Chapter Text
Saitama had been told many things in his life, but few of them ever really stuck.
Not because he couldn’t see the concern underneath.
But mostly because the weight never quite registered.
“Try to find a new hobby, then,” King had said—not harshly, just encouraging.
At the time, Saitama dismissed it as mindless advice from someone who didn’t really understand his situation.
For all that King was a “friend”—an acquaintance, really—Saitama didn’t feel obligated to listen to everything he said.
Still.
It was tempting.
Not easy, exactly. The last time he’d tried to pursue a hobby seriously, things had… escalated.
But it was worth thinking about.
Besides, Saitama had always considered himself good at improvising.
You didn’t get very far fighting monsters without it. Especially when you weren’t strong enough to just punch your way through.
(His pre-bald self knew that better than anyone.)
So he thought about it.
His week-long search still ended profoundly unfruitful.
He tapped his chin while walking Rover.
“Maybe tapestry?” He mused aloud, ruffling the dog’s fur. Rover barked happily.
He’d learned how to fetch things today. Saitama was proud.
“Would you even have the patience?” The weird sperm thing asked. It insisted on coming to the park with them.
Saitama considered it.
… No. He was more likely to quit five minutes in.
“Video games?” He tried, tossing Rover a chunk of monster meat. Rover loved it.
The dog tilted his head, staring at him like it was saying, Isn’t that already your only hobby?
His tongue lolled out, barking innocently as Saitama squinted at him.
“… Dammit.”
He was right.
“Cooking?”
Something crashed in the kitchen.
Saitama blinked. “Genos?” Did something happen? The cyborg was never that clumsy.
Genos assured him—somewhat defensively—that he had simply slipped on a napkin while preparing dinner.
He had most definitely not jumped in shock.
… So probably not.
(Genos sighed in relief at that.
Rude. He wasn’t that bad!)
Criticizing movies?
“You always fall asleep during them, Sensei,” Genos said dutifully.
Bang nodded from where he was playing shogi with his brother on the apartment floor.
Saitama’s eye twitched.
He briefly wondered if Bang had copied his key again.
Plant care?
Fubuki raised an eyebrow, mid-argument with Genos over having broken into the apartment.
“You can barely keep your own cactus alive,” she said, pointing at it.
… Fair.
Saitama slumped.
Why was this so hard?
Fishing didn’t work either.
Child Emperor claimed Saitama scared the fish away with his “energy,” whatever that meant.
His explanations over ice cream were vague and unhelpful, and mostly gave Saitama a headache.
He was about ready to give up—photography at Mumen Rider’s suggestion had been a bust too—and resign himself to being a hero for fun when something hit him.
Literally.
A flyer slapped him square in the face.
Saitama peeled it off slowly, eyes twitching as it stuck with every breath.
This job better be good. Otherwise, Rover was getting a new chew toy.
Rover wagged his tail enthusiastically.
The sperm thing facepalmed.
Construction wasn’t something Saitama had experience with.
He’d done plenty of odd jobs, but nothing permanent—it was hard to commit when you might need to leave at a second’s notice.
His new boss didn’t seem to care.
She asked if Saitama could follow directions and lift heavy machinery.
Saitama said yes.
That seemed to be enough.
And just like that, he had a job.
King would probably call it “stimulating.” Or say it might help with his existential crisis.
For about three weeks, it did.
He talked to his coworkers sometimes. His boss didn’t mind him leaving to deal with monsters, as long as he finished quickly.
Rover became popular with dog lovers.
Genos didn’t seem thrilled, but Saitama ignored it.
There were only so many times Music Guy could babysit Rover, so more help meant fewer problems.
Then Tatsumaki showed up.
And everything promptly went to hell.
Saitama grunted, peering down at the ground far below. It would be a high fall.
“You know,” he said tiredly, balancing on a half-guarded shell while his coworkers clung to his legs.
They didn’t weigh anything, but he hoped it wouldn’t affect his salary if one of them fell.
“I get it. You’re upset your sister keeps visiting my place,” he continued.
She was not the only one. And he did not say this lightly.
“But did you really have to destroy my workplace?”
He was just about to have an early promotion, too.
Tatsumaki bit her lip, green aura flaring as she held falling debris in place.
It was admittedly convenient. But it didn’t absolve her of the trashing. Not even a little.
“… I won’t apologize,” she muttered, unusually sheepish.
One of his coworkers mumbled something about wanting a camera.
“But I might have gone a little overboard,” she admitted.
She added something about not realizing he was legitimately working.
Saitama stared at her flatly.
Once again, he wondered why he’d ever moved to A-City.
Because clearly, life hated him.