A thrill, sharp and satisfying as a freshly shed scale, coursed through me. S-Class.

  The words still felt foreign on my mental tongue, yet they were undeniably mine. Sweet Mask, Sweet Mask himself, had deemed me worthy. No more groveling through endless A-Class ranks, no more proving myself in the shadow of lesser heroes. I had arrived.

  The Hero Association headquarters swam in my mind’s eye – that towering monument to power and prestige in A-City. Soon, I would stride through its polished halls, not as a hopeful, clawing my way up, but as one of the chosen few. The very air in those corridors would hum with a different respect when I passed. It was intoxicating, this taste of the elite.

  My conversation with Sitch replayed in my thoughts. I’d tried to sound nonchalant, a seasoned hero merely curious about the inner workings. "So, about the new hero orientation," I’d rumbled, injecting a touch of casual authority.

  "Now that I'm S-Class, can I still... you know... help out with that?" My real intention, a carefully camouflaged curiosity about the new recruits, lay hidden beneath that veneer of responsibility.

  Sitch’s firm but polite dismissal had been a minor sting. "Sneck, your priorities will shift. S-Class heroes are tasked with threats of a far greater magnitude. Managing initial orientations is no longer within your purview."

  A flicker of genuine disappointment had registered, though not entirely for the reasons Sitch assumed. Of course, I understood the weight of S-Class responsibilities. But the potential, the opportunity to perhaps cross paths with Saitama during the orientation, had been a tantalizing prospect.

  Then, the spark ignited. An idea, cunning and promising. "Actually," I’d said, my voice gaining a new, hopeful resonance, "Genos might be participating in the national superhero registry exam today." The cyborg’s earnest face flashed in my mind, but my calculations were already in motion. Genos. Saitama.

  The connection was almost axiomatic. Where the determined disciple went, the unfathomable master often followed. "I was hoping I could perhaps manage his initial orientation." It was a long shot, perhaps, but it felt like my most direct route, a chance to finally get closer.

  The brief pause on the other end had stretched with a pregnant silence. Then, Sitch’s voice returned, tinged with a new, almost harried quality. "That… that might be acceptable. I may be rather occupied with my duties at the Ministry of Justice from now." A subtle weariness had laced his tone, a hint of burdens I couldn’t quite decipher.

  "From now on, Sneck, the person who will be your primary contact is Busho. He is a capable individual, and I trust him implicitly. I hope you will extend the same trust."

  "Understood, Sitch. Thank you," I’d replied, a mental nod accompanying my words, even though he couldn’t see it.

  Hanging up, a potent cocktail of elation and carefully concealed anticipation swirled within me. S-Class was mine. A monumental achievement, a testament to my strength.

  But the true current of excitement thrummed beneath the surface, fueled by the possibility of finally forging a connection with Saitama.

  I hoped, with a focused intensity, that the bald hero had indeed accompanied Genos to the exam. The thought of guiding the cyborg through his initial orientation, knowing Saitama might be lurking nearby, offered a thrill that even the S-Class promotion couldn’t fully match. It was a chance to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap, to perhaps initiate a unique and unexpected camaraderie.

  My only concern now was this Busho. Sitch’s implicit trust was noted, but I hoped this new contact wouldn’t prove to be an obstacle in my subtle, carefully laid plans. This was my chance, and I wouldn’t let anything, or anyone, slither in my way.

  The fluorescent hum of meeting hall 3 had been my sole confidante for what felt like an eternity. Each passing minute stretched the fabric of my patience, the anticipation a tangible weight in the sterile air. Saitama.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The very name vibrated with an almost mythical quality within the Hero Association’s hallowed halls. His fitness scores… the data still seemed like a glitch in the system, a statistical anomaly that defied every established metric. And then there was Genos, his cyborg disciple, a gleaming sentinel of raw power.

  Ushering them through their initial orientation felt less like a routine administrative task and more like a descent into a fascinating, bewildering unknown.

  Finally, the automatic door hissed open, breaking the monotonous drone of the lights. The contrast was immediate and jarring. Saitama, the man behind the legendary numbers, the individual who had single-handedly rewritten our understanding of human potential, looked… utterly, profoundly ordinary.

  His features were unremarkable, his posture relaxed to the point of appearing almost bored. He could have been anyone waiting for a bus, a cashier at a convenience store, a face lost in the morning rush.

  Standing beside him, however, was anything but ordinary. Genos was a vision of polished chrome and intricate circuitry, his every line and angle screaming of advanced engineering and formidable strength.

  A faint, almost imperceptible hum emanated from his form, a subtle testament to the immense power contained within. His golden eyes, sharp and focused, seemed to absorb the very light in the room.

  “Welcome, welcome!” I chirped, the forced cheerfulness in my voice a stark contrast to the bewildered curiosity churning within me. I extended a hand, first towards the unassuming Saitama, then to the imposing Genos.

  “I am Sneck, and I will be conducting your initial orientation. It’s a genuine pleasure to finally meet the heroes who have been causing such a… significant stir.” A nervous chuckle, betraying my inner turmoil, escaped my lips.

  Genos’s response was immediate and surprisingly formal. “It is an honor to meet you, Sneck-san. I am aware of your considerable achievements and your esteemed reputation as one of the Hero Association's strongest A-Class heroes. I hold your unwavering dedication to protecting humanity in high regard.”

  A genuine wave of warmth washed over me. Recognition from one’s peers was always gratifying, but to hear such sincere praise from someone as outwardly powerful and seemingly discerning as Genos was particularly validating.

  “Well, thank you, Genos-kun,” I replied, my smile feeling less strained now.

  “It’s always encouraging to know that our efforts are recognized.” I gestured towards the chairs arranged around the small table, my gaze flicking back to Saitama, who had yet to say a word.

  I launched into my standard orientation spiel, the well-rehearsed phrases rolling off my tongue. Responsibilities to the Association, the expectations placed upon heroes, the importance of teamwork and adherence to guidelines… the usual bureaucratic tapestry.

  But my focus kept fracturing, my attention drawn back to Saitama like a moth to a flickering flame. His expression remained stubbornly neutral, his occasional nods feeling perfunctory, devoid of any real engagement.

  A flicker of irritation sparked within me. Surely, someone with his supposed strength would show more interest in the workings of the organization that would be facilitating his heroic endeavors. But then I mentally replayed the fitness scores, the unbelievable data that had sent ripples of disbelief through the entire Association.

  Remember the scores, Sneck. Don’t underestimate him based on appearances. Don’t make him angry. Be welcoming. I consciously softened my tone, injecting a more personal and encouraging warmth into my delivery.

  Genos, thankfully, was the antithesis of his seemingly detached companion. His golden eyes remained fixed on me, absorbing every syllable with an intensity that bordered on reverence.

  He would occasionally offer a concise, insightful question, demonstrating a keen understanding and a genuine desire to learn. His presence was a reassuring anchor in the otherwise surreal encounter.

  Finally, after what felt like an extended period of navigating the bizarre dichotomy before me, the orientation concluded. I handed each of them one of my business cards. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or concerns, no matter how small they may seem.”

  Turning directly to Saitama, I offered what I hoped was a genuinely encouraging smile. “Saitama-san, while your current C-class ranking is simply the initial placement, your performance in the fitness test… well, it was truly unprecedented.

  Assuming we receive consistent reports and verifiable proof of your strength against significant monster threats, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that you possess the potential for remarkably rapid advancement. Even S-class isn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Just continue to demonstrate your capabilities to the world, and the Hero Association will undoubtedly take notice.”

  As they finally stood and made their way towards the exit of meeting hall 3, I let out a small, almost imperceptible breath that I hadn’t even realized I had been holding. That had been… different.

  Profoundly so. Genos’s unexpected and sincere praise had been a pleasant and ego-boosting surprise, a welcome validation of my own efforts. But Saitama… Saitama remained an enigma wrapped in an ordinary package.

  The stark contrast between the legend and the reality was unsettling, a potent reminder that appearances could indeed be deceiving. Meeting face to face, standing in the same room, was an entirely different experience than watching anime.