Chương 27: The Hero of Vale

The morning mist hung low over the damp, untamed soil of the Mistral farmhouse, clinging heavily to the wooden fencing and the rotting eaves of the old barn. Oscar Pine stood rigidly by the rusted water pump, his calloused hands gripping the iron handle with a white-knuckle intensity. He had stopped pumping altogether. The cold, damp air bit at his skin, but the sweat breaking out across his forehead was born of pure terror.

Inside the quiet theater of his mind, a voice that was distinctly not his own echoed with an unbearable, ancient weight, smooth, ancient, and layered with the grief of uncounted lifetimes.

"I understand the sheer, crushing impossibility of what I am asking you to accept, Oscar," the voice of Ozpin resonated, the sound vibrating through the boy's very bones like a distant tolling bell.

"The reality you have known, the simple, quiet life of a farmhand, is but a fragile veneer. Beneath it lies a shadow war that has consumed humanity since its inception." Oscar staggered back a step, his boots slipping slightly in the slick mud. He pressed the palms of his hands against his temples, trying to drown out the presence invading his skull.

"Stop it," Oscar whispered, his voice cracking with panic as he stared blankly at the dark treeline.

"Just stop it. You're talking about magic. You're talking about four Maidens who can control the seasons, hidden Relics that can reshape existence, and a queen of darkness named Salem who controls the Grimm. It's insane! I chop wood, Ozpin! I herd the cattle, I mend the fences! I'm just a boy from the countryside. How am I supposed to just believe that the entire world is built on a lie?"

"Because the soul does not lie, Oscar," Ozpin's voice replied, gentler now, carrying an underlying tone of absolute, tragic certainty.

"Our souls are actively merging, intertwining our memories, our choices, and our strength. Every flicker of panic you feel is balanced by the echoes of the lives I have lived." Oscar placed his right palm on the forehead, shaking his head full of confusion. Ozpin continued,"I did not choose to burden you, but destiny rarely asks for permission. We are bound to the Relics, and we are bound to the defense of Remnant.

Before they abandoned this world, the Brother Gods set down laws, sacred, immutable rules of Aura, Semblances, and balance, to ensure humanity had a fighting chance against the dark. I have spent thousands of years orchestrating calculated, multi-generational plans to uphold that balance." Oscar sank onto a wooden crate near the pump, his shoulders trembling as he buried his face in his hands. The weight of millennia was pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"But why me?" Oscar asked, his voice hollow, dripping with dread.

"If you're this ancient wizard who has fought for thousands of years, why do you need a farmhand? If your plans are so perfect, why does it feel like you're completely desperate?" There was a long, heavy pause within his mind. The internal presence shifted, projecting a profound, solemn wave of bewilderment that Oscar had not felt before.

"Because even with all my accumulated wisdom," Ozpin murmured, his voice dropping into a deep, calculating register,"there are variables currently in play that I never could have engineered. The grand chess match I have played against Salem for centuries has been fundamentally upended by something entirely beyond our understanding." Oscar lifted his head, his brow furrowed as he wiped a bead of cold sweat from his eye.

"What do you mean upended? Is there another faction? Another enemy?"

"No. An anomaly," Ozpin answered, the word carrying a heavy mixture of awe and distinct apprehension.

"A single man currently residing within the borders of Vale. You've already heard the news. A man named Saitama." Oscar's eyes widened slightly as the name clicked in his memory. Ever since the miraculous end of the Battle of Beacon three months ago, reports about this mysterious individual had spread across the entirety of Remnant. The news networks were flooded with sensational headlines about a "Special Campus Security Consultant" who single-handedly crushed the invasion.

The broadcast footage was always incredibly blurry, capturing nothing more than a faint yellow streak moving at impossible speeds, but the impact was undeniable. Oscar himself had sat huddled in front of the living room television just days ago, watching a breaking news segment detailed his terrifying encounter with a massive Grimm in the Emerald Forest.

"Saitama..." Oscar muttered, looking up at the gray sky.

"Everyone in the lower villages has been talking about him. They say he's an invincible warrior who doesn't even possess an active Aura. I thought the journalists were just exaggerating to make people feel safe after Vale was attacked. Who is he really, Ozpin? What do you think of him?" Inside Oscar's mind, the abstract concept of this savior took shape, heavily molded by Ozpin's traditional, romanticized view of legendary warriors across the ages.

"I confess, I know nothing of his true origins, but I am certain he was sent from outside this world on purpose to change the game," Ozpin declared, his internal voice swelling with an idealized, majestic reverence.

"I envision him as a virtuous and gallant heroof absolute purity. A grand, majestic guardian who carries himself with thequiet, intense dignity of an ancient protector. A warrior who bears the heavyweight of his ultimate destiny with a stern, unyielding countenance, strikingterror into the black hearts of the wicked with a single, righteous glance..."

"Yaaawn..." The majestic, solemn image of the ancient protector shattered into a thousand pathetic pieces as the scene shifted to a sudden, close-up of a massive, jaw-cracking yawn. Saitama smacked his lips loudly, his round, completely blank eyes watering from the stretch as he lazily scratched the back of his bald head. It was officially Beacon Academy's day off, and the commercial district of Vale was bustling with mid-day pedestrian traffic.

The bright afternoon sun beat down directly onto Saitama's iconic, blindingly yellow hero suit. The long white cape trailed loosely behind him, brushing against the clean cobblestone pavement as he shuffled forward with a sluggish, unbothered stride, holding a crumpled booklet of 80% off premium supermarket coupons tightly in his red-gloved hand that the Headmistress of Beacon gave him due to agreeing to be her combat class' "training dummy".

"Could you please walk with just a modicum of dignity?!" Weiss Schnee hissed from his left side. She adjusted the heavy silver rapier at her hip, her perfectly pressed white combat skirt shifting as she marched with rigid precision. Her blue eyes darted nervously to the surrounding crowd, her porcelain face flushing a deep, brilliant crimson with sheer embarrassment.

"You are an official consultant for Beacon Academy! Yet you are shuffling through the public streets like a broke old man hunting for pocket change! Stand up straight and look like a professional!" To Saitama's right, Jaune Arc let out a strained, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his heavy breastplate clanked softly with every step.

"Come on, Weiss, give him a break. A discount is a discount. Besides, Headmistress Goodwitch did technically give him those coupons as payment for the training sessions." Saitama stopped shuffling for a moment, a rare look of pure, concentrated annoyance pulling at the corners of his mouth. He looked at Weiss, then turned his gaze to Jaune, letting out a heavy, exaggerated sigh that made his shoulders slump.

"Why are you two even trailing behind me anyway?" he complained, his voice dripping with irritation.

"It's my day off. I specifically wanted to walk to the store completely by myself. Having a couple of teenagers hovering over me while I'm trying to look at meat coupons is annoying." Weiss crossed her arms tightly, puffing out her chest as she gave him a sharp, defensive glare.

"Do you think we want to spend our holiday acting as grocery escorts? Headmistress Glynda explicitly ordered us to watch over you! She chose Jaune because he actually has the saint-like patience to endure your ridiculous tangents, and she chose me because I have the organizational discipline to ensure you don't wander off, cause a public scene, or tear down a building by accident!" Saitama rolled his eyes, turning back around to walk, his red boots squeaking against the stones.

"Ugh, that lady with the crop is such a giant worrywart," he muttered, shaking his head.

"I'm just buying cabbage. What does she think is gonna happen? I'm not gonna accidentally punch a hole in the city grid just by looking at vegetables." Over the past few months, the students of Beacon had grown incredibly used to Saitama's presence, particularly after he became a permanent fixture in Glynda's combat classes. While his official title was "Special Campus Security Consultant," the students knew him practically as Glynda's ultimate "assistant"...

Or, more accurately, a glorified, indestructible training dummy who stood completely still while students unleashed their strongest Semblances and dust attacks against him without moving a single inch. Spending so many hours watching him take their best shots only to complain about a mosquito or a smudge on his suit had completely shattered any sense of intimidation. In fact, Saitama himself had been the one to frequently demand they drop the formalities.

Hearing teenagers constantly throw around "Mister Saitama" or "Sir" made his skin crawl with discomfort, especially since he already got his ears talked off with those exact same rigid, stuffy honorifics every time he ran into the professors or the school administration. Weiss, matching Saitama's slow pace stride for stride, looked at the bright yellow back of the man who had completely altered the trajectory of her life three months ago.

Her rigid, defensive posture softened, her arms dropping to her sides as her expression shifted from sharp irritation to a quiet, somber seriousness.

"Saitama," Weiss spoke up, her voice dropping into a gentle, clear tone that completely lacked her usual defensive edge as they walked side-by-side.

"I... I never actually got the opportunity to say thank you properly to you before. For what happened after the Battle of Beacon. When my father came to Beacon to forcefully retrieve me back to Atlas." She kept her eyes locked forward, her gaze full of a profound, genuine gratitude that she had held back for far too long.

"You stood right beside me in that room. Because of your presence, Jacques was forced to back down, lose his composure, and leave me alone. Because of you, I can still be here at Beacon with my friends, and for the first time in my entire life, I can finally stand on my own two feet against my tyrannical father. So... thank you." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Saitama's face remained entirely blank, a look of mild, profound confusion pulling at his features.

He tilted his head so far to the side that his cape shifted over his shoulder.

"Uh... your dad?" he mumbled, his voice completely clueless.

"Wait, who was that again? Was he the guy with the really weird, tiny clip-on mustache who was yelling loud enough to give me a headache? Honestly, I didn't even know what was actually going on in that room. I think I was just really annoyed because I was trying to ask someone to fix the sink in my dorm." Weiss's left eyebrow twitched violently. Her sympathetic, emotional expression vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, comical scowl as her face turned bright red, though she kept walking straight.

"You--! It was the most pivotal, life-altering, dramatic moment of my entire young adult life, and you don't even remember it because you needed to fix your restroom?!" she yelled, stamping her boot against the pavement so hard it cracked the dirt. But as she watched Saitama blink at her with that completely empty, innocent expression, the anger drained right out of her. She let out a long, defeated sigh, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Unbelievable. You are truly infuriating. But... thank you anyway."

"Sure, whatever," Saitama said nonchalantly. The three arrived at Vale International Supermarket. The entrance has been decorated with banners that say: 30TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION! EXCLUSIVE FACULTY DISCOUNT PASS: 80% OFF ALL PREMIUM IMPORTED MEATS, FRESH CABBAGE, AND GRADE-A TOFU!

"Alright, the coupon says the 80% discount on the premium beef ends in exactly twenty minutes," Saitama ran to the glass sliding doors of the massive supermarket. He parted before them. The cool rush of air-conditioned air hit their faces.

"I'm hitting the meat aisle. Don't touch my cart!" Before Jaune or Weiss could even respond, Saitama vanished into a literal yellow blur, the sudden gust of wind rustling their hair as he sprinted down the aisle toward the back of the store. Left standing by the shopping cart return, Weiss and Jaune exchanged a look of pure exhaustion. Weiss rubbed her temples, leaning back against a metal railing.

"I swear, tracking that man is more mentally taxing than an advanced Grimm combat theory lecture."

"Yeah, but, not gonna lie. I find him kinda cool in his own way though," Jaune chuckled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. But as he did, a sharp, sudden grimace shot across his face. He let out a muffled groan, his hand instinctively flying to his lower back as his knees buckled slightly under his armor. Weiss's sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. Her brow furrowed as she stepped closer, examining his stiff, unnatural posture with growing suspicion.

"Jaune? What is wrong with you? Lately, I've noticed you wincing and feeling incredibly sore at random moments. Did you sustain a severe injury during the team drills that you're hiding from Headmistress?" Jaune quickly straightened up, waving his hands frantically in front of his face, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"No! No, nothing like that, I swear! It's just... well..." He looked around the grocery store lobby, lowering his voice to a sheepish, dramatic whisper.

"I've been secretly doing Saitama's training regimen every single morning before sunrise." Weiss stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly in absolute shock.

"You... you actually believed what he said?!" she whispered loudly, her voice cracking with disbelief.

"The hundred push-ups, the hundred squats, the ten-kilometer run every single day?! Jaune, that is basic, mundane physical conditioning! It doesn't even use Aura! It is biologically impossible for that to be the source of his strength!"

"I know! I know how it sounds!" Jaune blurted out, his expression turning desperate, his eyes full of a raw, burning motivation that bordered on obsession. He looked down at his calloused palms, his voice dropping into a lower, heavier register that trembled with emotion.

"But Weiss... I didn't feel like I had any other choices. I am easily the weakest student in our entire year. Ever since everything we've been through... The invasion, the breach, the total chaos, it keeps playing in my head." Jaune closed his eyes for a moment, "Pyrrha... Pyrrha could have died up there on that tower. She almost did. And I was completely useless. I couldn't do anything but watch her go to her death. If Saitama hadn't dropped out of the sky and saved her, she'd be gone."

He then looked up at Weiss, his jaw set firmly, tears of frustration glistening in his eyes.

"I'm desperate, Weiss. If there is even a fraction of a percent chance that his ridiculous training can make me strong enough to protect my team, I'm going to do it until my limbs fall off." Weiss opened her mouth to argue, to tell him he was destroying his body for a myth, but the sheer, vulnerable determination in Jaune's eyes cut her words short. She softened, looking at him with a newfound sense of respect, realizing how deeply the trauma of the battle had driven him.

Before she could speak, the peaceful atmosphere of the supermarket was violently shattered. BANG! BANG! The heavy glass entry doors of the supermarket suddenly exploded inward, showering the linoleum floor in jagged, glittering shards. A group of ten imposing men stepped through the billowing smoke, clad in identical, slick black suits, narrow red-tinted sunglasses, and carrying heavy, military-grade black rifles.

The leader, a massive man with a jagged scar running down his neck, raised his rifle to the ceiling and fired a deafening three-round burst that rattled the light fixtures.

"Listen up, you civilian cattle!" the leader roared, his voice booming over the immediate, piercing screams of terrified shoppers who dropped to their knees, scattering groceries everywhere as they scrambled for cover behind the display shelves.

"This market is under new management! We want every single Lien from the registers, the safes, and your damn pockets packed into bags in the next three minutes, or we start turning this aisle into a graveyard! Move!" The henchmen immediately fanned out with brutal efficiency, kicking over display stands of produce and shoving a terrified teenage cashier roughly against the counter, pressing a warm rifle barrel against her temple as they demanded the keys to the safe.

Jaune's hand went straight to the hilt of Crocea Mors, his eyes hardening into a glare as he stepped forward.

"Junior's guys," he muttered, recognizing the distinctive suits and red glasses from the underworld reports.

"What are they doing operating out in the open like this?"

"Desperation, likely," Weiss replied, her voice dropping into a cold, dangerous calm as she drew Myrtenaster, the dust chamber revolving with a sharp, mechanical click that signaled imminent violence.

"With the criminal underworld shattered after the battle, they're taking stupid risks. Let's put an end to this." The two second-year students stepped out from the lobby area, their weapons drawn as they blocked the main exit path.

"Hey! Drop the weapons and step away from the cashier!" Jaune commanded, his voice ringing with authority as he raised his heavy shield. The leader of the henchmen spun around, his red glasses reflecting the store's flickering lights as a cruel sneer spread across his face.

"Huntsmen brats! Light 'em up, boys!" Six henchmen immediately raised their rifles, locking their sights onto Weiss and Jaune. But before a single trigger could be pulled, a loud squeaking sound echoed from the adjacent bakery aisle. Saitama casually strolled out from the bread section. He was completely oblivious to the tense, dramatic standoff, his arms piled high with cartons of premium eggs, several packages of high-grade marbled beef, and three massive, pristine heads of fresh cabbage.

He walked right past the raised rifles of the henchmen, shuffling toward the main counter while staring intensely at his crumpled coupon.

"Uh..." He then stopped, his flat but internally confused face met with the scene of the black-suited henchmen.

"Are you guys going to funeral or something?"

"What the hell is this guy wearing?!" one of the henchmen shouted, his bravado instantly shattering into confusion at the sight of the bright yellow suit and white cape.

"Get out of the way, baldy!" Panicking at the bizarre distraction, the henchman instinctively jerked his rifle and fired a full automatic burst directly into Saitama's chest. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! The heavy-caliber rounds struck Saitama's yellow suit dead-center. The bullets instantly flattened into harmless, lead pancakes upon impact, dropping to the linoleum floor with a series of light, metallic clinks. The fabric of the suit wasn't even singed. Saitama didn't even flinch.

He just stood there, his face completely blank as the bullets pelted his chest like dry peas.

"What the--?! He took them point-blank!" another henchman screamed, his face draining of all color as he stumbled backward.

"Shoot him! Shoot him now!" The remaining thugs opened fire simultaneously, unleashing a hail of gunfire directly at Saitama's head and torso. The arena of the supermarket filled with the deafening roar of automatic weapons and flashing muzzle grit. Weiss and Jaune watched in perfect silence, completely unconcerned, while the hiding civilians shrieked in terror. Saitama stood perfectly still in the middle of the storm, his expression incredibly bored. He didn't feel a single thing.

However, one stray bullet ricocheted off his shoulder, zipping diagonally downward and tearing right through the plastic packaging of his premium marbled beef, shredding the meat into a messy pulp. Another bullet sliced clean through the center of his prized discount cabbage, exploding the green leaves into scattered debris across the floor.

"Hey, cut it out already," Saitama said, slightly annoyed by them.

"I need to redeem my cou--" Saitama suddenly stopped talking when he glanced to his shopping items. His eyes widened. The blank, dot-like pupils suddenly vanished, replaced by a sharp, terrifying intensity as his brow furrowed into pure, unadulterated fury.

"My... my discount beef," Saitama whispered, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling register of absolute despair and anger that shook the shelves.

"My premium cabbage... they were eighty percent off..."

"Die, you freak!" the gang leader screamed, lunging forward with a desperate yell to butt-stroke Saitama in the face with the heavy stock of his rifle. SWISH. Saitama moved so fast the human eye couldn't even register the displacement of air. He didn't use a punch. He simply raised a single red-gloved hand and delivered a swift, effortless slap to the leader's cheek. BOOM! The concussive force of the slap generated a shockwave that blew the hair back on Weiss and Jaune's heads.

The leader went flying horizontally across the supermarket like a cannonball, crashing through three heavy wooden display cases of canned soup before embedding himself waist-deep into the back concrete wall, completely unconscious as cracked plaster rained down on him. Before the remaining henchmen could even process the horror of what had occurred, Saitama blurred through the room. He delivered a series of light taps and basic open-hand swatting motions. Thwack! Smack! Thump!

In less than three seconds, all ten heavily armed henchmen were scattered across the floor, their rifles shattered into splinters, their bodies groaning in absolute defeat before they all blacked out entirely. The hiding civilians slowly peeked out from behind the shelves, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open in sheer, unadulterated shock. For a long, silent moment, the supermarket was dead quiet. Then, an elderly woman stepped forward, clapping her hands together with tears of relief in her eyes.

"He... he saved us! He didn't even use a weapon!" Within moments, the entire supermarket erupted into a deafening roar of applause and cheers, the civilians stomping their feet and shouting in gratitude. Minutes later, the screech of tires echoed outside as three Vale Police Department cruisers pulled up to the shattered entrance. Officers rushed in with aura-suppressing cuffs, quickly apprehending the pile of unconscious, bruised henchmen and dragging them out to the transport vans.

Right behind the police cruisers, the low, powerful rumble of a customized yellow motorcycle vibrated through the air. Yang Xiao Long pulled up onto the sidewalk, killing Bumblebee's engine as she swung her leg off the bike and removed her yellow helmet, her long blonde hair cascading over her leather jacket. She walked through the shattered doors, her purple eyes scanning the structural damage before landing on Weiss and Jaune.

"Man, I leave you guys alone for two hours on a grocery run and you manage to find a party without me?" Yang joked, leaning against an intact display case with a wide, mischievous grin. She looked at the groaning henchmen being loaded into the police van outside.

"Wow, it has been so long since I got to crack some of Junior's henchmen's skulls. Seeing those red glasses almost makes me nostalgic. I am definitely thinking of visiting his club again sometime next week just to see if he misses me." Weiss crossed her arms, rolling her eyes but letting out a soft sigh.

"Trust me, Yang, we didn't even get to touch them. The entire situation was handled in a matter of seconds." The three students simultaneously turned their gazes toward the front register. Saitama was currently on his knees in the middle of the aisle, his hands placed flat on the floor as he wept comically in pure, dramatic despair over the shredded remnants of his discounted meat and the scattered, dirty cabbage leaves.

"Why...? Why does this always happen to me on sale day...? The coupon expires in five minutes... it's all gone..." Behind him, the crowd of rescued civilians was actively cheering, waving their shopping bags and chanting loudly.

"Saitama! Saitama! The Hero of Vale!" The contrast between his absolute, devastating victory and his pathetic, heartbroken mourning over produce was utterly absurd. Yang stared at the scene, her grin widening as she shook her head.

"Well, one thing's for sure. Headmistress Glynda is definitely not going to be happy once this mess hits the evening news." Weiss and Jaune looked at each other, both of them vividly imagining the vein throbbing on Glynda's forehead as she filled out the administrative report for the broken storefront.

"Yeah," Jaune muttered, a sympathetic wince crossing his face.

"We are never going to hear the end of this."