Saitama x Baki

The city had settled. Sirens had faded to a distant wail. The mall, once a glittering center of casual luxury, now lay in rubble—scorched steel, broken glass, and the faint smell of blood and burnt explosives lingering in the air.

Dorian was unconscious. His body, half-buried beneath a collapsed novelty store, was bruised, torn, and scorched black in places. Smoke curled from the remains of his bomb vest. It was a miracle he was even alive.

Saitama stood quietly, looking around at the devastation. His cape fluttered lazily in the warm evening breeze, a stark contrast to the chaos behind him.

"I should probably run before someone decides I'm the one who did all this. Foreign cities can be... weird about heroes like me," he muttered.

Just as he turned to leave, a sleek black car slid to a halt nearby. The back door opened in one fluid motion, revealing a short, broad man in a traditional haori. He was older, with a bald crown and a white goatee, but his presence was sharp—like a katana balanced on two fingers.

Doppo Orochi stepped out.

His gaze fell on the unconscious Dorian. Then, slowly, he looked up at Saitama. There was no anger in his expression. No scorn. Only a kind of quiet calculation.

"You managed to stop him," Doppo said calmly.

"I'm Doppo Orochi. Karate master. That man..." He pointed at Dorian. "...is a disgrace to all who call themselves martial artists."

Saitama scratched the side of his head. "He was wrecking the mall."

Doppo nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving Saitama's face. "You're not like the fighters I know."

Saitama shrugged. "I guess."

"You should come to my dojo," Doppo offered. "Meet real martial artists. Warriors, not butchers."

Saitama looked mildly uncomfortable. "Uh... I was actually trying to find a way back to my city."

Doppo tilted his head. "You want directions?"

Suddenly, Saitama's stomach growled loudly.

Doppo smiled. "I have food at the dojo. A simple meal. Rice. Miso. Maybe a few dumplings."

Saitama looked down, patting his pants. "Uhh... no wallet. I... gave it to Genos."

Doppo waved a hand. "I didn't ask for payment. You saved the city a lot of trouble. I'd consider it an honor."

There was a long pause.

Then Saitama said flatly, "I accept your offer."

Orochi Dojo - Later that night

The smell of grilled tofu and miso filled the quiet hall. Saitama sat cross-legged on a cushion, wolfing down a plate of rice and soup. Across from him sat Doppo, arms folded.

"You fight in a strange way," Doppo said after a while.

Saitama slurped. "Eh. Just normal punches and flicks."

"There's nothing normal about a flick that sends a man flying through a wall."

"Maybe your city walls are just weak. Ah—they also move."

Doppo grinned. "You're funny. But a quick serious question, where did you train?"

Saitama blinked. "My apartment and a park. Did 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, 10km run, no AC, and one banana. Every day."

A long silence followed. Even the wind outside seemed to hesitate.

Doppo blinked once. "That's it?"

"Yup."

"No master? No secret techniques? No temple? No lineage?"

Saitama scratched his chin. "Not really. Just got serious one day."

Doppo leaned back, digesting more than just food. "You remind me of another man I once knew."

Saitama looked up. "Bald too?"

"Worse," Doppo muttered. "He was my student once. Lost his way. Tried to become something inhuman."

Saitama raised a brow. "Sounds like every villain I meet."

Orochi Dojo – Minutes Later

Outside, the trees rustled gently in the wind. Inside, Doppo Orochi sat in silent reflection as Saitama scraped the last grains of rice from his bowl.

"You've already changed things," Doppo finally said.

Saitama looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You crippled Spec. Beat Dorian. Hanayama's in the hospital. Their influence… the fear they spread… it's gone. Do you understand what that means?"

"I don't know, less maniacs?" Saitama sighed.

Doppo leaned forward. "You've shaken the balance of power. In this world, there are monsters in suits. Murderers who call themselves martial artists. Some of them think they're gods."

He paused. "Now they've seen you."

Elsewhere – Underground Arena

The floor of the private fighting pit was stained in blood. Dim torches flickered as a handful of elite spectators whispered among themselves. Above them, Tokugawa paced anxiously, a phone pressed to his ear.

"I don't care if he says he's not interested!" Tokugawa barked. "Get Baki. Get Jack. Hell, wake up Yujiro if you have to!"

He paused, listening.

"What do you mean the database broke? Who the hell melted the surveillance drone?!"

Silence.

Tokugawa lowered the phone slowly, hand trembling.

"Monsters," he whispered. "No... a new kind."

Behind him, Baki Hanma stepped into the room.

"Old man," Baki said. "You called?"

Tokugawa turned. "He's here. Someone new. Bald. Ordinary looking. But he took down Spec, Hanayama, and Dorian like it was nothing."

Baki tilted his head. "You mean... that mall explosion?"

"Yes. That was him."

Baki's face changed. Not fear—interest.

"How strong?" he asked.

Tokugawa swallowed. "I don't know. Cameras couldn't keep up. Pressure sensors broke. And Dorian…" He hesitated. "His punches—it was like he was hitting nothing. Like punching the void."

Baki's hands clenched slightly.

"Where is he now?"

Orochi Dojo – Courtyard

Saitama stood in the backyard, casually poking a stone lantern with one finger. It shattered instantly.

"Oops."

Doppo stood behind him, arms folded. "That was from the 16th century."

Saitama winced. "My bad."

From the gates of the dojo, a new figure approached.

Katsumi Orochi, Doppo's son.

He bowed politely. "Father. We've received word. Someone's coming. Maybe multiple fighters."

Saitama looked over. "Are you holding a dinner party?"

"Not really," Doppo said, sighing. "Those guys—they're just curious. Word spreads fast in the underground. And right now, you're the strongest anomaly this city's ever seen."

Saitama looked toward the road. In the distance, shadows moved—dozens of figures. Some were in suits. Some shirtless. Some barefoot. All dangerous.

"They're not normal fighters," Katsumi warned. "They've all killed. Some aren't even human anymore."

Saitama tilted his head. "I've seen plenty of inhuman creatures. Even seaweed."

Approaching the Dojo – Moments Later

The gates trembled.

Jack Hanma arrived first, towering over the others, body rippling with chemical-enhanced fury. He cracked his neck, staring ahead like a predator.

Behind him came Retsu Kaioh, Shibukawa, and Baki Hanma himself.

At the rear, hidden in the shadows—stood Yujiro Hanma, silent.

Tokugawa arrived last, flanked by a convoy of cars.

"I've brought everyone," he declared.

Doppo stood at the center of the courtyard. "This isn't a tournament."

Tokugawa stepped forward. "It might as well be. Every fighter in this city has seen what this man can do. You can't not answer that call."

Saitama walked out of the dojo, looking confused.

All heads turned.

Baki's eyes locked with his. His posture relaxed, but his instincts screamed alert.

"That's him?" Jack asked.

"He looks like a teacher," Katsumi muttered.

Yujiro finally stepped out of the shadow, the crowd parting unconsciously at his presence.

"You…" Yujiro said. "I've never felt a presence like yours."

Saitama blinked. "Nice hair."

Silence.

Baki stepped forward. "I want to fight him."

Jack growled. "I want to fight him."

Yujiro raised a hand. "He's mine."

Saitama looked between them all and sighed.

"I don't want to," he said, pointing towards Doppo. "Because I still haven't got directions to get back to City Z. Besides, Genos owes me some udon."

TO BE CONTINUED...