Chương 26: The Unmoving Metric

The secure holo-projection room in the Headmistress's tower hummed with the soft, blue glow of multiple active feeds, casting flickering shadows across the polished stone walls. On the primary viewing monitor, the recorded footage from the Beacon combat arena played in a continuous, looping sequence. The screen displayed the chaotic scenes of the combined student assault. All the efforts that the students delivered to Saitama were completely futile.

While they were all giving their very best to make him move even for an inch, the yellow-suited invincible hero was still standing unharmed. Saitama's gloved hands casually shoved into his pockets, his mouth open in a wide, jaw-cracking bored yawn as he scratched the side of his bald head. Even in the climax of the combined student assault.

Team RWBY's high-velocity scythe strikes, Team JNPR's tactical shield bashes, and Team CFVY's devastating heavy artillery barrage converged into a singular, blinding explosion of dust and spent Dust rounds right on top of Saitama. When the smoke cleared, Saitama was standing in the exact same spot. From the transmission terminal, a raucous, chest-heaving sound shattered the room's tense atmosphere.

Qrow Branwen's holographic avatar leaned heavily against a virtual table, clutching his flask in one hand while his other fist pounded his knee as he let out a booming laugh.

"Look at his face! Just look at him!" Qrow roared, his shoulders shaking violently as tears of genuine amusement welled up in his eyes.

"My nieces are out there putting their absolute souls into those attacks. Ruby is using every ounce of her semblance's momentum, Yang is practically burning through her own hair. And the guy looks like he's trying to remember if he turned off the stove before leaving the house!" Beside Qrow's projection, the feed from Vacuo expanded. Headmaster Theodore was practically falling out of his chair, his booming laughter echoing loudly through the audio receiver.

He slapped his desk, throwing his head back so far his golden hair brushed his shoulders.

"By the Gods, Glynda, this is art! I've seen some stubborn huntsmen in my day, but he didn't even adjust his stance! Not one inch! Look at the First Years' faces in the background, they look like they just tried to punch a mountain and the mountain scoffed at them!" Standing directly beside Theodore's seat, Professor Rumpole crossed her arms, her sharp eyes fixed unblinkingly on the looping footage. While her superior dissolved into hysterics, her jaw remained tight, her complexion draining of color.

"It isn't funny, Headmaster Theo," she muttered, her voice laced with a profound mixture of awe and distinct terror.

"Look at the kinetic dispersion. There isn't any. The energy from those weapons isn't being deflected or absorbed by an Aura barrier. It's just... stopping. It's vanishing against his skin." Across the digital round table, the holographic projection of General James Ironwood remained completely rigid. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back, his heavy brow furrowed into a deep, permanent crease. The blue light of the monitor highlighted the stark paleness of his face. He didn't laugh. He didn't blink.

His eyes followed the trajectory of Coco Adel's minigun fire, watching the heavy-caliber Dust rounds flatten completely against Saitama's cheek before dropping harmlessly to the floor.

"This defies every established law of combat engagement on Remnant," Ironwood said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that commanded immediate silence. He leaned forward, his cybernetic shoulder locking with a faint, metallic click.

"Glynda, what are the actual readings from the arena's kinetic sensors?" Glynda Goodwitch stepped into the center of the terminal ring, her fingers tapping precisely against her scroll to bring up a series of scrolling diagnostic graphs over the video playback. Her posture was perfectly erect, her riding crop tucked securely under her arm, though her eyes betrayed a deep, lingering exhaustion.

"The students' individual and collective capability metrics were operating at peak efficiency, James," Glynda explained, her voice steady and professional as she pointed to a surging spike on the graph.

"Team RWBY and Team JNPR alone generated enough localized force to level a fortified watchtower. Yet, the external sensors recorded a zero-percent fluctuation in Saitama's physical displacement. We ran these trials specifically to measure his baseline durability, to confirm without a shadow of a doubt if he possesses an absolute, literal invulnerability." She swiped her finger across the screen, clearing the data charts to reveal a blank calendar timeline.

"Now that the structural durability test has provided a definitive conclusion, I am planning to measure his operational speed under controlled parameters in several days," she continued, adjusting her glasses.

"And what about his offensive output?" Rumpole asked, her brow furrowing as she looked up from Theodore's side.

"Are you going to calculate his striking force?" Glynda shook her head instantly, a grim expression settling onto her features.

"I was thinking of measuring Saitama's strength as well for a moment, but I decided that it was entirely unnecessary after what we witnessed firsthand during the Battle of Beacon more than three months ago. Furthermore, Bartholomew's tactical telemetry from what he did back at the Emerald Forest just days ago confirms that his standard striking power already exceeds our ability to safely quantify." Ironwood nodded slowly, his expression shifting from sheer disbelief to a cold, calculating resolve.

"Agreed. Attempting to measure his maximum output within the kingdom's borders is a logistical hazard we cannot afford. Keep conducting these controlled durability and speed trials, Glynda, and make sure to keep sharing the data with the group later. Atlas needs to update its defensive contingency protocols immediately." Qrow wiped a tear from his eye, finally calming down as he took a swig from his flask. He tilted his head, looking closely at the cracked tiles visible on the arena floor behind Saitama's feet.

"Hey, Glynda, speaking of logistics... is it really okay to use the indoor combat arena inside the Academy for training like that? I know your Semblance can always fix the building up afterward, but that place takes a beating every time he just stands there." Theodore chimed in, leaning his chin on his palm with a smirk.

"Yeah, even with telekinesis, reconstructing a stadium three times a week has got to be a headache. Why not just take him out to the wastes?" Glynda let out a sharp, irritated sigh, her fingers tightening around her riding crop.

"I initially wanted to hold the combat class out in an open field completely outside the academy walls," she admitted, her voice tightening.

"However, I chose the enclosed arena for a specific reason. We already know that Salem is fully aware of Saitama's presence in Vale after the invasion. Because of that, I refuse to hold these training sessions outside where her agents or airborne Grimm can actively observe and measure the upper limits of his power. Furthermore, I absolutely do not want to endure the Vale Councilmen's endless complaints regarding the constant destruction of nature caused by the environmental impact of these exercises."

Her expression then twisted into a scowl as she massaged her temples.

"Although, staying indoors hasn't spared me from administrative headaches. I am strongly thinking of moving the training elsewhere because the other Beacon professors are constantly complaining about their specialized classrooms absorbing the shockwaves of the students' missed attacks against him." She closed her eyes, vividly remembering a disastrous incident from the previous afternoon.

She had walked into the courtyard only to find Professor Peach comically lecturing Saitama at the top of her lungs over a half-destroyed greenhouse. The bald hero had merely rubbed the back of his head, bowing and apologizing to her repeatedly, even though the structural damage wasn't even entirely his fault. Ironwood straightened up, his face hardening as he delivered his opinion.

"Keep him inside the arena, Glynda. The property damage is an acceptable operational deficit, and I will personally authorize the funds to cover the repairs. If Salem is already watching him, our priority is containment of data. We cannot allow her or her inner circle to grasp how he functions. If the Council complains about the budget, tell them it is a mandate of global security. Let the faculty grumble. Keeping the asset's specific capabilities confined within Beacon's walls is paramount."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Two days later, the high-arcing glass roof of the Beacon Combat Arena rattled under the pressure of a massive, concussive boom. The second major combat trial was reaching its agonizing conclusion. The entire arena floor was a battlefield of scorched stone, ice frost, and discarded magazines. In the center of the devastation stood Saitama, clad in his iconic, bright yellow hero suit, complete with his red boots, red gloves, and a white cape fluttering slightly behind his shoulders.

He stood completely still, his eyes blinking lazily as a flurry of high-caliber rounds, flaming dust slashes, and heavy broadsword strikes rained down upon his body. Ruby Rose bolted forward, a streak of rose petals trailing behind her as she brought Crescent Rose down in a massive, two-handed vertical execution strike right against the side of Saitama's neck. The heavy scythe blade struck with a loud, metallic CLANG, the vibrating shockwave rattling Ruby's arms so violently that her hands went completely numb.

The blade didn't even leave a red mark on his skin. Beside her, Yang Xiao Long unleashed a fiery, semblance-charged explosive punch directly into Saitama's stomach. The explosion illuminated the arena, but Saitama merely blinked, his stomach remaining as solid as an iron anvil. Cardin Winchester swung his massive mace down onto Saitama's bald head with a desperate scream, only for the weapon to bounce back so fiercely it nearly tore itself from his grip.

"Alright, I think that's time," Glynda's sharp voice rang out over the arena's intercom system. Instantly, the onslaught ceased. The students fell to the ground exhaustedly in total, crushing defeat. The entire combat class was scattered across the cracked stone floor, panting heavily, their weapons slipping from their sweat-slicked fingers.

"It's... it's not fair," Cardin groaned, sprawling flat on his back, his mace rolling out of his limp hand.

"He's not even dodging! I hit him right in the temples! My arms feel like they're full of needles!" Ruby dropped to her knees, using the shaft of her scythe to keep herself upright as her silver eyes stared at Saitama in sheer bewilderment.

"How... what kind of training regimen gives you skin harder than a Paladin's armor?" she gasped out, wiping sweat from her forehead. Jaune Arc lay spread-eagled nearby, his shield discarded as he stared blankly up at the ceiling lights.

"I don't think he's human," Jaune wheezed, his chest heaving.

"I think he's just a boulder shaped like a guy." Near the edge of the platform, the members of Team CFVY were resting against the security railing. Yatsuhashi was massaging his sore shoulders, while Fox leaned heavily against his arm blades. Coco Adel adjusted her beret, tilting her sunglasses down to look at Saitama with a mix of profound respect and disbelief. She let out a dry laugh, wiping a speck of dust off her minigun's barrel.

"Well, I'll say this much," Coco said, leaning her hip against the rail and looking over at her team.

"I'm incredibly glad that we could experience this absolute circus before we depart for the long-term reconnaissance mission that Headmistress Goodwitch gave to us. Facing regular Grimm out in the field is going to feel like a vacation after trying to put a dent in that yellow suit for two hours." Saitama looked around at the sea of exhausted, groaning students. He looked down at his red-gloved hands, opening and closing his fists before letting out a soft grunt.

"Seeing all of you guys completely wiped out like this... it really reminds me of the guys who used to constantly test my power back in my home universe," Saitama said, his voice completely casual, devoid of any fatigue whatsoever. Ruby's ears perked up instantly. She dragged herself a few inches closer, her curiosity temporarily overriding her physical exhaustion.

"Wait. Back home? You had people who tried to fight you like this? Who were they? Were they your students or something?" Nora Valkyrie popped her head up from behind Jaune's shield, her eyes wide.

"Did you have a whole secret army of bright yellow super-people?!" Saitama scratched the back of his neck, his white cape rustling slightly.

"Uh, no. Definitely not an army. And no, they weren't my students. Well, except maybe for one of them. There's this cyborg kid, Genos. He sort of forced his way into being my disciple because he thought I had some secret to getting strong. He's always taking notes on everything I do, even when I'm just buying groceries. It's kinda weird, honestly."

"A cyborg?" Blake Belladonna asked, sitting up and wiping her brow, her cat ears twitching with interest.

"Like Ironwood's prosthetics, or completely mechanical?"

"Mostly mechanical. He blows things up a lot," Saitama replied simply.

"Then there's this ninja guy, Sonic, who keeps calling me his mortal rival and attacking me out of nowhere while I'm trying to walk home. And, there was another flashy sword guy who tried to speed-blitz me in some underground tunnels. Uh... what was his name? Flash... Light? Fast-and-Furious Flash? Something with a flash. They're all super fast and flashy, but they always end up looking exactly like you guys do right now after one hit." Jaune blinked, sitting up slowly.

"So... you only have one student? That cyborg guy?"

"I don't know if it's counted as official disciple, but... Yeah, I considered him as one," Saitama nodded, his face falling back into its classic, blank expression.

"Oh, there was also this other martial arts guy... uh, what was he called again? Water-something? Soy-sauce Ryu? Suiboku? He asked if he could be my disciple too, after he saw me fight in a tournament."

"And? Did you take him in?" Weiss Schnee asked, leaning on her rapier, her aristocratic posture completely ruined by her exhaustion.

"Nah, I declined," Saitama said, turning around to walk toward his discarded grocery bag near the bleachers.

"Being a master sounds like a giant pain in the butt. Besides, I don't really have anything to teach anybody. You just do your push-ups and your squats until your hair falls out. It's not that complicated." The entire arena fell into a stunned, dead silence as the students of Beacon stared at the back of the man who had just shattered their understanding of combat theory, completely unable to tell if he was a genius or an idiot.

Saitama reached down and scooped up his plastic grocery bag, the handles crinkling loudly in the quiet arena as he checked inside to make sure his discount coupon booklet was still safe. Ruby watched him, her grip loosening on Crescent Rose as she slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her silver eyes softened, the exhaustion on her face giving way to a quiet, lingering curiosity that had been building since she first saw him drop from the sky.

"Hey, Saitama?" Ruby called out softly, her voice echoing slightly against the high glass ceiling. Saitama paused, turning his head back over his yellow-clad shoulder, his expression as blank as ever.

"Huh? What is it?"

"Do you..." Ruby hesitated for a second, looking down at the cracked stone tiles before looking back up at him.

"Do you ever miss your home world? Like, the people you just mentioned, or just... everything you left behind?" The question seemed to hang heavily in the air. The faint murmurs of the groaning first-year students faded away, and even Yang and Blake looked over, waiting for his response. Weiss quietly sheathed her rapier, her eyes fixed on the back of the bald hero. Saitama stood completely still, his red-gloved hand resting on the grocery bag. For a long moment, he was entirely silent.

The wind from the arena's ventilation system gently rustled his white cape, but he didn't shift his stance or offer his usual quick, dismissive shrug.

"Well," Saitama finally spoke, his voice dropping into a slightly slower, flat cadence.

"I gotta admit, I have a pretty good liking for being here in Remnant. Mostly because I don't have to deal with paying rent anymore. Your headmistress and those military folks back in Vale told me I didn't have to worry about a landlord as long as I helped out around here, which is honestly a huge relief. Landlords back home were brutal if you missed a deadline." A few of the students, including Jaune and Nora, blinked in absolute disbelief at the mundane financial priorities of the strongest man alive.

"But..." Saitama continued, his eyes drifting away from the students and down toward his own fist. His expression remained entirely flat, devoid of any grand theatrical sorrow, but his tone carried a rare, heavy sincerity.

"Yeah. I guess I do miss the people from my world. Even the annoying ones." Ruby offered a small, empathetic smile, her heart aching slightly as she thought about how much she would miss her own friends if she were stranded across dimensions.

"They sound like they really cared about you. Even if they challenged you all the time."

"I don't know about that," Saitama muttered, scratching his cheek with a red glove.

"Genos usually just burns my kitchen whenever he tries to cook, and the ninja guy keeps trying to slice my face off. But... it gets pretty quiet without them around to make a mess." Yang let out a soft huff, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she leaned back on her hands.

"Sounds like you had your own version of a chaotic team, teach."

"Yeah, something like that," Saitama said, finally turning his body back toward the exit. He took a few slow steps forward outside the building, then stopped just beneath one of the massive glass skylights where the afternoon sunlight streamed down, bathing his yellow suit in a warm, golden glow. He tilted his head upward, his dark, circular eyes staring through the transparent glass, past the clouds, and out into the vast, blue sky above Remnant.

"I wonder how Genos and the others are doing over there." In his mind's eye, a flood of familiar faces flickered across the void. He envisioned Genos frantically filling up pages in his notebook with useless data. The old man Bang giving that wise, knowing smile from the dojo floor. He pictured King sitting cross-legged on the tatami mat, holding a video game controller with an intense, sweaty look of concentration. And Mumen Rider pedaling stubbornly up a steep hill on his bicycle. He even thought of the others.

Charanko, Bang's older brother, the flashy swordsman, the hotheaded Blizzard woman, the sassy green-haired midget woman, his six-eyed pet dog who can overgrow anytime, and the rest of the handful who had actually seen what he could do.

"Hope they aren't getting into too much trouble while I'm gone." Saitama continued walking.

"And I hope King hasn't cleared my save data."