Chapter 28: Podiums, Propaganda, and a Precipitous Departure.
The closing ceremony of the U.A. Sports Festival was a surreal affair. The three victors stood upon the podiums, but the traditional atmosphere of triumph was conspicuously absent. Shoto Todoroki stood on the second-place platform, his expression distant and brooding, his medal feeling less like an honor and more like a brand.
And on the first-place platform was Katsuki Bakugo. He was awake now, and so utterly, volcanically furious at his hollow victory that he had been chained to a large block of concrete. He was snarling and thrashing against his bonds, a muzzle strapped over his face, looking less like a champion and more like a captured mythological beast.
"AND NOW, IT'S TIME TO PRESENT THE MEDALS!" Present Mic announced, trying to inject some energy into the bizarre scene. "AND WHO BETTER TO DO IT THAN THE MAN HIMSELF… ALL MIGHT!"
The Symbol of Peace landed in the arena with a ground-shaking boom, his smile wide but, to those who knew him, slightly strained. He delivered an inspiring speech about spirit and competition, then proceeded to award the medals. His moment with the chained Bakugo was particularly awkward. As he leaned in to place the gold medal, Bakugo thrashed so violently that All Might had to forcibly clamp it between his teeth.
While this deeply strange ceremony was being broadcast to the entire nation, Saitama was at work. He was part of the cleanup crew, tasked with clearing the chunks of shattered ice and concrete that littered the arena. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his shovel and wheelbarrow making a steady, rhythmic scraping sound against the stone floor. He was, quite literally, sweeping up the remains of their epic, life-altering battles.
Miles away, in a dimly lit bedroom, a teenager with an obsessive personality and too much free time was hunched over his laptop. He ran a moderately successful conspiracy blog called "Quirk Quibbles." He was re-watching the shaky, viral clip of the "Flying Janitor" from the obstacle course. On another screen, he had news footage from the USJ attack. He was meticulously going through it frame-by-frame. And then he saw it. In the background of a chaotic shot, behind a panicked reporter, was a blurry figure. A bald man. In a silly, yellow and red costume.
His eyes widened. He quickly pulled up an image of the janitor from the festival footage. The build was the same. The face, though blurry, was a match. His fingers flew across the keyboard, a manic energy seizing him.
"FORGET WHAT THE MAINSTREAM HERO MEDIA IS TELLING YOU!" he typed. "THEY ARE HIDING THE TRUTH! I've found him. The mysterious 'consultant' at the Sports Festival… was also at the USJ attack. Coincidence? I think not! This is U.A.'s secret weapon, a clandestine powerhouse they deploy when the cameras are off! Who is the Bald Ghost of U.A.?!"
He clicked 'Publish.' The post, complete with side-by-side photo comparisons, began to spread.
The sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows across the now-empty stadium. The faculty was gathered for a final, exhausted debrief in Nezu's office.
"Overall, a success," Nezu stated, looking at the preliminary viewership ratings. "Despite… some minor setbacks and significant property damage." He glanced at a tablet. "There does seem to be some unusual online chatter about a member of our custodial staff, but I'm sure it's just fleeting nonsense."
Saitama clocked out. The roar of the crowd had been replaced by the quiet hum of the cleaning crew's floor buffers. He was tired. The day had been long and filled with far too much yelling. He walked the quiet path back to his dorm room, looking forward to a simple dinner and a new chapter of his favorite manga.
He opened his small refrigerator. It was completely empty, save for a single, wilting green onion and a half-empty bottle of ketchup. In the chaos of the festival, he had completely forgotten to buy groceries.
A deep, weary sigh escaped his lips.
He grabbed his wallet and a simple, plain gray hoodie from his closet. As he headed out, another janitor, an older man named Kenji, was locking up a supply closet.
"Calling it a night, Saitama-san?" Kenji asked with a friendly smile.
"Yeah," Saitama replied, pulling the hood over his head, casting his face in shadow. "Gotta run to the supermarket. We're all out of eggs and I think there's a sale on cabbage."
He walked out of the now-silent gates of U.A. High and into the encroaching twilight of the city. He was just another anonymous person, a shadow melting into other shadows, on his way to perform the most mundane of errands.
He was completely unaware that a conspiracy theory about him was rapidly escalating into a viral sensation, and that the curious, powerful, and often dangerous eyes of the world were, very slowly, beginning to turn his way.