Let's rewind the timeline of One Punch Man to about five years before the Hero Association officially documented Saitama's overwhelming strength.
That year, Tornado of Terror—Tatsumaki—was 23, already a powerful force within the Hero Association, unofficially operating before ranks were clearly defined.
That year, Saitama was 20 years old. Still hair-bearing, unemployed, and beginning to grow disillusioned with society.
That year, Fubuki, the Blizzard of Hell, was 18—still in training, just beginning to dabble with her psychic abilities, far from forming the Blizzard Group.
And that year is where our story begins—with the weekend sale owner.
Chen Lun, a hard-working post-80s salaryman from Earth, somehow became one of the rare "crossover cases"—not through reincarnation or an epic destiny, but pure dumb lottery luck. When he came to in this world, it was the early era of One Punch Man, before the Hero Association had gained absolute public trust, and when heroes were still figuring out how to brand themselves.
At this point in time, monsters—better known as "Mysterious Beings"—were appearing more and more frequently. Despite a sharp increase in licensed heroes, their emergence showed no sign of slowing. The world was caught in a strange imbalance: more heroes, but also more chaos.
Sadly, unlike other transplants gifted with god-tier talent or villainous ambition, Chen Lun didn't awaken a cheat ability or get a powerful monster core. He didn't become a cyborg, a genius, or a psychic. He simply became the manager of a discount grocery in City Z—a guy with a small store and zero combat ability.
The market he ran wasn't much bigger than a Family Mart. But here in City Z, it was considered a local fixture. Locals called him "Boss Chen," "Axel," or just "That guy with the decent eggs." He played the role of shopkeeper, accountant, bagger, and janitor. In the eyes of this city, he was an essential worker with no hero license.
Still, Chen Lun was content. He didn't need to pay rent—his shop came with a second-floor attic where he could sleep, bathe, and watch pirated Hero Channel broadcasts. He didn't need to worry about employment—he was self-employed. As long as he could eat, his "family" (i.e., just himself) wouldn't starve.
On this particular day, Chen opened the metal shutter with some effort. After years of wear, the old iron rod groaned and creaked, giving him its usual resistance.
"One day, I'll replace you with an automatic roller, Grandpa Gate," Chen muttered, gritting his teeth as he forced it halfway up.
Right then, a familiar silhouette slipped in through the half-meter gap—a bald youth in a hoodie, carrying a bamboo basket.
"You're still opening on time, huh, Boss?" the young man greeted casually.
Of course he opened on time. Back on Earth, if you missed the morning bus, your whole day was screwed.
Chen smiled. "Ah, Saitama-kun, you're early today. What are you looking for? Good quality and low price—my motto, you know."
Saitama, 20 years old, was still at that awkward stage of life—unemployed, underwhelmed, and underpaid. Weekend sales were sacred to him. Though he wasn't a regular shopper, he always showed up for egg discounts.
He raised a brow at Chen's slogan. "That tagline again? You should switch to 'high price, low quality,' to be honest."
Chen shrugged. "It's called brand consistency."
Saitama walked past him to the fresh produce section and started loading eggs into his basket. "By the way, did you hear about that freak who came to Jarvis's place yesterday?"
"Egg freak? You mean the guy who tried to stop people from selling eggs?" Chen asked, finally getting the shutter all the way up. He wiped his sweat and carefully placed the rusted rod back into the corner. "I saw pictures. Looks like Humpty Dumpty's evil cousin. Hilarious."
In this world, "Mysterious Beings" were creatures mutated by obsession, trauma, or ideology. The Egg Monster reportedly evolved from a man who loved eggs so much he couldn't bear seeing them cracked. He underwent a spontaneous transformation, becoming a bipedal egg with limbs and a vendetta against omelets.
He'd shown up outside Jarvis's shop, threatening destruction if egg sales didn't stop. Naturally, locals laughed him off—until he wasn't funny anymore.
"I always shop before you. Jarvis gets the freshest stuff. But today..." Saitama trailed off.
Chen's smile faded. He knew that look.
"You... went to Jarvis's already?"
Saitama nodded.
"Did you see...eggshells?" Chen asked cautiously.
Saitama shook his head. "Worse. One of Jarvis's floor-to-ceiling windows had an oval hole smashed through it. Glass shards everywhere."
Chen's face paled.
"And inside?" Saitama asked, watching Chen closely. "Guess what I saw?"
"W-What?" Chen's voice cracked.
Saitama sighed and picked up a grape from the nearby display. "I saw Jarvis."
Then he crushed the grape between his palms.
"Just like this."
"Gulp." Chen swallowed.
"I reported it to the Hero Association. But since the Egg Monster vanished, they didn't classify it as an emergency—just added it to the 'post list.'"
Emergency cases trigger immediate hero deployment. Post list cases? Those get published on the Hero Association's internal site, available for any hero looking for a side gig. But most heroes prefer emergencies—more points, more glory.
In short, Chen's street had been abandoned to the Egg Monster.
He looked at his display shelf—dozens of egg cartons.
His main income.
Then at the squashed grape.
His throat tightened.
He really, really didn't want to end up like Jarvis.