The setting sun painted F-City in hues of orange and purple, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the ravaged street. My boots crunched on shattered glass and twisted metal, remnants of the Fighting Bull-Frog's rampage.

  The creature, thankfully, was now nothing more than a grotesque, deflated heap, courtesy of my Snake Biting Style.

  A sigh escaped my lips. Another day, another monster, another paycheck. It wasn't glamorous, this hero business, but it was honest work. More importantly, it paid the bills.

  Also, I can get orbs when I fight monsters.

  As I walked home, the image of twenty-five faces, ranging from the mischievous grin of twelve-year-old Kenji to the innocent, wide eyes of six-year-old Hana, filled my mind.

  They were Sneck's driving force, his reason for enduring the constant monster attacks and the often-absurd demands of the Hero Association. They were Sneck's family... no, my family from now on.

  My home wasn't just a house; it was a dojo, a sanctuary, and a testament to Sneck's rather unorthodox path to heroism.

  Behind it stood the older, equally large house where his disciples, his orphans, lived. Sometimes, a flicker of resentment, a pang of frustration, would surface. "Why, ONE?" I'd silently question, directing my thoughts towards the creator of One-Punch Man.

  Why is Sneck, an A-Class hero, such an enigma? His background is a blank canvas, this story untold. Especially now, with the dramatic turn Sneck's life has taken, I felt a desperate need to be seen, to be understood.

  And four years ago, this estate, Sneck's family heirloom, became an orphanage. Before, it was simply his home, and Sneck was simply a loan shark.

  He, a man who dealt in debt and desperation, had become the guardian of twenty-five children, all victims of the very monsters he now fought. Their parents, snatched away by some grotesque creature, leaving behind shattered lives and empty spaces.

  Sneck knew their pain, not in the same way, but he understood the gnawing fear, the constant uncertainty.

  Sneck's loan sharking income was… sufficient, but barely. The orphanage was a money pit, a constant drain on my already limited resources.

  He needed more, and he needed it fast. The "Super Fight" martial arts tournament became his beacon of hope. The prize money was tempting.

  But to fight in Super Fight, Sneck needed a fighting style. Formal martial arts training was out of the question. It was expensive, a luxury he couldn't afford, and he didn't have the time, needing to take care of all the orphans.

  So, he did what any resourceful, albeit desperate, individual would do: he invented his own.

  The Snake Biting Style wasn't born from some deep philosophical quest or a yearning for self-improvement. It was pure, unadulterated pragmatism.

  He watched snakes, observed their movements – the lightning-fast strikes, the constricting coils, the ruthless efficiency. Sneck mimicked their actions, incorporating them into a fighting style that was as unorthodox as it was effective. It wasn't pretty, but it was designed to win, to give him an edge in the Super Fight.

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  He never won the tournament. But he consistently placed high enough to catch the Hero Association's attention.

  They saw a fighter, skilled and dedicated, even if his style was… peculiar. They saw potential, and, more importantly, they saw a reliable source of income. And I saw a lifeline.

  Four months. It had been four months since Sneck became a hero. Four months since Sneck's life had taken a dramatic, and much-needed, turn. It wasn't about the thrill of the fight, though he won't deny he enjoyed the adrenaline rush. It was about providing for his disciples.

  The Hero Association salary was more than generous. It was a godsend. It allowed me to not only comfortably support the orphanage but to invest in its future.

  He hired tutors, ensuring the children received a proper education. He bought them better food, clothes that actually fit, and even started a small savings fund for their future.

  He renovated the dojo, replacing worn mats and purchasing new training equipment.

  The squeals of delight from the younger children when they saw the new punching bags were worth more than any medal or accolade.

  As I approached the dojo, the lights spilling out onto the training yard, I could hear the sounds of laughter and playful sparring. A wave of warmth washed over me.

  This was Sneck's purpose, his reason for enduring the hardships, for facing down monstrous Bull-Frogs and whatever other bizarre creatures the world decided to throw at him.

  I stepped through the dojo doors, a smile spreading across my face. Nobita, ever the energetic one, immediately launched himself at me, a flurry of poorly executed punches aimed at my ribs. I chuckled, easily dodging his blows, and ruffled his hair.

  "Sneck-sensei! You're back!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with admiration.

  "Yeah, I'm back," I replied, my gaze sweeping over the room, taking in the faces of my disciples. They were my world, my everything now.

  Later, as I sat in my small office, the sounds of the children settling down for the evening drifting through the walls, I thought about Sneck's story, or rather, the lack thereof.

  Would ONE ever delve into Sneck's past? Would he ever reveal the man behind the mask, the loan shark turned hero, the guardian of twenty-five orphans? I wasn't asking for much. Just a little recognition, a little understanding.

  Now I think Sneck is at Mumen Rider's level in terms of character as a hero.

  After all, everyone deserves to know that sometimes, becoming a hero isn't about saving the world. It's about saving your family. It's about making a decent living so you can provide for those you love.

  And sometimes, a martial art isn't created for enlightenment. Sometimes, it's created for survival. And for a steady paycheck.