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𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘

First chapter here!

THIS is the SECOND chapter!

Author's Note: (8553 words).

Small Recap:

The evening air was warm and still, the TV droning faintly from the living room as I stood at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water. The sound of clinking dishes and running water filled the tiny kitchen, my sleeves rolled up, warm water running over my hands while I scrubbed the remnants of dinner from Saitama's bowl, and D/n was sprawled at my feet, tail twitching lazily against the tiles. The apartment felt... peaceful, almost cozy, like the hum of an old lullaby. It was quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the living room where the two heroes lounged.

I stacked a freshly rinsed plate on the drying rack and reached for the next when I heard Saitama's voice floating in-, lazy and drawn-out-, drifting over from the couch. "Hey... could you bring me some tea?"

Genos's calm, measured tone followed right after, just a touch more formal. "If it's not too much trouble, I would like one as well."

I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips as I rinsed the soap from my hands and grabbed two mugs. Carrying them over, I caught their eyes-, Saitama's laid-back, Genos's serious but softened-, and felt a little spark of warmth in my chest.

"Of course," I said, setting the cups down with a little flourish and a grin. "After all, I'm at your service."

The Present (Now):

The faint morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting the edges of the room in soft gray. D/n's gentle snoring at the foot of my bed was the only sound in the apartment. For a few seconds, I stayed under the covers, savoring the rare moment of stillness. Then the memory of yesterday's promise-, I'll do everything for you-, nudged me out of bed.

My toes hit the cool floor as I stretched, a yawn slipping out before I padded toward the kitchen. The apartment was quiet-, no hum of Genos's servos, no TV flickering with Saitama's late-night anime reruns. It was still my favorite time of day, when I could set the tone before the two of them even stirred.

I tied my hair back loosely and rummaged through the small pantry. There wasn't much to work with-, some rice, a few eggs, a couple of vegetables from yesterday's grocery run-, but I was determined to make it feel like more than the sum of its parts. The rice cooker clicked on with a soft beep, filling the room with the faint scent of steam. I cracked eggs into a bowl, the sound sharp in the morning silence, and whisked them until they frothed. D/n trotted in, tail wagging lazily, and sat at my feet like my tiny sous-chef.

"Morning, D/n," I whispered, dropping a small piece of carrot onto the floor for him. "Let's impress our heroes, huh?"

The pan hissed as I poured in the beaten eggs, the edges curling instantly. I moved around the narrow kitchen with ease, flipping the omelet, chopping scallions, and stirring the rice. The air grew warm and fragrant, a mix of savory egg and fresh vegetables. By the time I plated everything-, rice bowls topped with thinly sliced egg and a sprinkle of seasoning-, the apartment smelled alive, cozy, like a home rather than a hideout for two slightly dysfunctional heroes.

The sound of a door sliding open made me glance up. Saitama shuffled out first, scratching the back of his head, his plain T-shirt wrinkled from sleep. His eyes landed on the food, and for a second, his usual blank expression flickered with genuine interest.

"...Smells good," he mumbled, heading for the table without another word.

A few moments later, Genos appeared, posture straight, movements precise even first thing in the morning. His amber eyes scanned the kitchen before landing on the breakfast spread. "You've prepared a meal," he said simply, though there was a faint note of approval beneath his even tone.

"Of course," I replied, setting the plates down in front of them with a little flourish. "Gotta fuel the world's strongest heroes, right?"

Saitama gave a noncommittal grunt but dug in immediately, his chopsticks moving faster than I'd expected. Genos sat carefully, almost formally, before tasting his food. The tiniest nod of satisfaction was all I needed to feel a little burst of pride.

D/n, not to be left out, padded over and nudged my leg. I crouched to scratch behind his ears. "Don't worry, I didn't forget you," I murmured, sliding his bowl of kibble across the floor. He dug in happily.

As the three of them ate, I leaned against the counter, watching quietly. The morning sunlight caught the edge of Saitama's plate, glinting off Genos's arm plates, and I felt a strange, warm contentment settle in my chest. This-, making breakfast in a cramped kitchen for two unlikely heroes and a spoiled dog-, wasn't exactly the grand adventure I'd imagined when I'd first moved in.

Saitama finished first, his chopsticks clicking quietly against the empty bowl as he set it aside. He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, looking unusually alert for someone who often seemed half-asleep. "Mm. That hit the spot," he said simply, as if complimenting a bargain-bin instant ramen rather than a carefully cooked meal.

Genos followed a moment later, cleaning his plate with deliberate precision before placing it neatly beside Saitama's. "The seasoning ratio was balanced," he noted, his voice even but with a faint edge of approval that warmed my chest. "Thank you for the meal."

I took their dishes with a small nod, rinsing them in the sink. The sound of the faucet masked their movements for a second, and when I glanced back, Saitama was stretching, arms raised lazily above his head, while Genos was already checking the time on his internal display.

"Patrol day?" I asked, drying my hands on a towel.

"Yeah," Saitama replied, his tone casual, like he was talking about running to the corner store. He pulled his gloves from the back of a chair, slipping them on without urgency. "Hero Association wants a sweep through the ghost town sector again. Lotta weirdos popping up lately."

Genos adjusted one of his mechanical arms with a soft click, his amber eyes sharp with focus. "Reports indicate multiple monster sightings in the area. It would be unwise to ignore them." He glanced briefly toward Saitama. "Master, shall we begin immediately?"

Saitama shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Let's get it over with." He tugged at his cape, giving it a quick shake before fastening it. For a moment, the sunlight caught the white fabric, and his usually simple, unremarkable presence sharpened into something quietly formidable-, then just as quickly, the effect faded as he bent down to pick a piece of lint off his boot.

Genos stepped toward the door, pausing only to look at me. "Do not open the door for strangers while we're out," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "And avoid the ghost town sector. Even with patrols, it remains unstable."

"Got it," I replied, leaning against the counter with a faint grin. "You two be careful out there."

Saitama gave me a nonchalant wave. "We'll be back before lunch. Don't touch my instant noodles, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I teased.

D/n perked up at their movement, tail wagging in hopeful expectation, but settled back down when he realized he wasn't invited. Genos opened the door, stepping out into the hallway first, his posture alert, while Saitama followed at an unhurried pace.

"Master, we should maintain vigilance," Genos said as they exited. "The frequency of monster appearances has increased in recent weeks."

"Yeah, yeah," Saitama replied, his voice already drifting lazily down the hall. "Let's just make sure we're back before the supermarket closes. They've got discounts today."

By the time Saitama and Genos slipped out for patrol, the apartment was already filled with that quiet, lived-in silence that comes after people leave. The door clicked shut behind them, and I found myself alone with the hum of the refrigerator and the faint, distant sound of traffic outside. The space was humble but warm, a little cluttered-, evidence of two heroes who spent most of their time outside fighting monsters instead of worrying about crumbs on the counter or socks left under the couch.

I tied my hair back and rolled up my sleeves. The dishes from breakfast still sat in the sink, a couple of yolk-stained plates leaning precariously against one another, so I started there. The water ran hot against my hands as I scrubbed, the clink of ceramic and the soft hiss of soap bubbles filling the air. By the time I rinsed the last mug and set it on the rack to dry, the kitchen already looked a little brighter.

Next came the counters-, wiped down until they gleamed under the overhead light-, and the refrigerator. I pulled out the half-empty containers, checked expiration dates, and reorganized the shelves. Leftover bento boxes got stacked neatly, and the vegetables were lined up so nothing would be forgotten. I even took a minute to clean out the cabinets, rearranging cans and seasonings so the labels faced forward.

The living room was next. I gathered stray cups and folded a blanket that had slipped halfway off the couch. Dust had settled on the shelves, so I wiped everything down, even Saitama's small stack of manga. D/n-, whose ears had perked up the moment I grabbed the vacuum-, watched curiously from a corner as I swept crumbs from under the coffee table, then ran the vacuum across the carpet. The rhythmic hum filled the room, and when I turned it off, the place already looked sharper, like the space had taken a deep breath.

The bathroom wasn't glamorous work-, scrubbing the sink and mirror, wiping down the counters, cleaning the shower tiles until they shone-, but when I was done, the whole place smelled faintly of citrus and felt fresher. In their rooms, I worked carefully: straightening the sheets on Saitama's bed, folding a couple of T-shirts that had been left on a chair, and stacking Genos's spare arm casings in a tidy corner. I gathered their laundry, sorted colors and whites, and got the first load humming in the machine. When the dryer beeped later, I folded everything-, crisp corners on shirts, socks paired together-, and put them away neatly in drawers and closets.

The garbage went out next. I tied off the bag, slipped on my shoes, and carried it down the hall, the faint rustle of plastic echoing off the walls. Back inside, I swept through again with a dust cloth to catch anything I'd missed, then mopped the floors until the tiles and wood caught the afternoon light.

With everything tidy, I checked D/n's bowls-, empty. I filled one with fresh water and topped off the food, earning a happy wag of a tail (or a bark, depending on D/n's mood), and gave a gentle scratch behind the ears.

By midday, I set to work on lunch. I wanted it ready for when they stopped by between patrols, so I chopped vegetables, simmered rice, and pan-fried some fish. The scent of garlic and soy filled the air, comforting and homey. I laid the table, reheated some soup from yesterday that I'd brightened up with fresh scallions, and checked the clock.

When the door slid open, Saitama stepped in first, his cape a little wrinkled and a faint dusting of dirt on his boots. Genos followed, his mechanical frame humming softly, eyes alert even in the apartment's calm.

"Oh," Saitama said, sniffing the air. "Smells good-, again." He glanced around, brow lifting slightly at the spotless counters and the folded blanket on the couch. "Whoa. Did... you clean all this?"

"Everything's spotless," Genos observed, his tone flat but the faintest note of approval creeping in. He set a small bag of groceries on the counter-, probably something he'd grabbed while out.

I just smiled and ushered them toward the table. "Sit. Lunch is ready."

They didn't need more convincing. Saitama dug in almost immediately, a pleased "Mmm" escaping before he even swallowed the first bite. Genos ate with his usual controlled efficiency, but he paused once to say, "You've outdone yourself."

I refilled their bowls when they emptied, and by the time they were done, the plates were spotless-, Saitama especially had left nothing but gleaming porcelain. After they thanked me in their own ways (Saitama with a lazy thumbs-up, Genos with a polite bow of his head), they stood, stretching, ready to return to hero work.

"Thanks," Saitama said casually as he adjusted his gloves. "This was really good. We'll probably be back late."

"I'll keep things ready," I said softly, already gathering their dishes to wash.

The door closed behind them, the apartment quiet again except for the faint drip of water in the sink. The work had been a lot, but the satisfaction of seeing everything neat and in place made it all feel worthwhile.

After they left, I gathered the plates, bowls, and chopsticks from the table. The sink was still warm from the lunch prep, and the faint scent of soy and garlic lingered in the air. I rinsed the dishes first, then soaped them one by one, the rhythmic scrape of the sponge against porcelain filling the quiet kitchen. The water gurgled softly down the drain as I stacked the cleaned dishes in the rack to dry, wiped the counters again until they gleamed, and made sure the stovetop was spotless-, no stray drops of oil or crumbs left behind.

With the kitchen done, I gave D/n a little attention-, scratching behind the ears and offering a quick play session with his favorite toy. The tiny burst of energy felt good, like a reward for the day's work. After that, I took a few minutes to sweep the floor again, just in case any stray crumbs had escaped earlier. The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional distant buzz of traffic through the window.

The afternoon stretched out peacefully. I reorganized a few things on the bookshelf, lined up the manga volumes Saitama kept stacked unevenly on the edge of the coffee table, and dusted a couple of picture frames. After that, I finally sat on the couch with a cup of tea, letting the sun spilling through the window warm the room. I glanced outside every so often, half-listening for any sign of their return, but the day remained calm-, no monsters tearing up the city, no loud explosions in the distance.

By the time evening crept in, the sky outside had deepened to shades of orange and purple, and the apartment lights glowed softly. I'd prepped some rice and vegetables, deciding on something quick to reheat just in case they came home hungry and tired. The soft tick of the clock filled the room.

The door finally slid open with a quiet click. Saitama stepped in first, cape slightly scuffed and boots dusty, the usual tired but unbothered look on his face. Genos followed, posture still perfect despite faint marks of battle along one of his metal forearms.

"Yo," Saitama greeted casually, kicking off his boots without much care for where they landed. "City was pretty quiet today."

Genos set his bag down by the door and scanned the room. "No major threats encountered. Patrol was uneventful."

They both looked around briefly, maybe noticing how the place still looked perfectly neat, then Saitama let out a small sigh of contentment. "Man, I'm starving."

"Good thing dinner's ready to heat up," I said with a little grin, moving toward the kitchen. "Welcome back."

Dinner ended up being quieter than lunch, but the kind of quiet that felt comfortable. I'd reheated the rice and stir-fry quickly, and the three of us sat around the low table again, the television muttering faintly in the background with a hero news broadcast neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to.

Saitama shoveled another spoonful of rice into his mouth, glanced at me lazily, and said through a half-full bite, "Y'know... we don't really know anything about you."

I blinked, my chopsticks hovering above the bowl. "Huh?"

"Like," he continued after swallowing, "we saved you, you moved in, you do all the chores... but I don't even know your last name. Or what you do. Or why you had that much cash lying around."

Genos nodded slightly, setting his bowl down with perfect precision. "It is true, Y/n. We accepted your proposition without verifying any details. It is logical to assess the situation further."

I let out a nervous little laugh. "Oh, uh... right. Guess I never did tell you much, huh?"

Saitama leaned back against the wall, spoon dangling lazily from his fingers. "Nope." His eyes narrowed just a fraction, not suspicious-, just curious in the most casual way possible.

"Well..." I trailed off, picking at the edge of my napkin. "There's not much to tell. I was renting a crappy place downtown, working odd jobs. Just... trying to get by. D/n was the only constant thing I had going for me." I reached down to scratch behind D/n's ears, and the pup wagged happily under the table. "When you two saved me, it felt like-, like maybe I could start over somewhere better."

Genos tilted his head slightly. "So, you uprooted your living situation entirely and invested your savings into supporting us?"

When he put it like that, it sounded way more dramatic. I shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah. Pretty much."

Saitama spooned up the last bit of rice, then set the bowl aside. "Bold move for someone we just met."

"Guess I've always been a little reckless," I admitted, trying to lighten the mood with a half-smile.

He didn't press further immediately. Instead, he tapped a finger against the table, staring at me with that faintly blank expression of his. "Hey, by the way, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two," I said automatically, then froze, eyes darting between the bald hero and his cyborg disciple. "...Do I even wanna know how old you two are? I mean, you look young, but..."

Saitama blinked, then scratched the back of his neck. "I'm twenty-five."

Genos responded smoothly, "Nineteen."

"Oh." I blinked again, processing. "So... I'm kind of in the middle here."

Saitama's mouth twitched into the faintest smirk. "Guess that makes you the awkward older sister type for Genos."

Genos glanced at him, unamused. "Age does not determine hierarchy, Master."

Saitama ignored him, still looking at me. "So, what else? Got family around here? Or... nah?"

I hesitated. "Not really. It's just me and D/n. My family's... not in the picture."

Saitama nodded slightly, the topic not pushed any further. He didn't seem like the type to pry. "Fair enough."

Genos leaned forward a little, his tone curious but measured. "Do you have combat experience? Training of any kind? It could be beneficial if monsters appear while we're away."

"Combat? Me?" I snorted softly. "Nope. Closest I've come to a fight was arguing with my landlord about rent, haha..." I awkwardly smiled.

Saitama gave a small laugh-, more like an amused exhale. "Yeah, that tracks."

Genos, however, didn't seem convinced. "We should still ensure you can at least defend yourself if necessary. Master, perhaps I should provide basic self-defense instruction."

Saitama waved a hand lazily. "Eh. Maybe later." Then, looking back at me, "Anything else we should know about you? Weird hobbies? Criminal record?"

I rolled my eyes. "No criminal record. And my weird hobbies are none of your business."

That earned a low chuckle from him, the sound warm but quick. "Alright, alright. Just making sure we're not accidentally harboring some supervillain."

The conversation drifted after that-, Genos asking a few practical questions about where I'd lived before and what kind of work I'd done, Saitama occasionally interjecting with short, blunt comments or distracted "hmms." It wasn't interrogative or cold-, just two heroes trying to fill in the blanks about the stranger who'd somehow become part of their little household.

"Alright," I said, tilting my head toward them. "You've asked about me. Now it's my turn."

Saitama, who'd been absently scraping at a stubborn bit of rice stuck to the bottom of his empty bowl, glanced up. "Huh? My turn for what?"

"To answer questions," I replied, giving him a small grin. "Fair's fair."

He blinked, then shrugged. "Sure. Knock yourself out."

Genos straightened a little, ever the soldier even at a dinner table. "I am prepared to provide accurate information about myself and my master."

"Okay..." I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Genos, how long have you been... uh... a cyborg?"

"Four years," he said without hesitation. "When I was fifteen, my hometown was destroyed by a rampaging cyborg. I was the sole survivor. Dr. Kuseno rescued me, performed the necessary modifications, and I have dedicated my life since to the eradication of evil and the pursuit of justice."

I blinked. "...Wow. That's... heavy."

"It is my purpose," Genos said simply, though there was no arrogance in his tone-, just quiet conviction.

I hummed quietly, then added with a small smile, "But I guess that explains the whole 'model student' thing you've got going on. You're seriously dedicated."

Genos inclined his head slightly, almost like he appreciated the observation.

I tilted my head. "So... what's it like? Being a cyborg?"

He hesitated for a moment, then answered thoughtfully. "Efficient. But it can also feel... distant. Sometimes I forget what certain things felt like before-, heat, cold, touch. But I chose this path."

There was a pause. Saitama looked like he wanted to deflect the seriousness, so he picked up a rice grain from his plate and said, "He also eats like a black hole. Costs a fortune."

Genos shot him a flat look, and I snorted, turning to Saitama. "And you? What were you like before the whole hero thing?"

Saitama scratched his cheek, looking mildly uncomfortable but not unwilling to answer. "Me? Uh... I was just a regular salaryman type, really. Had a job I didn't like. Went home every day exhausted. One day I saved some kid from a crab monster, and..." He shrugged, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "I thought, hey, maybe I should try this hero thing out. Three years later-" He gestured vaguely at himself. "This happened."

"That's it? You're that strong after three years?"

Saitama scratched the side of his head. "Yep," he said, popping the "p."

"That's insane."

Genos, clearly expecting a more heroic anecdote, jumped in. "My master underwent an intense training regimen-"

"-Intense," Saitama echoed flatly, as though mocking the dramatic tone.

"-that forged him into the hero you see today," Genos finished.

I tilted my head. "What kind of training?"

Saitama opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked almost sheepish for a fraction of a second before finally saying, "Uh... the usual stuff."

Genos gave him a sharp look, then spoke up earnestly. "One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, and a ten-kilometer run. Every. Single. Day."

I blinked. "That's it?"

"And no air conditioning or heating," Genos added gravely.

Saitama looked off to the side, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I mean, you say it like that, but it wasn't easy. You try running ten kilometers in summer heat every day."

"Still," I said, raising a brow, "you're telling me you got that strong from... basic calisthenics?"

He gave a little shrug, leaning back. "Guess so."

"That's... both disappointing and impressive at the same time."

Saitama's lips curved faintly, the smallest hint of amusement flickering across his face.

"Alright, next question," I said, leaning forward slightly. "Do you two ever... I don't know... hang out? Like, outside of hero work?"

Genos's expression didn't shift. "Our primary focus is on patrols, training, and maintaining readiness."

Saitama snorted softly. "Translation: no. Not really." He scratched his cheek. "Sometimes we watch TV. Or grab groceries."

"That's... kind of sad," I teased lightly.

Saitama shrugged. "Eh. Not really. Less drama that way."

I smirked but didn't press. "Okay, Genos-, what about you? Do you have any hobbies?"

He blinked once, as if the concept of a hobby was alien to him. "I analyze combat data and upgrade my systems. Occasionally, I research potential modifications."

"That's... not a hobby," I said gently. "That's... work."

He frowned slightly. "It is what I enjoy."

"Wow," I said, a little stunned. "You really don't take a break, huh?"

Genos's brow furrowed. "A break would be counterproductive. Evil does not take breaks."

Saitama rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Evil also doesn't care if your room is spotless, but you still mop like three times a day even though it's Y/n's job now."

Genos turned to him, unbothered. "Cleanliness is crucial for optimal efficiency."

I chuckled quietly at their back-and-forth before leaning my elbows on the table. "Okay... favorite foods? Anything at all?"

Saitama perked up slightly. "Hot pot. Or just... a good deal on anything, really. Doesn't even have to taste amazing."

"That tracks," I said, laughing under my breath. "Genos?"

"Master's preferences are my own," Genos said immediately.

Saitama shot him a look. "You can have your own favorite, dude."

Genos paused, processing. "In that case... I find ramen acceptable."

I smiled. "Good choice."

There was another lull before I asked softly, "Do you ever get... tired of it? Being heroes?"

Saitama glanced down at his empty bowl, expression unreadable for a moment. "Sometimes," he admitted quietly. "Not tired of helping people. Just... everything around it. The rankings. The paperwork. The fame chasing. Feels pointless sometimes."

Genos looked at him, concern flickering in his golden eyes, but he didn't speak.

I nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

For a while, we just sat there, the weight of that answer hanging between us. Then Saitama reached for the last dumpling, breaking the moment with his usual nonchalance. "Anyway, here you go. Dishes."

I laughed, the tension easing. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

I stood, gathering the bowls and plates, stacking them neatly as D/n nosed at my ankle for crumbs. "Persistent little vacuum," I murmured, giving him a light pat on the head before turning toward the sink. The water ran warm as I filled the basin, the faint clinking of dishes breaking the comfortable silence that settled over the table.

Behind me, I could hear Saitama shifting in his seat and Genos methodically collecting chopsticks. Their voices were low-, Saitama's tone casual as ever, Genos's precise, thoughtful.

"You really got used to having her around fast," Saitama said.

"I have merely acknowledged her efficiency," Genos replied evenly. "The apartment's maintenance level has increased by ninety-seven percent since her arrival."

I snorted quietly under my breath, pretending I didn't hear that as I scrubbed a pan. "Wow. Thanks, DataBot."

Saitama chuckled, leaning back against the wall again. "He's not wrong, though. I can actually see the floor now."

"That's because you stopped leaving instant noodle cups under the couch," I called over my shoulder.

Genos, ever the serious one, responded like it was a legitimate report. "I disposed of those on the third day after your arrival."

Saitama looked faintly betrayed. "Wait-, you threw those out?"

"They were expired," Genos said simply.

I laughed outright at that, turning to glance back at them. Saitama looked genuinely disappointed in the loss of his expired noodles, while Genos remained completely unamused, his hands folded neatly in front of him like a teacher explaining why eating trash was not, in fact, a sustainable diet.

"Tragic," I said, smiling as I rinsed another bowl. "Truly the fall of a hero."

Saitama sighed heavily, resting his chin on one hand. "Man, I liked the shrimp flavor too."

"You'll live," I teased.

He didn't respond right away. When I turned off the water and set the last plate on the drying rack, he was watching me again-, lazy eyes, half-lidded, but more observant than he let on. "Y'know," he said suddenly, "you really didn't have to do all this."

I grabbed a towel and started drying my hands. "Do what?"

"All this." He gestured vaguely at the room-, the clean counters, the folded laundry stacked on the side, the spotless floor. "You're not our maid or anything. We didn't ask for you to go all-out every day."

I smiled faintly, leaning against the counter. "I know. But... I like it. It keeps me busy. And honestly?" My tone softened a little. "You guys saved me. It's the least I can do."

Genos nodded approvingly, though he still looked faintly conflicted. "You have been most helpful. However, you should not overextend yourself. It would be counterproductive if you were to become fatigued."

Saitama smirked slightly. "Translation: take a nap before she starts cleaning you."

"Very funny," I said dryly, though the corner of my mouth lifted.

Genos stood and began gathering the empty teacups, but I intercepted him with a quick step forward. "Uh-uh. I've got it."

He blinked, clearly startled. "It is unnecessary. I can-"

I plucked the cups from his hands before he could finish. "Genos," I said in a tone that was patient but firm, "go sit down. You're off duty."

His eyes flickered between the cups and my face before he gave a small nod and obeyed, sitting beside his teacher again like a scolded honor student.

"Efficient and bossy," Saitama muttered under his breath, clearly amused.

I rolled my eyes and carried the cups back to the sink, the faint sound of running water filling the room again. It was peaceful. Simple. Domestic in a way that felt... oddly nice.

Saitama stretched his arms above his head with a long sigh before slumping back in his seat again, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. "Man... feels weird having energy left after dinner," he muttered, glancing between Genos and me. "Usually by now I'd be lying on the floor or watching reruns."

"Sounds productive," I said dryly, rinsing another cup.

He shrugged lazily. "Gotta recover after all the hard work of existing."

Genos tilted his head. "You did not perform any strenuous activity today, Master."

Saitama gave him a deadpan look. "I mentally prepared for strenuous activity. That counts."

I stifled a laugh as I shut off the sink and turned, drying my hands on a towel. "So, what does a world-class hero do for fun, then? Besides losing track of noodle cups under furniture."

He blinked, like the concept of fun hadn't occurred to him in a while. "Fun, huh..." His eyes flicked to the side, thinking. "We could, uh..." He scanned the small apartment for inspiration. "...play a board game or something?"

Genos looked at him as if he had just suggested a combat simulation. "Board... game?"

"Yeah," Saitama said, already standing up and rummaging through the narrow closet near the door. After a bit of shuffling, he pulled out a slightly dented cardboard box. "Found this last month. Some guy was giving it away near the discount store."

I raised a brow. "You picked up a used board game off the street?"

"Hey, it was free." He brought the box over and set it on the low table with a triumphant nod. "And look-, it's all here. Probably."

Genos leaned forward slightly, examining the faded box art. "Monopoly. A game of property and financial acquisition."

Saitama plopped down beside him. "Pretty much." He glanced at me. "You in?"

I crossed my arms, pretending to deliberate before finally smiling. "Sure. But if this turns into an all-out war over fake money, I'm blaming you."

Genos blinked, apparently taking that literally. "It involves simulated capitalism, not combat."

"Exactly my point." I sat down across from them as Saitama dumped out the pieces. The money was wrinkled, a few cards slightly bent, but the essentials were there.

"Alright," Saitama said, setting up the board with surprising focus. "I'm the car."

"I will take the top hat," Genos said immediately.

I smirked. "Guess that makes me the dog."

Saitama's eyes flicked to D/n curled up nearby. "Fitting."

D/n yawned loudly in response, earning a chuckle from me as I started sorting the bills into neat piles. Genos watched intently, studying the rules booklet like it was a classified government document.

"You don't have to memorize it," I said, amused. "It's Monopoly, not a tactical mission."

He didn't look up. "Understanding the system ensures maximum efficiency."

Saitama picked up the dice and rolled lazily. "Efficiency's overrated."

"Incorrect."

I couldn't help it-, this dynamic was ridiculous in the best way. Watching an emotionless cyborg analyze game mechanics while a bald superhero picked his teeth and played purely on instinct was probably the highlight of my week.

The first few rounds were quiet-, Genos calculated every move, Saitama bought properties seemingly at random, and I just tried to keep the peace.

"You just bought the jail square," I said after one of Saitama's rolls.

He shrugged. "It felt right."

"You can't buy jail," Genos corrected flatly.

Saitama pointed at the board. "Then why's there space for it?"

I leaned my forehead against my palm, laughing. "This is gonna take all night."

Despite my teasing, the evening flowed easily. The soft buzz of the apartment's ceiling light, the faint clack of dice rolling, and D/n's occasional huff of disinterest made everything feel strangely... normal.

Saitama yawned at one point, scratching the back of his neck. "Man, who knew fake rent could be this exhausting."

"It's because you keep landing on my properties," I pointed out smugly, stacking my bills.

"Cheater."

"Luck," I corrected.

Genos quietly moved his token, his expression unreadable as he passed Go for what had to be the sixth time. "Probability favors patience," he murmured.

"Translation: he's winning," I muttered.

And he was. Somehow, between the two of us, Genos had managed to accumulate nearly every high-value property and was running his empire like a one-man economy.

Saitama threw down his dice with a defeated sigh. "Alright, that's it. The cyborg wins. I'm outta funds."

I followed suit, waving my own measly pile. "Yeah, I think he bankrupted us both."

Genos blinked, looking genuinely surprised. "Was I not meant to acquire all the assets?"

Saitama groaned, dragging himself toward the couch. "You were, I just didn't think you'd actually do it."

I grinned as I started packing the game back into the box. "Well, I guess that settles it-, Genos rules the financial world, and we're both broke."

Genos gave a faint nod. "It was... enjoyable."

Saitama flopped down on the couch and glanced toward the kitchen. "Hey, next time, let's play something that doesn't involve bankruptcy."

"Like what?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

He thought for a moment. "...Rock-paper-scissors."

I laughed quietly, shaking my head as I stacked the final game pieces away. The night had stretched on longer than expected, but the warmth of it lingered-, a kind of quiet peace I hadn't felt in a long time.

Genos started tidying the table automatically, but I waved him off before he could pick up the teacups. "I've got it, Genos. You've done enough damage tonight."

He blinked, momentarily confused, then gave a small nod.

Saitama smirked from the couch, one eye already half-closed. "Told you she was bossy."

"Efficient," Genos corrected.

"Same thing."

Their banter faded into comfortable silence again as I cleaned up the last of the pieces. It was a quiet, ordinary evening-, one that made me realize how right it felt to be there, in that small, messy apartment with them.

I turned off the sink, wiping my hands on a towel before glancing over my shoulder. Saitama had slouched so far down in his seat he was basically melting into it, one arm lazily draped across the table. Genos, on the other hand, sat upright, posture perfect, eyes calmly scanning something on his tablet. D/n was curled up in the corner of the room, half asleep, tail flicking every so often. The air felt cozy-, like the calm after a long day.

"Alright," I said brightly, folding the towel and tossing it over the counter. "Dishes done, kitchen clean, everything spotless. Mission complete."

Saitama hummed lazily. "Nice work, soldier."

I grinned, walking toward the living room and looking around the now immaculate space. The futon was neatly folded, the table was wiped down, even the air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. Everything felt... peaceful. Maybe too peaceful. I wanted to keep the mood light, fun-, something that wasn't just chores and routines.

"Hey," I said suddenly, turning to them with a small spark of excitement. "You guys wanna do a living room sleepover?"

Saitama blinked. "A what now?"

"You know," I said, motioning animatedly, "like drag the futons out here, maybe grab snacks, hang out, talk, do... sleepover things?"

Genos tilted his head slightly, brows knitting. "Is this a recreational group activity common among humans?"

I smiled, amused. "Yeah, Genos. It's fun. You stay up late, eat junk food, talk about random stuff, maybe play a game or two. You've never done one before?"

He shook his head. "Negative. However, if it contributes to strengthening team morale, I am willing to participate."

Saitama's mouth twitched. "You make it sound like we're about to go on a mission, dude."

Genos nodded seriously. "Camaraderie is essential for effective teamwork."

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head as I knelt down to pull out the futon. "Perfect. Then it's official. Operation: Living Room Sleepover."

Saitama raised a brow but didn't argue. "As long as I don't have to clean anything."

"You don't," I said, already unfolding the futon and fluffing a pillow. "You just have to chill. Maybe even have fun for once."

"Bold of you to assume I don't know how to have fun," he said, standing and stretching.

I glanced at him with a teasing look. "Your version of fun is chasing mosquitoes around the apartment."

"That was fun," he muttered defensively, earning a quiet chuckle from me.

Genos stood as well, carefully setting aside his tablet. "Shall I assist in arranging the bedding?"

"Sure," I said, smiling. "You can help with the blankets. And no, you don't need to calculate optimal blanket distribution, just... make it comfy."

He paused, then nodded with a faint hum of acknowledgment before helping spread the extra blankets across the floor. Saitama lazily dragged over a few cushions, and D/n jumped onto the futon the moment it hit the floor, circling twice before plopping down proudly in the center.

"Figures," I said, laughing softly. "D/n claims the best spot as usual."

Saitama dropped onto the futon beside him, sitting cross-legged. "He's got good instincts."

I plopped down across from them, hugging a pillow to my chest. The atmosphere felt easy-, warm, even. Genos adjusted the lights so they dimmed slightly, and I noticed how the glow from the tiny desk lamp cast soft shadows around the room.

"So," I said, glancing between them. "We've got snacks, a clean apartment, comfy bedding... What now?"

Saitama shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. "Guess we hang out. That's what sleepovers are for, right?"

"Exactly," I said, smiling back.

Saitama's gaze flicked down at me for a second-, then to my clothes-, and his lips twitched. "...Those are your pajamas?"

I blinked. "What's wrong with them?"

He raised a brow, trying not to grin. "You look like a middle-schooler on a sleepover field trip."

I looked down at myself. Okay, fine-, my pajamas were a little childish. A loose pastel shirt with a little cartoon bunny on it, and soft shorts covered in stars. Cozy? Yes. Fashionable? Probably not. Still. "Excuse me," I said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "you're one to talk. You're literally wearing the same T-shirt you fought a monster in last week."

"It's clean," he said flatly.

"Barely!" I retorted. "I washed it!"

Genos blinked between us, completely lost. "Are pajamas meant to have specific designs or properties?"

I turned to him. "Genos, do you even own pajamas?"

He tilted his head slightly, processing. "I typically power down in my regular attire. My systems are temperature-regulated, so there is no functional reason to change clothing before sleep."

Saitama let out a snort. "Yeah, that's not weird at all."

Genos blinked again, genuinely curious. "Would proper pajamas improve efficiency?"

I gasped dramatically. "That settles it."

Both Saitama and Genos looked at me, confused.

"Genos," I said with sudden determination, "we are fixing this."

Before he could even process what was happening, I'd already grabbed his wrist and tugged him gently toward Saitama's room. "Come on, we're raiding your master's closet."

Saitama blinked. "Wait-, what? You're gonna go through my-"

"-Shush," I grinned cheekily.

"Uh," Saitama muttered, glancing at Genos, "should I be worried?"

Genos just blinked. "Uncertain."

A moment later, I was arms full of mismatched clothes from Saitama's closet. "Alright!" I declared proudly. "Pajama makeover time!"

I dropped the pile dramatically in front of Genos. "Pick one, or I'll pick for you."

Genos stared at the heap, scanning it like he was analyzing enemy intel. "I do not possess the criteria to make a proper selection."

I clasped my hands together mischievously. "Perfect. I'll decide."

Saitama, now watching from the doorway with mild amusement, sighed. "You're really doing this?"

"Oh, I'm definitely doing this," I said, grinning as I picked out a pair of Saitama's extra pajamas-, baggy pants covered in little cartoon hero logos and a faded yellow T-shirt that said 'OK.' "Perfect."

Genos blinked at the clothes like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "These appear... excessively casual."

"That's the point," I said, thrusting them into his hands. "Get changed."

"I do not require-"

"-Change," I said, crossing my arms.

He hesitated, then finally nodded with the resigned obedience of someone who had fought monsters but couldn't say no to a determined human.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Saitama nearly choked on his own laughter. The pajamas hung loosely off Genos's frame, the shirt a bit too big, and the pants were slightly long on him.

"Now," I started. "We just need the finishing touch."

Saitama squinted. "Finishing what-"

He didn't even finish his sentence before I dashed toward out toward the living room to the low drawer under the coffee table and grabbed a couple of tiny elastic hair ties, I'd been using earlier. I turned back toward Genos with a devious smile.

"Hold still," I said, standing on tiptoe as I reached for his hair.

He froze. "Hold... still?"

"Yep." I gently gathered his blond hair and split it evenly. In a few quick motions, I tied it up into two short, slightly messy pigtails sticking out on either side of his head.

Saitama absolutely lost it. He leaned forward, wheezing with laughter. "He looks like a magical girl sidekick!"

Genos blinked. "I fail to see the tactical purpose of this hairstyle."

"It's not tactical," I said cheerfully, circling him to admire my work. "It's cute."

Saitama leaned on the doorframe, smirking. "Wow. My disciple's gone from demon cyborg to... kindergarten class president."

Genos looked faintly alarmed. "Sensei, is my appearance unsatisfactory?"

Saitama shrugged, trying not to laugh. "Nah, man. You're rocking it. Totally battle-ready."

I tried to stifle a giggle and failed miserably, doubling over slightly. "I can't-, Genos, you look like you're about to offer someone juice boxes and justice."

Genos blinked again, expression utterly sincere. "If this pleases you both, then I will maintain this form for the duration of the evening."

That somehow made it worse. Saitama burst out laughing. I fell to my knees beside the futon, clutching my stomach, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. I wheezed between laughs.

Genos, ever patient, adjusted one of his pigtails slightly. "Shall I prepare snacks now?"

That just set me off again.

Saitama wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Man, I haven't laughed this hard since Mumen Rider tried to jump that puddle."

"Okay, okay," I said at last, straightening up and wiping my eyes, still grinning. "Fine, you win, Genos. You officially pull off pigtails better than anyone else I know."

He nodded solemnly, clearly taking it as a compliment.

Saitama finally calmed down enough to flop onto the futon, still wearing that lazy grin. "Man... I didn't think tonight was gonna turn into a makeover show."

I smirked and plopped down across from him again, hugging my pillow. "Hey, you're just jealous Genos looks better in your pajamas than you do."

"Yeah, right," he muttered, scratching his cheek. "Those pants are limited edition. They were meant to look cool."

"Cool?" I raised a brow. "They've got tiny chibi versions of you printed all over them."

Genos glanced down, observing the pattern. "Master, these appear to be stylized representations of your likeness. Were these custom-made?"

Saitama hesitated. "...No comment."

I snorted. "You bought your own merch, didn't you?"

He crossed his arms defensively. "They were discounted!"

That broke me all over again-, I let out a laugh so hard even D/n perked up from his nap, tilting his head as if confused by the chaos.

Genos, meanwhile, calmly sat on the edge of the futon, pigtails perfectly in place, his expression thoughtful. "If sleepovers involve laughter and unconventional fashion choices, I can understand the appeal."

"See?" I said proudly, gesturing toward him. "He gets it!"

Saitama chuckled, stretching his legs out. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. You win. Guess it's kinda fun having another person around."

I tilted my head, smiling softly at that. "Guess so, huh?"

There was a small, easy silence after that. The kind that didn't need filling. The dim light from the lamp cast a warm glow over the room, soft and golden. Genos sat quietly, almost peaceful in his ridiculous attire, while Saitama leaned back against the futon, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.

Then, naturally, Saitama broke it.

"So," he said, glancing at Genos's head again, "how long d'you think those hair ties are gonna last before something explodes?"

"I have no reason to believe my hair's stability will compromise system integrity," Genos replied earnestly.

Saitama smirked. "That's what you said about the microwave last week."

"That was due to improper noodle-to-water ratio," Genos corrected, dead serious.

I buried my face in my pillow to hide my laughter. "You two sound like an old married couple."

Saitama groaned. "Don't even start with that."

Genos blinked, genuinely puzzled. "We are not married."

"I know, Genos," Saitama muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's a figure of speech."

"Oh." He paused. "Then the comparison is inaccurate."

I peeked up at Saitama, grinning. "You sure you're not married? 'Cause that's exactly how it sounds."

He gave me a deadpan stare. "You're way too comfortable here already."

I gave him an innocent smile. "Hey, you let me move in. You knew what you were getting into."

"Actually," Genos interjected, "you presented a highly persuasive list of financial and domestic advantages that made refusal illogical."

Saitama sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Yeah. That."

"See?" I said, smug. "You agreed of your own free will."

"More like I was steamrolled," he muttered.

D/n gave a soft whine before rolling over and resting his head on Saitama's knee, earning a lazy pat from him. The sight made me smile again-, Saitama, who pretended to be indifferent to everything, scratching behind D/n's ear with a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

Genos adjusted one of the blankets around the futon, voice calm. "Should we begin the next sleepover activity?"

Saitama raised an eyebrow. "There's a schedule now?"

I giggled. "There can be. What do you suggest, Genos?"

He thought for a moment. "I researched common sleepover activities earlier. Options include watching films, sharing personal stories, and engaging in recreational games such as 'truth or dare.'"

Saitama groaned. "You researched it?"

"Affirmative," Genos replied, completely unbothered. "I like to be prepared."

I laughed. "Okay, okay, let's start simple. No dares that'll destroy the apartment, no emotional trauma during truth, and no spontaneous battles."

Saitama smirked. "So, basically no fun."

I pointed at him. "You're the one who almost burned a hole in the floor making instant noodles."

"That was one time!"

"Twice," Genos corrected without hesitation.

I threw my head back, laughing so hard I nearly fell over. Saitama glared half-heartedly at his disciple, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him-, there was that faint grin again.

And just like that, the room filled with laughter, the kind that wasn't forced or loud-, just natural. It echoed softly through the tiny apartment, blending with the hum of the city outside and D/n's sleepy sighs.

Eventually, the noise died down, replaced by an easy quiet again. Saitama stretched and yawned. "Alright, alright. Maybe this sleepover thing isn't so bad."

I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Told you."

Genos adjusted his pigtails one last time, then sat down neatly beside us. "This has been... unexpectedly pleasant."

Saitama chuckled, resting his head back. "Yeah. Not bad at all."

I exhaled through a grin. "Okay, okay. Let's play truth or dare."

Saitama turned his head toward me, deadpan. "We're really doing that?"

"Yup," I said, sitting cross-legged and pointing at him. "You're first."

He groaned. "Why do I feel like this is a setup?"

"Because it is," I said sweetly. "Truth or dare?"

He yawned. "Truth."

I tapped my chin, pretending to think hard. "Alright. What's the real reason you became a hero? Not the whole 'for fun' thing. The real reason."

Saitama's eyes flicked toward the ceiling for a moment. The silence stretched long enough that I thought he wouldn't answer. But then he sighed softly. "Honestly? I just wanted to feel something again. Life got... kinda boring. Repetitive. Fighting monsters felt more alive than everything else."

The tone of his voice wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either-, it was plain and simple honesty. I nodded once, quietly. "That's fair."

He blinked. "You're not gonna make fun of me?"

"Nope. You'd be surprised how many people do things for that exact reason."

Saitama smiled faintly. "Huh. Not bad, maid girl."

"Excuse you," I said with mock offense. "I have layers."

Genos tilted his head. "It's my turn next?"

"Yup!" I pointed at him. "Truth or dare, Genos?"

He thought for a moment. "Dare."

Saitama's grin was instant. "Oh, this'll be good."

I smirked too. "Alright. I dare you... to tell your master one thing he's bad at."

Genos froze. "...Bad at?"

Saitama looked mock-offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Genos's systems whirred softly as if searching through databases. "Master's... organizational habits could be improved."

"Organizational habits?" I repeated, trying not to laugh.

"He used to leave dishes in the sink for approximately six hours before washing them," Genos added earnestly. "Additionally, he sometimes would misplace clean laundry and reused it under the assumption that it is still dirty."

Saitama sat up, glaring. "Hey! Don't expose me like that!"

I was laughing too hard to stop him. "That's the politest roast I've ever heard."

We went a few more rounds-, I ended up telling an embarrassing story about tripping while holding groceries, Saitama admitted he once lost a fight to a mosquito, and Genos revealed that he once spent an entire day trying to understand a joke Saitama made.

The conversation naturally shifted into stories-, some serious, some ridiculous. I told them about the first apartment I'd ever rented, a total dump with a leaky ceiling and weirdly aggressive pigeons. Saitama shared the time he accidentally scared a kid at the grocery store just by blinking. Genos, of course, told a "story" that sounded more like a battle log than a memory, but the way he told it was oddly endearing.

Before long, the laughter mellowed again, replaced by a comfortable hum as we decided to put something on.

"Movie time," I declared, leaning back. "What are we watching?"

"Action," Genos said immediately.

"No, no, no," Saitama countered, waving his hand lazily. "Comedy."

"Master, we have already consumed three comedic films this week," Genos replied calmly. "Variety is beneficial."

Saitama frowned. "You make it sound like I'm on a diet."

"You are on a diet," I said before I could stop myself.

He shot me a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I grinned innocently. "You eat too many instant noodles."

Genos nodded in agreement. "Indeed."

"Traitors," Saitama muttered.

Eventually, we compromised on some random old action-comedy-, something with bad effects and over-the-top lines. We all settled into the futons; half a blanket draped across the three of us. D/n had curled up near my legs, sleeping soundly.

Halfway through the movie, Saitama made a few dry comments that had me snickering under my breath, and Genos occasionally leaned forward to critique the fight choreography like it was a formal report.

The warmth of the apartment, the low hum of the movie, the faint sound of city life outside the window-, it all mixed into something comforting. My eyes grew heavy before I even realized it.

Saitama glanced over at me once, watching as I slowly slumped sideways against the pillow. He looked like he was about to say something, but stopped.

Genos quietly turned down the volume.

The movie kept playing in the background, flickering light reflecting off the small living room walls.

And somewhere between a cheesy punchline and the hero's dramatic speech, the three of us drifted off-, the apartment wrapped in an easy silence, soft and peaceful, like it had always been meant to be this way.

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