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About Saitama

So I walk up, all cool, like, “Yo, what’s good?” She smirks, says somethin’ sassy—prolly calls me “sugar” or some shit. I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “This chick’s a trip!” Reminds me of Joe dancin’ with them dames—smooth as fuck. But here’s the kicker—turns out she’s got a fake leg, right? Peg leg hooker, motherfucker! Swear to God, blew my damn mind. I’m like, “That’s some next-level texture right there!” Scratches, dents—shit I’d kill to model in 3D. She catches me starin’, goes, “What, you into prosthetics, freak?” I’m dyin’, man—humor’s dark as hell.

Without a trace: The unknown fate of Japanese female sex workers who vanish overseas

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with the cute barista? Yeah, her name’s Yuki. She always gives me that smile. Anyway, I ordered my usual—matcha latte, extra foam. But guess what? They ran outta matcha! Like, how do you run outta matcha in Japan? I was like, “Are you kidding me?”

The Fall 2023 Manga Guide - Life with an Ordinary Guy Who Reincarnated Into a Total Fantasy Knockout