Chapter 4: Lunch Rush, Laundry Day, and Logical Ruses
The Quirk Apprehension Test left an indelible mark on the psyche of Class 1-A. It wasn't just about the results or Aizawa's threat of expulsion. It was about the janitor. The incident—a moment of impossible, casual strength followed by a complaint about potential smudges—had become the stuff of instant legend. As Aizawa droned on about the heroics curriculum in the classroom, the air was thick with whispered theories and sidelong glances out the window, as if hoping to spot the enigmatic groundskeeper again.
Izuku Midoriya was physically present, but his mind was a universe away. His notebook, once a meticulous analysis of Pro Heroes and classmates, now had a growing section dedicated to "Saitama-san." The page was a chaotic mess of crossed-out hypotheses ("Quirk: Perfect Catch?"), frantic questions ("Why a janitor's uniform? A disguise?"), and crude sketches of a man catching a lump of steel. He was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the lunch bell rang.
The U.A. Cafeteria was a grand hall, bustling with the energy of hundreds of hero hopefuls. The food, prepared by the Pro Hero Lunch Rush, was legendary. But today, the usual cacophony of chatter had a new, hushed undercurrent.
It started when Saitama walked in.
He carried a standard tray, wearing his U.A. staff jumpsuit, and got in line like any other faculty member. Yet, a ripple of silence followed him. Students would stop mid-sentence, nudging their friends, whispering, "That's him." A bubble of personal space, far larger than normal, formed around him, born not of fear, but of sheer, unadulterated awe and confusion.
Saitama, blissfully unaware, was just happy to see the menu. They had pork cutlet bowls. Big ones. He got the largest size available, paid with the new stipend card Nezu had given him, and looked for a place to sit. He found an empty table in a corner and began to eat, his expression one of pure, simple contentment.
For a few minutes, he ate in peace. Then, two brave souls approached his table.
"Excuse me, Saitama-san!" Tenya Iida announced, chopping the air with his hand in a gesture of formal respect. He was flanked by a nervous but smiling Ochaco Uraraka. "On behalf of Class 1-A, I would like to formally extend our gratitude for your vigilance on the training grounds earlier! Your awareness and swift action prevented potential equipment damage and personal injury!"
Saitama swallowed a large mouthful of rice and pork. He looked at Iida, then at Uraraka. "Oh. You mean the metal thing. No problem. It was in the way of the window I had just cleaned."
Iida's eyes widened behind his glasses. He processed this statement with the rigid logic of a true class president. He wasn't focused on the immediate danger, but on the consequences of the danger—the potential for more work and disorder. It's a philosophy of proactive problem prevention! By protecting the window, he was protecting the integrity of the training ground's infrastructure! Astounding!
"A truly profound perspective!" Iida declared. "To a true hero, every detail matters!"
Uraraka giggled nervously. "We were just wondering… you're really strong. It was amazing."
"Thanks," Saitama said, already scooping another bite. "This pork is pretty good."
The conversation had hit a wall. An impenetrable, beige wall of utter normality. Defeated by his sheer lack of heroic mystique, the pair bowed and shuffled away, leaving Saitama to his lunch. From a few tables over, Midoriya furiously scribbled in his notebook: "Subject displays extreme focus on mundane tasks (cleaning, food quality). Is this a mental conditioning technique to control his immense power? A 'humility anchor'?"
Later that afternoon, Saitama found his next task: laundry. His hero costume, which had bizarrely reappeared in a neat pile in his room after his dimensional trip, was starting to smell a bit stale. He located the staff laundry facility, a clean, sterile room with several industrial-sized machines.
He was alone, save for a man with a ridiculous amount of spiky blonde hair and a leather jacket, who was currently sorting a pile of what looked like stage costumes.
"HEY THERE, NEW GUY!" Present Mic yelled, his voice echoing in the small room even at a conversational volume. "YOU'RE THE TALK OF THE TEACHER'S LOUNGE! AIZAWA'S NEW HEADACHE, I HEAR! THE NAME'S PRESENT MIC!"
"Saitama," he replied, dumping his yellow suit and white cape into a machine.
"SO, SAITAMA! WHAT'S YOUR STORY?! THAT ENTRANCE EXAM STUNT WAS WILD! WHAT'S YOUR QUIRK, LISTENER?! SOME KINDA REINFORCEMENT?!"
"Something like that," Saitama mumbled, pouring in a random amount of detergent.
Present Mic leaned in, trying to create a vibe. "C'MON, YOU CAN TELL ME! I'M COOL! I WON'T TELL NEZU!"
Saitama just looked at him with blank eyes, then pressed the 'Start' button. The machine whirred to life with a loud thunk-thunk-thunk. The conversation was over. Present Mic, for the first time in his life, felt the awkward sting of being the one trying too hard. He sighed dramatically and went back to his laundry.
Meanwhile, in Principal Nezu's office, the "Saitama problem" was being addressed.
"We cannot simply tell the students he is a janitor," Nezu said, pouring tea for Aizawa and a still-skeletal All Might. "They have witnessed his power. It would create a logical inconsistency that would breed mistrust and reckless curiosity."
"So we lie," Aizawa grunted.
"We create a 'logical ruse'," Nezu corrected, a sly smile on his face. "A story that fits the known facts. From this moment on, Saitama is not a groundskeeper. He is a civilian specialist we have hired on a provisional contract. His official title is 'Risk Assessment and Structural Integrity Consultant'."
All Might choked on his tea. "You're making the janitor a consultant?"
"Precisely! His 'Quirk'," Nezu made air quotes with his paws, "is a rare, high-level Reinforcement type that gives him unparalleled understanding of physical stress points and structural weaknesses. His sweeping and cleaning duties are merely a cover for his real job: to patrol the campus grounds, constantly assessing for vulnerabilities. It explains his presence, his power, and his focus on 'preventing messes'. It is the perfect explanation."
Aizawa actually looked impressed for a split second. "It's absurd. But it's an absurdity that makes sense in this hero-obsessed world. They'll buy it."
"Exactly," Nezu said, his smile widening. "Now, all we have to do is tell Saitama that his job title has changed."
As the meeting concluded, Saitama was walking back from the laundry room, his hero suit now clean and neatly folded in a basket. He walked past Ground Beta, where the first Foundational Heroics class of the year was in full swing. He heard the booming, familiar voice of All Might explaining the rules of the "Battle Trial."
He glanced over, saw Midoriya looking nervous in a green jumpsuit and Bakugo looking absolutely murderous. He saw buildings that were designed to be broken. It looked noisy. And messy.
Saitama shuddered slightly at the thought of the clean-up and kept walking. He was much more concerned about whether he had used enough fabric softener on his cape.