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I am Saitama - Chapter 8: Fitness Test
🕑 Added 2025-07-07 21:00:07 +0000 UTCAs they walked side by side through the pristine corridors of the Hero Association HQ, Saitama kept his hands in his pockets, trying not to look as overwhelmed as he actually felt.
Each hallway was bustling with activity. Screens on the walls displayed live threat level charts, blinking alerts, and mission feeds. Rows of analysts in glass-walled rooms monitored news and drone feeds from across the country. Automated turrets scanned every person who passed, while maintenance bots hummed quietly along the walls, buffing the already spotless floors.
“I have to admit,” said Jinzuren, glancing briefly at Saitama, “I didn’t expect you to come here on your own initiative. That’s a good sign.”
“Well,” Saitama shrugged. “You sent a letter, so... figured I’d show up. Seemed rude not to.”
Jinzuren chuckled softly. “Politeness isn’t a trait we often see in S-Class heroes. That already puts you ahead of a few.”
They reached a security checkpoint where Jinzuren flashed a badge and waved him through. As they passed into the next sector—labeled “S-HERO OPERATIONS”—Jinzuren gestured toward the large window to their right, which looked down into a wide training facility. Inside, a few heroes were practicing—some sparring, others testing new gear.
“This wing is exclusive to S-Class operations,” Jinzuren explained. “Your access is still being finalized, but once it's confirmed, you’ll be allowed to train here, meet with other S-Class heroes, or even requisition resources for missions.”
Saitama looked down at the heroes training and nodded slowly. Okay, this feels a bit like being in a private elite club. I’m not used to this. I was flipping couch cushions for change last week.
Jinzuren led him further down until they entered a quieter hallway and stopped in front of a thick glass door marked “BRIEFING ROOM 2A.” The room inside was empty save for a long table, a few chairs, and a holographic map of the country in standby mode on the wall.
Jinzuren motioned for him to enter and took a seat near the head of the table.
“Now, let’s talk about your status,” he said, unlocking a small terminal built into the table and pulling up a file labeled SAITAMA – CLASSIFICATION REVIEW.
“After I filed my report and submitted the drone footage,” he began, “a formal meeting was held between the Association’s executive committee—Sitch, Sekingar, Busho, Exma, and myself.”
Saitama raised an eyebrow, sitting back casually. “Wait, that many people just for me?”
“You’re a man who neutralized two Dragon-level threats in less than forty-eight hours,” Jinzuren replied plainly. “You made a crater out of one and cut the other in half. So yes, you got the full committee’s attention.”
“Huh… when you put it like that, yeah I guess that’s kind of impressive.” He muttered.
“The discussion was… spirited,” Jinzuren admitted, adjusting his glasses. “Tatsumaki isn’t the only skeptic. Some of those prebelieved you were an anomaly—lucky, perhaps. Others thought you might be some unknown experiment or a new cyborg. I had to show the footage twice.”
“Did anyone suggest alien?” Saitama joked.
“One of them did. Sekingar dismissed it immediately.”
Jinzuren tapped the screen again, and a ranking chart appeared. S-Class—still labeled as pending.
“In the end, the vote was unanimous: you were to be placed in the S-Class, due to the level of threats you neutralized and your apparent power level. However... your specific rank within the S-Class remains undecided.”
“Why’s that?” Saitama asked, though he already had a feeling.
“We need to quantify your abilities,” Jinzuren said. “In other words: a physical evaluation. It’s mostly formality, but it’ll give us an idea of where to place you. If your performance matches or exceeds the feats on the drone footage, you may place very high. Possibly even within the top ten.”
“Sounds... fun,” Saitama said with a forced smile. I hope they do a test similar to the one of the series and don’t throw lab tests at me like I’m a science fair project. Still… it beats job hunting.
Jinzuren slid a card across the table. “This is your temporary access pass. It’ll get you through most areas of the HQ, including the training sectors. Your official hero ID and full clearance will come once the evaluation is complete.”
Saitama picked it up and glanced at the clean, metallic card. It had the Association eagle on one side, his name—SAITAMA—on the other, and a big bold CLASS: S just underneath it.
“I’ll admit,” Saitama said, standing up, “I thought this place would be all serious suits and gloomy bureaucrats.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jinzuren said with a small smirk. “That part’s coming too.”
Saitama exhaled, staring at the glowing hall beyond the briefing room.
Alright. I’ve survived being poor, getting thrown into a bald body, dodging being crushed by a giant, and awkwardly meeting Tatsumaki. Now I just need to fake my way through a hero exam... while somehow not blowing up a building.
“Guess I better start stretching,” he muttered as he headed out.
(5 minutes later…)
Saitama now stood in the center of a state-of-the-art training facility, dressed in a plain white shirt, a pair of loose gym shorts, and—true to his reasoning—no shoes. The polished black floor was cold under his bare feet, but he didn’t flinch. He just stared around, hands in pockets, mildly annoyed at how bright everything was.
God, how many spotlights do you need to run a gym? he thought, squinting slightly.
The room was massive, almost as big as a stadium, with reinforced walls lined with cameras and scientific equipment. Giant monitors projected data in real-time, and scattered throughout the gym were various testing stations with glowing neon markers. At least a dozen Hero Association staff members, most in white lab coats or tactical gear, were setting up equipment and calibrating devices.
“Okay, Mr. Saitama,” a young technician called out through a headset, holding a clipboard. He looked both nervous and excited, like he was about to witness a god doing cardio. “We're ready to begin your physical evaluation. There are six tests: side-to-side agility jumps, a 1500-meter run, weightlifting, shot put, vertical jump, and the reflex impact machine, known internally as the Mole Machine. If you're ready…”
“Sure,” Saitama said flatly. “Let’s get this over with.”
TEST 1: Side-to-Side Agility Jumps (30 seconds)
Saitama stepped onto the mat, flanked by two vertical light poles that tracked his movements. The moment the buzzer sounded, he began hopping from side to side.
Except it wasn’t really hopping. It looked more like teleportation.
Blurred images of Saitama flickered from left to right in nanoseconds, the poles' motion sensors short-circuiting instantly. By the 10-second mark, the technician monitoring the screen looked up, panicked.
“I-I can’t get a reading! He’s breaking the sensor sweep!”
By the time 30 seconds passed, the monitor displayed nothing but glitchy static.
“Should we… just mark it as ‘exceptional’?” one staffer asked.
Another nodded. “Mark it down. There’s no point recalibrating the hardware for one guy.”
TEST 2: 1500 Meter Race
Saitama yawned as he stepped onto the indoor track, which wound around the upper level of the facility. A few lower-tier heroes had gathered behind the safety glass just to watch.
“On your mark... get set… GO!”
The instant the word left the announcer’s mouth, Saitama vanished.
There was silence and then a faint whoosh.
A few seconds later, a gust of wind rushed back into the facility as he walked onto the track from the opposite side, casually stretching his arm.
“Done,” he said.
“…Sir, the clock says you finished in 4.3 seconds.”
“Did I overdo it?” Saitama asked, rubbing the back of his head.
The technician couldn’t respond. He was too busy staring at the melted edges of the stopwatch.
TEST 3: Weightlifting
They began modestly—200 kilograms.
Saitama lifted it with one pinky.
Then 1,000 kilograms.
He bounced it like a basketball.
“Let’s bring out the Titan Rack,” someone suggested.
A crane rolled in a specialized barbell forged from tungsten and meteorite alloy, designed to test Class-S heroes to their limits. The weight? 30 tons.
Saitama looked at it, then sighed.
“I’ll be gentle.”
He lifted it with one hand, spun it once over his head like a towel, and gently set it down.
The bar cracked the concrete anyway.
“W-we’re out of weights…” someone whispered.
“Just mark it down as ‘limit unknown,’” said another.
TEST 4: Shot Put
The usual record for Class-A heroes sat around 120 meters.
Saitama picked up the steel ball and tossed it lazily.
Everyone watched.
The ball vanished with a sonic boom, disappearing into the sky.
The spotter on the far side of the field turned pale. “Uh… it's not coming down.”
“Forget it,” the technician said. “That’s a satellite’s problem now.”
TEST 5: Vertical Jump
This test was automated. A ring of motion sensors surrounded the participant, designed to capture motion and force. Saitama bent his knees slightly.
Then launched straight up like a missile.
The building’s reinforced ceiling cracked. The technician monitoring the pressure readout screamed.
“Was that a subsonic vertical leap?!”
Five seconds later, Saitama landed with a light thud, dusting his hands off.
“Did that count?” he asked.
“We’ll... say yes.”
TEST 6: Mole Punching Machine
This one was for reflex and raw impact force. From the floor rose a machine with six retractable mole heads—each with randomized popping patterns. The final head, shaped like a titanium dome, measured punching strength on impact.
“Whenever you’re ready, sir,” said the machine operator.
Saitama stepped forward. The moles began popping up.
Wham! Wham! Wham!wham!wham!
No one could see his fists. Just a blur. Every single mole head flew off its socket, except for the last.
Saitama calmly looked at the titanium head and gave it a light punch. And the machine imploded.
The readout, before dying, blinked: IMPACT LEVEL: ??? – FATAL FORCE DETECTED
“Uhh… we’ll get back to you with your score on that one,” said the operator, who looked like he was questioning his career choices.
Saitama stretched his arms, yawning again, his eyes half-lidded in boredom. Not a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. All the machines and tests, supposedly designed to push even the strongest heroes to their limits, had felt like child’s play.
“So… is that it?” he asked, casually rolling his shoulders.
Man, he thought, using the force of this body is like muscle memory I didn’t even earn. I don’t ever have to think about it. It’s like this body is already programmed to be the peak physique someone can achieve.
No, screw that. It’s beyond peak. It’s like physics forgot how to work on this guy.
One technician cleared his throat and stepped forward, swallowing hard. “Y-yes, Mr. Saitama. We’re done. We’ve got… more than enough data.”
As Saitama turned toward the exit with a lazy wave, the lab remained frozen in a stunned silence. Some of the younger researchers just stared at the remains of the Mole Machine, while others whispered behind their clipboards about power levels, reclassification, or whether the machines had simply malfunctioned. But deep down, they all knew.
The machines didn’t malfunction.
They just weren’t made to measure him.
(Observation Room – Two Floors Above)
Behind the reinforced one-way glass, a group of key Hero Association executives had been silently watching the tests unfold.
Sitch, seated at the center with his arms crossed, slowly leaned forward. “No limit readings… All machines tapped out. We couldn’t even get a proper read on his speed. His jump broke our ceiling.”
Sekingar exhaled, arms behind his back. “In terms of raw physical performance, he surpassed our metrics by several orders of magnitude. Our strongest heroes—Silver Fang, Watchdog Man, even Superalloy Darkshine—don’t come close.”
“Could the data be flawed?” asked one analyst at the back. “Maybe the calibration was—”
“No,” Jinzuren interrupted, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I double-checked the machines myself this morning. Everything was working perfectly. This… wasn’t a malfunction. This was a reality check.”
He tapped his tablet, bringing up a slow-motion capture of Saitama’s vertical leap. The feed paused mid-air, the figure of Saitama blurred by sheer momentum. “You all saw the drone footage. He obliterated a Dragon-level threat with a casual punch, then flattened a building-sized behemoth without letting the corpse crush a city. And now this. The question isn’t how strong he is…”
“It’s if he has a limit at all,” Sitch finished grimly.
For a moment, silence reigned in the room.
Then a suited executive at the corner scoffed. “Every being has a ceiling. It's impossible for someone to be ‘limitless.’ Maybe we’re just not measuring correctly.”
“Oh really?” Jinzuren said, voice sharp. “Would you like to volunteer for a one-on-one match?”
The man turned pale and said nothing.
Sekingar stepped forward. “Then what do we classify him as? He’s already S-Class, but we haven’t even ranked him yet. How do you place someone whose capabilities can’t be quantified?”
“Top 5,” said one executive.
“Top 3,” another chimed in.
Sitch shook his head. “Not yet. Until we see how he handles an extended mission or faces another S-Class threat, we can't just throw him to the top. The public would riot if we bump down someone like Tatsumaki without evidence.”
Jinzuren nodded. “Then keep him in the lower ranks for now—temporarily. Observe him. We’ll keep surveillance on his activities, and the moment he faces another catastrophe… we reassess.”
“But that brings us to another issue,” Sekingar added. “If we can’t find his ceiling… what happens if he becomes a threat?”
The air in the room turned cold.
Jinzuren didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll deal with it. But right now, we don’t need paranoia. We need answers. And maybe, just maybe… we need to learn something from him.”
The room remained tense until Sitch finally spoke again, his tone firm but measured.
“For now, we place him at Rank 10 of S-Class.”
Several eyebrows raised.
“That low?” one executive muttered.
“It’s still S-Class,” Sitch replied. “This avoids conflict with higher-ranked heroes while we continue our assessment. We can’t afford to stir up more egos than necessary—not with Tatsumaki already furious.”
Jinzuren nodded, arms crossed. “Smart move. We give him recognition without starting a civil war inside our own top tier.”
Sekingar glanced at the feed still looping on the monitor—Saitama’s vertical leap, his effortless sprint, the shattered remains of the mole machine. “It won’t stay that way forever. He’s already proving too much to be ignored.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Sitch replied. “For now, Saitama is officially S-Class, Rank 10.”
He tapped the table. “Send the update to admin. Let’s see how long it takes before the rest of the heroes notice.”
