The Fallout and Saitama’s Resolve

City Z was reeling. Buildings had crumbled, streets lay buried under rubble, and clouds of dust hung in the air. The meteor's destruction may have saved countless lives, but the widespread debris had left entire neighborhoods devastated. For many, this wasn't a victory—it was just another disaster, and frustration was turning toward the figure responsible: the mysterious bald hero who'd destroyed the meteor.

Azar stood on the outskirts of the crowd, leaning against a wall with an amused smirk as he watched the scene unfold. The man who'd shattered the meteor, Saitama, stood near the center of the crowd. He looked calm, even somewhat oblivious to the hostility radiating toward him. But as the murmurings grew louder, it became clear: the crowd wanted answers, if not someone to blame.

"Look at all this destruction!" someone shouted, shaking a fist. "Is this guy even a real hero?"

"Did he really save us, or did he just cause a bigger mess?" added another, their voice tinged with bitterness.

Before Saitama could respond, two muscular figures pushed their way to the front of the crowd: Tank-Top Tiger and his older brother, Tank-Top Black Hole, both clad in their iconic tank tops. Their faces were etched with righteous indignation as they squared off with Saitama.

"Hey, you!" Tank-Top Tiger shouted, jabbing a finger at Saitama. "You think you can just destroy half the city and call yourself a hero?"

Saitama blinked, taken aback by the accusation. "Huh? I saved the city from a meteor," he said, his tone nonchalant, as if this explained everything.

Tank-Top Black Hole stepped forward, crossing his arms with a sneer. "You destroyed the meteor, but look around! People's homes are gone, businesses ruined, all because you wanted to play the hero!"

The crowd murmured in agreement, emboldened by the brothers' accusations. Saitama scratched his head, clearly not expecting this kind of reaction. But before he could say anything further, Tank-Top Tiger lunged forward, fists clenched.

"You're not even a hero! You're just a reckless idiot who wants to show off!"

With that, he threw a punch directly at Saitama. In an instant, Saitama raised a hand and effortlessly flicked Tank-Top Tiger aside, sending him skidding across the ground with a look of sheer bewilderment on his face. The crowd gasped in shock.

Tank-Top Black Hole gritted his teeth and charged forward. "You think you can get away with this? You're a menace!" he roared, throwing a barrage of punches, each one faster and stronger than the last.

Saitama, looking almost bored, sidestepped the attacks and, with a single gentle tap, sent Black Hole tumbling back, knocking the wind out of him. The crowd went silent, eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. For a moment, there was an eerie quiet as Tank-Top Black Hole struggled to his feet, his face twisted with humiliation.

Saitama looked around, his calm gaze shifting over the crowd as they glared at him, whispering accusations under their breath. He'd had enough. His usual patience seemed to snap as he took a step forward, raising his voice in a way that carried throughout the entire square.

"Shut up!" he bellowed, his voice startling the crowd into silence. He fixed them all with a look of frustration and resolve. "You think I'm doing this for your approval?" He gestured to the wreckage around him. "What do I care about the damage?!"

The crowd stared, stunned, as Saitama's voice softened, his expression more serious. "I'm not a hero to make you people like me. I'm doing it because I want to. If you wanna hate me, then hate me! You baldies!!" 

The crowd remained silent, processing his words. But then, a small voice in the back muttered, "He's calling us baldies, but he's the one who's bald."

A few stifled laughs broke out, and a ripple of confusion spread through the crowd. Saitama looked straight back at him. "Shut Up!!" he roared, now looking a bit flustered.

Azar, observing from the edge of the crowd, chuckled quietly. Saitama's mix of brutal honesty and unexpected vulnerability intrigued him. Here was someone who didn't care for fame or approval, yet stood alone, unwavering in his purpose. There was something about Saitama's presence, his detachment from the expectations of others, that felt strangely familiar to Azar.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, muttering amongst themselves, Azar's smirk widened. Saitama had a quality that Azar respected—a freedom that came from truly not caring what others thought. This kind of strength, this indifference to public opinion, was something Azar could get behind.

"Well," he muttered to himself as he turned and walked away, "that was more entertaining than I expected." The day had given him plenty to think about, but his path was clear: he would continue to carve out his own path to power, and if he happened to cross paths with Saitama again… well, that was something to look forward to.