The vast, torchlit courtyard of the Royal Palace, moments before a stage of hushed, regal anticipation, was suddenly thrown into a state of suspended, disbelieving animation. Knights froze mid-salute. Royal Advisors, poised to deliver grave pronouncements, found their mouths hanging slightly ajar. Even King Olric Midgar, a man renowned for his unshakable composure in the face of political storms and battlefield crises, felt his carefully constructed regal demeanor falter for a fraction of a second as the tattered, yellow-clad figure designated 'Tempest' made a beeline for the refreshment table, his eyes fixed on the frosted cakes with an intensity usually reserved for matters of state.
Commander Alaric, who had just dismounted and was about to formally present his charges, felt a wave of utter despair wash over him. He had successfully escorted a reality-breaking anomaly across half the kingdom, navigated monster attacks, black-ops assassins, and a falling Titan, only to have the entire solemn occasion derailed by a pastry craving. He closed his eyes briefly, a silent prayer for strength, or perhaps for a conveniently timed sinkhole to swallow him whole.
Captain Valerius, standing beside Kristoph, Zenon, and Elara, merely raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Kristoph allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible sigh. Elara exchanged a wide-eyed, incredulous look with Zenon, who just shook his head slowly, a faint smirk playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. This was, apparently, par for the course with the Tempest.
Saitama reached the table, his gaze sweeping over the array of delicately crafted cakes, glistening fruits, and silver pitchers. "Whoa! Fancy!" he declared, his voice echoing slightly in the suddenly silent courtyard. He picked up a small, pink-frosted cake topped with a candied violet. "Can I have one of these? Or are they just for show? Because they look really tasty." He looked around, seeking permission, his gaze briefly passing over the stunned King and his entourage without any discernible recognition of their importance.
A young, terrified-looking palace attendant, who had been tasked with overseeing the refreshments, stammered, "Uh… y-yes, sir… p-please… help yourself…" He had no idea who this strange bald man was, but anyone who could make the entire Royal Court freeze in stunned silence clearly warranted appeasement, especially where baked goods were concerned.
Saitama beamed. "Awesome!" He popped the entire cake into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then his eyes widened slightly. "Hey! This is pretty good! What is this, like, strawberry? And… flower? Never had a flower cake before. Kinda fancy. Got any milk?"
King Olric finally found his voice, a low rumble that cut through the stunned silence, laced with a mixture of disbelief, profound weariness, and perhaps, a tiny sliver of grudging amusement. "Attendant. Perhaps… a goblet of milk for our… guest."
The attendant, startled by the King's direct address, nearly dropped the pitcher he was holding. "Y-yes, Your Majesty! At once, Your Majesty!" He fumbled for a goblet, his hands shaking.
Commander Alaric stepped forward hastily, saluting sharply before the King. "Your Majesty! Forgive the… informality. I present Gregor, Lyra, and Renn, escapees from the Tenebris Labyrinth. And… this is Saitama, also known as the Tempest." He gestured awkwardly towards Saitama, who was now examining a bunch of grapes with intense interest.
The King's gaze, sharp and penetrating, moved from the three exhausted but now relatively safe escapees to Saitama. Gregor, Lyra, and Renn instinctively bowed deeply, their fear of the King and the imposing setting overwhelming their fatigue. Saitama, however, just looked up from the grapes, noticed everyone was staring at him, and offered a casual wave.
"Hi," Saitama said. "Nice place you got here. Big courtyard. Good for, like, badminton. Or maybe a barbecue." He then noticed the King properly for the first time, recognizing, perhaps from the fancy robes and the general air of people bowing to him, that this was probably the important guy. "Oh! You must be the King! Nice to meetcha. So, about that buffet… is it, like, all-you-can-eat?"
A ripple of strangled coughs and quickly suppressed gasps went through the assembled Royal Advisors. The Magi exchanged horrified glances. Captain Valerius's eyebrow remained resolutely arched.
King Olric merely inclined his head slightly, a gesture that could have meant anything from regal acknowledgement to profound, existential despair. "Saitama," the King began, his voice carefully neutral, ignoring the buffet inquiry for the moment. "We have received… reports. Of your recent activities in the Valgothian Deepwood. Reports of… considerable power. And considerable… disruption."
Saitama, having accepted a goblet of milk from the trembling attendant and taken a large gulp, nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty disruptive. Lots of monsters. And that big rock guy was super noisy. Glad that's over." He took another bite of a different cake, this one chocolate. "Mmm. Chocolate. Good choice."
"The 'big rock guy,' as you call him," the King continued, his gaze unwavering, "was an Earth Titan, a creature of legend, sealed away for millennia. Its destruction… your destruction of it… has sent tremors through the very foundations of arcane lore and geopolitical stability."
Saitama blinked, mid-chew. "Oh. Was he important? He didn't say. Just kinda tried to smash us. Seemed rude." He swallowed. "So, am I in trouble for the rock guy? Because he definitely started it."
"Trouble is… a relative term, in this instance," the King said, a faint, almost imperceptible weariness touching his voice. "Your actions, while… unconventional… have also, it seems, neutralized several significant threats. The Titan itself. The wards of the Quarantine Valley, which, it is now believed, may have been containing entities far worse than initially suspected. And, according to Knight-Commander Kristoph's reports, numerous hostile creatures and operatives." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "The question, Saitama, is not whether you are in 'trouble.' The question is… what are you? And what are your intentions towards the Kingdom of Midgar?"
This, finally, seemed to be a question Saitama could process, albeit through his own unique filter. He finished his milk, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand (eliciting a fresh wave of horrified gasps from the more genteel advisors), and looked at the King.
"What am I?" Saitama repeated thoughtfully. "Well, I'm a hero. For fun. That's pretty much it." He shrugged. "As for intentions… mostly, I just want to find a decent meal, maybe a place to crash for a bit. My apartment back home… well, it's probably a crater now, thanks to that other loud space-monster guy. So, I guess I'm kinda homeless too. Do you guys have, like, hero shelters? Or maybe a good temp agency for heroes looking for work?"
A long, profound silence followed this pronouncement. Hero for fun. Homeless. Looking for temp work. This, from the being who had casually annihilated a Titan and erased ancient magic. The disconnect was so vast, so utterly baffling, that it left the assembled power of Midgar momentarily speechless.
Kristoph stepped forward, sensing the King's struggle for an appropriate response. "Your Majesty, if I may. My observations confirm the Tempest's… singular focus. His actions, however destructive, seem largely reactive, or incidental to his pursuit of… basic needs. He displays no overt malice, no political ambition, no discernible agenda beyond… well, beyond his next meal, or finding a less drafty cape."
The King looked at Kristoph, then back at Saitama, who was now eyeing a platter of cheese. "A hero for fun," the King mused, the words tasting strange on his tongue. "With power enough to shatter worlds… driven by whims and appetite." He ran a hand over his face, a gesture of profound fatigue that he rarely displayed in public. "The gods, it seems, have a peculiar sense of humor."
He straightened, his regal composure returning, though his eyes still held a deep, troubled weariness. "Saitama. Your… unique situation… presents both an unprecedented threat and, perhaps, an unprecedented opportunity for this Kingdom." He paused, choosing his words with utmost care. "We cannot allow a power such as yours to roam unchecked, however benign your current intentions may seem. Nor can we, in good conscience, simply… incarcerate someone who has, inadvertently or otherwise, rendered significant aid."
He made a decision, one that had likely been debated furiously in the emergency council session. "Therefore. You will remain in the Royal Capital, as a… guest… of the Crown. You will be provided with lodging, sustenance," – here, Saitama's ears visibly perked up – "and a new cape, if you so desire. In return, you will cooperate with our Magi and scholars in understanding the nature of your abilities. And you will… refrain… from any further unsolicited 'cleaning up' or 'monster swatting' within the Kingdom's borders without express sanction."
Saitama considered this. Lodging? Food? New cape? Cooperation? Sounded like a lot of talking. But… food. And a new cape.
"So, like, free room and board?" Saitama asked. "And I get to tell people about my powers? Cool. Most people back home just thought I was weird." He paused. "Does the lodging have a good TV? And a comfy bed? My back's still kinda sore from that horse."
"All… reasonable amenities… will be provided," the King assured him, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He could see this was going to be a long, strange, and incredibly expensive 'guests-hip.'
"And the buffet?" Saitama pressed. "Is it still on?"
The King sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of his entire kingdom. "Yes, Saitama. The buffet… is still on. Perhaps… after you have had a chance to… freshen up." He gestured vaguely towards Captain Valerius. "Captain, see to it that our… guest… and his companions are escorted to suitable quarters. Ensure their needs are met. And assign a… dedicated liaison… to Mister Saitama. Someone with… patience. And a strong constitution."
Valerius bowed, his expression carefully neutral, though his eyes betrayed a hint of amusement. "Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be done." He then looked towards Kristoph, Zenon, and Elara. "You three, report to the Council chambers immediately. They will require your full, unedited accounts."
As knights began to escort a still-snack-focused Saitama, and a bewildered but relieved Gregor, Lyra, and Renn, towards the inner palace, King Olric watched them go. The immediate crisis of the Tempest's arrival was… managed. For now. But the true storm, he knew, was only just beginning to gather. The ripples from the Deepwood were spreading, and the world would soon know of the bald man in yellow who could break gods and was primarily concerned with the quality of the royal catering.
The path to the 'Tournament Arc' was now clearly paved, not with gold, but with broken monsters, shattered expectations, and the promise of a really good buffet.