The air in the interview room hung thick, a cloying mix of their unspoken anger and barely leashed frustration. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the tense tableau. The woman, perched stiffly on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white, presented a rigid mask of resentment.
"Even Amai Mask won't agree with this," she spat, her voice sharp, laced with a nasty little triumph. She clings to his opinion like a drowning person to a raft. A futile gesture. His aesthetic sensibilities hold no sway over practical matters. This promotion is a logical necessity, regardless of his vanity. "He'll see this as an insult to the A-Class."
Sitch, his posture ramrod straight behind the imposing metal desk, his gaze unwavering, allowed a flicker of irritation to cross his features before schooling it back into professional neutrality. "Amai Mask's opinion is irrelevant," he stated, his voice firm, unwavering.
"Irrelevant?" she scoffed, her eyes flicking towards me with pure disdain. Her contempt is palpable, a physical weight in the already heavy air. Does she truly believe my capabilities are diminished by my… unconventional appearance? Such shallow judgment is a weakness. "He's the face of the A-Class! He won't tolerate someone like... him."
"Sneck has proven his worth," Sitch retorted, his voice unwavering, a subtle edge creeping in. "He is qualified. His performance metrics exceed those of several current A-Class heroes."
"But Amai Mask…" she persisted, a subtle threat lacing her tone. "He has influence. He could make things… difficult. The public… they adore him."
"The public's adoration is fickle," Sitch countered, his voice hardening. "It shifts with the latest spectacle. What they need is results, and Sneck delivers results. Efficiently and decisively. Amai Mask's tantrums will not supersede the needs of the Hero Association."
Their squabble is a tiresome distraction. The intricacies of their internal politics are irrelevant to the primary objective. Eliminate threats. Acquire orbs. This promotion is merely a stepping stone. I remained impassive, observing their petty squabbles with a detached curiosity. Their opinions held little weight. My focus was the mission, the orbs. This promotion was just another step.
"Sneck," Sitch announced, his voice cutting through the tension with authority, "you are promoted to A-Class, effective immediately. Congratulations."
I nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in my reptilian eyes. Their resistance was predictable, based on emotional biases rather than logical assessment. Logic dictated this outcome. Their resistance had been… inefficient. I had overcome it. I was A-Class.
Just as I was about to leave, the silent man, who had been observing the exchange with an unnervingly calm demeanor from the corner of the room, finally spoke. His voice was calm, measured, carrying a quiet authority that somehow overshadowed the preceding animosity.
"Before we finalize the promotion," he said, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes sharp and intelligent, "I have one question. Does Sneck have a formal hero name?"
I paused, my reptilian eyes blinking slowly. A hero name? A label. An unexpected parameter. A designation beyond the functional 'Sneck'. A hero name. I had forgotten that, right now, I was simply Sneck.
"No," I replied, my voice flat, devoid of inflection. "I have not chosen a hero name."
The man nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "A hero name is important," he said gently, a hint of something akin to understanding in his tone. "It's a symbol, a representation of who you are as a hero. It's how the public will remember you."
The woman, despite her earlier anger, looked at me with a small hint of amusement, a cruel twist to her lips. She sees an opening for mockery, a petty attempt to regain some perceived lost ground. Her focus remains on superficialities. She likely saw this as an opportunity to belittle me. Sitch, however, looked concerned, a furrow in his brow. He understood the importance of public image, the delicate dance between hero and populace.
"Sneck is sufficient," Sitch interjected, his voice firm, brooking no argument. "His actions speak for themselves. The results are undeniable."
"Perhaps," the man conceded, his gaze still fixed on me, a subtle knowingness in his eyes, "but a hero name can enhance one's image, create a sense of identity. It's a matter of branding, if you will. In this age of media saturation, a memorable moniker can be as valuable as raw power."
He paused, his gaze lingering on me, as if trying to discern something beneath my reptilian exterior. "Think about it," he said. "A hero name can be a powerful tool. It can inspire hope, instill fear, or simply become a memorable moniker. It's up to you to decide what kind of hero you want to be."
A tool, he says. Intriguing. A means of influencing perception, shaping expectations. A variable to be considered. Efficiency extends beyond combat. He looked at Sitch and the woman. "I believe that Sneck should have a hero name before the official announcement of his promotion. It would be… prudent."
Sitch nodded slowly, conceding the point with a sigh. "Very well," he said, turning to me, his expression softening slightly. "Consider it, Sneck. Choose a name that reflects your strength, your dedication. Something that will resonate with the public. Something… impactful."
I nodded slowly, my mind churning, processing this new information. Resonance. Public perception. These are factors I had not prioritized. My focus had been solely on the acquisition of orbs and the elimination of threats. This requires a shift in perspective. This was an unexpected variable. I had never considered this aspect of being a hero. My focus had always been the objective, protection. But perhaps a hero name… perhaps it could be useful. A tool.
As I turned to leave, the man spoke again, his voice holding a gentle suggestion. "Perhaps," he offered, his gaze still fixed on me, "you could use your martial arts style as inspiration. 'Biting Snake Fist' has a certain… ring to it."
"Biting Snake Fist?" I repeated, my voice flat, the syllables feeling foreign on my tongue. A literal description of a combat technique. Simplistic, yet… accurate. My martial arts were a means, not an identity.
"It's your signature technique," the man explained gently, a faint smile gracing his lips. "It's what sets you apart. It's a name that reflects your strength, your precision, your… ferocity."
The woman, despite her earlier animosity, nodded slowly, a flicker of grudging respect in her voice. A reluctant acknowledgment. Perhaps even she can recognize the efficiency implied by the name. "It's not bad," she conceded, a hint of grudging respect in her voice. "It has a certain… menace to it."
Sitch, who had initially dismissed the need for a name, seemed to consider the suggestion with newfound interest. "Biting Snake Fist," he repeated, his voice thoughtful, testing the sound. "It's… fitting. It's direct, it's powerful. It conveys a clear image."
He turned to me, his expression encouraging, almost hopeful. "It's your choice, of course. But it's a strong name. It reflects your fighting style, your abilities. It could be a powerful symbol. A name the villains will learn to fear."
A symbol. Fear. Useful tools for achieving objectives. The real Sneck utilized this designation. Consistency minimizes potential confusion. Efficiency dictates adherence to established patterns. I considered the suggestion. The real Sneck used it. Consistency was logical. It was a name that spoke of strength, precision, relentless pursuit. It reflected the honed skill.
"Biting Snake Fist," I repeated, my voice slightly louder this time, the syllables feeling less alien. "It is… acceptable."
The man nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Very well," he said. "Biting Snake Fist it is. It has a good ring to it, and will be a good hero name."
Sitch nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. "Excellent," he said. "Then it's settled. Biting Snake Fist, A-Class hero. It has a good sound. It has… impact."
I nodded, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction in my eyes. A new designation acquired. A new level of access unlocked. The mission parameters expand. I had a hero name. I was Biting Snake Fist. I was A-Class. I left the room, the name echoing in my mind. A label. A tool. The challenges ahead remained, but now I was Biting Snake Fist, and I was ready. The acquisition of more orbs was now within closer reach. The intricacies of A-Class hero society would need to be navigated, but a name, it seemed, was the first step in that complex dance.