He walks under some scaffolding on a paved footpath beside a narrow tar-seal road, cars parked and driving on the right. The buildings are stone and three to five storeys high.

It isn't raining. There is no visible or audible alarm. It is the 19th of December, 2012.

hmm.

That doesn't particularly look like any part of the Z-city Saitama remembers visiting. Which is most of them, come to think of it, during his training and patrols and such. To be fair, it's not like he has spotless memory or anything.

Whatever. It's his day off. He's gonna stroll in one direction until he stumbles upon something he recognizes, which really ought to be soon. Right?

Does he recognise this wrought-iron-gated-street or this leafy square or...

Someone looks at Saitama and then crosses the street, casually, like-he-was-going-to-do-that-anyway. A couple of people in puffer jackets look at him and start talking to each other, excited-skeptically.

None of this is recognizable. Also, he notices that it's gotten a bit colder than what you'd generally expect from a summer's day. That's kinda weird.

Saitama's gonna ask someone who isn't acting weird how to get to the Yakero store on the King Street.

Pretty much everyone's going to act at least a little weird. Maybe this guy who's preoccupied with parking her motorcycle?

Importantly: is Saitama the genre of person who needs to speak the "same" "language" to communicate with someone?

Nope, Saitama is a very ordinary man who is just very good at punching things. Who hails from a world where cities are named for English letters.

And, as such, he's asking his question in weirdly accented English.

She kicks the stand of her bike one last time for good measure, turns like half of the way to actually seeing him, and snaps a couple of words at the annoying tourist in a mutually-incomprehensible accent of English.