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About Saitama

Exaggeratin? Maybe. But the stench—cologne, sweat, despair—sticks to ya. I’d say, “Run, girl,” but who am I? Just a dude watchin life rot, laughin like a psycho. Findin a prostitute ain’t just sex—it’s a damn tragedy, wrapped in a smirk. “Here’s Johnny!”—and the night keeps blowin.

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my tools, and head down to the workshop on Asahimachi Street. It’s a chill spot, but today? Ugh. The moment I step in, I smell burnt metal. Like, seriously? Who’s messin’ with my machines? Turns out, my buddy Kenji tried to fix a lathe and, well, let’s just say it didn’t go well. I mean, c’mon, Kenji! You’re a great guy, but you’re no machinist!