Saitama x Baki

Doyle crouched, panting. Mechanical parts whirred and hissed inside his body as he applied a chemical patch to a cracked rib panel.

"That should buy me some time," he muttered. "Even he won't see through that."

He adjusted his cracked lens, preparing to slip further into the shadows when—

Saitama looked straight at him.

Dead in the eye. No squint. No confusion. Just… casual acknowledgment.

Doyle froze.

"...No," he whispered. "No, no, no—"

Saitama raised one hand lazily and gave a little wave.

Doyle immediately bolted.

He leaped from the rooftop like a startled cat, limbs transforming midair. Grappling wires shot out of his wrist, pulling him across a billboard. He flipped, twisted, and dove into an alley like his life depended on it—because it did.

Saitama just watched him go.

"Guess he was still hanging around," he said, shrugging.

Then—

BOOM.

An explosion rocked the street two blocks down. Glass rained from windows. Cars skidded to a halt. Flames burst from a sidewalk subway vent like a volcanic eruption.

Saitama sighed. "Another blast? What's up with the people here?"

He vanished from the spot with a gust of wind.

Downtown Tokyo – Explosion Site

Smoke thickened as bystanders scrambled away from the blast zone. The street was torn open like paper, flames licking the edges of a shattered vending machine.

Saitama landed beside the wreckage, brushing ash off his shoulder. He kneeled down to inspect the remnants.

"Huh," he muttered, poking a scorched metal casing with his finger. "Who the hell weaponizes a snack stand?"

Doppo's voice buzzed in through a small communicator he'd handed Saitama earlier.

Doppo: "That was Doyle. He had already planned and planted several timed charges in the city. We found another near a bridge. Civilian casualties?"

Saitama looked around. "Just one guy who spilled his coffee. He's mostly mad about the shoes."

Doppo: "Dammit… he's covering his trail. We need to catch him before he escalates."

Saitama stood, dusted himself off, and looked into the rising smoke.

"Do you need my help?" he asked.

Doppo: "Not right now, my men are already on the chase. I possibly couldn't trouble you further."

Elsewhere – Abandoned Underground Arcade

Doyle paced inside the flickering remains of an old arcade hall, lit only by a broken neon "INSERT COIN" sign. His arms clicked and reset with each step, blade mechanisms receding and locking.

"Why didn't he follow me?" he hissed. "He saw me. I know he did."

He slammed a palm into a rusted pinball machine, crushing it completely.

"Does he think I'm weak? That I'm not worth chasing? No… he's toying with me."

He walked over to a makeshift table—a stolen city map spread out across it. Red marks dotted key points: subways, parks, and traffic junctions.

Doyle's smile returned, wicked and calm.

"Fine. If I can't beat him head-on… I'll draw him into my world."

He flipped a switch on a homemade detonator console.

Three blinking lights came online.

Meanwhile – Orochi Dojo

Doppo watched the distant smoke rise through binoculars from the rooftop of his dojo. Behind him, Retsu stood in silence.

"He's laying traps now," Doppo said. "Fighting wasn't the goal. He wants chaos."

"And attention," Retsu added.

"Then he'll get both."

Down below, Saitama returned to the courtyard, hands in pockets, looking mildly bored.

"I feel kind of hungry now. You have some snacks?"

Doppo looked at him. "He's targeting public spots. I think he's baiting you."

Saitama blinked. "Baiting?"

"Yes."

"...Huh." Saitama scratched his chin.

Retsu's face twitched. "…You just walked through a bomb site. Are you planning to do the same the next time as well?"

"Yeah. It's no big deal. Just loud noises and some smoke."

"Right..." Retsu walked forward. "He's no mere attention-seeker. Doyle is a man who kills to feel alive. If he believes you're his final trial, he'll burn the city down to reach that moment."

Saitama looked off toward the horizon. Smoke still curled into the sky, slowly fading into the darkening blue. "Better stop him early then. So… snacks?"

Doppo actually smiled. "I'll get you some rice crackers."

Retsu shook his head, a smirk forming. "Unfathomable."

Underground Arcade – Hours Later

Doyle sat cross-legged beneath a humming fuse box, hunched over a weathered laptop with wires sprouting like vines. His fingers moved with mechanical precision, analyzing data on the screen. Satellite feeds. Power grid access. Subway schematics.

"This city's a giant machine," he muttered. "And machines can be broken."

Behind him, in a darkened corner, lay three black duffel bags—each zippered shut around crude, terrifying devices: nail bombs, smoke traps, collapsible spike clusters.

Doyle tapped a final key. A blinking red countdown appeared on the screen.

03:00:00 – Armed.

He smiled at it. "Tick-tock."

Then he stood, his internal gears adjusting with soft clicks. Half his jaw detached and realigned as he cracked his neck.

"That bald freak thinks I'm just another convict," he whispered. "But I learn. I adapt. I cut apart weaknesses."

He turned toward a mannequin dressed in a hoodie and cape, hastily assembled from scraps. A mock Saitama. He stared at it for a long time.

"I will dissect you."

He hurled a saw blade at it, splitting the mannequin's torso in half with a high-pitched whirr.

Orochi Dojo – Evening

The courtyard glowed under paper lanterns. Saitama lounged on the veranda steps, balancing a rice ball on his head.

Katsumi walked up with a newspaper.

"Explosion confirmed to be a targeted attack," he said. "Doyle left no trace—again."

Saitama caught the rice ball before it fell. "That guy's got serious issues."

"Three more bombs found and disarmed across the district," Katsumi added. "Public panic is spreading. People think another war's breaking out."

Saitama glanced at the sky, chewing slowly. "A war? Sounds exaggerated."

"Are you not worried?"

"About what?"

"That he might come back for you?"

Saitama blinked. "Oh, he definitely will. They always do. It's a thing."

Katsumi shook his head. "It's not good to be this overconfident."

Just then, Doppo stepped outside with a folder in hand.

"We just got word from the Tokyo Metro Authority," he said. "A section of the subway system went dark twenty minutes ago. Power cut. No signal. No emergency response. And it's not scheduled maintenance."

Saitama's eyes finally narrowed. "That's weird."

"Exactly," Doppo nodded. "If I were planning an ambush… or hiding something... I'd do it underground."

Katsumi stepped up. "I want to try him. I saw what he did at that intersection. If he'd planted those bombs closer to the school…"

"No," Doppo interrupted. "He's given a direct challenge to someone. To come and fight him again."

He turned to Saitama.

"He's after you. He's planning to use every trump card to crush you."

Saitama stood, brushing rice crumbs from his cape. "Yeah, yeah. I get it."

He began walking toward the dojo gate.

"No one should be interrupting you there," Doppo said. "Don't fret about any damages either. It's an abandoned property."

Saitama paused. "Okay."

He opened the gate and vanished in a blur.

Tokyo Subway – Abandoned South Line

Doyle crouched in the central terminal, now pitch-black save for emergency lights. His traps were placed. Drones perched along the walls. Bombs lined the pillars. Tripwires were ready.

His voice echoed softly as he muttered to himself.

"You were born strong, Baldie. I became strong. That makes me better. More worthy."

A metallic skittering echoed down the track.

He turned slowly toward the noise.

But it wasn't the sound of footsteps.

It was a bored sigh.

"Man," Saitama said from the darkness, "this place smells like wet socks and is full of mosquitoes."

Doyle's eyes widened.

"You—how!?"

Saitama stepped into the light.

"Don't hang welcome signs on the walls." he pointed.

TO BE CONTINUED...