Chương 66: Chapter 63: The Good, the Bad, and the Neapolitan

The subterranean depths of Mistral Below were a chaotic, suffocating tangle of rusted walkways, dripping pipes, and flickering neon signs that buzzed with aggressive electricity. The air was perpetually thick with the smell of cheap cigars, roasted street meat, and the unspoken tension of a thousand illicit deals happening simultaneously in the shadows. It was a place where ordinary citizens did not walk. Saitama, wearing his atrociously styled, spiky brown wig, slouched down the crowded dirt path.

His bright yellow jumpsuit and white cape stood out like a beacon of terrible fashion sense amidst the dark leathers and trench coats of the criminal underworld.

"Ugh, this thing is so incredibly itchy," Saitama grumbled, reaching up to furiously scratch the synthetic hair on his scalp.

"And it smells like old mothballs. Are you sure I can't just take it off?" Walking a few paces ahead of him, entirely unbothered by the grime and danger of the lower terraces, was Neopolitan. She strutted with absolute, predatory confidence, her pink-and-white parasol resting elegantly over her shoulder. Having a man who could shatter mountains following her around like a lost puppy gave her a sense of invincible security she hadn't felt since Roman was alive. She didn't turn around.

She merely lifted her free hand and wagged a single, gloved finger back and forth in a strict "no" gesture.

"Man, this 'bodyguard' gig is the worst," Saitama sighed, his shoulders dropping to his waist.

"We already scored free rent and food at the fancy spider-lady's restaurant. Why are we even down here? I could be taking a nap right now. Those beds have like, four pillows." Neo finally stopped, spinning around on her heel. She pulled her Scroll from her pocket, her thumbs flying across the screen before shoving the glowing device into Saitama's face. [Buy me a snack.] Saitama blinked his dotted eyes at the text. He patted the completely flat pockets of his jumpsuit.

"I literally have zero Lien. Remember? I can't buy you anything." Neo's heterochromia eyes narrowed into sharp, unimpressed slits. She rapidly typed another message, thrusting it forward with a smug, threatening smirk. [I'll tell the authorities you ran away from Vale. Noodle-thief.] Saitama physically recoiled. A massive, comical sweatdrop immediately formed on his itchy, wig-covered forehead.

The terrifying, flashing image of Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch snapping her riding crop in half hovered menacingly in his mind.

"Okay, okay! Geez, you don't have to blackmail me over a snack!" Saitama whined, tossing his hands up in sheer, defeated exasperation.

"Fine. What do you want?" Neo smiled sweetly, typing a single word. [Anything.]"Anything?" Saitama groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"That's not helpful. What kind of snacks do you actually like?" Neo's smile widened into a pure, mischievous grin. She tapped the screen again. [Guess.]"Are you serious right now?" Saitama complained, his voice dropping into a flat, highly annoyed drone.

"You totally remind me of this short, floating green-haired girl back home, except she actually yells at me instead of making me read text messages." He turned away, trudging toward the nearest row of food stalls.

"Stay here. Don't cause trouble." Neo watched him shuffle away, a highly amused, silent giggle shaking her shoulders. With her "meat-shield" temporarily distracted, Neo turned her attention back to the bustling criminal thoroughfare. Today was an important day. She was heading to Gunmetal, the underground blacksmith who had custom-forged Hush, her lethal parasol, as a commission from Roman years ago. It needed repairs after the relentless fighting of the past few months. But repairs required Lien.

And Neo, much like her bald companion, was currently strapped for cash. Her pale pink and deep brown eyes scanned the crowd, quickly zeroing in on a group of five massive, heavily scarred men standing near a rusted iron pillar. They wore heavy spiked leather armor and carried an assortment of brutal, jagged weapons. More importantly, she could clearly see the thick, bulging leather coin purses chained to their belts. Neo popped her parasol open, resting it delicately against her shoulder.

With a flawless, innocent smile, she glided directly into their path. As she passed the largest of the men, she executed a perfect, calculated stumble, gently bumping her shoulder against his massive arm.

"Watch it, little girl!" the brute snarled, pushing her away. Neo offered a wide-eyed, deeply apologetic curtsy, dipping her head submissively before scurrying past them into an empty, shadowed alleyway just off the main path. The moment she was out of sight, her terrified expression melted into a smug, victorious grin. She opened her hand, revealing three incredibly thick, heavy leather wallets she had seamlessly snipped from their belts during the collision.

She tossed one into the air, perfectly content with her handiwork. Pinch. Neo gasped a silent, high-pitched squeak of pain. She dropped the wallets as a red-gloved hand clamped firmly onto her ear, pulling upward with comical, paternal strictness.

"What did I just say about causing trouble?" Saitama scolded, standing right behind her with a look of absolute, profound disappointment. Neo grabbed his wrist, pouting furiously as she rubbed her stinging ear. She glared at him, her eyes burning with sheer, silent indignation. Saitama easily snatched the three stolen wallets from the dirt, holding them up.

"You can't just take people's stuff. Stealing is wrong. How would you feel if someone took your umbrella? It's bad karma. Now I have to go give these back before those scary guys realize they're missing." Before Saitama could even turn around, a massive, calloused hand slammed down onto his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his yellow jumpsuit with bone-crushing force.

"Hey, wig-boy." Saitama slowly turned his head. Standing directly behind him, blocking the exit to the alleyway, were the five massive brutes from the street. They were glaring down at the three thick wallets held plainly in Saitama's red glove.

"You got some nerve, picking our pockets in broad daylight," the leader growled, drawing a massive, serrated machete from his back. The other four men instantly drew their weapons, cracking their knuckles and advancing with lethal intent. Saitama blinked.

"Oh. Hey. I didn't steal these. I was actually just about to give them back to you. The umbrella girl took them." Saitama pointed a finger directly at Neo. Neo's eyes widened to the size of saucers. She immediately dropped her parasol, clasping her hands together against her chest. She looked up at the towering, terrifying men, her heterochromia eyes welling with large, innocent tears.

She shook her head frantically, pointing at Saitama and then shrugging her shoulders in a flawless, helpless gesture that clearly communicated:'I have never met this terrible, thieving man in my entire life.' The bandits looked at the tiny, adorable, trembling girl in the bowler hat. Then, they looked at the bald man in the cheap wig and yellow spandex who was currently holding their money.

"You're trying to blame a helpless little girl?" the leader sneered in absolute disgust.

"You're dead meat, freak!" Saitama let out a long, heavy, agonizing sigh, dropping his arms to his sides. He shot a dull, incredibly annoyed glare at Neo, who was currently hiding a smug, victorious smirk behind her hands.

"Unbelievable," Saitama muttered.

"You're the absolute worst."

"Kill him!" the leader roared, lunging forward with a devastating, overhead swing of his machete. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Saitama didn't even shift his stance. Smack. Thud. Wham. CRACK. It took exactly 1. 2 seconds. Saitama didn't throw a single punch. He simply raised his open hands, delivering a flurry of lazy, casual slaps that bypassed their weapons entirely.

The first bandit spun 720 degrees in the air before cratering face-first into the brick wall. The second and third were swatted into each other, their skulls colliding with a loud, comical bonk before they collapsed in a tangled heap. The leader's machete shattered into metallic confetti against Saitama's palm, right before a gentle flick to his forehead sent him rocketing backward out of the alleyway and into the main street, completely unconscious. The ambient noise of the criminal market died instantly.

Dozens of smugglers and thieves stared in absolute, jaw-dropped shock at the pile of completely dismantled brutes spilling out of the alley. Saitama sighed, aggressively scratching his wig as he turned back to Neo.

"Great. Now I'm going to get sued for medical compensation, and I literally have zero money," Saitama complained, completely ignoring the terrified whispers of the crowd.

"Stop getting me into trouble! If the noodle-cops find me because you keep making me hit people, I am never buying you a snack again."

"Hold it right there!" A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the murmurs. Pushing through the crowd were a seasoned Huntsman and Huntress, their armor gleaming with Mistralian crests. They held their weapons at the ready, their eyes wide as they took in the devastation. The Huntsman looked at the unconscious leader, then pulled a crumpled, highly detailed bounty poster from his coat pocket.

"By the Gods..." the Huntress whispered, lowering her rifle in sheer shock.

"You... you took them all down? By yourself?" Saitama blinked.

"Uh... yeah. Was I not supposed to? Because they attacked me first."

"Not supposed to?!" The Huntsman laughed in sheer, unadulterated disbelief, shoving the bounty poster forward.

"Do you have any idea who these men are?! They are the elite enforcers for 'The Mouse and Parrot'! They're the second most notorious criminal organization in Lower Mistral next to the Spiders! There's a massive, Class-A bounty on their heads!" Saitama stared at the Huntsman. Neo stared at the Huntress. They both slowly turned their heads to look at the massive pile of unconscious, highly-wanted criminals. Then, they slowly turned their heads to look at each other.

A silent, incredibly deep understanding passed between the invincible hero and the mute thief.

Ten minutes later, Saitama and Neo were walking down the main thoroughfare of Mistral Below. Saitama was practically skipping. In his left hand, he held a massive, heavy canvas sack emblazoned with the official bank logo of Mistral. It was bulging with thick stacks of Lien notes. A wide, dopey, entirely un-heroic grin of absolute financial triumph was plastered across his face.

"I'm rich," Saitama whispered in awe, hugging the sack to his chest.

"I can actually afford premium beef without a coupon. This is the greatest day of my life." Neo walked beside him, her parasol resting on her shoulder. She pulled out her Scroll, typing a quick message and holding it up to his face with a smug, expectant smirk. [You're welcome.] Saitama glanced at the screen, his smile dropping back into a flat, responsible line.

"Hey. It's still wrong to steal. Next time, just let me know if there are bounties around, and I'll hit them first. Legally." Neo rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt, letting out a silent huff of exasperation. Suddenly, Saitama stopped walking. His dotted eyes locked onto a brightly colored, wooden stall nestled between two weapons shops. A large, painted sign above the awning read: MISTRAL'S FINEST ICE CREAM.

Neo blinked in confusion as Saitama completely deviated from their path, walking straight up to the vendor. She watched as he reached into his massive bag of bounty money, pulling out a few Lien bills and pointing at the menu board. A moment later, Saitama walked back over to her. He held two towering, perfect ice cream cones. He took a bite of his own vanilla cone, holding the other one out toward her. It was a flawless, three-scoop stack of Neapolitan ice cream. Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.

"Here," Saitama said casually.

"I remembered you blackmailed me for a snack. Eat it before it melts. It's hot down here." Neo stared at the outstretched ice cream cone. She looked at Saitama's completely blank, indifferent face. He hadn't bought it to be charming, or manipulative, or because he felt sorry for her. He bought it simply because he said he would. Slowly, she reached out, her gloved fingers wrapping around the crisp waffle cone. She brought it to her lips and took a small, hesitant bite. Her heterochromia eyes widened significantly.

The cold, sweet flavor of the strawberry and chocolate hit her tongue, melting perfectly. Instantly, the dark, grime-covered walls of Lower Mistral seemed to fade away.

"Alright, kid. Don't eat it too fast, or you'll freeze your brain, and I need you sharp for the heist tonight." The phantom, echoing memory of Roman Torchwick's voice rang clearly in her mind. She could almost see his green eyes, his crooked smirk, handing her an identical cone after their very first successful job together in Vale. He had bought it for her with the very first cut of their stolen Lien. Neo lowered the cone. She didn't smirk. She didn't offer a theatrical, mocking curtsy.

A gentle, breathtakingly warm, and deeply genuine smile bloomed across her face. She looked down at the ice cream, a profound, lingering fondness warming the cold void in her chest. Saitama, completely oblivious to the massive emotional breakthrough happening right next to him, just scratched his wig.

"It's good, right? Honestly, I kind of wish I got the strawberry now. Vanilla is a little boring."

The deepest level of the underground market was suffocatingly hot, lit by the roaring, open-air furnaces of the district's industrial sector. Neo led Saitama to a heavy, iron-reinforced garage door. She knocked three times, paused, and knocked twice more. The door grunted open, revealing a sweltering, soot-stained forge. Weapons of every shape, size, and mechanical complexity hung from the brick walls. Standing over a massive, glowing anvil was Gunmetal.

The legendary blacksmith was a mountain of a man, his arms thick with scars and burn marks, a heavy leather apron shielding his chest.

"Well, well, well," Gunmetal rumbled, turning around and wiping his soot-stained hands on a rag. His gruff voice carried a deep, unexpected warmth.

"Look what the tide washed in. It's been a long time, little lady." Neo offered a graceful, respectful bow, her smile returning as she stepped into the forge. Gunmetal's sharp, calculating eyes drifted past her, locking onto the bald man in the terrible brown wig and yellow suit holding a half-eaten vanilla ice cream cone.

"And who might this be?" Gunmetal asked, raising a thick, graying eyebrow.

"He doesn't look like your usual crowd." Neo didn't miss a beat. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Saitama, rolled her eyes dramatically, and tapped her forehead with her index finger, clearly mimicking the universal gesture for 'idiot'. Then, she flexed a bicep. Idiot meat-shield. Gunmetal let out a booming, hearty chuckle that shook his massive chest.

"Ah. Muscle. Fair enough." Saitama, completely unaware he had just been insulted in sign language, looked around the forge with mild interest.

"Wow. That's a lot of swords. You guys really like pointy things here." The blacksmith's laughter faded as his gaze drifted back to Neo. Specifically, his eyes locked onto the pristine bowler hat resting atop her dual-colored hair. The warm atmosphere of the forge chilled instantly. Gunmetal's expression hardened, a deep, solemn respect settling over his weathered features. He had known Roman Torchwick since the man was just a cocky street thief buying his first customized flare-gun.

"I see the hat," Gunmetal murmured, his voice dropping into a heavy, respectful gravel.

"So... Roman finally cashed out his chips, huh?" Neo's smile vanished. She looked down at the floor, offering a single, slow, devastating nod. Gunmetal sighed, tossing his rag onto a nearby workbench.

"He was a brilliant, arrogant bastard. Best client I ever had. I'm sorry, kid. Truly." Neo took a silent, steadying breath. She stepped forward, pulling the pink-and-white parasol from her shoulder and holding it out horizontally with both hands. She pressed a hidden catch on the handle, revealing a deep, jagged crack running along the concealed blade's housing, damage sustained from the relentless battles of the past few months.

Gunmetal took the weapon with reverent, expert hands, his eyes immediately assessing the damage.

"The structural integrity is compromised near the firing mechanism. The blade housing is warped," Gunmetal diagnosed smoothly. He looked back up at her.

"I can fix it. Make it stronger than before. But it's going to take a few hours. Sit tight." As Gunmetal carried Hush to his primary workbench and fired up his blowtorch, a small, boxy television mounted in the corner of the forge crackled to life, the volume low but audible.

"--live update from the Kingdom of Vale!" Lisa Lavender's crisp voice echoed through the dusty shop. Saitama and Neo both turned their heads toward the screen.

"Following a brief, mysterious absence that had the public concerned, we can officially confirm that the 'Hero of Vale' has returned to active duty!" The broadcast cut to high-altitude drone footage hovering just outside the towering front gates of Beacon Academy. Saitama's jaw dropped. Neo tilted her head, her brow furrowing in profound confusion. On the screen, a figure wearing a massively oversized green janitorial jumpsuit was frantically sweeping the outer courtyard flagstones.

The figure's back was turned to the camera, but the smooth, gleaming bald head was unmistakable. The man was also wearing a white medical mask and a pair of dark sunglasses, sweeping with jerky, uncoordinated, completely terrified movements. Neo looked at the TV, then slowly turned her head to look at Saitama standing right next to her. She looked back at the TV. Who the hell is that? Neo's eyes practically screamed.

Saitama squinted at the screen, entirely unbothered by the existential dread of seeing himself in two places at once.

"Huh..." Saitama commented flatly, taking a bite of his ice cream cone.

"That guy really needs to work on his posture. He looks like a nervous wet noodle. And why is he wearing a mask outside?"

Thousands of miles away, the exterior gates of Beacon Academy were an absolute, chaotic warzone.

"Please! Step back behind the velvet ropes!" Toby screamed, his voice cracking as he and Marcus desperately linked arms, trying to hold back a surging crowd of dozens of reporters, flashing cameras, and screaming fans.

"Master Saitama is recovering from a severe viral infection! He cannot be subjected to camera flashes!" Chloe yelled, waving her hands frantically at a hovering news drone that was trying to zoom in on the sweeping figure.

"Give him space! The man needs oxygen!" Lyra shouted, her spotted tail bristling as she practically shoved a journalist backward. In the center of the cordoned-off courtyard, Darwin was having a complete mental breakdown. Underneath the oversized green jumpsuit, he was sweating so violently his clothes were entirely soaked. He gripped the broom handle with a white-knuckled terror, sweeping the exact same three cobblestones over and over again.

Behind his dark sunglasses and medical mask, tears were streaming down his face in comedic, animated waterfalls.

"I can't do this! I can't do this anymore!" Darwin shrieked in low tone, his legs shaking like jelly as camera shutters popped rapidly from beyond the gates.

"They think I'm a god! If someone asks me to punch a Grimm, I'm going to instantly die! I just wanted a desk job!" High above the chaotic plaza, looking out from the panoramic window of the Headmaster's office, Glynda Goodwitch watched the absolute circus unfolding below. She stood perfectly still, her riding crop held loosely at her side. She slowly reached up with her free hand, removing her glasses, and pinched the bridge of her nose with a grip tight enough to bend steel.

A vein throbbed violently on her forehead. The migraine was no longer a dull ache. It was a localized, blinding supernova of pure administrative despair.

"I am going to strangle him," Glynda whispered to the empty office, her voice trembling with the absolute, chilling promise of violence.

"The moment that bald menace returns to this continent... I am going to strangle him."