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[W17, OnePunch Man]
[A-City, Hero Association Headquarters]
[2 days after the appearance of the market]
Inside the fortified walls of the Association's top floor, the atmosphere weighed heavy. A rectangular steel-gray table stretched across the dim conference room, its surface flickering with blue-tinted holographic projections—maps, reports, and shifting footage from security feeds.
Executives in dark suits, their faces stern and creased with fatigue, adjusted in their seats as the final person entered, closing the soundproof doors with a faint thunk.
A man at the head of the table, bearing the insignia of an Association Director, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge as he steepled his fingers. His voice, rough from hours of back-to-back meetings, broke the stagnant air.
"Since everyone's finally here," he said dryly, "let's get straight to it. First point, there was a civilian inside before our teams even arrived. Status?"
A sharp-suited woman to his left tapped at her tablet, pulling up a hologram that showed a profile of a bald man. "The individual was escorted out safely. No injuries. He's currently being secretly monitored in case he goes back in."
The Director grunted. "Hm, that's fine, we can disband the monitoring team in a few days if they don't cause any trouble. Did they receive any side effects from the place?"
From further down the table, an impatient young executive leaned forward, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He tapped his pen repeatedly against a datapad, agitation radiating off him. "The civilian identified himself, didn't he? Said he was a hero... 'Saitama', was it?"
The woman nodded, her glasses catching the light. "He did. However, no records match his alias or appearance. Either he's a fraud, or—" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "the possibility of it remains that he's delusional. Mild cognitive dissonance induced by exposure to the anomaly."
A sigh rippled from the Director. He pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking again. " We should also minimize our entries to reduce the risk of gaining those symptoms... And what about the guards we stationed?" he asked, tone sharpening.
The holographic images shifted with a swipe of the Director's hand, now displaying grainy footage of black suited guards posted near the Market entrance.
An older executive, the kind who looked as if he hadn't slept since the event started, rubbed at his temples. "They're still on station," the man said hoarsely. "Reports indicate no disturbances. They're...stable. But," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "the time distortion's real. They're living days for every handful of hours we spend here. To make it clear, our world moves slower compared to that place."
Across from him, a wiry executive with sharp, darting eyes adjusted his tie with a jerk. "I heard Child Emperor and Metal Knight installed their own surveillance tech inside," he said, tone laced with a grudging admiration. "Without those two and their tech crawling all over the place, we wouldn't even have half the footage we're getting now. Thanks to them we are able to monitor the inside in a moderate pace fit for us."
The man next to him—a younger, hot-headed member of the board—snorted and leaned back hard in his chair, arms crossing tightly over his chest. "Tch. Those two… in order for us to use their tech, we had to comply with their conditions." He clicked his tongue in irritation. "They can now come and go inside whenever they damn well please. No authorization needed once they're past the threshold! Moreover, we can't even benefit from the things that falls in to their hands!"
A shrug came from another, older executive, his mouth twisting into a weary smirk. "Could be worse. It's just the two of them poking around—for now. The rest of the heroes haven't jumped on the bandwagon or are unaware of what's inside. Let 'em scrape whatever scraps they can. We signed off on their requests, anyway."
"But what do you think they're really after?" the younger one asked, voice dropping, suspicion flickering in his gaze.
A long, collective sigh rolled through the room.
The elder executive drummed his fingers against the tabletop, the faint tapping underscoring the tension. "We don't know," he admitted grimly. "And that's what worries me."
He straightened slightly, his brows knitting together in a deep scowl. "Whatever it is... it's everything. The Market—" his voice dropped low, nearly a whisper, "—offers products that should not exist. Objects that shouldn't even be possible. Weapons, medicines, machines, things born from fiction, myths... dreams. And it's all real, sitting on those shelves like it belongs."
The holographic feeds flickered briefly, showing glimpses: aisles of bizarre goods, drones buzzing overhead like curious insects, scanning, cataloging.
"For the last twenty-four hours, Child Emperor's bots and Metal Knight's probes have been combing those aisles nonstop," he continued, pressing a hand flat against the projection table. "Documenting everything they can get their hands on."
One of them, a stockier man with a permanent scowl etched into his features, leaned forward, drumming his fingers once against the table.
"Aside from surveillance, what else have we gathered?" he asked. "From the people on-site. That also includes the workers."
Without a word, Sekingar stepped up from his seat. The light caught the metal of his cybernetic eye, which whirred softly before projecting a neat spiral of holographic text and reports in the center of the room. The pages spun slowly, illuminated like ghostly files.
"They claim to be survivors," Sekingar stated, his tone clipped, professional. "Specifically from a different world, a world ravaged by a zombie apocalypse."
He rotated the display with a casual swipe, showing their gathered profiles, images of their current living conditions, and their recorded testimonies. The room absorbed the details in silence.
Sitch, seated with his arms folded tightly, added in a heavier tone, "We attempted a joint effort to access their world—myself, Child Emperor, and Metal Knight—but access protocols were... problematic."
He leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed as he recalled the encounter. "One of the workers, a woman who identified herself as Kanae Sato, claimed she was relatively new to their system. She lacked the authorization—or the knowledge—to explain the migration process between worlds."
Sitch gave a dry shake of his head, the faintest hint of frustration flashing across his usually calm features. "She advised us to wait for someone named Kazuhiro."
A low hum filled the room, the name that many mentioned back in the market.
The Director tapped the table once, hard enough to make the hologram shudder. "And this Kazuhiro?" he asked, voice turning flinty. "Status?"
Sekingar responded immediately. He dragged two fingers across his console, flicking the current feed aside and pulling up a new one. Lines of data scrolled rapidly, organizing into a cleaner visual.
"According to statements from Kanae Sato and corroborating testimonies from multiple refugees," he began, his cybernetic eye pulsing faintly with each word, "Kazuhiro is not a typical human."
"He is described as an abnormally tall entity," Sekingar continued, tapping a note open, "with no discernible facial features... and severely elongated limbs."
A few executives shifted uneasily in their seats as they took note of the description.
"Four days since their departure, that's two days from our side, it is the same time when that door made its appearance." Sekingar added, the feed flickering once more, "He left the Market... and he wasn't alone."
He expanded the notes which stated their descriptions.
"Based on reports," he said, adjusting the brightness of the projection, "Kazuhiro was accompanied by one child roughly ten years of age, Moreover, others departed before them some claimed, three teenagers, and—"
He hesitated for the first time, as if second-guessing the words about to leave his mouth.
"—what was described as... a chainsaw dog."
A ripple of confusion cracked through the room.
"A chainsaw dog?" one of the younger executives repeated, half a scoff caught in his throat as he pictured a literal dog holding a chainsaw.
Sekingar exhaled slowly, as if weary from having to entertain such absurdity. He gave a slight shrug.
"I don't know," he admitted, the faintest flicker of amusement—or exhaustion—ghosting across his otherwise stoic face. "Descriptions were inconsistent. No visual captures yet. No tangible evidence. Only testimony."
The Director leaned back slightly, his chair creaking under his weight. He let out a breath through his nose, the kind of sound that spoke more of restraint than satisfaction.
"I see," he said finally, voice low and unreadable. "I believe that concludes the findings for now."
Papers rustled. A few executives moved to switch off their tablets, the tension beginning to lift—until a hesitant voice cut through the room.
"Director," someone spoke up from the far end, a younger staffer clutching a datapad close to his chest. His voice was taut with something between urgency and uncertainty.
"There's... one more thing."
The room stilled.
The Director's gaze sharpened.
"Speak."
The young man swallowed visibly before continuing, adjusting the pad in his sweaty grip.
"We received a separate report... about Lady Shibabawa."
At the mention of her name, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Even the more hardened executives sat straighter, exchanging wary glances. A few low murmurs stirred like an oncoming breeze.
Lady Shibabawa's prophecies were not something the Association took lightly—not after the disasters she had predicted with almost frightening accuracy.
The Director's tone dropped an octave, brooking no hesitation.
"Explain. Now."
The young staffer nodded quickly, pulling up the attached file. His hands trembled slightly as he read.
"According to the escort detail," he began, voice shaking less now, "a day before the Market's gateway sealed itself... Lady Shibabawa experienced a vision."
More whispers rippled through the room, hushed and sharp.
The staffer pressed on.
"They claimed that she sighed—"
He hesitated at the oddness of it, "—in relief."
Relief?
The Director's brow furrowed deeply, eyes narrowing with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Around him, the other executives murmured, the word relief not sitting well with any of them.
"And her exact words?" the Director asked, voice cutting through the noise.
Clearing his throat, the staffer quoted shakily,
"We're entering a brief time of calm. A season without monsters. Enjoy the stillness while you can."
Another surge of quiet spread, heavier this time, confusion knotting the air.
"Peace?" one of the older executives repeated, almost disbelieving. "She foresaw... peace?"
The young man nodded. "Yes, sir. She specified that large-scale monster activity would cease for roughly one month. Minor crimes and disturbances will still happen, of course... but in terms of major threats—she said we'd have time to catch our breath."
For a long, heavy moment, no one dared to speak.
The words peace and calm hung unnaturally in the air, it sounded foreign whereas monsters and crisis are almost a daily occurance.
It was Sitch who finally broke the silence, his voice low and taut with concern. He leaned forward, fingers laced tightly atop the table.
"That's all well and good," he said, frowning deeply, "but what about the heroes? We can't afford to let them go dormant for an entire month."
A few others nodded, their expressions pinched with agreement.
"I agree," another executive added, adjusting his cufflinks with a sharp flick. "Idle hands cause more problems than they solve. We need them sharp. Focused."
The Director exhaled slowly, running a hand through his graying hair in one rough motion. His mind already spinning ahead three, four steps.
"We'll settle that," he said, waving a hand dismissively, "give it a couple of days. Right now, we—"
The conference room doors slammed open with a metallic clang, cutting him off mid-sentence.
All heads snapped toward the entrance.
A personnel officer burst inside, panting, his uniform damp with sweat, eyes wide with urgency.
"—Report!" he gasped, the word punching out between breaths.
The room jolted into instant attention, chairs scraping against the floor as the executives turned toward him, instincts sharpened by endless crises.
The Director's gaze hardened, his voice slicing through the tension.
"Speak."
The officer swallowed hard, clutching a crumpled tablet in his trembling hands.
"New update—just minutes ago," he managed, struggling to keep his voice steady. "S-Class Hero Child Emperor and S-Class Hero Metal Knight... they've both entered the Market."
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[The market]
+Toru POV+
Toru staggered back against a wall, his breathing sharp and uneven. He winced as he rubbed his ribs, the dull ache from earlier flaring up where Alice had tackled him with all the subtlety of a freight train.
"Geez, take it easy, will you?" he muttered under his breath.
Alice, hovering in front of him with wide, apologetic eyes, scratched the back of her head sheepishly.
"Ah... sorry!" she chirped, her face lighting up in a way that made it impossible to stay mad. "But it's good to see you again, Adam!"
He groaned and had his brows furrowed from his birth name being mentioned.
He tried to properly recover, but a hand grasped his arm firmly, steadying him.
Kanae stood beside him, her expression a mix of stern concern and relief. She moved with practiced ease, her touch grounding.
"You alright?" she asked, voice low but urgent.
Toru shot her a grateful glance.
"Thanks," he muttered, straightening himself, though the stiffness in his body still lingered. He observed her attire, 'Didn't expect her to work here... something must have happened.'
Kanae studied him, her brows drawing together.
"You look weary," she said. "Thought you'd be coming back with the others. What happened?" Kanae knew who he was, what alice said, Adam, she's aware of his achievements during Shintoko academy as she was one of the faculty members there and her friend Yuko wouldn't stop bragging about her top student,
Toru's mouth tightened into a grim line.
"That's the thing is, Uh, Ms.Sato... I need help," he said, his tone grave. "The others—they're in trouble."
At that, Kanae's face shifted, tension knotting her features. She straightened slightly, instinctively bracing herself.
"Explain it to me," she said gently but firmly. "Take your time if you need. I'm listening."
Toru hesitated only a second before nodding. He understood—time flowed differently here. What was minutes to him could be hours or days for her. Still, every second counted. He gathered himself, piecing together the fragmented events.
As he arrived here, he noted a few different things about the place, different people, men in suits, and strange childlike/metal tech around the place. The machines and tech around seemed to listen.
And only then as he was about to conclude what happened—
Beep beep—
Toru instinctively turned toward the noise,
Two figures emerged through the double doors,
The first was a boy—small-framed but sharp, his eyes glinting with unspoken calculation.
Flanking him was an immense, hovering construct.
Metal Knight.
The heavy thrum of its turbines sent faint vibrations crawling up the walls and into Toru's chest. Cold, clinical, its blank armored face betrayed no emotion, no hint of humanity.
Toru blinked, thrown off for a moment by the sheer absurdity of it.
The boy lifted a hand in a casual wave, his expression detached, almost bored.
"Hey," he called out, his voice carrying easily down the corridor. "You wanted some help?"
Toru only had to blink, confused 'Who's kid is this?'
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