"Those incidents…"
Fury's voice was so low it was almost frightening.
"Someone has been stringing them together from the shadows. A new threat… an even greater crisis… is taking shape."
He cast one last glance at the blurry photo of Saitama on the screen and at the report whose final threat rating was simply the symbol ∞, then made up his mind.
"Hill, notify Natasha, Barton, Rogers, and any other available personnel currently in New York. Emergency strategic meeting, 1000 hours. We don't have time to sit around feeling frustrated."
Fury's tone was decisive, his usual hard edge fully back in place.
"As for Saitama Gonzalez…"
His gaze seemed to pierce through the wall of screens, as if he could see that bald figure pushing a shopping cart out of a supermarket somewhere, his back looking a little lonely under the streetlights.
"…maintain absolute monitoring. Do not disturb him before he 'acts' again. At the same time… compile every major promotional event schedule for large supermarkets in New York and within a five-hundred-kilometer radius. Priority level: A."
Agent Hill actually froze for a second, which was rare for her.
"...Director?"
"Just do it." Fury's single eye never left the map where energy readings were starting to gather. "He's not out there protecting the world. But he does care about the supermarket near his home and discount coupons. Maybe… that'll be the only window we have to even slightly predict his movements. We need to lay things out in advance… at the very least, when he casually obliterates the next doomsday-level threat on a whim, our people won't be standing in the way or caught in the blast."
Fury's gaze slid back to the words in the report's conclusion: "Absolutely forbidden to engage in direct hostility."
He remembered the polite yet utterly final refusal Saitama had given when he turned them down.
If he could not control that kind of power, then all he could do was learn to coexist with it in the eye of the storm, to live alongside a force he could not begin to understand.
"The next time a crisis shows up in New York that needs him…" Fury stared at the blinking frequencies on the map, as if speaking to some potential opponent. "...I hope he still remembers the people in Brooklyn who cheered for him. Or… at least remembers the addresses of those supermarkets."
Under the bridge, the cramped space was filled with the smell of frozen dumplings boiling in water, mixed with damp mold and dust.
Saitama was sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug. In front of him was an old electric hot plate and a small pot. Several dumplings floated inside, their skins swollen and puffed up, the filling inside already a little scattered.
He held a bowl of soy sauce mixed with vinegar in his hands, blowing on it as he took small bites of dumpling, while his eyes stayed fixed on the latest issue of the New York Consumer Shopping Guide Weekly spread open beside him.
"…Heaven City Supermarket, thirty percent off storewide… starts the day after tomorrow at six-thirty in the morning…"
Saitama circled the advertisement with an oily pencil, muttering his plan under his breath.
"If I line up early, I should be able to get enough…"
Neon lights from the city leaked in through the gaps at the edge of the bridge, in scattered streaks.
Not far away, the surface of the river reflected the brilliant lights of Manhattan on the opposite bank, and also reflected the unchanging prosperity and bustle of this city that had just been ravaged not long ago.
On the small television, coverage of the aftermath in Brooklyn was still playing, along with expert commentary. The so-called experts were passionately arguing about superhero oversight and responsibility, their raised voices echoing through the empty space beneath the bridge.
Saitama ignored the arguing on TV.
He drained the last mouthful of dumpling soup, let out a satisfied breath, then got up to clean his bowl and chopsticks.
The space under the bridge was small, but he kept it neat and tidy.
In one corner, several stacks of expired flyers from different supermarkets were piled up. Next to them sat a small canvas bag. Inside it was his standard equipment as a "professional hero" — another clean red hero uniform and a spare pair of gloves.
(End of Chapter)
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