Saitama x Baki

Saitama stared at Spec's corpse for a while longer. It was finally over. Kind of. Hanayama hadn't moved. He leaned against the tunnel wall like a statue carved out of pain. Blood still dripped from what was left of his face, but he hadn't passed out. Not yet.

"Hey," Saitama muttered. "Want me to call someone?"

Hanayama grunted. "No need."

"Tough guy," Saitama said, shrugging.

He climbed out of the tunnel, hands in his pockets. Sunlight hit his face as he stepped back into the ruined street. The area was a mess—cars flipped, concrete shattered, sirens blaring in the distance. But no one came close.

They were afraid. Rightfully so.

Saitama stretched his arms, cracked his neck, and started walking.

"I wonder which city this is..."

Elsewhere. Same city.

A tall man walked through a shopping mall.

He looked foreign. Long white hair. Thick beard. Long coat. Calm eyes. He smiled politely at the people who passed, but something about him made the air colder wherever he walked.

He stepped into a high-end candy store and started humming to himself.

A young store clerk approached. "Sir, can I help you—"

Before the sentence finished, the man grabbed the clerk by the neck and slammed him against the display case.

Glass shattered. Screams followed.

The man turned to the others. "Please don't run. I'm in a good mood today."

He looked around, licking blood from his fingers.

"Do you have… cotton candy?"

Later. Near a street corner.

Saitama was standing in front of a map.

He squinted at the train routes. Nothing made sense. "Where the hell is this even going... Baki Line? That's not even a real thing."

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew past him. But it wasn't wind. It was pressure.

Another presence. A strong one.

Saitama turned slightly, feeling it.

Then, far off in the distance, an explosion.

Followed by another.

And laughter.

Crazy, sharp, too-smooth laughter.

Saitama frowned. "Again?"

He jumped—nothing flashy, just a small leap—but the shockwave shattered the pavement under his feet as he launched into the air toward the smoke.

Back at the mall,

Bodies lay sprawled across the floor. Some groaning. Some devoid of any movements. A kid's shoe sat in the middle of the corridor—burnt at the edges.

In the center, Dorian stood—smiling calmly, clothes barely dusted.

He hummed as he chewed on a strip of red licorice like it was a cigar. His gloves were soaked in blood. But his smile stayed perfect.

"That should do for a warm-up," he said quietly.

Then the air changed.

Something heavy landed behind him.

Saitama stood up from the crater his landing made. He looked around. "Is this your idea of having fun?"

Dorian turned slowly. He blinked. "Strange."

"What?"

"I didn't hear you arrive."

"I didn't knock."

Dorian's eye twitched. His gaze moved from Saitama's plain clothes to the crater at his feet. "Not military. Not police. Who are you?"

"Just a guy looking for a store that sells potatoes."

Dorian reached into his coat slowly. "Then you're in the wrong place."

"I figured. But coincidentally, I'm also a hero. A hero for fun."

In one motion, Dorian flung six razor-thin wires toward Saitama. Invisible to most, sharp enough to slice steel.

They snapped instantly against Saitama's face.

Saitama didn't even blink.

"Wires?" he muttered.

Dorian dashed in close—faster than a bullet. His palm struck Saitama's abdomen, followed by a pressure-point jab to the neck.

Saitama stared at him the entire time. "Where are your bombs?"

Dorian backed up fast, clearly unsettled. He reached into his sleeve and tossed out a ball the size of a marble.

Saitama caught it. "Candy?"

BOOM.

It detonated in his hand. Smoke and flame erupted outward. Half the mall's ceiling came down in the explosion.

Soon, the smoke cleared.

Saitama was still standing. His clothes were a bit scorched. No damage.

He looked down at his hand. "Candy bombs."

Dorian was already halfway across the floor, preparing another explosive.

But then—

FWOOM.

Saitama appeared in front of him instantly. No wind. No sound. Too fast to track.

Dorian's eyes widened. His hand trembled mid-throw. His pupils shrank.

"Candies are supposed to be sweet, not explosives," Saitama said.

He lightly tapped Dorian's forehead with two fingers.

THUMP.

Dorian flew backwards through three walls, bounced once, and skidded to a stop next to a fallen escalator.

He groaned. His coat was torn, arm twisted at an ugly angle. Pieces of glass stuck in his back. But the grin on his face was somehow still there.

Saitama strolled toward him, hands in pockets, relaxed like he was walking to a vending machine.

"You're tougher than that other guy," Saitama said. "What was his name again… Speck? Spick? Whatever."

Dorian's fingers twitched.

This wasn't a fight anymore—it was survival.

He's different. Doesn't register pain. Doesn't care for technique. He's not a man… he's a wall.

Still grinning, Dorian sat upright. "You've forced me to take this seriously."

He reached under his sleeve and pulled out a metal pin.

Click.

The tile beneath Saitama lit up. A buried explosive—pressure-sensitive.

BOOM!

The explosion lit the corridor with a flash of orange and smoke. Dorian rolled away as debris flew past him, his body slinking like a snake through fire.

From the smoke, a thick steel chain burst out of the wall, wrapping around Saitama's arm. Another chain launched from behind, slamming into a switch on the wall.

CLUNK.

Two steel walls shot inward—a crushing trap.

Dorian stood panting, bruised and bleeding, watching the walls seal like a tomb.

"Haha, Died by being crushed to paste," he muttered, catching his breath. "That should be enou—"

CRACK.

The walls split apart. Like aluminum foil in a breeze.

Saitama stepped through the crumpled metal, brushing soot off his shoulder.

"Walls move in this world?" he asked.

Dorian froze.

Saitama looked slightly annoyed. "Kinda wasteful."

Dorian's eyes narrowed. He pulled a compact rod from his belt—snapping it into a long cord-staff in a single motion. He dashed forward, swinging with precision and strength that had broken bones in a single blow.

CLANG!

The weapon shattered on Saitama's head.

The bald hero turned towards Dorian and glared. He could see it. One word. Death.

He backed away fast. His hand reached into his coat and dropped something on the floor.

Marbles.

No—grenades.

Dozens of them.

He rolled them toward Saitama with a casual flick.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The concourse lit up in a chorus of explosions. Fire rained down. Glass vaporized. Steel melted.

The blast roared for ten seconds straight.

When it ended, half the mall's upper floor had caved in.

Smoke thick as fog hung in the air.

Dorian stood still, panting, heartbeat hammering in his throat. That had to do it.

Then he saw it. Through the smoke. Saitama. Still there, standing tall without a care.

"Huh," Covered in soot, Saitama said. "Can you stop with these? Water bill is expensive."

Dorian's mouth twitched. He turned to run.

But Saitama had already moved.

FWOOOM.

He was there. Right in front of Dorian before he even finished the first step.

"Let's end this," Saitama said.

He raised two fingers again.

Flick.

It hit Dorian's forehead like a mosquito tap.

But the force behind it was monstrous.

Dorian flew back—body limp—slammed through a support pillar, crashed into the floor, and skidded across the marble like a stone across water. He stopped only when his body crumpled into a pile of gift shop shelves.

Saitama walked over slowly, stopping at Dorian's side.

Dorian's breath was shallow. Ribs broken. Spine cracked. Blood seeping through his gums.

"You're not bad," Saitama said, crouching slightly. "But you should pick better hobbies."

Dorian's eyes struggled to stay open. He smiled weakly.

"Beautiful… strength…"

Then passed out cold.

Elsewhere – Retsu's Dojo

Wind swept across the open hall.

Master Retsu stood outside the entrance, arms folded, eyes watching the far-off skyline.

From the distance, a faint column of smoke still curled upward from the mall. The news had already reported a terrorist bombing. But Retsu felt something different.

"That was not a bomb."

He turned as one of his students approached.

"Master… something's going on downtown."

"I know," Retsu replied.

Meanwhile – Tokugawa's Compound

The old man Tokugawa sat by his koi pond, a teacup in hand, eyes staring at the screen of a silent TV.

Grainy footage from the mall's CCTV played on it. A bald man dodging grenades. Walking through explosions.

His hand trembled.

"Call Baki," he said quietly. "Call everyone."

The world was changing.

And something unnatural had entered it. A true monster.

TO BE CONTINUED...