"Sensei, the target has extremely high physical immunity. Conventional methods are ineffective. We need to locate its core," Genos said as he analyzed the data.
After hearing that, Saitama nodded. "Oh, so it's just a pile of sand that can move. Does he know which bank has the highest interest?"
After tracking the signal, it vanished at a massive sewer entrance in the city center. The space inside was huge—big enough for trucks to pass through. The air reeked of dampness and mold, and sluggish sewage flowed beneath their feet.
Saitama had Genos and the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents guard several main exits, while he himself crouched near the most suspicious entrance—the one where Sandman had disappeared last time.
He was extremely patient, like he used to be on weekends when he'd squat outside the supermarket waiting for the doors to open so he could grab the best sale items.
Second by second, time passed. The sewer held only the sound of dripping water and the faint scurrying of rats.
Suddenly, Genos's voice came through the comms. "Sensei, a vault alarm was triggered in Area Three!"
Almost at the exact same moment, from deep within the entrance Saitama was watching, a low rumble sounded rapidly drawing closer.
Then a yellow whirlwind made of countless grains of sand came roaring out of the dark pipe, wrapped around stacks of U.S. dollars and jewelry!
At the center of the sandstorm, a face formed from sand could be vaguely seen—overflowing with greed and smug delight.
It was Sandman.
He planned to use the sewer network again to quickly relocate the stolen goods.
However, just as the sand cyclone was about to burst out of the exit and return to the surface
A hand wearing a red rubber glove reached in. It looked slow, but it was unbelievably precise, plunging straight into the violently spinning core of the sandstorm.
Flint instantly felt an irresistible, impossible force clamp down on the very "core" of his existence. His sand cyclone froze, then collapsed on the spot!
All the sand grains seemed to lose their soul, clattering to the ground in a messy heap. Only the core portion remained, firmly clenched in that hand.
In Saitama's palm, it felt like he was holding a big handful of warm, constantly flowing sand.
Sandman struggled desperately. Sometimes he condensed into a fist to smash at Saitama's wrist. Sometimes he loosened and tried to slip through Saitama's fingers. Sometimes he hardened like iron to pierce the glove. Sometimes he softened like a slippery eel…
But no matter what he did, that hand was like the strongest prison. It didn't budge in the slightest. With just a small tightening of the fingers, every transformation was suppressed.
"Let me go! You monster!" the sand-formed face roared in a twisted howl.
Saitama ignored him, only squeezing curiously. The texture was strange—tougher than ordinary sand.
He increased his grip a little. The grains that tried to spread were forcibly compressed back together.
Sandman let out a miserable scream. He felt like even his consciousness was about to be crushed apart by that power.
In the end, in Saitama's palm, Sandman could no longer maintain any form at all. He was forcibly kneaded into an extremely dense sand lump the size of a basketball.
The grains on the surface were pressed so tightly by the immense pressure that they became smooth as a mirror. No trace of facial features remained, and there was no longer any sign of life.
Saitama lifted the "sand brick" to eye level, weighed it up and down, then compared it to a chunk of stone from the sewer wall beside him, reaching a conclusion.
"Mm. Lighter than a rock."
Holding the "culprit" that had caused multiple major cases, Saitama walked out of the sewer and handed it to Genos, who was waiting outside.
"Here. Caught him. Think this can get a reward? The water and electricity bills feel like they went up again lately."
(End of Chapter)
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