Chương 61: Chapter 58: The Counterfeit Savior

The atmosphere inside the Headmistress's tower was suffocatingly thick, weighed down by the agonizing, rhythmic ticking of the massive brass clockwork gears overhead. The late morning sun streamed through the panoramic windows, illuminating the pristine, polished mahogany of Glynda Goodwitch's desk. Behind that desk, Glynda sat perfectly rigid. Her fingers were steepled tightly against her chin, her knuckles entirely white.

Her sharp green eyes behind her oval glasses were currently boring a hole through the terrified, trembling man standing in the exact center of her office. Darwin was sweating profusely. He clutched his cheap, scuffed briefcase to his chest like a blast shield, his knees visibly knocking together. He looked around the grand, imposing architecture of the most prestigious Huntsman academy on Remnant, his expressive brown eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated panic.

Flanking him like a desperate, highly stressed honor guard were Toby, Marcus, Chloe, and Lyra.

"Let me ensure I am fully comprehending the sheer, unbridled absurdity of your proposal," Glynda began, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm, icy whisper that made all five of them flinch.

"You lost the most powerful, unquantifiable security asset this kingdom has ever known to a commercial fruit vessel. And your solution to preventing a continental panic... is to dress an unemployed, highly anxious civilian in a janitorial suit and pretend he is the 'Hero of Vale'?"

"Headmistress Goodwitch, please, hear us out!" Marcus pleaded, stepping forward and pushing his cracked glasses up his nose with a shaking hand.

"We know it sounds completely insane, but look at the biometric parallels! He has the exact same height! His shoulder width is an eighty-nine percent match! And the head, look at the head! It's flawlessly smooth!"

"I-I use a specialized moisturizing polish!" Darwin squeaked defensively, his voice cracking three octaves as he bowed so deeply his briefcase nearly hit the floorboards.

"It's an absolute honor to be here, ma'am! I am a very hard worker! I can file paperwork, I can make excellent coffee, and I would be deeply, truly honored to be of assistance to Beacon Academy and the great Hero of Vale!" Glynda closed her eyes, letting out a long, slow breath as she pinched the bridge of her nose. A migraine of apocalyptic proportions was actively hammering against her skull.

"The public does not scrutinize Saitama's facial features," Chloe added frantically, waving her hands in the air.

"They look for the bright yellow suit, the white cape, and the bald head! But we aren't even going to put him in the hero suit! He can the oversized green campus maintenance uniform! It covers his build perfectly!"

"And we can conceal the rest of his face!" Lyra chimed in, her spotted feline ears flattened desperately against her hair.

"We can give him a pair of dark sunglasses and a standard medical mask! We'll just say he caught a bug! If we minimize his patrols, keep him strictly inside the courtyard, and never let him walk outside the academy gates, no one will ever know the difference!"

"If there are any news drones or civilian cameras poking through the front gates, we will personally form a perimeter to maintain distance," Toby promised, standing at rigid attention.

"We will be his absolute shadow. We just need to buy enough time for General Ironwood's operatives to find the real Saitama and bring him back!" Glynda opened her eyes, staring at the pathetic, trembling man in the beige suit. Darwin offered her a weak, jittery smile, his teeth chattering audibly. The Headmistress looked at the blinking red notification light on her terminal. It was yet another message from the Vale Council, inquiring about the "Hero of Vale's" sudden absence from the commercial districts.

The media was already spinning wild theories. If she told the public the truth, that the invincible anomaly had accidentally shipped himself to a hostile kingdom, the political fallout would be catastrophic. The panic would draw every Grimm in the Emerald Forest directly to their walls. Or worse, Salem would attack Vale head-on. She had absolutely no other choice.

"By the Gods," Glynda whispered, utterly defeated as she lowered her hands to the desk. She fixed Darwin with a terrifying, unyielding glare.

"Mr. Darwin. You will be compensated handsomely from the academy's discretionary fund. But if you break character, if you cause a scene, or if you speak to the press... I will personally ensure your next employment opportunity is cleaning the underside of the floating Amity Colosseum without a tether." Darwin swallowed a massive lump in his throat, tears of pure terror welling in his eyes.

"Y-Yes, ma'am! I will be the best fake janitor you have ever seen!"

Thirty minutes later, the mid-day sun beat down on the sprawling, cobblestone courtyards of Beacon Academy. A figure in a baggy green janitorial jumpsuit slowly pushed a standard straw broom across the flagstones. A white medical mask completely covered his mouth and nose, and a pair of cheap, oversized black sunglasses hid his highly expressive eyes. His bright red rubber boots scuffed rhythmically against the stone.

"Just sweep, Darwin. Just sweep." Darwin muttered in a low tone, though he was internally in panic.

"Just sweep the dirt. Don't look at anyone. Don't make eye contact. The terrifying crop-lady said the real guy is incredibly boring. I have to be boring. I am a boring, invincible god of sweeping." Underneath the oversized green fabric, Darwin was sweating so profusely his shirt was sticking to his back. His knees felt like jelly. Every time a student walked past him, his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Ah! Mr. Saitama! The prodigal custodian returns to the battlefield!" Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The booming, theatrical voice echoed across the courtyard like a cannon shot. Darwin nearly jumped out of his red boots. He stiffened, his knuckles turning white around the broom handle. He slowly turned his head to see Professor Peter Port marching toward him, his chest puffed out proudly.

Right beside him, vibrating with an excessive amount of caffeinated energy, was Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck. Oh no. Oh no no no! Management. The teachers are here! Darwin screamed internally.

"Fascinating to see you back on the grounds so swiftly!" Oobleck zipped forward, his glasses reflecting the sunlight as he inspected the disguised man.

"We had heard from the First-Years that you were placed on an extended administrative leave for mental recuperation! A most logical precaution, given the immense sociological weight of your localized heroics!" Darwin swallowed hard.

'Whatever you do, don't show emotion. Keep your voice flat. Be completely indifferent to everything.' He remembered Chloe's frantic coaching just before he stepped outside.

"Uh... oh. Hey," Darwin forced out, artificially dropping his voice into a flat, monotone drone that scratched his throat. He lazily pushed the broom forward an inch.

"Just... doing chores." Port stopped, his thick gray mustache twitching as he crossed his arms, looking closely at the medical mask and the dark sunglasses.

"I say, my good man, why the ocular obfuscation and the medical apparatus?" Port boomed, leaning in slightly.

"And your voice... it sounds a bit strained. Lacking its usual... profound apathy." Oobleck adjusted his glasses, stepping even closer.

"Indeed! The biometric presentation is highly unusual! Are you attempting to conceal your identity from the paparazzi, or is this a new tactical integration for atmospheric dust filtering?!" Darwin's soul practically left his body. The sweat was pooling under his sunglasses.

"Flu," Darwin muttered, forcing his shoulders to slouch, desperately trying to channel the energy of a man who didn't care.

"Got a bug. Throat hurts. But... can't abandon the dirt. Must sweep." Port's eyes widened, a look of profound, immense respect washing over his weathered face. He slammed a heavy hand onto Darwin's shoulder, nearly buckling the civilian's fragile knees.

"By the Gods! A biological ailment!" Port cheered, completely misinterpreting the situation.

"Even with a constitution capable of shattering mountains, you refuse to let a microscopic virus keep you from your duty! What phenomenal, unyielding work ethic! A true testament to the spirit of a Huntsman!"

"Remarkable!" Oobleck rapidly tapped a few notes into his scroll.

"To witness a localized viral infection successfully penetrate a cellular structure dense enough to withstand a Death Stalker's stinger! The biological implications are staggering! We must let you rest your vocal cords immediately! Come, Peter, let us leave the man to his steadfast labor!"

"Get well soon, my boy! Drink plenty of fluids!" Port bellowed, giving Darwin one last, bone-rattling pat on the back before the two professors marched off toward the administrative wing. Darwin stood frozen for three full seconds after they disappeared. He let out a long, shuddering, muffled gasp through his medical mask, leaning heavily against the handle of his broom as his legs finally gave out.

"I survived," he muttered, tears of pure relief pricking the corners of his eyes behind the sunglasses.

"I actually survived. I am a master of disguise. I deserve an academy award--""MASTER SAITAMA!" The high-pitched, ecstatic shriek echoed from the archway leading to the dormitories. Darwin snapped his head up. Marching toward him across the courtyard was a dense, highly energized mob of a dozen First-Year students. Leading the pack was the spiky-haired boy holding a heavily annotated notebook, his eyes shining with absolute reverence. No. Please, no more!

Darwin whimpered internally, gripping his broom like a lifeline.

"You're back!" a young Huntress-in-training squealed, clutching her hands to her cheeks.

"We heard you were on paid leave! Are you doing a secret endurance sweep?! Is that why you're wearing resistance gear?!"

"Master Saitama, please!" the spiky-haired boy begged, dropping to one knee and holding his notebook up like an offering.

"Just one quote for my thesis on kinetic limits! How many calories do you burn during a casual stroll?!" Darwin was entirely paralyzed. The sheer, terrifying pressure of being worshipped by heavily armed teenagers was completely overloading his nervous system. His breathing hitched, his expressive eyes widening behind the dark lenses. He was about to break. He was going to start crying right there in the courtyard.

"Back away! Give him space!" A frantic, authoritative shout cut through the mob. Toby, Marcus, Chloe, and Lyra sprinted into the courtyard, forming a highly aggressive, physical barrier between the terrified Darwin and the fan club.

"What are you guys doing?!" Chloe yelled, her face flushed with panic as she spread her arms wide.

"We explicitly told you he was on medical leave! He's extremely contagious!"

"He has the flu!" Marcus declared loudly, pushing his glasses up with a shaky hand.

"A highly specialized, super-powered flu! If he sneezes, the sheer atmospheric pressure could blow the roof off the library! You are all in the blast zone!" The fan club gasped in synchronized horror, taking a collective, terrified step backward.

"The flu?!" the spiky-haired boy whispered in awe.

"But how did he catch it?!"

"It was the stress!" Lyra lied flawlessly, her feline tail whipping back and forth to sell the drama.

"The constant pressure of handling the press, the burden of being the city's ultimate celebrity, and carrying the weight of the entire kingdom on his shoulders! His immune system crashed from the sheer emotional toll! He's wearing the mask and sunglasses so the paparazzi won't see how exhausted he is!" The First-Year students looked past the human barricade to look at the slouched, shaking figure of the man in the green jumpsuit. They saw his trembling hands.

They saw the way his shoulders slumped in absolute defeat. To Darwin, it was sheer, unadulterated panic. To the fans, it was the heartbreaking, tragic exhaustion of a selfless god.

"Oh, Master Saitama..." a girl sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye.

"We are so, so sorry. We didn't realize how much our expectations were hurting you."

"We'll leave you alone!" the spiky-haired boy promised, bowing deeply from the waist.

"Please, focus entirely on your recovery! Get well as soon as possible so we can train with you again! We won't let anyone bother you!"

"Feel better, Hero!" the crowd chimed in softly, offering respectful, solemn bows before quietly turning around and shuffling back toward their dormitories, determined to protect his peace. The moment the courtyard was completely empty, the four student handlers collapsed. Toby dropped to his knees on the flagstones, letting out a massive, wheezing sigh of relief.

Marcus leaned against a stone pillar, clutching his chest as if he had just run a marathon, while Chloe and Lyra wiped heavy layers of sweat from their foreheads.

"That was too close," Lyra groaned, her ears drooping.

"If they had asked him to demonstrate a punch, the entire illusion would have shattered instantly." Behind them, a loud, pathetic sob echoed through the medical mask. Darwin collapsed onto the flagstones right next to Toby, completely abandoning his broom. He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing eyes that were overflowing with massive, comical waterfalls of dramatic tears.

"I can't do this!" Darwin wailed, curling into a miserable ball on the ground as he clutched his bald head.

"This job is a hundred times harder than data entry! The pressure is too much! I thought I was just going to sweep some leaves! I didn't know I had to carry the emotional weight of an entire generation of heavily armed child soldiers! I want to go back to being unemployed!"

"Hold it together, Darwin!" Marcus hissed, rushing over to hastily shove the sunglasses back onto the crying man's face.

"You're getting paid hazard wages for this! Just keep the mask on, and for the love of the Brother Gods, stop shivering! Heroes don't shiver!"

"I'm trying, but I'm naturally a very nervous person!" Darwin sobbed comically into his knees. The four First-Years exchanged a look of pure, shared agony. They looked up at the massive, unyielding spires of Beacon Academy, realizing that their covert operation had only just begun.

"Please," Toby prayed to the sky.

"Please let General Ironwood's operatives find the real guy fast. We are not going to survive this week."