Chương 52: Chapter 49: The Bargain Across the Sea

The vibrant, salty air of Vale's commercial district was usually a pleasant change of pace for the students of Beacon Academy, but today, it felt like the grueling final stretch of a marathon.

"Mr. Saitama, slow down, please!" Toby gasped, clutching his knees as he jogged to keep up. Saitama, adorned in his bright yellow hero suit and billowing white cape, was power-walking down the bustling cobblestone street with a terrifying, single-minded intensity. To the absolute strongest man in the universe, it was merely a brisk stroll. To the four First-Year students assigned to escort him, it was a desperate, lung-burning sprint.

"Can't do that, kid," Saitama replied, his oval eyes fixed squarely on the horizon, his face an unreadable blank slate.

"People said the shipment from Mistral arrived at dawn. Do you know what that means? Cheap bananas. I'm talking rock-bottom import prices. If we don't hurry, the middle-aged housewives are going to clear out the entire stock." Lyra, the leopard Faunus with spotted ears and a long, twitching tail, bounded over a fruit cart just to keep pace with his cape.

"But Mr. Saitama, Headmistress Goodwitch said we're supposed to maintain a 'casual and unobtrusive' presence!"

"Nothing is more casual than getting a good deal on potassium," Saitama stated flawlessly, not breaking his stride. Chloe and Marcus exchanged exhausted, desperate glances as they finally breached the chaotic, crowded entrance of the Vale Port Market. The massive docks were a labyrinth of shouting vendors, wooden crates, and towering cargo ships bobbing gently in the harbor.

Saitama immediately zeroed in on a large, green-canopied fruit stall at the center of the plaza. He blurred forward, leaving the students in a cloud of dust. But as he reached the counter, the blank expression on his face completely shattered. There, sitting on the wooden display table, was a single, desolate sign written in thick black marker. MISTRAL BANANAS - SOLD OUT. The First Years finally caught up, panting heavily, only to find the "Hero of Vale" falling dramatically to his knees.

The color completely drained from Saitama's face, leaving him in a stark, heavily shaded monochrome.

"No..." Saitama whispered, his voice trembling with the profound, soul-crushing despair of a man who had just lost everything. He clutched the sides of his bald head, staring into the abyss of the empty wooden crates.

"I woke up early... I skipped breakfast... for nothing. My entire day is ruined."

"Mr. Saitama, please get up, people are staring!" Chloe hissed frantically, grabbing his cape and trying to haul him to his feet.

"It's okay! The vendor said they'll import more Mistral bananas soon! It'll just take... a month. Or maybe two." Saitama's head slowly turned toward her, his eyes dark and lifeless.

"Two months...? I'll die of scurvy by then." Toby rubbed his chin, looking around the sprawling market.

"Wait a second. When we were running past the loading docks earlier, I swear I saw a bunch of yellow crates stacked up near the heavy freighters. Someone else must be selling them!" Instantly, the color returned to Saitama's face. He stood up perfectly straight, his eyes gleaming with renewed, terrifying determination.

"Lead the way, Toby." The five of them spent the next twenty minutes frantically weaving through the labyrinth of the Port Market. They dodged forklift mechs, squeezed past heavily armored Huntsmen, and navigated through narrow alleys of stacked shipping containers. Finally, they found it. Moored at the far end of the docks was a colossal, heavy-duty commercial cargo ship.

Resting directly on the massive, lowered quarter ramp of the ship was a temporary merchant stall, surrounded by crates overflowing with perfectly ripe, yellow Mistral bananas. The only problem was the line. It stretched all the way down the ramp and snaked around a pile of steel girders.

"We found it!" Marcus cheered, adjusting his glasses.

"Nice!" Saitama nodded in grim approval, stepping into the back of the queue. The four First Years dutifully fell into line behind him, forming a protective, highly alert perimeter. For the first few minutes, Saitama stood with his arms crossed, tapping his red boot impatiently against the concrete. The line was moving agonizingly slowly.

"Man, this is taking forever," Saitama complained, leaning to the side to try and peer past the dozen people ahead of them.

"What are they doing up there, negotiating treaties for each banana?"

"Patience, Mr. Saitama," Lyra offered a strained smile, her feline ears swiveling to monitor the surrounding noise of the docks.

"Wholesale merchants usually take longer to tally their inventory. We're in a secure spot."

"Yeah, well, standing around makes me antsy," he muttered. They waited together in line for several more minutes. Toby kept his hand resting casually near the hilt of his short-sword, scanning the rooftops, while Chloe and Marcus engaged in quiet, hushed chatter about their upcoming exams to pass the time. Suddenly, Saitama's face contorted. He looked left, then right, crossing his legs slightly in a distinctly uncomfortable posture.

"Hey," Saitama muttered, tapping Toby on the shoulder.

"I drank too much green tea this morning. I gotta go find a bathroom." Toby blinked, looking at the long line ahead of them.

"Uh, okay. We'll wait right here."

"Hold my spot. Do not let anyone cut in line," Saitama ordered with deadly seriousness. Without waiting for a response, he jogged off toward a block of administrative buildings, his white cape fluttering behind him. The four First Years relaxed, letting out a collective sigh of relief.

"Babysitting a god is surprisingly exhausting," Lyra muttered, leaning her back against a steel girder and crossing her arms.

"I thought we'd be, I don't know, patrolling the Emerald Forest for Grimm. Not guarding a spot in a grocery line."

"Hey, it beats combat class," Marcus pointed out.

"Besides, Headmistress Glynda made it very clear. We are the 'Tactical De-escalation Unit.' Our only job is to make sure he doesn't accidentally punch a hole in the space-time continuum because someone bumped into him at a crosswalk."

"Yeah, well, so far so good," Chloe smiled, pulling out her scroll to check the time. Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the eastern side of the docks. The shockwave rattled the crates around them. Screams erupted from the commercial plaza as a plume of thick black smoke spiraled into the blue sky. The First Years instantly snapped into combat stances, their Huntsman training overriding their exhaustion.

Through the gaps in the cargo containers, they could see a gang of heavily armed, masked bandits actively ransacking a convoy of Dust shipments. They were throwing explosives and holding dockworkers at gunpoint.

"Bandits!" Toby shouted, drawing his short-sword.

"Wait," Lyra gasped, her feline ears flattening against her head as utter panic set in.

"If Saitama comes back from the bathroom and sees a robbery in progress..." Chloe's face went entirely pale, remembering the terrifying, icy glare Headmistress Goodwitch had given them in her office.

'If Mr. Saitama causes another geological event within city limits because you failed to intercept a simple mugging, I will have you all cleaning the Beacon cliffs with toothbrushes until you graduate.'

"He'll obliterate the entire port!" Chloe shrieked.

"We have to stop them before he gets back! Move!" Completely abandoning their post in the queue, the four teenagers drew their weapons and sprinted toward the eastern docks with desperate, frantic speed. Back on the quarter ramp, the merchant running the banana stall noticed the explosion in the distance. Seeing the local Huntsmen-in-training rushing toward the danger, the merchant confidently assumed the situation was under control.

However, not wanting to stick around for any stray bullets, he clapped his hands together.

"Alright, folks, speed it up! Exact Lien only, no haggling! We're closing up shop early!" The line moved with incredible efficiency. Within five minutes, the queue was entirely gone. At the same time, Saitama, who came back from the bathroom, walking toward the spot where people were previously lining up.

"Much better. Now let's--" Saitama stopped when he realized that the place is already empty.

"Huh?!" He saw the merchant tossed the last few bundles of bananas into a wooden crate and signaled to the ship's bridge. The massive hydraulic gears of the cargo ship whined to life, and the heavy metal quarter ramp began to slowly lift from the concrete dock. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Hey! Wait!" Saitama sprinted, waving his arms frantically. He saw the stall packing up and the ramp lifting. His brain completely ignored the context of the massive, ocean-faring vessel surrounding the stall. He only saw his groceries getting away. He bounded forward, leaping over a forklift and landing flawlessly on the rising metal ramp just before it sealed shut with a heavy, pressurized clunk. The interior of the ship's cargo hold was dimly lit, vibrating with the deep, rhythmic hum of the massive engines.

Saitama, assuming the hum was just a noisy commercial generator, walked briskly over to the bewildered merchant, who was currently tying down a tarp over his crates.

"Excuse me," Saitama said, tapping the man on the shoulder.

"I'd like to buy three bunches." The merchant jumped, spinning around.

"What the--how did you get in here?! We're closed, buddy!"

"Come on, man, please," Saitama begged. He clasped his hands together, his face incredibly earnest.

"I woke up at 6 AM for this. Do you know how hard it is to find reasonably priced produce in Vale? The economic ecosystem is a nightmare! A hero needs proper nutrition. Good, fresh fruits and vegetables are the cornerstone of a healthy lifestyle! Without proper fiber and potassium, how can anyone be expected to perform at their peak?!" The merchant stared at the bald man in the yellow suit. He listened to the passionate, unwavering dedication in his voice.

Slowly, a profound smile spread across the merchant's weathered face. He wiped a single, dramatic tear from his eye.

"By the Gods," the merchant sniffled, resting a hand on Saitama's shoulder.

"You... you truly understand the soul of the harvest." Saitama blinked, his face returning to a blank oval.

"Uh. Yeah. So, about the bananas...?"

"Take them! Take whatever you need!" the merchant laughed heartily, pulling the tarp back.

"A man who respects the produce is a friend of mine! Come, let me introduce you to the boys in section four! They've got fresh Mistralian radishes that will blow your mind!"

"Oh, sweet!" Saitama smiled, digging into his coin purse as he followed the merchant deeper into the belly of the vessel. The interior of the massive deep-water freighter was cavernous, lined with towering stacks of crates and shipping containers. The floor vibrated with a deep, rhythmic, localized hum that rattled the metal grating. Saitama, assuming the hum was just a noisy commercial generator keeping the "warehouse" refrigerators running, didn't think twice about it.

"Here you go, my friend!" the merchant beamed, handing Saitama two large, heavy plastic bags overflowing with bright yellow bananas, crisp radishes, and a massive head of cabbage.

"On the house! A true connoisseur of the harvest deserves the best."

"Thanks," Saitama said, his eyes practically sparkling as he accepted the bags.

"You guys have a really nice setup here. Though, the floor is kind of shaky."

"Ah, she's got strong engines, she does!" the merchant laughed heartily, patting the metal bulkhead before walking off to secure his ledger. Saitama looked down at his haul, feeling incredibly satisfied. He checked his bare wrist out of habit.

"Well, I got the groceries. The kids are probably still holding my spot in line outside. I should probably head back." He turned around, but the massive metal quarter ramp had already sealed shut with a pressurized, airtight hiss, leaving the cargo hold in a state of dim, industrial twilight. Saitama blinked, walking up to the heavy steel door and tapping it with his knuckle. It was locked tight.

"Oh. I guess they close the doors for lunch," Saitama muttered flatly, scratching the back of his bald head.

"Man, the logistics in this kingdom are so weird." He looked around the dimly lit cargo hold. He had woken up at 6: 00 AM to beat the rush hour traffic. He had run from the Beacon dorms all the way to the port, dealt with the anxiety of the "escorts," and stood in line for twenty minutes. A sudden, heavy wave of mundane fatigue washed over him. Saitama spotted a comfortable-looking pile of empty, soft burlap sacks stacked neatly between two crates of apples.

"Well, if I'm stuck in here until the manager finishes his lunch break, I might as well wait it out," Saitama reasoned. He shuffled over to the sacks, carefully placing his grocery bags on the floor, and sat down. He leaned his back against the wooden crate, pulling his white cape around himself like a blanket. The deep, rhythmic vibration of the ship's massive engines rumbled beneath him. It was actually incredibly soothing, like a giant, mechanical massage chair.

"I'll just close my eyes for five minutes," Saitama mumbled, letting out a long, heavy yawn.

"Just a quick nap until the doors open..." Within thirty seconds, Saitama was fast asleep, a small, comical snot-bubble expanding and deflating rhythmically from his nose. He was completely, blissfully oblivious to the fact that the "warehouse" had just disembarked from the pier. He slept right through the vessel cresting the coastal waves. He slept through the sunset.

He slept through the entire night, the following day, and the second night, resting with the absolute, unshakeable peace of a man who had no idea he was crossing a massive, Grimm-infested ocean.

Meanwhile, back at the Vale Port, the chaotic sounds of battle finally died down. The First Years stood panting amidst a pile of groaning, unconscious bandits. Sirens wailed as the Vale Police Department cruisers arrived on the scene, officers rushing out to slap cuffs on the criminals.

"We did it," Marcus wheezed, adjusting his cracked glasses.

"We stopped them. Minimal collateral damage."

"Great," Toby gasped, sheathing his sword.

"Now let's get back in line before Mr. Saitama realizes we left." The four teenagers jogged back to the western docks, their spirits high. But as they rounded the corner of the steel girders, they froze in absolute horror. The dock was empty. The ramp was gone. The colossal cargo ship was completely missing, leaving nothing but open water churning against the concrete pier.

"The... the stall..." Lyra stammered, her tail wrapping anxiously around her leg.

"Maybe he went back to Beacon?" Chloe suggested, though her voice trembled with a terrifying realization.

"We've been gone for almost half an hour. It's past the afternoon. He wouldn't just wait around forever, right?" They waited for another ten minutes. Then twenty. Sweat began to bead on Toby's forehead. They started asking the remaining dockworkers and civilians.

"Excuse me, have you seen a bald guy? Yellow suit? White cape? Blank expression?" Lyra asked a passing forklift operator. The man shook his head and kept driving. They fanned out, their panic escalating into a full-blown, frantic manhunt. They asked everyone from the harbor master to the local seagulls, completely turning the port upside down. Finally, near the edge of a loading pier, they spotted an elderly merchant finishing up his ledger before boarding a smaller ferry.

"Excuse me, sir!" Chloe yelled, running up to him.

"Please, tell me you saw a bald man in a yellow jumpsuit around here!" The old merchant stroked his beard, squinting out at the horizon.

"Bald fella? Hmm... you know, now that you mention it, when all those explosions were going off over yonder, I saw a bloke in a yellow suit sprint right up the ramp of the Sea's Bounty just before she sealed her doors." The four students felt the blood simultaneously drain from their bodies.

"He... he got on the ship?" Toby whispered, his voice incredibly small.

"Where..." Chloe swallowed hard, feeling physically ill.

"Where was the Sea's Bounty going?" The old merchant chuckled, tapping his clipboard.

"Oh, that's a deep-water freighter, little lady. She's on a non-stop, direct route back home. Headed straight for the continent of Anima. Mistral." The four First-Year students stood perfectly still. Their complexions shifted from pale, to chalk-white, to a sickly shade of translucent green. The most powerful entity on the planet, the man Headmistress Goodwitch had explicitly ordered them to keep contained within Vale city limits, had just accidentally exported himself across the globe.

BEEEEEEEEP! The blaring, deafening horn of the cargo ship echoed through the hold, jolting Saitama awake. Saitama's eyes snapped open. The snot-bubble popped. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms high above his head with a loud, satisfying groan that popped his shoulders.

"Whoa. That was a really good nap," Saitama mumbled, picking up his grocery bags.

"Felt like I was asleep for a whole day." The heavy hydraulic gears of the ship whined to life. Sunlight pierced the gloom as the massive metal quarter ramp slowly lowered, crashing heavily down onto wooden docks. The bright, golden afternoon sun bathed the bustling port in a warm hue. Saitama strolled down the ramp, happily carrying his two large plastic bags.

"Thanks again, guys!" Saitama waved back into the dark cargo hold, spotting the merchant untying a tarp.

"I'll try roasting the radishes with soy sauce like you suggested!"

"Enjoy, my friend! May the soil bless your path!" the merchant called back warmly. Saitama turned and began walking down the pier, feeling incredibly refreshed. However, after a few minutes of strolling, his footsteps slowed. He blinked his dotted eyes, looking around. The pristine, concrete grid of the Vale port was entirely gone. Instead, he was walking on weathered wooden planks. The buildings around him were constructed with elegant, curving pagoda roofs and red-painted wooden pillars.

Massive, jagged mountains loomed impossibly high in the background, their peaks disappearing into the clouds. The air smelled entirely different, less like smog and ozone, and more like pine and turning leaves. Saitama stopped walking. He stared at a passing cart being pulled by a strange, feathered beast of burden. His eyes narrowed in deep, growing suspicion. He walked over to a civilian wearing a woven straw hat who was loading crates near a small ferry.

"Excuse me," Saitama said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"What part of the Vale market is this? Did they redecorate the eastern sector while I was napping?" The civilian looked at him, completely bewildered by the yellow suit.

"Vale? Buddy, you're a long way from Vale," the man chuckled, adjusting his hat.

"This is the main port of Anima. You're just a few miles south of Shion village." Saitama stood perfectly still.

"Anima...?" Saitama repeated slowly.

"Wait. What day is it?" The merchant raised an eyebrow.

"It's Thursday afternoon, friend." Saitama's brain completely halted. He had entered the "warehouse" on Tuesday morning. The bags of groceries in his hands suddenly felt incredibly heavy. A heavy, dark shadow fell over the top half of his face. His eyes widened into hollow, detailed, heavily lined circles of pure, unadulterated horror. He hadn't taken a twenty-minute nap. He had slept for nearly forty hours. He wasn't in Vale. He wasn't even on the same continent.

He had boarded a cargo ship by accident, taken a two-day nap on a pile of potato sacks, and sailed across the ocean while waiting for a door to open. Instantly, his mind conjured the terrifying image of Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch. He imagined her pushing up her glasses, her riding crop tapping aggressively against a massive, Everest-sized mountain of official absence-without-leave paperwork.

"Oh crap." Saitama muttered, a panicked sweat breaking out across his face.

"I'm going to get fired. Or worse, she's going to make me sweep the Beacon cliffs again." He whipped his head around, staring out at the vast, endless expanse of the churning blue ocean. He clenched his red-gloved fist. He could just run back. He could easily sprint across the surface tension of the water and cross the ocean in a matter of seconds. But...

"Damn. Which direction is Vale again?" The thought of aimlessly running around the circumference of the entire planet just to find his dorm sounded incredibly exhausting.

"Too far," Saitama decided, his shoulders slumping.

"Way too lazy for that." As he stood on the docks, trapped in a spiral of mundane despair, a voice crackled over a nearby public PA system attached to a large, open-air marketplace just down the road." Attention shoppers! For the next hour only, all surplus Mistralian hotpot ingredients are marked down for an unprecedented eighty-percent off!" Saitama's head snapped toward the marketplace. He slowly turned his head back to look at the ocean. Then, he looked back at the marketplace.

Then, he looked at the ocean again. Slowly, carefully, he reached into the pocket of his yellow suit. He pulled out the crumpled, slightly water-damaged piece of paper that Sun Wukong had given him months ago. He uncrumpled it, his eyes tracing the crude, crayon drawing of a banana and the messy handwriting scrawled across the page. He stared at the coupon for a long, silent moment.

The heavy, dramatic shadows instantly vanished from Saitama's face, replaced by his standard, deadpan oval eyes and a flat, completely untroubled expression.

"Welp," Saitama said aloud, carefully folding the paper and putting it back in his pocket.

"I guess I have some paid time off saved up." With his groceries in hand, the strongest man in the universe casually turned his back on the ocean and began walking eagerly toward the discount market, completely unaware of the absolute chaos he had just unleashed upon the world.