Chapter Text
Genos loved the way Saitama smirked, nowadays. It was the gentlest upward curve of his lips, as if a string were tugging at the corner of Saitama’s mouth. The cyborg thought it was irresistible, and the rare times that he saw its glimmer Genos found it impossible not to lean in and kiss Saitama’s nose.
Of course, Genos never did that in public. Ohhh no. Kissing Saitama in public was not permitted (although Genos had the sneaking suspicion that Saitama wouldn’t mind as much as he might pretend). Genos had to keep up their image of the perfect crime-boss family, didn’t he? And the kids-- or as Saitama liked to refer to them, ‘the ‘borgs’-- did such a good job running their own various branches of the gang that Genos was loathe to mess up in front of them. It wasn’t that Genos and the ‘borgs had a strained relationship: Genos just wanted to make sure they had the best possible role models, which meant that he would not allow them to see him as anything but perfect.
Back before Saitama and Genos met, Genos was pretty lonely. He kept himself busy, of course-- shipments of smuggled CDs were due every week to keep up with demand, and occasionally he’d have to drop off a dead body or two to satisfy the more...unique...customers. It was tough, though, being a one-man show, and sometimes he’d have to hire hitmen in order to keep up the appearance of a large, criminal organization. Genos was very particular about appearances.
Eventually, though, Genos gathered a large following-- either people who were in debt to him, or those that he’d coerced into working for him. Genos paid higher than most of the other gangs in the area, and occasionally he’d get defectors that were interested in getting paid more per job, too. In any case, Genos soon found himself at the top of a small (but influential) gang, and he focused his time on diversifying operations (from smuggling CDs alone he expanded into ammo, weapons, and illicit substances). Still, he was isolated, and although he was rarely lonely, he began to find it difficult to be truly satisfied with his life.
The first time Genos heard the rumors, he scoffed. “One man took out the entire Wannpann family? Ridiculous. No one’s that good.” But even as he spoke, Genos felt a twinge in his gut. He remembered thinking, “Shit, man. Someone just like me. I should hire him, before he gets too dangerous.” Later that evening, Genos made a quiet inquiry into the mysterious figure who haunted the bars and brothels in the form of rumors. For two weeks he sat on his heels, impatient for news, but the man was never found, and the woman that was tasked with finding him was sent back in a box-- sans head. Genos did not ask anyone else to find the man after that.
Rumors continued to circulate. They varied in believability, ranging from the relatively normal “I heard he held that brothel owner hostage for five days” to “he killed twelve people with just one punch!” When he heard the more outlandish rumors, Genos simply gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. But the cyborg recognized the danger posed by the unknown hitman. I’ve got to find a way to recruit him before he’s hired to destroy my gang.