One Punch Man in Baki's World

Underground Holding Room – Unknown Depth

The chamber was cold. Not from the air, but from what it lacked—comfort, light, time.

Kozue sat in the center of the concrete room, arms bound behind her, ankles chained to an iron post embedded in the floor.

A faint bulb overhead flickered, its orange hue casting long, twitching shadows.

She was still in the same clothes from the night before—now dirtied, torn at the sleeves, and smudged with dust and dried tears.

A speaker crackled in the corner of the ceiling.

Then came the voice.

Low. Calm. Measured.

Kurozuchi.

"You've seen him at his strongest. But have you ever seen him truly afraid?"

Kozue said nothing. Her lips were chapped. Her throat was dry. But her eyes—still burned with defiance.

"You think love will protect you, Kozue. That a man like Baki can overcome everything. But what happens when I show him the one thing he's never conquered?"

A screen on the wall flickered to life.

Footage of Baki, trapped in the labyrinth above, fighting wild, fighting blind. His breath was ragged, his movements frantic. He wasn't the warrior who had once faced giants and monsters.

He was just a boy trying not to lose something.

Kozue whispered, "He'll find me."

Kurozuchi's laugh echoed softly. "Yes. He will. But when he does, I want him to see what it feels like to be powerless."

She raised her head. "You're scared of him."

Silence.

Then the screen cut off.

The speaker clicked out.

Kozue exhaled slowly.

She remembered the first time she saw Baki get hurt—truly hurt. Back then, he had smiled, said it was part of the path.

Now, she feared what part of that path might lead him to abandon himself.

Or worse—become Yujiro.

Elsewhere – Surface, Near the Warehouse

A chunk of the upper wall blew apart in a haze of smoke and fire.

Oliva stepped through the dust cloud, his massive silhouette blotting out the firelight behind him. He dusted his forearms off with a casual shrug.

"Subtlety's overrated."

Behind him, Doppo Orochi emerged, calm and deadly, cracking his knuckles.

"I told you to wait for my signal."

"I heard it," Oliva grinned. "It just sounded like 'charge in.'"

A third figure dropped between them from the rooftop.

Saitama.

He stood in the middle, looking around the chaos of blown concrete and torn gates. He had a paper grocery bag in one hand.

Doppo sighed. "I can't believe you followed us without getting lost."

Saitama blinked. "I was about to fall in a sewer grate."

Oliva eyed him. "Well, lucky us. You didn't."

Saitama looked ahead at the sprawling warehouse entrance, lights flickering, alarm sirens silent.

"…This looks like fun."

Inside – Deeper Labyrinth

Jack grabbed Baki by the shoulder, pulling him down before another dart zipped over their heads from a panel in the wall.

"You good?" Jack growled.

Baki didn't speak.

He stared straight ahead.

He heard her scream.

His blood turned to ice.

"I'm going," he said, tearing himself from Jack's grip.

Jack frowned. "It's a trap."

"I know."

And Baki disappeared into the dark, chasing her voice like a dying star.

Interior – Kurozuchi's Labyrinth, Sector 3

The passage narrowed into darkness, its walls breathing steam and the scent of oil and blood.

Old industrial pipes hissed from above, leaking vapors that fogged the narrow corridor. The air was hot now—humid and metallic, pressing in like the lungs of some buried beast.

Baki tore forward.

His feet skidded on rusted grates, his fists clenched, his breath ragged.

The cries of Kozue still rang in his ears, though now they came and went, distorted by speaker loops and echoes, designed to mislead.

But his heart knew.

Even with every logical thought telling him this was a trap, his instinct screamed that she was real.

That she was close.

That if he didn't find her soon…

He might lose her.

Again.

FLASH!

A torchlit doorway opened to his right.

Baki's body turned on reflex, slamming through the metal door—into a wide, furnace-lit room.

The heat hit like a wall.

Chains hung from the ceiling. Molten metal bubbled in vats along the edge of the chamber.

Crates filled with surgical restraints, broken mannequins, and piles of martial arts books burned in a fire pit at the far end.

And standing in the center, shirtless and massive, was a man wrapped in a red shroud.

Eyes covered by cloth. Torso crisscrossed with scars.

"The Guardian of the Chain," a voice echoed from speakers above. Kurozuchi's voice.

"This man was once a monk who took a vow of silence. I shattered that vow with the pain of 108 failed assassins."

The man cracked his neck and brought up both fists, his stance wide and low.

"If you want her… pass me first."

Baki exhaled slowly.

The monk charged first.

A knee strike whistled through the air. Baki barely dodged, backstepping into a counter jab to the side of the head—but the monk didn't flinch. He twisted mid-motion, grabbing Baki's wrist and wrenching him forward, slamming him into the steel floor.

Baki flipped out of it, rolled backward, and planted both feet in a rising kick.

The monk caught it.

Then hurled him into the side wall.

Concrete cracked. Baki hit hard—but got up faster.

He darted in low, ducked under the monk's swing, and drove a straight right into his gut.

It was like punching iron.

"Fine," Baki muttered. "Let's do this the old way."

He shifted into the Kouryu stance, grounding his body.

Then exploded upward into a palm-thrust that launched the monk off his feet.

The monk flipped mid-air, landed on one knee—and smiled for the first time. A grin lined with broken teeth.

Now it was a fight.

The two clashed again. Blow for blow. Elbow to shoulder. Foot to throat. Their battle shook the room, knocking chains from rafters and sending steam clouds billowing around them like battlefield fog.

Then, mid-combat—

A single scream rang out again.

Kozue.

Real.

Not from the speakers.

Baki's eyes snapped toward the sound. The monk hesitated.

Bad move.

Baki's fist rocketed forward and struck the man directly in the solar plexus with full force.

The monk's eyes bulged. The breath left his lungs.

And he dropped.

Hard.

Baki stood over him, chest heaving. "No more delays."

And with that, he sprinted for the next door—toward the voice he could no longer ignore.

Interior – Furnace Room, Seconds Later

Baki's heart beat like a war drum, pumping adrenaline into every corner of his aching body.

The door ahead loomed like salvation, until he heard a sound behind him.

A gasp.

Then the grinding of bone.

He turned.

The monk was standing again.

Bent over, trembling, but rising.

His blindfold now hung loose, and his hands were shaking as he fumbled with a pouch around his waist.

He opened it and shoved three pills into his mouth.

Baki's instincts screamed. He started to run back toward him—

But it was too late.

The monk roared.

Not in anger.

In awakening.

His body twitched violently as the pills ignited something in his bloodstream.

His veins bulged like cables, black against red skin. His muscles tore and re-knit themselves. Bones cracked, reshaped, hardened.

Then—he looked up.

And his eyes were open.

No longer blindfolded. No longer bound.

Just full of rage.

"You ended my vow," the monk growled, his voice now deeper, throat torn from the scream. "Now I end you."

He charged.

This time, Baki barely saw the first punch.

It landed in his ribs with the force of a hammer. Three ribs cracked.

Baki staggered. Tried to counter. The monk ducked it, wrapped Baki's midsection, and drove him spine-first into a steel column.

CRACK.

Pain shot through Baki's back. He gasped, trying to stay conscious.

But the monk wasn't finished.

He grabbed a chain from the ceiling and swung it in a wide arc, slamming Baki across the face. Blood exploded from his cheek as the impact launched him across the room.

Baki hit the ground hard.

And didn't move.

The monk approached slowly. Breathing heavily. Towering now—twice the menace he had been before. A monster reborn.

"You're no Hanma," he spat. "You're a boy pretending to be a beast."

He raised a boot over Baki's head.

Then—

Baki caught it.

With one hand.

Blood still flowing from his nose, ribs bruised, vision blurry—he stared up, teeth clenched.

"I am… Hanma."

With a roar, he twisted the monk's leg sideways, dislocating the knee. The monk shouted, trying to back off, but Baki was on him. Like a wild animal.

Strike to the throat.

Headbutt to the jaw.

Palm thrust to the sternum.

Each blow carved away the monster until only a man remained.

And finally—

Baki spun, ducked low, and drove a flying knee into the monk's chin.

It lifted the man off the ground.

And dropped him unconscious.

This time… for good.

Baki collapsed beside him, gasping, vision pulsing red and black.

He could taste blood in his mouth. Something was wrong with his back. And his right leg… wasn't moving.

But he smiled anyway.

"Get up," he told himself. "She's still waiting."

He forced himself to his feet.

One leg dragging. Ribs shattered. One eye swollen shut.

But walking.

Into the next corridor.

Because he was Hanma Baki.

And no one was going to stop him.

Not now.

Not ever.

TO BE CONTINUED...