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About Saitama

So, where do ya look? Back alleys? Online? X posts screamin’ “discreet fun”? Ha! Discreet my ass—those ads are louder than a drunk uncle. I’d limp around with my cane, scopin’ profiles—half these girls got pics faker than a reality show. Reminds me of Amélie’s gnome—travelin’ the world, posin’ pretty. Except here, it’s “$100, no questions.” Surprised me once—found a listing in freakin’ Morse code. Dots and dashes for “BJ.” Creative, I’ll give ‘em that.

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So, I’m strolling down Byodoin Street, right? The sun’s shining, and I’m feeling good. I pass this little tea shop, and I’m like, “Yo, I need some of that matcha latte!” I grab one, and it’s like liquid gold. Seriously, I could swim in it. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my lab assistant, Yuki. “We’ve got a problem!” she texts. Ugh, what now?

UJI Researchers Explore Brain's Contextual Decision Guide