Chapter 11: Rumors, Recovery, and a Rogue Cleaning Cart
Two days after the USJ incident, Class 1-A sat nervously in their homeroom. The classroom door slid open, and Shota Aizawa entered, looking less like a teacher and more like a freshly unearthed mummy. He was covered from head to toe in bandages, only his tired eyes visible.
"Settle down," he rasped, his voice strained. The class immediately fell silent. "The fight is not over yet."
A wave of fear washed over the students. Another villain attack?
"The U.A. Sports Festival is coming up."
The collective tension in the room imploded into cries of confusion and relief. Kirishima voiced everyone's thoughts: "Is it really a good idea to hold a festival right after the villains attacked?!"
"Apparently, the administration thinks it is," Aizawa explained. "It's to show that the school is still in control, that we are not afraid. This is your chance to show the world what you're made of."
Life at U.A. was being forced back to normal. And a key part of that fragile normality was the sight of Saitama, completely untouched and unfazed by the traumatic events, diligently going about his duties. The students would see him power-washing the sidewalks, his expression blank, and they'd remember the earth-shattering boom of his punch. They'd spot him in the library, carefully dusting shelves, and recall him standing before an army of villains with the same level of concern. He had become a walking, sweeping, living paradox, a source of quiet, existential dread and endless whispered speculation.
He, for his part, was just glad things were quiet again. He had managed to salvage his bento box, though he had to wipe some dust off the lid, which was a real shame. His life was back on schedule.
This was precisely the state Nezu wanted him in: relaxed, unguarded, and predictable. The first "non-hostile, plausible-deniability stimulus test" was scheduled for that afternoon. The agent of chaos was to be Present Mic.
His plan was simple, loud, and perfectly in character. He would hide in an empty classroom overlooking a long, quiet corridor that Saitama used to transport cleaning supplies. When Saitama was in the perfect position, Mic would unleash a focused, directional sonic blast—not enough to cause damage, but more than enough to startle any normal human, testing his auditory senses and reaction time.
At 3:15 PM, the target entered the corridor. Saitama was pushing a large, metal cleaning cart laden with buckets and mops. One of the wheels was notoriously wobbly, and it made a repetitive, deeply annoying squeak… squeak… squeak sound with every rotation. He was pondering the eternal question of whether to have udon or ramen for dinner.
Inside the classroom, Present Mic took a deep breath. "Showtime, little listener!" he whispered. He aimed his directional speaker and let loose a controlled, high-frequency sonic burst.
"YEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!"
The soundwave, invisible and powerful, shot down the corridor.
Saitama felt… nothing. The sound was no louder to him than the incessant squeaking of his cart wheel. His brain, so accustomed to the universe-shaking booms of his own punches, simply filtered Mic's yell out as irrelevant background noise. He did not flinch. He did not turn his head. He did not break his stride.
The cart, however, was another story. The intense sonic vibrations were the last straw for the rusted axle of the wobbly wheel. With a pathetic groan, the metal sheared. The cart lurched violently to one side, tipping over and spilling its entire contents—soapy water, dirty mops, bright yellow 'Wet Floor' signs—in a massive, sprawling mess.
Saitama stopped and looked down at the puddle spreading across the floor he had just buffed that morning. A deep, weary sigh escaped his lips.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
From his observation post, Present Mic stared in disbelief. The man hadn't reacted at all, but the cart had collapsed. It made no sense. He reported his findings to Nezu via a secure line.
"It's incredible, Principal!" Mic whisper-yelled. "He didn't even blink! It's like his eardrums are made of solid steel! The sound had zero effect on him, but it was strong enough to shake a metal cart apart! The only thing he reacted to was the mess!"
In his office, Nezu made his first official note in a new, top-secret file. On the cover, it read: Project Bald Eagle. Inside, he wrote:
Test 1: Auditory Stimulus
Agent: Present Mic
Result: Inconclusive. Subject displayed zero sensory reaction. However, the stimulus resulted in a peripheral equipment malfunction. It appears the subject's apathy itself may function as a form of sensory dampener, filtering out anything he deems unimportant. Or his physical durability is absolute, down to the microscopic level. Further testing is required.
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