Chapter 15 — Fifteen Punch
All the tests were finished before noon, and the results were quickly distributed in the form of report cards.
"Make sure you keep your test results safe," Satoru Gojo reminded them after handing them out. "With the monthly assessments, you'll be able to track changes in your strength over time."
Each report card was sealed inside an envelope labeled with the student's name, which made the whole thing feel rather formal. After Gojo left, Nobara Kugisaki eagerly pulled out the three sheets from her envelope and took a look.
"Physical test: 77. Cursed energy test: 50. Written exam: 65…" She let out a sigh, clearly dissatisfied, then leaned toward Megumi Fushiguro. "Fushiguro, how'd you do?"
Megumi took his report card from his envelope and glanced at it before answering calmly.
"Physical test: 75. Cursed energy test: 70. Written exam…" He paused. "96."
"Whaaat! Fushiguro, you scored that high on the written exam? You must've been secretly studying at night!" Nobara exclaimed in shock, then turned to Yuji Itadori. "Itadori, what about you?"
"As for me…" Yuji silently covered his report card with his hand. "Maybe you guys shouldn't look."
"Oh, come on, don't be stingy. This affects how we divide up work during field assignments later!" Nobara urged. "Let us see!"
"…You're right."
Thinking about how they'd need to understand each other's strengths and weaknesses to cooperate properly during fieldwork, Yuji finally removed his hand.
"Physical test: 90. Whoa, that's high!" Nobara blinked, though she didn't seem too surprised. "Cursed energy test… 20. Whoa, that's really low! And written exam… a pretty average 51."
"My cursed energy test was terrible, and the written exam wasn't great either," Yuji sighed. "At my old middle school, my test scores were usually over seventy. But Jujutsu High's written exams cover stuff I've never even heard of before, so…"
"Alright, now the three of us know each other's scores. That just leaves…"
As Nobara trailed off, all three of them turned to look at Saitama at the same time.
"We already know Saitama's physical test score is way higher than Itadori's, so that has to be 100," Megumi analyzed.
"As for the cursed energy test…" Yuji added, "Gojo-sensei already told me. Saitama got 0. Absolutely no cursed energy—cleaner than a normal person."
"Gojo-sensei said that as long as Saitama's average score reaches 60, he can move up to second year. That means his written exam would need to be at least 80," Nobara calculated.
Hearing this, Saitama stiffly turned his head toward them, dark lines appearing under his eyes. "Hey, don't analyze my scores like that. You're making me nervous."
He picked at the flap of his envelope and, sweating, opened it. The other three leaned in, eyes fixed on the contents.
First came the physical test report: 100.
Next, the cursed energy test: 0.
That left only the written exam.
A few beads of sweat formed on Saitama's bald head. Carefully gripping the top of the paper, he slowly pulled it out bit by bit. One of his eyes squeezed completely shut while the other opened just a sliver; his entire face scrunched up as if he wanted to look but was too afraid to.
The paper was about one-third out when the number at the top began to show. The upper parts of two curved digits appeared. Judging from the curvature, the digit on the right was clearly a 0. The left digit, however, was harder to determine.
"If the left digit is an 8 or a 9, Saitama can successfully move up to second year," Yuji said.
"But it could also be the top half of a 6," Nobara pointed out. "In that case, he'd just miss it."
"…No, it can't be a 6." Megumi extended a finger, pointing at the curve of the left digit as he analyzed. "If it were a 6, with this typeface, the right side of the curve wouldn't slope downward like that."
"Oh! So it really is an 8 or 9!" Yuji cried. "That's amazing—Saitama's going to jump to second year right after enrolling!"
Hearing that, Saitama's scrunched-up face gradually relaxed. He opened his tightly shut eye, anticipation spreading across his expression.
He gave the paper a final pull.
At that moment, everyone's gaze locked onto the report card in Saitama's hand. It was like opening a treasure chest and seeing glittering gold reflected in their eyes.
Printed boldly on the paper was the number "20."
"…"
Silence lingered. Saitama stared blankly at the written exam score of 20.
After a while, Megumi spoke with some difficulty. "Sorry, Saitama. I didn't even consider the possibility of 20 or 30…"
"Well, it's not really Fushiguro's fault," Nobara said softly. "After all, Itadori, who also knew nothing about the jujutsu world, scored over fifty. Who would've guessed Saitama, in the same situation, would score this low… And Saitama even went to college before…"
"Um…" Yuji hesitated, trying to comfort him. "Actually, staying in first year isn't so bad. We all know each other already, and our homeroom teacher is Gojo-sensei. He calls himself the strongest sorcerer, right…"
"Gojo must've looked at Saitama with 'no way you're promoting' eyes when he handed out the report cards," Nobara muttered. "Even if he forced Ijichi to grade the written exams, he definitely knew the scores…"
"S-Stop…"
Saitama's fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the paper, his expression twisting. "Stop talking. This is getting more embarrassing by the second!"
---
After leaving the classroom with their report cards, Yuji and the others headed back to the dorms, while Saitama left campus to return home.
Clutching his report card, Saitama walked out of Tokyo Jujutsu High, down the long road back to the city, and eventually toward his home in what people called the "ghost town." That was his route home today.
Passing by a supermarket, he noticed seasonal fruits displayed near the entrance and paused.
"I always eat the cheapest bananas. Maybe I should switch it up once in a while. Feels like a watermelon kind of day."
Three male high school students in uniform shirts were placing watermelon slices into their shopping baskets. Saitama walked over and picked up a plastic-wrapped slice. When he saw the price tag—400 yen—he sighed.
"Why is it so expensive? Forget it. It might not even taste that good."
Hearing that, the three boys glanced at him and burst into laughter.
They continued laughing as they went to pay. Saitama ignored them. After putting the watermelon back, he looked around. "Oh! Oranges are on sale today?"
While Saitama was picking out oranges, the three boys who bought watermelon finished paying and walked out. Seeing him still choosing discounted oranges, they whispered among themselves and pulled out the watermelon they had just bought.
Right in front of Saitama, they took big bites. When there was still half the fruit left, they tossed the rinds into the trash.
"…Tch. No matter how good the watermelon is, eating it like that would ruin the taste anyway," Saitama muttered, looking away.
By the time he paid for his bag of oranges and left the supermarket, the three boys were gone.
After walking some distance toward home, he passed an alley when he suddenly felt the bag in his hand grow lighter.
"Ah…"
The supermarket plastic bag had torn. Though Saitama quickly tried to catch it, two or three oranges slipped out before he could react. Two rolled and stopped against a roadside step; another rolled into the alley.
Holding the bag with both hands, Saitama picked up the two oranges near the step. Then he glanced into the deep alley and walked in, carrying the bag.
Following the rolling orange, he ventured deeper until he saw it stop beside someone's leather shoe.
In the alley were four high school boys in the same uniform. Three were tall and sturdy—the same three from the supermarket. The fourth was slender, with slightly long black hair combed mostly to the right, covering his right eye.
The slender boy was pinned to the ground by the other three. One held his arms, another forced his jaw open, and the third held a still-burning cigarette butt, about to shove it into his mouth. The orange had just bumped into that third boy's shoe.
"What's this… an orange?" The one holding the cigarette dropped it, bent down to pick up the orange, and noticed Saitama approaching.
"Huh, thought it was a patrol officer. Turns out it's just that bald guy who couldn't afford watermelon," one of the boys mocked, casually pulling the wallet from the restrained boy and tossing it in his hand. "Jealous of how fast we make money? Want this wallet?"
Saitama's eyes followed the wallet as it went up and down.
Seeing his blank expression, the bully with the cigarette tossed the orange aside and snarled, "What are you staring at, you poor loser? Get lost!"
Saitama glanced at him, then shifted his gaze to the boy pinned on the ground.
The white uniform shirt was stained with bright red blood spots, and his face was bruised and swollen. With his jaw forced open, he couldn't close his mouth or speak, but the look in his eyes toward Saitama was hollow—lifeless.
When minors face trouble they can't handle, seeking help from an adult is almost instinctive. But the boy's eyes looked as if he had already given up.
Saitama stood there silently, not leaving.
The bully picked up the cigarette butt again and noticed Saitama hadn't moved.
"What?" He frowned and turned, his face darkening. "Why aren't you gone yet?"
Saitama didn't look at him. He stared at the boy on the ground.
"I saw the look in your eyes asking for help," he said, walking toward him.
"Huh? Where was he asking for help?" muttered the one holding the boy's arms.
After only a few steps, the tall bully—nearly 190 centimeters—moved to block Saitama.
"What, planning to play hero?" he sneered down at Saitama's head. "With you?"
"Are you bullying him?" Saitama asked, looking up.
"Huh?"
Perhaps it was Saitama's fearless expression that angered him. The bully suddenly cursed loudly. "So what if we are? What's it to you? If you're smart, you'll turn around and run now—maybe you'll keep half your life!"
With a savage grin, he raised his hand and pressed it down on Saitama's head. "Otherwise, we'll smash your head like a water—"
"Don't touch my head."
Saitama complained as he threw a punch.
With a heavy thud, the nearly 190-centimeter body flew through the air, slammed into the alley wall, then slid down and rolled his eyes back, unconscious.
"AAAAAAAAH!"
The other two screamed, their faces twisting in shock as they released the slender boy. The boy struggled up on his arms, disbelief on his face—yet a faint light returned to his once-dead eyes.
"This is bad! H-Hey, let's run!" one bully stammered to the other. They exchanged a glance, ignored their unconscious friend, and scrambled to flee.
But after only a few steps, they looked up and found Saitama standing in front of them.
"You were about to make someone eat a cigarette butt, right?" Saitama said sternly.
"Ah—Aaaah! Don't come near me! Aaaah—"
Thud! Thud!
All three bullies lay sprawled on the ground, eyes rolled back, unconscious. Faint white smoke rose from Saitama's clenched fists.
"Are you okay?" he asked the boy sitting there in a daze. "How are your injuries?"
"Ah… I'm fine…" the boy quickly sat up.
"Really?" Saitama pointed blankly at the hair covering his right eye. "What about your right eye? Not injured?"
"Mm…" The boy hurriedly covered the right side of his face. "I'm fine."
"Okay then. That settles it."
Saitama resumed holding his bag of oranges, looked around, found the last orange tossed aside, wiped off the dust, and put it back in the bag.
"Um…" He turned to look at the boy.
"Y-Yes!" The boy immediately straightened up and answered loudly.
"Do you have a stapler?" Saitama pointed at the torn plastic bag. "I want to staple this hole…"
"Ah, yes!" The boy quickly pulled a stapler from his schoolbag.
"Thanks."
After stapling the bag and returning the stapler, Saitama turned to leave but was suddenly called out.
"W-Wait!"
"Hm?" Saitama turned back, holding the oranges.
The slender boy who had been forced to eat the cigarette butt had gotten to his feet. Clutching the edge of his pants nervously, his voice hoarse, he asked carefully, "M-My name is Junpei Yoshino! May I ask your name?"
"Saitama."
Junpei Yoshino suddenly lifted his head. "Mr. Saitama, please accept me as your disciple! I want to become as strong as you!"
"Huh?" Saitama blinked. "No thanks. Having disciples sounds like a hassle."
"…I can pay tuition! And a reward for helping me today!" Junpei quickly picked up his wallet, poured out the little money inside, and held it out with both hands. "S-Sorry, I only have 900 yen today… I'll get a part-time job and earn more! Please teach me how to fight back against bullying—how to become stronger!"
Saitama looked down at the money in Junpei's hands for a while, his thoughts drifting.
That's about the price of two slices of watermelon I couldn't afford.
"If you really want to become strong…" Saitama said at last, "then train your muscles with the resolve to go bald. Do 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and run 10 kilometers every day. That's how I became strong."
He pointed at the loose change in Junpei's hands and said gently, "You need to treat your wounds too, right? Spend the money where it should be spent. Keep it yourself. I won't take it."
"Why?" Junpei asked urgently.
"If I have to say…" Saitama scratched his cheek. "It's because I'm a hero for fun. I don't do hero work for money or praise—just for fun. Though I guess now I've got one foot into the professional level."
"A profession… there's such a job?" Junpei asked in astonishment. "How can I get in touch with people in that profession?"
"Oh, if you're looking for people in that field, go to Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical High School," Saitama thought for a moment before answering.
Saitama's figure gradually receded into the distance. Junpei Yoshino stood there, gripping the money in his hand, murmuring to himself.
"Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical High School…"
*****
Saitama was vague on that scene, cause randomly spreading information about Jujutsu Sorcerer's ain't wise.
Oh, and just like Saitama, I'm ain't doing this work for money or praise—just for fun. But if you're wondering where to find the latest chapters, head to {P@treon\Zynos}