward the heavens.
“I could crush you like a bug, but… let’s try something more appropiate for someone of your size..”
High above the stratosphere, space twisted unnaturally. Debris swirled. A red dot became a streaking light. A chunk of rock, larger than the Ancient King itself, began descending — faster than physics should allow.
The Ancient King looked up and blinked.
“...Wait—?”
BOOOOOOOOM.
The meteor hit with catastrophic force, instantly vaporizing the Ancient King and a good chunk of the valley. The shockwave leveled surrounding mountains. Dust plumed hundreds of meters into the sky. A mushroom cloud of stone and molten debris lingered like a scar in the sky.
From above, untouched by the destruction, Tatsumaki sipped from a juice box she’d pulled from her coat. “Yeah. That’s better, now enjoy another nap of 300,000,000 years.” She said refering to the dead dinosaur.
Her earpiece buzzed.
“Tatsumaki, this is Sekingar. Status?”
She rolled her eyes again and responded lazily, “Monster’s dead. Meteor did the trick.”
There was a pause on the line.
“You… summoned a meteor?”
“Relax. I made sure it hit precisely where I wanted. I’m not some amateur.” She floated down slowly, standing on a hovering piece of rubble. “If you’re going to give me boring jobs, I might as well have fun.”
“Understood. That’s… terrifyingly efficient. That said, this is a reminder that the S-Class meeting is scheduled for 12:00 sharp. You now have 30 minutes to arrive.”
Tatsumaki's eyes twitched. She yanked the earpiece closer and yelled into it.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! You morons were the ones who deployed me to the ass-end of nowhere in the mountains for this overgrown fossil! Now you want to rush me to make it back in time?! If I have to fly at supersonic speeds and get bugs in my teeth, it's on YOU!”
There was a moment of terrified silence on the other end.
She huffed and tossed her now-empty juice box aside, grumbling. “Idiots.”
With a flick of her fingers, she shot into the air, a burst of psychic force cracking the ground beneath her like a bomb. The shockwave erased any remaining dust or debris from the meteor strike.
High above, Tatsumaki accelerated toward HQ at sonic speeds, arms crossed and hair flailing behind her like a green comet. She muttered through clenched teeth:
“They better not waste my time with stupid speeches... or I’m dropping the whole damn conference room into orbit.”
Comments
firerock laser
It's crazy that if you didn't say that I would have genuinely believe they existed in the universe
firerock laser
Thanks for the chapter
StoryMasterKick
I made up two monsters for this chapter, so I included images that illustrate their appearance. Enjoy the chapter!!
