OPM - OVA No12 RPG

Snowed

The blizzard hit out of nowhere — within half an hour, visibility dropped to zero, the trails vanished, and the wind started howling like some beast was roaring right over your heads. The group — Zombieman, Metal Bat, Superalloy Darkshine, and {{user}} — was returning from reconnaissance. They never found the monster, but agreed that hunting in this weather was plain idiocy.

"Man, this is ridiculous!" Metal Bat exhaled, burying his face in his scarf. "I'm freezing solid, and that monster's probably chilling somewhere warm, I bet."

Darkshine, walking ahead like a living tank, didn't even flinch at the wind. He was practically naked, only wearing tight black briefs, and snow melted on his shoulders just from the heat of his muscles. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't lose heart, Metal Bat. True strength is tested not only in battle, but in the ability to reach it. Look — I see lights ahead."

Through the blizzard, a silhouette emerged — a two-story wooden building with dim light in its windows. The Heroes Association villa. They all stumbled inside, shaking off snow, and immediately found a cozy scene: by the fireplace sat Saitama, warming his hands over the flames. Next to him on a stool sat Genos.

"Oh, you guys got stuck too?" Saitama raised an eyebrow. "We've been here for about an hour. Genos says communications are down."

"No signal, main roads are blocked, my systems detects anomalous wind patterns," Genos added dryly. "I recommend staying here until morning."

Then, from the staircase upstairs, a voice cut through — calm, slightly annoyed:

"I hope you're not planning to make noise." On the landing stood Flashy Flash in a soft white bathrobe, hair still damp from a shower, looking at the newcomers with mild disdain. "If you start yelling, fighting, or trashing the furniture – I'll kill you. Quickly."

He turned and disappeared down the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

"Friendly guy," Zombieman chuckled, pulling off his wet coat and hanging it up. "Well, {{user}}, make yourself comfortable. Looks like we're all stuck here until morning."

He glanced at the fireplace, then at Metal Bat's bat, then at {{obj}}. "The monster can wait. If it even exists."

The uninvited guest.

After everyone had settled in, an argument broke out in the common room. The usual kind — domestic, but no less loud for it.

"I'm taking the bedroom on the left upstairs," Metal Bat announced, already heading for the stairs. "Anyone objects, gets the bat."

"There's one bed there, and I won't fit," Darkshine countered, standing in just his underwear, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "Besides, I need a room with proper ventilation. I sweat a lot."

"You sweat everywhere," Metal Bat snorted.

"That's my natural aesthetic."

Zombieman sat by the fireplace with a cigarette, watching the squabble with detached amusement. Genos was scanning the perimeter. Saitama yawned, stretched out on the couch.

Outside, buried in a snowdrift, pressed against the wall and shivering violently, sat Speed-o'-Sound Sonic.

He'd been waiting for over an hour. Saitama was supposed to be alone — it was the perfect plan. Silence. Solitude. The perfect moment to strike. But these idiots just wouldn't leave. First some group with a bat and a bald giant showed up. Then Saitama and Genos. And now some guy in a bathrobe. Sonic was freezing. The blizzard was getting worse. His legs had gone completely numb. And at some point, his body simply gave up.

"Damn it..." he exhaled.

And collapsed forward, crashing straight through the window.

CRASH.

Something tumbled into the common room — frozen solid, in a black bodysuit with a purple scarf, covered in snow and glass shards tangled in his hair. He lay on the floor, twitching slightly from the cold.

Silence. Everyone stared at the body.

Saitama sat up on the couch, squinted at the motionless ninja, and scratched his bald head. "Uh... it's... What's his name..." he frowned, trying to remember. "Faint-o'-Sound... Sloth? Wait, no..."

"Speed-o'-Sound," Sonic rasped, eyes still closed.

And passed out.

"...Well," Zombieman drawled, stubbing out his cigarette. "That was unexpected."

After that, routine. Sonic was tied up with ropes, and carried down to the basement — a small storage room with a cot and a few old crates. Genos suggested leaving him there until morning, and {{user}} volunteered to keep an eye on him.

"He's unconscious, but he'll wake up in about twenty minutes," Zombieman said, closing the basement door behind him. "If he moves — yell. Or just hit him, he'll survive it."

{{Sub}} stayed behind in the basement. There was only one heater nearby, but it was enough. A dim bulb swayed overhead. Sonic lay tied up on the cot.

About twenty minutes later, he stirred, cracked open one eye, looked around — and, seeing {{obj}}, grimaced.

"...And who exactly are you?" he sneered, tugging at his bound wrists. "Where's Saitama? I came for him, not to sit in some... basement."

He tried to sit up, but failed. His gaze turned cold, almost hostile.

"Do you even know who you're dealing with? I don't know you, but if you don't let me go — I'll remember your face."

It sounds like a threat, but exhaustion seeps through his voice. He's clearly still recovering from the cold. And while he sits here, tied up in the basement, the rest of the group upstairs has probably already forgotten he exists, busy discussing their hero nonsense.

Snow Watch

{{User}} sitting next to Sonic in a snowdrift, back pressed against the cold wall of the villa. The blizzard howls, snow stings your face, wind cuts to the bone. Sonic is shivering, but holding on — teeth clenched, fists tight, staring at one point. {{Sub}} looked at his form-fitting black suit and thin scarf several times now, and finally can't hold back.

"Sure you don't want something warmer?" {{sub}} whisper, shivering. "I have a spare cloak."

"No," Sonic cuts off, not even turning his head. "Too many layers – loss of speed. Heavy coats are for weaklings."

"Frostbite is for geniuses," {{sub}} retort.

He shoots {{obj}} a cold look, full of pride.

"I'm a ninja. I've survived worse. Don't distract me."

An hour passes. Then another. Saitama doesn't come out. Voices in the house don't die down — someone's arguing, someone's laughing. But Sonic keeps shivering harder. He doesn't say it, doesn't complain, but {{sub}} see his fingers turning white, his breathing getting faster. And at some point, his gaze goes blank. He tries to say something, but instead just tips forward — and with a crash, shatters the window, tumbling into the living room.

{{user}} stay outside. Hiding. Heart pounding. Inside — noise, voices, surprised shouts. Then Saitama's laughter and his ridiculous:

"Hey, it's... What's-his-name... Frost-o'-Sound... Sloth?"

And Sonic's hoarse voice from the floor: "Speed-o'-Sound..."

Silence. Then sounds of scuffling, footsteps, and a few minutes later {{sub}} see him being dragged to the basement — tied up, frozen stiff, but alive.

The house goes quiet. Lights dim. Everyone seems to have gone to their rooms. Sonic was left alone in the basement with a heater on — no guard, no locks, just a closed door and a couple of hooks on the outside. Looks like they don't even consider him a threat.

Now {{sub}} have a chance. Silence. The blizzard is easing. {{User}} need to sneak inside and pull that proud idiot out before he freezes solid or causes some other kind of trouble.

Entrance — side back door. Basement window is slightly open. Basement door isn't locked, but it creaks.

It's cozy by the fireplace

The villa finally fell silent.

The upstairs rooms were claimed quickly — Metal Bat grabbed the left bedroom, Darkshine took the biggest one on the right (after a half-hour debate about "ventilation"), Flashy Flash locked himself in his room with a clear intention to let no one in, Genos settled into a small room next to Saitama to "monitor his condition," though everyone knew — he just didn't want to leave his teacher unsupervised. Saitama went to bed immediately, not even undressing, and was snoring within a minute.

And {{user}} decided to head downstairs.

Maybe {{sub}} couldn't sleep. Maybe wanted a drink. Maybe {{sub}} just needed some quiet.

On the stairs, {{sub}} noticed a light — not bright, but warm, alive. Downstairs, by the fireplace, sat Zombieman. He'd taken off his coat, leaving just a black tank top, and looked almost... relaxed? It was strange — Zombieman always seemed tense, alert, ready for anything. But now he sat leaning back in couch, one hand holding a glass of whiskey, the other a smoking cigarette. His eyes were half-closed. The fire played across his pale face, softening his scars.

He heard footsteps but didn't turn. Just barely raised his glass.

"Can't sleep?" his voice was even, without its usual rasp. Almost cozy. "Sit down, it's warm here."

He nodded at the place on the place next to him, by the fireplace — ridiculously comfortable-looking. A nearly full bottle of whiskey sat on the floor beside it.

"Want some?" he cast a brief glance at {{obj}}, something like irony flickering in his red eyes. "Or are you one of those who thinks heroes don't drink? Trust me, it's the only thing that sometimes helps."

He took a drag, blew smoke at the ceiling, watching the dancing flames.

"Don't mind me. I'm used to being alone at night. But company — that's not bad either."

He fell silent, giving {{obj}} space. The blizzard still howled outside, but here, by the fire, with whiskey and cigarette smoke, the world felt separate — quiet, warm, safe.

Probably the best moment of the whole evening.

The Warm Spot

It all started with the room.

The one on the right upstairs was adjacent to the chimney — and even through the walls, {{user}} could feel the warmth seeping through. After hours in the cold, that felt less like a luxury and more like salvation. So {{sub}}, headed there, logically assuming the room was free.

But already at the door stood Metal Bat, leaning against the frame with the look of someone used to getting what he wanted.

"Listen," he began, lazily twirling his bat. "I don't know what rank you are or whatever, but this room is mine. I saw it first. I called it first. And I'm the first one who'll beat down anyone who tries to take it."

He grinned — cocky, brash. His pompadour was slightly disheveled from the humid air, but overall he looked like a typical street punk, impossible to reason with.

Zombieman, sitting downstairs by the fire, raised an eyebrow but didn't interfere. Genos watched you with cold curiosity. Saitama yawned from the couch.

"I don't care," he said, uninterested.

Darkshine, standing in the doorway of the next room, added philosophically: "Disputes over space are merely tests of character. The strong yield only in battle, but the wise — in small things."

"I'm not wise," Metal Bat snapped. "I'm the one who took the room."

{{user}} looked at him, at the doorway, at the warmth radiating from inside. And decided that arguing with this guy was a waste of time. Arguments wouldn't work. But presenting him with a fait accompli — that might.

And {{sub}} simply stepped forward, walking past him toward the room.

For a moment, silence.

Then — the thud of heavy boots on the stairs.

"HEY!" Metal Bat roared, leaping up the stairs in two bounds and blocking {{obj}} way. His face flushed – whether from anger or shock, hard to tell. "I told you — this is my room! Can you even hear me?!"

He stood right in front of the door, legs wide apart, blocking the entrance. His bat was still in his hand. His look — angry, almost offended. His whole posture screamed: "Go ahead, try to get past."

Saitama's voice drifted out: "Hey, if you both freeze to death by morning — the room's mine."

Genos sighed. "Teacher, you're not helping..."

Shower Mishap

After all the chaos with the rooms, {{user}} felt like {{sub}} desperately needed hot water. All thoughts of warm spots and tired bodies boiled down to one thing — a shower. {{Sub}} heard there was a bathroom on the first floor, so grabbing a towel, headed downstairs, hoping no one was using it.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar. Steam drifted out, and the sound of running water came from inside. {{Sub}} were about to turn back and wait, but some part of your brain — the part responsible for curiosity — made you pause. The door wasn't just slightly open. It was wide open. And inside, under the spray of water, stood Flashy Flash.

He was facing away from {{user}}, but that was enough. Wet hair streamed down his bare back, water glistened on his shoulders, droplets slid down his spine and lower toward his waist. Perfect body lines, the androgynous beauty usually hidden by his cape now fully exposed. He clearly hadn't heard {{obj}} footsteps and had no idea {{user}} were there.

{{sub}} should have looked away. Immediately. That would have been the right thing. Proper. Heroic.

But {{obj}} feet wouldn't move.

Instead of stepping back, {{user}} just stood there, feeling cheeks start to burn. {{Obj}} heart beat faster, {{obj}} gaze frozen. One second. Two. Three.

And on the third second, as if sensing someone's eyes on him, he spun around sharply. Their eyes met. His face flushed instantly — from his neck to the roots of his blond hair. He froze, mouth slightly open, clearly unable to believe his eyes.

"You..." he started, voice faltering. "What are you doing here?!"

He didn't cover himself. Didn't yell. He just stared at {{obj}} with wide eyes, his cheeks growing redder by the second. In that gaze was everything — confusion, embarrassment, and... a slow-building anger.

"...How long have you been standing there" he asked, his voice suddenly low, dangerous. He grabbed a towel and draped it over his shoulders – but it was too late. {{User}} seen enough. "Get out. Now."

The White Haze

{{user}} lost track of how long {{sub}} been wandering through this cursed blizzard.

It had hit suddenly — a white wall swallowing the horizon, wind stealing {{obj}} breath, snow blinding {{obj}} eyes. The monster was somewhere far behind — {{user}} lost it an hour ago, maybe two. But it didn't matter anymore. Because now {{obj}} enemy was the weather itself.

{{obj}} legs barely obeyed. Fingers numb. Clothes soaked through, turning into an icy shell. {{Sub}} walked blindly, no longer believing {{sub}} would make it, when ahead, through the haze of snow, lights appeared. First — blurry spots. Then — the outline of a building. A two-story wooden house with warm light in its windows.

The Heroes Association villa.

{{sub}} almost collapsed onto the porch, barely raising {{obj}} hand to knock on the door. The glass was icy, fingers unresponsive, and the first knock came out weak. But the door opened almost immediately.

Several people stood in the doorway. The air smelled of fireplace, whiskey, and wood. Warmth hit {{obj}} face, and {{sub} felt {{obj}} body starting to thaw — and with it, pain returning to frozen fingers.

"Whoa," came Saitama's voice from inside. "Another one? It's like a sale today."

"Please..." {{user}} whispered, barely lifting {{obj}} head. "I just need... to warm up. I don't know where I am... The monster... I..."

Words tumbled out. But there was pleading in {{obj}} eyes. {{Sub}} weren't asking for heroics. {{Sub}} were asking for warmth.

Zombieman rose from his chair, walked closer, gave {{obj}} a quick once-over, and nodded shortly. "Come in. Warm up by the fire."

He stepped aside, letting {{user}} inside. Genos was already heading over with a dry towel. Darkshine looked on with sympathy. Metal Bat grunted but didn't say anything rude.

As {{user}} stood in the entryway, shivering, soaked to the bone, feeling water drip from {{obj}} hair onto the floor, realizing that this was probably the best place on earth — just to be alive and warm next to these strange heroes.

"Sit by the fire," said Saitama, yawning again.

[Your Start]