Chương 21: The Calculated Variable

The air inside the Headmistress's tower was thick with the scent of ozone and freshly printed terminal parchment. Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the massive gear networks of Beacon Academy turned with a rhythmic, low-frequency hum, cast in the pale gold of the midday sun.

Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch sat behind the grand desk that once belonged to Ozpin, her fingers crossed tightly under her chin, her green eyes fixed onto a holographic display projecting Doctor Oobleck's chaotic, data-heavy field report. Around the circular conference table sat the newly assembled faculty board, their expressions ranging from academic fascination to sheer exhaustion.

"A three hundred percent spike in localized alpha-class density within the sector four outskirts," Glynda muttered, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register that immediately caused the room to quiet down. She tapped the desk, shifting the holographic page.

"Multiple mid-sized King Taijitus operating in synchronized pack formations alongside elder Death Stalkers. Bartholomew, your report reads less like a controlled field extraction for freshmen and more like a tactical suicide mission."

"An anomaly of the highest ecological order, Glynda! The behavioral synchronization displayed by those apex specimens defies three centuries of recorded Grimm migration patterns!" Doctor Oobleck bounced twice in his seat, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against the side of his steaming thermos.

"Yet, the operational integrity of both the second-year vanguard and the incoming freshmen remained entirely uncompromised!"

"Even so, Bartholomew," Glynda interrupted, her brow furrowing deeply as she zoomed in on the environmental data.

"King Taijitus are intensely territorial creatures. To have several of them nesting alongside not one, but two elder Death Stalkers in the exact same perimeter... it defies basic Grimm biology. They should have torn each other apart long before our transport arrived."

"Precisely my thought!" Oobleck agreed rapidly, his glasses sliding down his nose as his head bobbed.

"The local atmospheric negative variance was artificially concentrated, almost as if those creatures were actively driven toward that clearing by an external force rather than simple instinctual migration!"

"Oh, thank goodness for that," Professor Thumbelina Peach sighed deeply, her hands resting over her soft, floral-patterned apron as she leaned back in her chair. A small wooden crate containing the freshly harvested Aura-Lilies sat on the floor beside her, their roots glowing with a faint, stable yellow light.

"If those poor children had been harmed while gathering my specimens, I would never have forgiven myself. We owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to Doctor Oobleck's rapid tactical redirection, and, of course, to Mr. Saitama. Even if he isn't present to hear it, his heavy-lifting security assignment saved our entire curriculum today."

"Hah! The boy merely did what any true Huntsman would do when faced with a horde of over-grown pests!" Professor Peter Port boomed, slamming a heavy, calloused fist against the armrest of his chair, his mustache bristling with pride.

"Though I must admit, his methods are... decisively abrupt! In my historical lectures this morning, I could barely get the first-years to focus on the Great War! Every single hand that went up was asking whether Mr. Saitama's defense during the Breach was a localized semblance or some form of ancient, undocumented physical conditioning!"

"It isn't conditioning, Peter, it's a structural impossibility," Professor Ann Greene interjected, her sharp, analytical gaze fixed on the scrolling kinetic equations on the terminal screen. She adjusted the heavy, dark-rimmed glasses resting on her nose, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

"I've run the numbers through three separate simulation grids. The sheer kinetic force required to vaporize a five-ton Beringel with a casual backhand slap should have structurally imploded the surrounding topsoil, if not the user's own muscular framework. He doesn't register an active Aura signature. From a purely biomechanical standpoint, the man shouldn't be able to lift the trash bin he was dragging, let alone rewrite the local ecosystem."

"Perhaps the lack of Aura is the answer itself," Professor Harold Mulberry murmured softly, his quiet, reclusive voice forcing the rest of the table to lean in to hear him. He adjusted the high collar of his coat, his eyes tracing the holographic recording of the Death Stalker's stinger shattering against Saitama's bald head.

"We spend our entire lives teaching students to project their soul outward as a shield. What if his soul is entirely compressed inward? An absolute, impenetrable center of mass. It would explain why the Grimm are drawn to the negative space he creates, yet utterly shattered by his presence." Glynda remained silent, her eyes tracking the loop of Saitama casually tossing a massive Death Stalker claw into his industrial recycling bin. A complex, heavy thought began to take root in her mind.

She stood up, her riding crop tucked tightly under her arm as she paced toward the grand window, looking down at the bustling courtyard below.

"Regardless of the theory, the reality remains that our second-year students are entering a world that expects them to be soldiers," Glynda said, her back to the faculty.

"They need to grow past the standard parameters of the Vytal curriculum. I am considering bringing Mr. Saitama into my combat classes as a permanent instructional assistant." The room went completely still. Port blinked, his booming laugh dying in his throat.

"An assistant, Glynda?" Oobleck asked, his glasses sliding down his nose.

"The psychological disparity between his casual demeanor and the students' intense drive could cause severe educational friction!"

"It is not his teaching methods I am utilizing, Bartholomew, but his threshold," Glynda clarified, turning around to face them, her jaw set firmly.

"The second-years are becoming complacent with their own rapid growth. If they train against an asset that cannot be broken, cannot be outmaneuvered, and cannot be harmed, it will force them to abandon standard tactical assumptions. However... the safety parameters are my primary concern. If we conduct these exercises within the main building's training arena, the structural integrity of the automated dust-shields might fail under his accidental kinetic feedback.

We may be forced to utilize the outer courtyard or the cliffside training grounds simply to preserve the campus infrastructure."

"Well, if you do decide to put him in the arena," Professor Peach said with a small, nervous smile, "please let me know in advance. I'll need to move my greenhouse specimens to the lower vaults just in case." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Down in the main grand cafeteria, the atmosphere was loud, chaotic, and brimming with the familiar energy of the lunch rush. Teams RWBY and JNPR occupied a long central table, surrounded by the heavy clatter of plastic trays and silverware. Just across from them sat Team CFVY, their upperclassman status written clearly in their relaxed, seasoned postures.

"I'm telling you, Coco, it wasn't even a fight!" Ruby Rose exclaimed, her hands gesturing wildly in the air as she nearly knocked over her apple juice box. Her asymmetric white blouse caught the bright cafeteria lights as she mimicked a massive punching motion.

"The Death Stalker came in from the blind spot, bam! And its stinger just went crunch right against his head! Like he was made of solid titanium dust crystals!" Velvet Scarlatina leaned forward, her long brown rabbit ears twitching with intense curiosity as she patted the hard-shell camera case resting on the bench next to her.

"Did you manage to get any diagnostic readings on your scroll? If his skin can withstand an Elder stinger without an active Aura flare, my projection weapon might not even be able to replicate his kinetic resistance."

"There wasn't anything to read, Velvet," Jaune Arc said, his voice serious as he aggressively cut into his Salisbury steak, his reinforced chestplate clinking against the edge of the table.

"My scroll's aura-scanner just registered a complete flatline. The guy is just... dense. It makes me realize how much harder I have to push the morning routine. If he can do that without an Aura, I have absolutely no excuse to slack off." Coco Adel tilted her head, her sunglasses sliding down slightly as her expression turned analytical.

"It's not just about his strength, though. What you guys said about the numbers... that doesn't make any sense. Multiple King Taijitus and those massive scorpions hanging out in the same tiny sector? That's not a normal pack. That's a localized army."

"Exactly," Fox Alistair chimed in, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, his scarred face turning toward Jaune.

"King Taijitus are aggressively solitary. When they cross paths, they usually try to swallow each other whole. For them to work as a coordinated vanguard alongside Death Stalkers means something was either actively driving them out of the deep wild, or organizing them."

"Could it have been an alpha commanding them?" Yatsuhashi Daichi suggested, his low, rumbling voice vibrating through the tabletop.

"A larger, elder Grimm hiding further in the deep outskirts?"

"If there is, we'll probably have to find it eventually," Yang Xiao Long muttered, rolling her shoulders.

"But hey, as long as baldy is wandering around with his broom, I'm not too worried about them breaching the walls."

"Speaking of missions," Pyrrha Nikos said, looking across the table at CFVY.

"We heard Headmistress Glynda is sending you guys out on a long-term deployment soon."

"Yep, next week," Coco confirmed, cracking her knuckles with a confident grin.

"Glynda's got us heading out to the external settlement borders to run threat assessments. Since the continental communications are still a mess, she wants a seasoned team to do a physical sweep of the outer defense outposts to make sure no massive hordes are gathering in our blind spots. We'll be gone for a while."

"We'll make sure to bring back some good data for your combat prep, too," Velvet added warmly, her rabbit ears giving a small, encouraging twitch.

"Just make sure you leave some action for us when you get back," Nora Valkyrie cheered, scooping a massive pile of mashed potatoes onto her plate while her layered combat skirt bounced against the bench.

"Next time, I'm going to ask Saitama to let me hit him with Magnhild at maximum electrical charge! Just to see if he makes a funny face!"

"Please do not do that, Nora," Lie Ren said calmly, setting down his tea with perfect precision, his dark green tailcoat neatly folded over the back of his seat.

"Mr. Saitama's patience is considerable, but provoking our primary security asset for an equilibrium test seems highly counterproductive." Fox Alistair sat with his arms crossed, a sharp smirk on his face.

"I don't need a scanner to tell you the guy's a freak of nature. Yatsuhashi and I walked past him near the maintenance sheds yesterday. You can't hear his heartbeat from three paces away. It's like his body is entirely silent." Yatsuhashi Daichi nodded slowly, his massive frame taking up nearly two seats as he rested his heavy forearms on the table.

"A man who carries no tension is the hardest to predict in a grapple. If he truly has no ceiling, I would like to see how he handles a heavy-weight suppression hold." Coco Adel leaned back, her dark sunglasses sliding down her nose just enough for her hazel eyes to track the conversation. She adjusted the heavy gold ammunition belts slung across her dark leather trench coat, a stylish, sharp grin playing on her lips.

"All of you boys are talking about muscles and metrics. I don't care how hard he hits. I want to see his action at a close distance just to see if he ever plans on upgrading that tragic wardrobe. A green janitorial jumpsuit with yellow rubber gloves? It's a public safety hazard to my eyesight."

"Speaking of our anomaly, look over there," Blake Belladonna said softly, her cat ears beneath her black bow flattening as she pointed her fork toward the far side of the cafeteria. Saitama had just walked through the double doors, holding a standard plastic gray lunch tray. He was completely surrounded by a shifting crowd of twenty fresh First-Year students, who were hovering around him like gnats, their faces filled with wide-eyed awe.

"Mr. Saitama! Is it true you did ten thousand push-ups to break your limiter?!" Toby shouted, his hands waving in the air as he tried to keep pace with the bald man's slow, dragging stride.

"Hey, please don't walk so close to the tray, you're going to spill my gravy," Saitama muttered, his face perfectly flat, his eyes fixed with complete, utter tragedy on the remarkably tiny, thin slice of Salisbury steak resting on his plate.

"And no, it was just a normal amount of push-ups. Seriously, why is there no gravy left? Did you guys take it all before the bell rang?"

"Are you truly a human, Mr. Saitama?" Marcus asked with full of curiosity.

"Or, perhaps, you're actually an extraterrestrial human-like being from a distant, destroyed planet, who was sent to Remnant when you were still an infant?!"

"Huh? Do I look like an alien to you?" Saitama baffled at Marcus' thinking.

"Mr. Saitama! Can you show us the backhand technique tomorrow?!" Chloe pleaded from his right flank, her dust-daggers clinking at her belt.

"The way you shattered the Ursa's bone mask, was that a directional gravity semblance?!"

"It was just a slap," Saitama sighed, his bald head reflecting the fluorescent lights as he tried to look for an empty table, his shoulders slumped in complete exhaustion.

"Look, being a hero was way easier when I didn't have to follow a high school lunch schedule. Can you guys just let me eat my meat before it gets cold?" From their table, Coco Adel leaned over the partition, clearing her throat loudly as she caught Saitama's drifting gaze.

"Hey, baldy! If you're going to be the school's big protector, the least you could do is ask the logistics department for a jumpsuit that doesn't look like it was manufactured in a discount warehouse in Atlas! That shade of green completely clashes with the cafeteria floor tiles!" Saitama stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes turning toward Team CFVY's table with a look of profound, deeply irritated annoyance.

"Not again, fashion lady! The lady with the riding crop said this jumpsuit was high-durability cotton blend! And it's free, alright? Do you know how expensive regular clothes are in this kingdom since the shipping lines got locked down? Leave my outfit alone!"

Ruby gave another tiny, incredibly awkward wave from her seat as Saitama shuffled toward a corner table by himself, aggressively stabbing a piece of pickled radish with his fork while the first-years continued to watch him from a respectful, terrified distance.