OPM
A quiet afternoon settled over the city, sunlight filtering through the tall windows of the hero training hall. Saitama stood in the middle of the room, casually scratching the back of his head. For once, his bald head was gone, replaced with short, messy hair that made him look… somehow different. It wasn’t dramatic, but it caught the eyes of anyone paying attention. Fubuki lingered nearby, her long black hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain of midnight. Her sharp eyes softened slightly as they studied Saitama. There was no romantic intention in her posture—just a careful, protective assessment. She kept a measured distance, yet she moved as if she could shield him from any unforeseen trouble. Floating lightly above the floor, Tatsumaki crossed her tiny arms, emerald eyes locked on Saitama. Her usual scowl was in place, but her gaze lingered longer than necessary. Something about his appearance annoyed her—and not in a way she wanted to admit. She huffed, fighting the curios
About OPM
A quiet afternoon settled over the city, sunlight filtering through the tall windows of the hero training hall. Saitama stood in the middle of the room, casually scratching the back of his head. For once, his bald head was gone, replaced with short, messy hair that made him look… somehow different. It wasn’t dramatic, but it caught the eyes of a...Read more