Chương 14: The Void Left Behind

The corporate headquarters of the Hero Association in A-City was an absolute fortress of sleek, black iron and reinforced titanium, designed to withstand apocalypse-level bombardments. The air in the high-security briefing room was thick with the sterile scent of ozone and collective unease. Weeks had passed since the cataclysmic multi-city coordinate assault by the unidentified entities, an event that had left the Hero Association's intelligence division grasping at shadows.

They were grotesque, multi-limbed horrors, possessing biomechanical carapaces and a dense, corruptive energy signature that completely melted conventional radiation sensors. Yet, every single specimen brought in for autopsy was already dead. Completely neutralized. On the massive central projector, satellite telemetry and drone footage looped continuously, displaying the terrifying anatomical structures of creatures that defied the Association's extensive encyclopedia of Mysterious Beings.

Holographic maps of Cities M, D, A and J flickered in pale blue light across a massive amphitheater. Dozens of executives in crisp business suits paced frantically between monitors, their headsets buzzing with a constant stream of satellite telemetry data and damage assessment reports.

"We still have absolutely zero structural data on the origin of these creatures!" one senior analyst shouted, slamming his palm onto a terminal.

"The tissue samples collected from the highways in Z-City show no genetic match to the Monster Association, the House of Evolution, the Seafolk, and ancient subterranean records. It's like they were physically compiled out of thin air and then completely erased from the atomic registry!"

"The data doesn't lie," Sneck said, adjusting his tie as he gestured toward a rendering of a massive, crystallized crater.

"Every single one of these unregistered entities, spanning threat levels from Demon to borderline Dragon, was eradicated in a synchronized window of less than three minutes. But the energy signatures left behind are entirely blank. No psychic residue like Tornado of Terror's work. No thermal scarring like Demon Cyborg's weaponry. Just pure, catastrophic kinetic force that compressed the soil into diamond-density strata."

Sitting at the long mahogany table, Atomic Samurai leaned back, a toothpick resting precariously between his lips. He stared at a playback of a half-mile-wide trench carved cleanly through the concrete. His sharp eyes narrowed.

"A flawless line," Atomic Samurai muttered, his voice carrying a rare edge of professional curiosity.

"Not cut by a blade, but displaced by displaced air. The sheer wind pressure of a strike alone did this. Who among us has that kind of physical mass?" He glanced toward the empty seat usually reserved for the man rumored to be the strongest on Earth.

"King? Did you take care of this before the rest of us arrived?" At the far end of the table, King sat frozen. His arms were crossed over his chest, his signature scars catching the harsh fluorescent light. Deep within his torso, the "King Engine" began its rhythmic, thundering bass. Thump-thump-thump-thump To the executives and heroes in the room, it was the sound of a god preparing for war. In reality, King's heart was hammering against his ribs in sheer, unadulterated panic.

He knew exactly what that trench meant, and more importantly, he knew the man who made it hadn't come home.

"I... was merely a witness to the aftermath," King said, his voice dropping an octave to mask the tremble in his throat.

"The threat was resolved before my presence was required."

"As expected of the strongest man," Sitch, the high-ranking executive, breathed, "But these monsters... It's as if an entirely foreign ecosystem manifested in Z-City for one hour, only to be utterly wiped out."

"And the missing urban sector?" Child Emperor asked, his fingers flying across his tactical keyboard as his backpack mechanical arms analyzed the atmospheric distortion.

"The spatial readings at the epicenter of the final strike don't make sense. It's not just a crater. The ambient reality index in that specific coordinate is fluctuating. It's like something punched a hole through the fabric of the area itself, and the vacuum pulled everything within a ten-meter radius right out of our world."

Miles away, beneath the looming shadows of the new Hero Apartment complex in A-City, the silence inside Apartment 104 was suffocating. Genos stood perfectly still in the center of the living room. His standard casual clothes had been replaced by his heavy-combat tactical chassis, the core in his chest glowing a fierce, volatile orange. His internal processors were running at maximum capacity, cycling through global surveillance feeds, satellite imagery, and atmospheric tracking data.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Sensei... Genos thought, his cybernetic eyes whirring as they zoomed in on a digital map of Z-City. The energy signature recorded at the moment of your disappearance matched the precise output of your Normal Punch. But the localized gravitational collapse that followed... it leaves no physical trace. My sensors recorded a momentary tear in the dimensional continuum before all tracking telemetry was lost.

The door to the apartment slid open. Bang and Bomb walked in, their expressions weighed down by an uncharacteristic solemnity. Behind them, Mumen Rider entered quietly, holding a plastic bag containing a few simple grocery items, mostly cabbage and green onions, the ingredients Saitama always hunted for on sale.

"Still nothing?" Bang asked gently, placing a hand on the young cyborg's shoulder. The martial arts master looked older, the lines on his face deepened by worry.

"We searched the entire perimeter of the Ghost Town ruins again. Even the underground tunnels. There's no sign of a struggle. No blood, no fabric. Just... emptiness."

"My Sensei would not perish in battle," Genos stated, his voice flat, metallic, and deadly serious.

"The entity he faced possessed an unprecedented spatial disruption capability. When Saitama-Sensei delivered the final blow, the entity's core ruptured, creating a localized gateway. Sensei did not lose. He was pulled through."

"If anyone can survive being thrown into another dimension, or wherever he is, it's Saitama-kun," Bomb said, trying to offer a reassuring nod.

"The man is built differently than the rest of us." Mumen Rider set the groceries on the counter, looking at the empty tatami mat where Saitama usually sat to watch television.

"I asked the lower-ranked heroes during patrol if they saw anything unusual in the sky that day. A few C-Class heroes mentioned a flash of white light right before the shockwave hit. I just... I brought these over because I thought he'd be back by dinner. He never likes to miss a clearance sale." He tightened his grip on his helmet.

"It feels wrong. The world is carrying on like nothing happened, but the person who keeps it safe is gone." King walked through the door moments later, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, the terrifying aura vanished, replaced by the slumped shoulders of a deeply worried friend.

"I looked through his gaming profile," King said, his voice quiet.

"He hasn't logged on in weeks. His daily reward streaks are all broken. Saitama would never let his log-in bonuses go to waste if he was still in the city. He's really not here." Genos turned his head, his digital optics locked onto the window facing the distant horizon.

"I will find him. Even if I have to modify my core to tear open the same spatial boundaries, I will locate Saitama-Sensei's coordinates."

"Genos-kun," Bang said, his voice firm but laced with a fatherly concern as he stepped into the cyborg's line of sight.

"Look at yourself. Your cooling fans are running constantly, and your core temperature is spiking just standing still. It's been almost a month. You've combed every square inch of Z-City every single day. You need to power down and rest." Bomb nodded in agreement, crossing his arms.

"Your Sensei is incredibly resilient, Genos. But if you burn out your own circuits or force a spatial distortion without calculations, you won't be in any condition to help him when you do find him. Take a break. Let your systems recover." Mumen Rider took a step forward, his eyes earnest.

"They're right, Genos. I know how much Saitama means to you. He means a lot to all of us too. But pushing yourself to the point of breaking won't bring him back any faster. Please, just rest for tonight. We can start fresh tomorrow." King looked down at the young cyborg, the King Engine giving a slow, heavy thud.

"Saitama... he wouldn't want you destroying yourself over this. If he came back right now and saw you like this, he'd just tell you to stop being weird and go get repaired. Don't force it." Genos stood rigid, the internal whirring of his processors loud in the quiet apartment. His optical sensors flickered, shifting from a bright, volatile crimson back to their standard golden hue as he processed their words.

The logic was clear, yet the mechanical components of his chest thrummed with a desperate urgency that defied his programming. He slowly lowered his head, his fists clenching so tightly that the metal joints groaned under the pressure.

"My systems... do not require rest when my Sensei is missing," Genos said, his voice dropping into a low, strained frequency. He looked at the floor, the orange glow of his core dimming slightly as he forced his reactors to stabilize.

"But... you are correct about the calculations. A reckless attempt to tear through spatial boundaries would likely result in my own destruction, rendering me useless to him." He turned back toward the window, his posture rigid but no longer vibrating with volatile energy.

"I will delay the core modification. I will run diagnostic checks and optimize my tracking algorithms instead. But I cannot stop, and I will not rest. Until Saitama-Sensei returns to this apartment, my primary directive remains unchanged."

High above the pristine skyline of A-City, on the peak of a sleek skyscraper, a solitary figure stood against the howling wind. Speed-o'-Sound Sonic adjusted his long purple scarf, his arms crossed over his chest. His traditional shinobi gear rustled faintly, his gaze fixed toward the completely transformed landscape of Z-City in the distance. He held a sharpened kunai between his fingers, flipping it with practiced, agitated speed.

"Hey. Where did you hide yourself, Saitama?" Sonic muttered to the empty air, his teeth bared in a frustrated snarl.

"I've spent the last three weeks perfecting a new ten-fold afterimage technique specifically designed to blind your ridiculous reaction speed. I went to your apartment, and it's occupied by some corporate suit. I went to your old ruins, and it's nothing but a smooth, melted trench." He drove the kunai deep into the concrete of the roof ledge.

"Don't tell me you ran away because you were afraid of our next rematch," Sonic hissed, his eyes narrowing as a cold sense of unease settled in his chest. He hated the man, loathed his casual dismissal of his shinobi pride, but the thought of Saitama simply vanishing without a trace felt wrong. It felt unnatural.

"You better be alive. The only one permitted to end your absurd existence is me."