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Saitama’s eyes keep sliding down to the mug of tea cupped in his hands, watching the wisps of steam rise then dissipate. Edna watches his every move, the way he shifts in his chair, how after a discrete examination of his surroundings he's content letting her lead the conversation. She doesn't think he’s dangerous—to her, at least, because the crater he left when he crash-landed in her garden speaks for itself—but because he seems too indifferent.
“Darling,” she says after he tells her the date. “You’re from very far in the future.” She speaks in sharp Japanese, the only language he seems to know. She’s grateful she’s fluent. Things might have gone a little differently had she not been able to understand him before her security system took matters into its own hands.
“Hm.” He leans back into the plush chair the color of his gloves, blood-red, and his eyes flick up, the only signs that he understands the gravity of the situation.
“Do you know how you got here? Is there anything you remember before leaving that massive hole in my garden? And I won’t be pressing charges this time, no need to thank me.” She means the last bit to be a good-humored joke, but when she peers over the rim of her glasses, his blank stare hasn’t changed.
“I was fighting a pair of villains. One hit me with some kind of blast,” he says.
That confirms her suspicions, not that the yellow jumpsuit and white cape weren’t enough proof. It feels good, familiar, to have a superhero in her living room again after almost fifteen years. The supers had receded into the shadows when she was at the peak of her career, leaving her with nothing but spare fabric and a career in ordinary fashion. Her costumes are all masterpieces in their own right, each one combining chemical engineering with cutting edge design, and she misses the spark of amazement in clients' eyes when she tries blowing them up to prove their durability.
She starts to think up ideas for a new costume, and finds that in the back of her mind, she’d already been estimating his measurements. She’d get rid of that cape, that’s for sure.
“It didn’t really do anything other than send me here,” he continues.
Her gaze falls to his tattered uniform. Although it’s torn, the man underneath seems unharmed. He may not necessarily benefit from stronger fabric, but his appearance will. She hopes he doesn’t leave before she has a chance to finish making him a new one.
“I have a list of contacts I can call, former customers, who might be able to help you get back to your time. I have to see if anyone has any experience with time-travel. It’s not unheard of, but very rare.”
“I think I might stay for a bit. In the past,” he says, and he’s not looking at his tea anymore. He’s glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the place where the sea meets the sky with more interest than he’d shown through the whole conversation.
Edna’s barely surprised, because in hindsight, she can only wonder why she didn’t see it sooner. He wasn’t frantic about going back because there’s nothing left for him, nothing tying him down to his old home. It’s a look she’s seen in the shadows of superheroes who’ve lost their fighting spirit, who hung up their suits before supers were forced into hiding. She wonders what happened in the future, to him and to the world.
When he says, “I haven’t seen the ocean in years,” she feels a twinge in her heart and new resolve.
“It is decided then. You are staying here, in my mansion. There is a superhero ban in effect now, but it’s been so long that rules can be bent. Legal issues, bah.” She waves her hand. “But if you are so insistent on fighting the bad guys, it would be inconsiderate of me to not make you a new costume. I used to design costumes for all the greatest heroes of this era.”
“No, no, you don’t have to. I’m just someone who’s a hero for fun. It’s like a hobby. I’m not even registered with the Hero Association.”
“Even so, I can’t have you go out with that ripped suit. I’ll have it done as soon as I can. Free of charge.” She glances back at him and he’s looking right at her, with that dead stare. He’s a fixer upper, that’s for sure, but he’s crashed into the right place because that’s Edna’s work, what she lives for. Making things the best they can be.
She knows what someone looks like when they need change, and although she might not be able to shoo away the deadness in his eyes overnight, a new costume is a good place to start.
She’s found her next grand project. And she’ll start with that pesky cape.