Nobody was in a hurry while traveling toward the Hero Association testing center.
Saitama didn’t run.
Genos didn’t fly.
Lu Yao didn’t create a supersonic fighter jet.
The three simply walked together at a relaxed pace.
During the journey, they discussed the Hero Association.
Saitama was obviously just a listener.
He had never seriously researched the organization.
Everything he knew came from Genos.
Genos only knew public-facing information—the version the Hero Association openly presented.
So Lu Yao finally had something to say.
Normally, he wasn’t very talkative.
But whenever discussion reached something he found interesting or a subject he had studied professionally, he couldn’t help sharing his thoughts.
He enjoyed listening.
He also enjoyed expressing opinions.
However, when Lu Yao became the one speaking, his audience usually consisted of people he already knew reasonably well.
Speaking too much increased the chance of mistakes.
He had little desire to reveal too much around strangers.
Know yourself and know your enemy, and you need not fear a hundred battles.
Lu Yao possessed a scientific way of thinking.
Science was the organized system of testable explanations humanity formed through repeated verification of objective reality during practical activity.
It allowed people to predict the organization and behavior of real phenomena.
Axiomatization, induction, classification, and summary were essential methods.
So scientific thinking naturally relied on them as well.
Lu Yao continuously categorized and summarized what he saw and heard, attempting to infer underlying structures.
He had been doing that since arriving in this world.
Not because he possessed some hidden conspiracy.
It was simply how he understood unfamiliar environments.
Individuals.
Groups.
Organizations.
Society.
Even the world itself.
Lu Yao approached all of them this way.
So besides studying monsters—one of this world’s most distinctive features—he also wanted to observe its hero society.
Only then could he clearly understand what he himself was participating in.
Lu Yao had no intention of becoming some crazed scientist performing human vivisection or illegal experimentation.
Not that it was necessary.
Dr. Genus’s research material already contained extensive monster research.
Lu Yao wasn’t excessively suspicious.
More importantly, his Hyper-Intuition could detect lies and contradictions with surprising accuracy.
Genus’s research showed no deliberate falsification.
So repeating every experiment was unnecessary.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Genus himself had made mistakes and reached inaccurate conclusions.
But for Lu Yao’s current purpose of developing a broad framework, some margin of error was acceptable.
Returning to the main subject—
Lu Yao initially believed professional heroes weren’t truly “heroes” in the traditional sense.
They were more like supplementary elements to the coercive machinery of police and military systems.
So professional heroes shouldn’t necessarily be judged by the moral meaning of the word “hero.”
Fundamentally—
They resembled security personnel or mercenaries.
Take money.
Perform work.
That was all.
Lu Yao didn’t mean this as criticism.
He wasn’t especially interested at first, but after Yumemi’s suggestion, he had researched the profession more carefully.
Professional hero duties included patrols, security, mediation of civilian disputes, confrontation with supernatural disasters, and more.
In one sentence—
Anything ranging from trivial neighborhood problems to the destruction of the world could potentially become hero work.
That overlapped heavily with police and military responsibilities.
More astonishing was the fact that society had actually transferred significant coercive authority to professional heroes.
To the Hero Association.
To a private enterprise.
According to the information Lu Yao found, the government and Hero Association had fought fiercely over this issue.
Originally, the government clearly resisted transferring such authority into private hands.
Eventually, however, it yielded.
Restrictions still existed.
But the door had been opened.
In Lu Yao’s original world, something like this would’ve been almost unimaginable.
But this wasn’t Lu Yao’s original world.
Every effect had a cause.
If such an institution existed, some historical conditions must have made it rational.
First—
The concept of separate nations had disappeared.
As mentioned earlier, this world had once resembled Lu Yao’s original Earth.
But after repeated disasters and wars, surviving humanity migrated to a single supercontinent and established a new civilization.
With only one country remaining—
One could argue that “country” had almost ceased being a meaningful comparative concept.
Humanity no longer needed to fight other nations.
Without fear of foreign invasion, a conventional military naturally lost much of its purpose.
But that explanation contained a flaw.
Monsters existed.
Given the threat monsters posed, an organized military still seemed necessary.
So why transfer that role to heroes?
Aside from abandoning part of the state’s responsibility to protect its citizens, doing so also resembled avoiding responsibility.
Under ordinary political logic, it made little sense.
Yet—
Again—
Every effect had a cause.
The current situation was closely tied to public psychology.
One major reason humanity had been forced to rebuild civilization on the supercontinent was the uncontrolled expansion of state power.
Nations had fought without limits over competing interests.
Ordinary people suffered tremendously.
As a result, public distrust and fear toward governments and militaries became deeply ingrained.
That traumatic history occurred a long time ago.
But historical weight did not disappear merely because generations passed.
Massive social upheaval shaped humanity’s political culture.
When civilization first formed on the supercontinent, the government resembled the early American confederation—
Loose.
Weak.
Lacking coercive power.
Every person was primarily responsible for themselves.
Everyone resembled an isolated island.
Perhaps that was exactly the soil in which hero culture took root.
Of course—
The strong inevitably dominated the weak.
Pure anarchism bred disorder.
Over time, government influence increased until it reached the present level—
Enough to maintain basic stability and normal life.
If society only needed crime prevention and ordinary public order, police might have been sufficient.
But monsters existed.
Fighting monsters required force.
The population distrusted state violence.
Talented superhumans were unwilling to serve the government.
Yet somebody had to confront threats.
So heroes appeared.
Even before the formal Hero Association existed, monsters already existed.
Some scholars considered monsters a malignant tumor growing alongside human development—
A pathological but inseparable component of civilization.
Ordinary Wolf-level monsters could often be handled by police. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Anything stronger forced civilians to hope some powerful busybody happened to pass by.
Several years ago, both monster quantity and average strength were significantly lower.
So the problem remained manageable.
But recently—
Monster appearances grew rapidly in frequency and severity.
Eventually, that pressure led directly to the Hero Association and professional hero system.
Professional heroes were therefore products of a unique historical environment.
Their development was closely tied to humanity’s past.
Weak national and ethnic identity.
Distrust of governments and militaries.
Preference for personal interests over collective interests.
Perhaps those were the real reasons hero culture became dominant.
Lu Yao thought.
Since powerful individuals possessed extraordinary abilities, they naturally resisted external restraint.
Compared to becoming civil servants—
Flowers.
Applause.
Money.
Fame.
A glamorous individualized profession called “hero” appealed far more to such people.
After all that analysis—
Lu Yao was merely describing an objective phenomenon.
He possessed no intention of reforming society.
This arrangement was a product of its era and history.
More importantly, society had not yet developed some enormous contradiction that demanded resolution.
In other words—
The professional hero system, despite its flaws, genuinely fit this civilization to a significant degree.
Lu Yao had explained all of this at length.
Saitama and Genos both looked thoroughly confused.
Genos finally said, “It sounds impressive.”
“But what practical meaning does knowing all this have?”
Lu Yao looked at him.
“If Saitama asked me that, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“But Genos, do you really think this knowledge is useless?”
“Hey.”
Saitama protested.
“What do you mean you wouldn’t be surprised if I asked?!”
Genos considered for a moment.
Then shook his head.
“I don’t understand.”
“Power isn’t limited to physical force.”
Lu Yao explained.
“Strategy.”
“Knowledge.”
“Understanding.”
“Technology.”
“Anything capable of defeating, harming, or deterring another entity can be considered power.”
“Know yourself and know your enemy, and you can fight a hundred battles without danger.”
“If you understand how something exists and behaves, you can design actions specifically targeting it.”
“I see.”
Genos nodded.
“So it’s about attacking weaknesses.”
Wouldn’t it be easier to just punch it?
Saitama almost said that aloud.
For some reason, however, he had a feeling Lu Yao would somehow detect the thought and verbally tear him apart if he expressed it.
Better not.
The three continued chatting amiably.
Eventually—
They reached their destination.