The "welcoming feast" was an exercise in strained formality and barely concealed panic. It was held in one of the smaller, though still impressively grand, banquet halls of the Royal Palace. The long, polished oak table gleamed under the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers, laden with an extravagant array of roasted meats, gleaming fruits, intricate pastries, and flagons of expensive wine. The kingdom's highest nobility, stern-faced military commanders, and the most senior Magi were in attendance, their silks and velvets rustling, their jewels glittering, their expressions a carefully curated mask of polite interest that did little to hide the undercurrent of apprehension.
At the head of the table sat King Olric, radiating a forced regal calm, though the slight tremor in his wine goblet betrayed his inner tension. Beside him, Queen Isolde, a woman of renowned beauty and sharp intellect, observed the proceedings with a keen, analytical gaze. Princess Iris and Princess Alexia were also present, seated further down, their expressions a mixture of youthful curiosity and wary concern, having been extensively briefed on the "Tempest" and his… unique attributes.
Saitama, after much negotiation with a despairing Sir Kaelan, had been permitted to wear a modified version of his hero suit – a brand new, perfectly tailored yellow jumpsuit and pristine white cape, crafted with surprising speed by the Royal Tailors (who had likely been threatened with royal displeasure if they failed). It was made of the finest, most durable materials the kingdom could offer, though Saitama mostly just appreciated that it didn't have any holes and wasn't itchy. He sat near the King, a place of honor that felt more like a carefully monitored containment zone, and was currently trying to discreetly see how many sugar cubes he could stack before they toppled.
Gregor, Lyra, and Renn were also present, seated at the far end of the table, looking overwhelmed and deeply uncomfortable in their borrowed finery. They mostly picked at their food, too intimidated by the powerful company and the sheer opulence to truly enjoy the feast, though the food itself was undeniably the best they had ever tasted.
The conversation around the table was stilted, forced. Nobles attempted to engage Saitama in polite, probing inquiries about his "homeland" or his "heroic deeds," only to be met with blank stares, non-sequitur answers about grocery sales, or earnest questions about whether the roasted pheasant also came in a spicy McNugget variant. The Magi tried to subtly scan his energy signature, only to find the same baffling void, the same quiescent, overwhelming potential that defied all their arcane theories. The military commanders observed his physique, noting the sheer, unassuming power in his build, and wondered how such an individual could be so utterly lacking in martial discipline or strategic awareness.
Saitama, for his part, was mostly focused on the food. He ate with gusto, sampling everything, often combining dishes in ways that made the Royal Chef, observing nervously from a hidden alcove, wince in gastronomic pain. He particularly enjoyed the tiny, decorative marzipan fruits, which he ate by the handful, and a large, glazed ham, which he attempted to carve using the side of his hand before Sir Kaelan, nearly apoplectic, hastily provided him with a proper carving knife (which Saitama then declared "too flimsy").
"So," a portly Duke with a booming voice ventured, trying to sound jovial, "Mister Saitama, this 'hero for fun'… a rather novel concept! Tell us, what manner of fiends do you typically… 'have fun' with in your… native land?"
Saitama, mouth full of glazed ham, paused. "Hm? Oh, you know. Big monsters, mostly. Giant crab guys, underground people, space pirates, mutated sea creatures… sometimes guys in robot suits. The usual." He swallowed. "Most of them are pretty weak, though. Break after one punch. Kinda boring. Makes it hard to get a good workout."
A stunned silence fell over the table. Giant crab guys? Space pirates? One punch? The casualness with which he described world-ending threats and his own seemingly effortless victories was deeply unsettling. Several nobles choked on their wine. The Queen raised a delicate eyebrow. The King just sighed, a sound barely audible above the sudden, nervous clinking of cutlery.
Princess Alexia, however, leaned forward slightly, her crimson eyes gleaming with a mixture of disbelief and intense curiosity. "One punch, you say? Against… space pirates?" This was far more interesting than the usual courtly gossip.
"Yeah," Saitama confirmed, taking a large bite of a bread roll. "Though sometimes, if I'm not paying attention, or if they're really small, I might miss. Or just, like, flick 'em. Flicking works pretty good too." He demonstrated with a casual flick of his finger, nearly sending a silver salt cellar flying across the table. Sir Kaelan lunged, catching it just in time, his face pale.
"Fascinating," Princess Iris murmured, her gaze fixed on Saitama with a new, wary respect. She had heard the reports, of course, but hearing it directly from him, delivered with such bland indifference… it was something else entirely. She wondered if this was the "Unknowing Tempest" Shadow had spoken of in the palace that night. The power levels certainly matched.
The feast continued in this vein, a bizarre charade of polite society attempting to interact with a living natural disaster whose primary concern was whether the dessert course would include ice cream.
The breaking point, however, came not from Saitama's words, but from a spoon.
A highly polished, silver dessert spoon, intricately engraved with the royal crest, had been placed before each guest for the upcoming raspberry sorbet. Saitama, having finished his ham and now idly drumming his fingers on the table, picked up his spoon. He examined it with mild interest. It was shiny. It was a good shape. He wondered if it would make a good catapult for flicking sugar cubes.
He then did something entirely unexpected. He looked around the table, noted that most people were engaged in hushed, nervous conversations or staring pointedly at their plates, and then, with surprising stealth for a man of his general obliviousness, he slipped the spoon into the pocket of his new yellow jumpsuit.
The action was so quick, so mundane, so utterly out of place in the context of royal protocol and his own previous behavior, that for a moment, no one noticed. Except for one person.
High Archmagus Theron, seated directly opposite Saitama, his ancient eyes missing nothing, saw the faint bulge in Saitama's pocket. He saw the slight, almost guilty, shift in Saitama's posture. He saw the dessert spoon vanish.
The Archmagus paused, his own spoon halfway to his lips. A slow, thoughtful frown creased his ancient brow. He looked at Saitama, then at the empty space where Saitama's spoon should have been. He looked back at Saitama's pocket.
This was… new. The casual destruction, the obliviousness, the focus on food – that was one thing. But this? A deliberate act of… petty theft? At a royal banquet? By a being who could shatter mountains? It didn't fit any profile. It was baffling. It was… intriguing.
Saitama, feeling the Archmagus's gaze, looked up, a faint, almost imperceptible flush rising on his bald head. He offered a weak, slightly forced smile. "Uh… good ham, huh?"
Archmagus Theron did not smile back. He simply continued to stare, his gaze piercing, analytical. He slowly lowered his own spoon, his ancient mind whirring, trying to understand the significance of this small, inexplicable act. Was it a sign of some hidden cognitive dissonance? A strange compulsion? Or was the Tempest simply… a kleptomaniac when it came to royal silverware?
The King, noticing the Archmagus's intense, focused stare and Saitama's sudden, uncharacteristic discomfort, frowned. "Archmagus Theron? Is something amiss?"
Before Theron could reply, Saitama suddenly pushed his chair back, stood up, and announced, "You know what? I'm kinda tired. All that travel, you know. Think I'm gonna hit the hay. Thanks for the grub! It was… pretty good." He offered a general wave to the stunned assembly. "Night, everyone!"
And with that, he turned and walked out of the banquet hall, Sir Kaelan scrambling after him, sputtering apologies and trying to explain that one did not simply leave a royal feast before the King dismissed the guests.
A profound, bewildered silence descended upon the remaining dignitaries. The King stared at Saitama's retreating back, then looked at Archmagus Theron, who was still staring intently at the spot where Saitama had been sitting, a deep, thoughtful frown on his face.
"Archmagus?" the King prompted again. "What did you observe?"
Archmagus Theron finally broke his gaze, looking at the King. He hesitated for a long moment, then said, slowly, "Your Majesty… I believe our 'Tempest'… has just stolen a dessert spoon."
The pronouncement landed in the opulent banquet hall with the force of a small, very confusing, bomb. Stolen. A spoon. The being who destroyed Titans and erased magic had… pilfered cutlery.
Chancellor Evrard choked on his wine. Captain Valerius's eyebrow achieved a new, unprecedented altitude. Queen Isolde actually let out a small, quickly suppressed giggle. Princess Alexia stared, then a slow, fascinated smile spread across her face. This was getting more interesting by the minute.
King Olric just stared at his Archmagus, then at the empty chair where Saitama had sat, then back at his Archmagus. He felt a headache of truly epic proportions beginning to form. Managing a walking apocalypse who was also a petty thief with a craving for pancakes and an inexplicable fondness for royal silverware… this was not covered in any manual on kingship.
"A spoon," the King finally said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "He faces down mythological entities, casually rewrites the laws of physics, holds the fate of kingdoms in his oblivious hands… and he steals a spoon." He closed his eyes for a long moment. "Summon the Royal Silversmith. Conduct an immediate inventory. And someone… someone get me a very, very strong drink."
The whispers in the court were about to take on a whole new, utterly baffling dimension. The weight of a single, stolen spoon suddenly felt heavier than the fall of a Titan.