: Following Human Practices in a Divine Body

Saitama was standing alone in front of a vending machine by the roadside, his gaze unfocused, as if he were thinking about something.

Not far away, the monstrous corpse that had been blown up was slowly emitting smoke.

Saitama stared at the drinks on the vending machine for a long time, then took out the few coins he had left in his wallet and counted them over and over again.

Finally, as if resigned to his fate, he comforted himself with a muttered reassurance:

"There's nothing to regret... anyway, it would definitely taste terrible if I had bought it."

Despite saying that, his body betrayed him and he didn't leave. Undeterred, he reached into the vending machine's dispenser and groped around for a while, then lay down on the ground, squinting as he carefully searched the gaps under the vending machine, trying to find any coins that passersby might have left behind.

In the end, Saitama could only sigh helplessly, drag his heavy steps to the bench next to the vending machine, sit down, and stare blankly into space.

Just then, two heroes in uniform appeared beside the monster's corpse. They skillfully set up a cordon, temporarily sealing off the scene.

After finishing all that, the two seemed to feel thirsty, so they went straight to the vending machine, took out coins, and bought the fruit-flavored soda that Saitama had been longing for.

He gulped down the bottle without a care, then casually tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trash can. The bottle bounced across the ground, rolled a few times, and finally came to rest at Saitama's feet.

Saitama silently picked up the empty bottle, which was still warm, and stared at the label for a long time, as if trying to confirm something.

After a moment, still expressionless, he muttered to himself:

"Hmm, it does look really awful."

Suddenly, a panting little boy came running from the street corner, his forehead covered in fine beads of sweat. He stopped in front of Saitama, looked up at his innocent face, his eyes filled with admiration and gratitude:

"Uncle! Thank you so much! You were there when that strange man tried to kidnap me. Thank you for saving me!"

Saitama paused for a moment, shifting his gaze from the empty bottle to the little boy, and asked gently:

"Oh, it's you. You weren't hurt just now, were you?"

"Yes, I'm fine!"

The little boy shook his head vigorously, then carefully pulled a bulging piggy bank from his pocket, his face showing a shy yet extremely serious expression.

"My mom told me that I should repay others when they help me. So I just ran home and got all the money I've saved. Adults all like money, right? Even though I only have this much... I'm willing to give all my allowance to you, Uncle, thank you!"

Looking into the little boy's clear, expectant eyes, Saitama felt a surge of warmth in his heart. He knelt down, gently ruffled the boy's hair with his large hand, and took the heavy wallet.

Just as the little boy thought the deal was done, Saitama smiled and put the wallet back into the boy's hand, saying earnestly:

"Then I'll accept your kind offer with immense gratitude, and then give it to you. Be sure to use this money wisely, so you can buy yourself something you like in the future..."

"Really? That's great, thank you, Uncle!"

After all, he was just a child, and the decision he made was already extremely difficult. When he heard what Saitama said, he opened his eyes wide with surprise and hugged his piggy bank tightly.

"Of course it's true! And there's more."

Saitama stood up and put on a serious expression.

"I'm not your uncle, call me brother!"

The little boy paused for a moment, then obediently changed his tune:

"Thank you, brother!"

After saying goodbye to the overjoyed little boy, Saitama put his hands behind his head again and continued on his way with light steps.

A gentle evening breeze swept away his earlier disappointment. Gazing at the sunset on the horizon, he said with a carefree air:

"Flavored sodas must taste awful, I'll just go home and drink cola!"

"Give."

Boros's voice rang in Saitama's ears. He appeared beside Saitama without warning, holding two bottles of fruit-flavored soda. He handed one of the bottles directly to Saitama, the very drink that had made Saitama hesitate for so long in front of the vending machine. He casually held the other bottle in his own hand and walked naturally alongside the bald man, as if they were kindred spirits.

Don't you feel like you're compromising yourself a bit?

Boros, unusually, abandoned his usual eccentricities; his eyes reflected the sunset, and his tone carried a hint of confusion:

"You know perfectly well that with your abilities, you could live a much more carefree life, right? Wealth is nothing more than dust to you, easily attainable. If you so desire, countless flowers, praises, and power would be offered to you instantly, and the whole world would grovel at your feet. Even if you don't like any of these things, wouldn't it be better to have a little bit and live a more relaxed life?"

"Ah, it's Boros."

Saitama took the soda, his face still showing that calm and collected expression, his gaze passing over Boros's shoulder and looking into the distance.

"I was just following my heart..."

Saitama unscrewed the bottle cap: "I've said from the beginning that I'm just a hero for fun. If I were to deliberately change my original intention for other reasons, wouldn't that completely contradict my initial idea of ​​becoming a hero?"

He tilted his head back and took a sip of the slightly sweet drink, frowned slightly, and muttered something in disdain:

"This really tastes awful..."

Saitama casually handed Boros a half-finished soda and said:

"For me, being a hero is not a profession. I don't need it to bring me any rewards beyond what I'm interested in. If I, as a hero, start to deliberately pursue something, even if it's just a compromise, once I get it, I can never go back to my original intention..."

"Human desires are endless. Once you get something, you'll want more. Today it's money, tomorrow it might be power, and the day after tomorrow it might be the thrill of dominating others... If that happens, I'll no longer be that hero who acts out of interest, but a monster driven by desire..."

"Did those words really come out of that bald guy's mouth?"

Boros stood there, stunned. The evening breeze blew by, but it couldn't dispel the deep shock in his eyes.

He originally thought that the bald man was just as noisy and careless as he was, simply because he was lazy. They were both ordinary people with emotions and desires.

However, Saitama's words today made him realize that... there was a fundamental difference between the two of them, and that... deep within this man's soul lay a vast starry sky that he had never set foot in.

How can someone who becomes omnipotent be completely content with mediocrity? Without changing any rules, without needing anything? This isn't about being indifferent to material things. If one were truly detached from worldly affairs, why would they agonize over a few coins for a drink from a vending machine?

This is a kind of clarity and restraint that comes from having everything and still choosing to carry the shackles of mortal life forward.

In this way, he steadfastly upholds his original aspirations, silently and resolutely practicing what he initially defined... He doesn't care about anyone's opinion, nor will he be changed by anything; his inner strength is even more magnificent and powerful than his outward appearance. He is "acting like a god... following the ways of man..."

"saint……?"

"Hey, Pineapple Head, what are you spacing out for?"

A large hand waved in front of Boros's eyes, interrupting his thoughts. Saitama suddenly leaned in and shoved the half-finished bottle of fruit soda back into Boros's arms.

"Hey, the drink you bought tastes absolutely awful. I took a big gulp for you, which is a big help to you. You're welcome."

Saitama patted him on the shoulder, his tone conveying a sense of self-righteousness that he had done a great favor.

"Here's the rest for you. Remember not to waste it. Prices are high these days; every drop costs money."

"Bullshit..."

When Boros received the "contaminated" beverage, the sense of reverence he felt vanished instantly, and his face twitched involuntarily.

"Damn! It must have all been my imagination after all..."

He roared silently in his heart, "How could someone who has no morals possibly be a saint..."

He swiftly and precisely placed the drink on his bald, shiny head, then dashed off into the distance, his voice faintly drifting back:

"Baldy, you opened it, drink it all, don't waste it!"

........................