The blare of the evacuation siren was a sound that pierced straight down to the bone.
It did not merely ring through the air; it vibrated in the concrete beneath the city and rattled the windows of every skyscraper in the district.
“Emergency evacuation warning.
A mysterious being has appeared in Sector G of City Z.
The threat level is Tiger.
All residents evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately.”
Ren stood frozen in the aisle of a convenience store, a half-empty basket of cheap groceries dangling from his hand.
Around him, absolute pandemonium erupted.
The cashier abandoned his post, sprinting out the back door.
Customers shoved each other aside, trampling over spilled displays of instant ramen and canned coffee in a mad dash for the streets.
Ren slowly placed his basket on the floor.
He took a deep breath, fighting the natural instinct to panic, and looked down at his own hands.
If he concentrated just enough, a faint, digital overlay shimmered into his vision.
[Ren]
[Power Level: 5]
Five.
The exact numerical value of an average, unathletic human being.
It had been three days since he woke up in this universe.
Three days since he realized he had been reincarnated into the world of One Punch Man.
He had quickly discovered two things.
First, he possessed a mysterious system that allowed him to read the combat power of living beings.
Second, he had a brown, furry tail firmly wrapped around his waist, hidden beneath his jacket.
The Saiyan Bloodline.
The most legendary warrior race in the cosmos was flowing through his veins.
Yet, despite that legendary pedigree, a Power Level of 5 meant that right now, a stray bullet or a falling piece of rubble would kill him just as easily as anyone else.
He had no ki blasts, no superhuman speed, and certainly no transformations.
He was just a guy with a tail and a lot of terrifying meta-knowledge.
But Ren had not been worried.
Why should he be?
He was in City Z.
More specifically, he was living right on the border of the Abandoned Zone.
The siren wailed again.
Ren stepped out of the convenience store and looked down the chaotic street.
Two blocks away, a massive cloud of dust exploded into the sky, followed by the sickening crunch of collapsing architecture.
A creature had emerged from the underground sewage lines.
It was a grotesque nightmare of biology—a towering, bipedal praying mantis with jagged, rusted blades for arms and a carapace the color of dried blood.
Ren focused his vision on the towering monster.
The numbers flickered, attempting to calculate the immense gap between them before settling on a solid figure.
[Carnage Mantis]
[Power Level: 46]
Ren swallowed hard.
Forty-six.
That was nearly ten times his current strength.
If an average man was a five, this monster possessed the brute force of a small military platoon.
If a being’s power level exceeded his own by more than a factor of ten, his eyes would only show question marks.
This mantis was right on the edge of what his eyes could comprehend.
“Fear not, citizens!” a booming voice echoed over the screams.
Two figures leaped from the roof of a nearby bus stop, landing valiantly between the fleeing civilians and the towering insect.
Ren recognized the tight spandex and the stylized armor.
The Hero Association.
“I am the C-Class Hero, Red Muffler!
And with my partner, Battery Man, we will hold the line!”
Ren narrowed his eyes, reading their combat values.
[Red Muffler – Power Level: 24]
[Battery Man – Power Level: 21]
Ren winced.
“They’re dead meat,” he muttered to himself.
And they were.
The battle was not a clash of justice; it was an execution.
Battery Man rushed forward, fists sparking with low-voltage electricity.
Carnage Mantis didn’t even bother to dodge.
The monster simply swung its scythe-like appendage.
The resulting shockwave shattered the streetlamps.
Battery Man was swatted out of the air like a literal fly, crashing through the brick wall of a nearby bakery.
He slumped to the ground, heavily bleeding and unconscious.
Red Muffler screamed in horror, pulling a pair of combat knives from his belt, but before he could take a single step, the mantis closed the distance in a blur of speed.
The monster’s foot slammed into the hero’s chest, pinning him to the asphalt.
“Is this the best the surface world has to offer?” the monster hissed, its mandibles clicking with sadistic glee.
“Pathetic morsels!”
Ren ducked behind a crushed sedan, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The situation was grim, but he forced a smirk onto his face.
This was City Z.
The monster had made a fatal error choosing this specific neighborhood to throw a tantrum.
The noise, the property damage, the quaking ground—it was more than enough to wake up the Ghost Town’s most infamous resident.
“Come on,” Ren whispered under his breath, checking his watch.
“Any second now.
You’re probably going to complain about missing a bargain sale at the supermarket.”
He waited for the casual, slapping sound of rubber boots.
He waited for the iconic, bored voice of a bald man in a yellow jumpsuit.
He waited for the single, devastating punch that would turn this terrifying mantis into a splatter of green goo on the pavement.
Ten seconds passed.
The monster raised its scythe high into the air, preparing to decapitate the weeping C-Class hero beneath its foot.
“Seriously, where are you, Saitama?” Ren muttered, the first genuine prickle of dread creeping up his spine.
Ren peered over the hood of the car.
The street was completely empty of civilians now.
There was no caped baldy walking out of the dust.
There was no savior.
A chilling thought struck Ren, freezing the blood in his veins.
Over the past three days, he had watched the news religiously.
He had seen reports on Tatsumaki, the Tornado of Terror.
He had seen footage of Sweet Mask dominating the pop charts.
He had even heard whispers of King, the strongest man on earth.
The Hero Association was fully established and functioning.
But according to the original timeline, the Hero Association was only founded because Saitama saved the grandson of multi-millionaire Agoni from a crab monster three years ago.
If the Association existed, then that event must have happened.
But what if…
what if it wasn’t Saitama who saved the kid?
What if Saitama didn’t exist in this universe at all?
A sickening crunch snapped Ren out of his thoughts.
He looked up, his eyes widening in sheer horror.
Red Muffler was gone.
The monster chewed loudly, blood dripping from its jagged mandibles.
Ren’s breath hitched.
He clamped a hand over his mouth, pulling himself flush against the side of the ruined car.
His Power Level was 5.
He was completely, hopelessly outmatched.
There was no plot armor coming to save the day.
There was no invincible bald man to serve as the world’s safety net.
The monster stopped chewing.
Its massive, multifaceted eyes locked onto the crushed sedan where Ren was hiding.
“I smell another morsel hiding in the wreckage,” Carnage Mantis hissed, taking a heavy, thudding step toward the car.
Ren’s heart exploded into a frantic rhythm.
His tail tightened nervously around his waist beneath his clothes.
If Saitama wasn’t here to save this world, then the apocalypse wasn’t just a distant backdrop for a gag manga.
It was real, it was brutal, and it was walking right toward him.
He had to move.
Now.
Note: Dragon Ball fans, I understand.
A power level of 200 can destroy the moon.
By that logic, people like Tatsumaki would not have a power level higher than that.
We are not following that.
Imagine this as an alternate timeline where everything is much, much stronger.
Boros, for example, would at least be in the tens of millions.
Weaker than Frieza, but close to that level.