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Chapter 20 - Chapter 20: Interludes, Interviews, and an Intense Interest in Food Stalls.

Chapter 20: Interludes, Interviews, and an Intense Interest in Food Stalls

 

The roar of the crowd was still echoing as the top 42 finishers from the obstacle race were herded into a waiting area to recover before the next event. The atmosphere was a volatile cocktail of adrenaline, exhaustion, and simmering tension. Midoriya was being bombarded with praise from Uraraka and Iida, though his mind was still reeling from his own victory. Bakugo stood in a corner, radiating an aura of such pure, murderous fury that no one dared approach him. Todoroki was an island of cold composure, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance at having been outmaneuvered.

Meanwhile, a team of U.A.'s finest, led by a deeply perplexed Power Loader, was examining the mysterious tunnel. They ran scanners. They took core samples. Their instruments whirred and beeped, all telling the same impossible story.

"I don't understand," a Support Course teacher said, running a hand over the glassy-smooth rock wall. "There are no tool marks. No heat scarring from a laser or explosion. No seismic residue. The rock hasn't been destroyed; it's just… gone."

Power Loader looked at his own readings, his helmet hiding an expression of pure disbelief. "The molecular bonds are perfectly sheared. It's like a giant hole-punch was used on the very fabric of space-time. This isn't the work of a Quirk," he concluded grimly. "This is the work of a physics textbook being torn to shreds and set on fire."

The subject of this scientific crisis, however, was on his lunch break. Saitama had been given a handful of food vouchers and released into the public concourse, a sprawling paradise of festive banners, merchandise booths, and, most importantly, food stalls. The rich, savory smoke of grilling meat and the sweet, cloying scent of cotton candy filled the air. For Saitama, this was the real main event.

He navigated the throng of cheering families and hero fanatics, a lone figure of calm in his orange staff vest. His eyes scanned the menus with a seriousness he hadn't displayed all day. Takoyaki, with its octopus-filled goodness? Or Yakisoba, with its savory noodles and tangy sauce? It was a difficult choice.

As he was counting his vouchers, a microphone was suddenly thrust in his face.

"Excuse me, sir! Kiki Razzle, with Hero News Network!" a reporter with aggressively pink hair chirped. "You're a member of the U.A. staff! We'd love to get your insider perspective on that incredible first event! Weren't you just thrilled by Izuku Midoriya's shocking first-place finish?"

Saitama blinked, a half-chewed piece of free-sample fried chicken in his mouth. He swallowed. "Oh. The kid who flew at the end," he said. "Yeah, that was a pretty big explosion. He got some nice air time."

The reporter's smile faltered slightly at the clinical, unenthusiastic analysis. "It was a truly inspiring moment of heroic ingenuity!" she pressed.

"I guess," Saitama shrugged. "It looked really unsafe, though. He's lucky he didn't break all his bones. Seems like a lot of risk for a race." His perspective was so pragmatic, so utterly devoid of the heroic narrative she was trying to spin, that it completely short-circuited her train of thought.

She tried a different angle. "And what about the mysterious tunnel? The whole stadium is buzzing! Any comment on that?"

"It's a safety code violation," Saitama said flatly. "And a potential nesting ground for vermin."

The interview was dead. Kiki Razzle stared at him, her perky media persona crumbling into genuine confusion. "Right," she stammered. "Well… thank you for your time." She quickly backed away, seeking a more enthusiastic subject.

Saitama, unbothered, finally made his decision and got in line for a stall selling limited-edition, All Might-themed crepes shaped like the hero's iconic hair tufts. As he waited, a thin, skeletal man in a large hoodie and sunglasses shuffled into line behind him, doing his best to look inconspicuous. It was Toshinori Yagi.

"Quite a spectacle, isn't it?" Toshinori offered, making polite small talk with the staff member.

Saitama nodded, his eyes fixed on the crepe being made. "Yeah. The lines are moving pretty fast. That's good."

Toshinori blinked. He had expected a comment on the students, the heroism, the spirit of the event. But the man's entire focus seemed to be on logistical efficiency. "I meant the students," Toshinori clarified gently. "They are the future."

"They're pretty loud," Saitama replied. "But they seem energetic."

The sheer, unbreachable wall of the man's indifference was staggering. Here, at the epicenter of the hero world, stood a man who seemed to view it all as nothing more than a noisy, elaborate catering event. Toshinori could only offer a weak, wheezing chuckle in response.

Just then, the voice of Midnight echoed across the stadium, announcing the results of the race and the start of the next event: the Cavalry Battle. A new wave of tension and excitement swept through the crowd. The students on the field began the frantic process of forming teams. Midoriya, with his ten-million-point headband, was now the target of every ambitious student in the arena. The drama was escalating.

The camera in the stadium panned across the faces of the top competitors—the desperate determination on Midoriya's face, the burning rage in Bakugo's eyes, the cold focus in Todoroki's. It was a portrait of the next generation of heroes, ready for battle.

The shot then cut, by pure chance, to a live feed of the food court, where Saitama had just received his All Might-themed crepe. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and examined the dessert with a critical eye.

"Hmm," he muttered to himself, his voice completely drowned out by the stadium's roar. "It needs more chocolate sauce."

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