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About Saitama

I’m imaginin’ it: me, analyzin’ X posts, tryna find a lead. “Oi, mate, got a girl?” I’d ping some sketchy account. Probs get ghosted—or scammed. Makes me mad, yo! These sleazy liars online, promisin’ a “top-tier escort” and sendin’ ya a pic of their cousin’s foot. Ugh, hate that. But then—bam!—I’d spot her. Red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Keeley’s alive!” I’d yell, like Julianne Moore’s ghost just cheered me on. Heart racin’, I’m stoked—she’s real, not some AI catfish.

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But then, I spot that sketchy dude again. He’s in the crowd, lookin’ all shady. My heart drops. I’m thinkin’, “What’s this guy’s deal?” I nudge Tanaka, and he’s like, “You worry too much.” I’m like, “Dude, I’m a bodyguard. Worrying is my job!”

Karin Tanabe and Victoria Kelly: We need to change the way we educate Americans about the atomic bombs