Saitama x Baki

Shinjuku – A Towering Hotel Suite, Midnight

A soft jazz tune played from an old speaker as Mr. Oliva gazed out over the city skyline. Shirtless, muscles shining, he poured himself a drink that looked small in his hand.

He took a sip.

Then smiled.

"Yujiro Hanma…" he murmured. "Been a long time since I dropped by to say hello."

He turned and opened a steel briefcase on the table—inside were files, photos, and a crisp, folded letter bearing the seal of the U.S. State Department.

One word was written at the top in bold:

Saitama.

He ignored it.

Instead, Oliva picked up an older, yellowed photo.

Yujiro, standing barefoot atop a collapsed tank, smiling.

Oliva laughed. "Yeah… I missed you, old friend."

Tokyo – Orochi Dojo, Morning

Saitama sat on the veranda with a cup of miso soup, watching pigeons bicker over bread crumbs.

Katsumi stood nearby, arms folded, sweating.

"I want to spar," he said.

Saitama didn't blink. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"I want to laze around right now, maybe later."

Katsumi's fists tightened. "I've trained under the strongest men in Japan. My bones have been shattered and reforged. If I can't stand even a few minutes against you, what am I training for?"

Saitama looked at him.

There was no amusement in his face now. Just quiet boredom.

"…Okay," he said, standing up. "One minute. Don't take it personally."

Dojo Floor – Seconds Later

Katsumi flew backward—hard.

Not from a strike. Not from a blow.

From pressure alone.

The moment Saitama moved—just a half-step forward—Katsumi's body reacted on instinct. His muscles seized, his heart skipped, and his legs launched him away like prey before a predator.

He crashed into the far wall with a heavy thud, the wooden panel behind him cracking from the force.

Silence.

Katsumi lay there for a moment, gasping, wide-eyed. His hands trembled.

Saitama hadn't even raised his fists.

"…What," Katsumi managed, coughing, "what was that?"

Saitama stood calmly, scratching the side of his head, his expression as flat as always. "Dunno. Maybe you're just too smart to get hit."

Katsumi slowly pushed himself up, legs shaky. His face wasn't filled with shame, but with awe.

"You didn't… do anything. Just pressure. Just presence."

He stared at Saitama like he was seeing a creature that didn't belong in this world.

"You really are something else," Katsumi said breathlessly. "I've stood in front of my father. Faced Yujiro Hanma. Fought through pain and technique. But I've never felt fear like that."

Saitama blinked, looking mildly uncomfortable.

"Ah… well… I did warn you," he said. "That was kind of your fault."

Katsumi chuckled weakly, still stunned. "You're not just strong. You're beyond fighting."

Saitama turned around, walking back to his bowl of soup on the porch. "Then maybe stop trying to fight me."

He sat down again, picking up the spoon like none of it had happened.

"Get your breath back," he added casually. "Or don't. Either way, I'm not doing that again."

Katsumi leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

Not in defeat… but in revelation.

"…So this is what true strength feels like."

Underground Network Beneath Tokyo – Unknown Location

A flickering monitor buzzed to life.

Dozens of fight recordings played on a loop—Yujiro vs. Kaku. Baki vs Sikorsky. Saitama vs. Doyle. Each slowed and dissected frame by frame.

A shadow sat cross-legged before the screens.

Long black hair. Burn scars traced the side of his face.

A voice, calm and cold.

"The world forgot me."

Another screen showed an old image—Sea King Retsu delivering a fatal blow to a masked fighter years ago.

Except…

"But I learned. I healed. I adapted. Just like them."

He stood, revealing a new, leaner body beneath robes.

The man once known as Gaolang's replacement in the Sea King tournament—the one no one thought survived—was back.

And he was studying everyone.

Back Alley – Harajuku District

Baki leaned against a vending machine, blood still crusted on his knuckles from the fight with Sikorsky.

But his hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but something else.

The air still felt heavy.

He'd sensed it. When Saitama passed by.

That unnatural calm. That absence of threat.

It terrified him more than Yujiro's bloodlust.

He thought of Kozue. Of his father. Of this new element thrown into the chaos.

He whispered, "What kind of man… walks past two martial arts monsters and doesn't even flinch?"

Roppongi Hills – Yujiro's Penthouse, Evening

Oliva stood at the door. He hadn't knocked.

Yujiro opened it shirtless, wine glass in hand.

He looked Oliva up and down, and grinned.

"Well," Yujiro said. "If it isn't the world's second-strongest."

Oliva smiled. "Thought I'd stop by. You know, catch up. Punch a few buildings. Talk about the weather."

Yujiro stepped aside. "Come in. Bring your spine."

They both laughed. The air thickened.

Two monsters under one roof. And the Earth itself seemed to tense.

"We better enjoy our titles while we can," Yujiro said. "A much stronger creature seems to have appeared."

"Stronger than you?" Oliva laughed. "This isn't the time to make jokes."

"Saitama," Yujiro announced, the seriousness settling in his eyes. "A creature even I can't analyze. I don't even know if I stand a chance against him."

Oliva's smirk faltered. His massive arms folded, the weight of Yujiro's words settling in.

"You're serious," he said slowly. "You. The Ogre. The man who can stop earthquakes with a stomp—you're saying you're not sure you can win?"

Yujiro didn't look away. "I've seen countless fighters. Some legendary. Some divine. But that man… he's something else."

He walked to the glass wall, overlooking Tokyo's skyline, and sipped from his wine glass.

"No training. No discipline. Just raw, absurd strength. The kind that defies biology. Defies sense."

Oliva stepped forward. "Maybe he's just bluffing. Could be hype."

Yujiro turned slightly, half his face reflected in the glass.

"The weight of the air around him. That casual behavior. The look in his eyes... like no creature stronger than him has ever existed."

A tense silence followed.

Oliva clenched his jaw. "And what do you call that?"

Yujiro smiled thinly.

"A problem."

He took another sip. "But also... an opportunity."

Oliva raised an eyebrow. "Opportunity?"

Yujiro turned to face him fully. "For the first time in decades… I don't know how a fight would end. That excites me."

"You're insane," Oliva muttered.

Yujiro laughed. "Absolutely. But that's what makes me the strongest."

He walked past Oliva, refilled his glass, and sat on a throne-like chair carved from dark oak and leather.

"I won't chase him," Yujiro continued. "Not yet. But if he ever stands in front of me… If he ever says he's the strongest…"

He leaned forward. Eyes gleaming.

"Then this world will witness a true collision."

Oliva stared for a long moment, then laughed.

"Heh… Guess I'll get front row seats."

Yujiro raised his glass.

"Bring popcorn."

The lights dimmed as night fully claimed the city. Inside that penthouse, two titans sat in calm tension—neither afraid, but both knowing the truth: The world had changed.

And Saitama was at the center of it.

Orochi Dojo – Midnight

The courtyard was silent, bathed in pale moonlight. The wind rustled the old trees, and the paper lanterns barely stirred.

Inside, Katsumi Orochi tightened his hand wraps, sweat still drying from his evening kata. The dojo was empty—Retsu had gone for a walk, Saitama and Doppo had gone into town looking for a bus to City Z.

He was alone.

Or so he thought.

A shadow dropped from the roof, landing without a sound.

Katsumi turned, sensing the pressure even before he heard the footsteps.

Then he saw him.

Sikorsky.

Wearing a torn hoodie, knuckles bloodstained, eyes wild with hunger.

"You," Katsumi said.

Sikorsky grinned, flexing his fingers. "I heard that you're one of the strongest fighters in this dojo."

"Do you have any doubts?"

"Maybe," Sikorsky said, stepping forward.

He dropped the hoodie.

Underneath, his body was cut, leaner than before. He'd trained. Reforged himself.

"One of your friends—Baki—humiliated me last night," Sikorsky growled. "So tonight, I start the show. I'll humiliate all his friends, one by one... Break him mentally, then crush him physically."

Katsumi said nothing. But his stance lowered.

Then, like lightning—

Sikorsky struck.

TO BE CONTINUED...