"Huh..."
The current on the blade faded, and Saitama exhaled a long breath of relief.
"I'll wash up and rest for the night. I'll report to the captain and formally accept the mission tomorrow."
After rotating his shoulder a few times to ease the strain, Saitama sheathed the blade at his waist.
Right now, the chakra within his body felt strong—how strong exactly, compared to someone like Yamato or Shisui?
Saitama wasn't sure. He lacked a direct point of comparison. But one thing was clear: his chakra was steadily growing day by day, and he rarely experienced chakra exhaustion anymore.
Kenjutsu, Lightning Release, and Sharingan—this was Saitama's standard combat setup, and also the core of his training focus.
He knew that swordsmanship might lose its edge in the later stages of a shinobi's career, but Lightning Release and the Sharingan were things he wasn't willing to give up.
"I also possess Wind and Fire Release affinities," Saitama mused to himself. "I can develop those gradually over time."
Wind Release paired well with kenjutsu, offering synergy in close combat. Used alongside Lightning Release, it created alternating attack patterns. It could even be used to help form the Rasengan one day.
"Might be fun to mess around with some chakra spheres..." His thoughts drifted as he walked.
As for the Sharingan—it hadn't evolved in some time. He had reached the two-tomoe stage, but he sensed a bottleneck looming. It felt like he was on the verge of something… but that last push still eluded him.
"So much for the 'golden finger' the god promised when I transmigrated..."
Saitama pouted slightly at the memory. Despite awakening the Sharingan early, its growth had stalled.
"This is supposed to be a cheat ability? I've been grinding everything myself…"
It felt more like hard work than a hack. Most of his strength came from blood, sweat, and training—not from any system advantage.
"Whatever," he muttered. The complaint faded into a breath of resolve.
The weather had been turning colder lately. But ever since he developed the Lightning Release: Chakra Mode, his body had adapted well to fluctuations in climate.
When he returned home, he chatted for a while with Granny Kaka. Together, they made some onigiri for dinner. It was a simple meal, but enough.
After eating, Saitama went out to the yard and practiced his sword techniques. Once his food had digested, he headed upstairs to study more ninjutsu.
"I heard there's a new invention in the village—a device that lets you play recorded images. Maybe I'll buy one for Granny Kaka when I have time. It'd help her pass the hours."
He still had some mission pay saved up—more than enough to afford a gift.
---
The Next Day
"This is the client's basic intel. Destroy it after reading."
Uchiha Fugaku handed Saitama a small folder of documents.
"The mission is simple: ensure the client reaches the capital safely. Everything else is secondary."
The meaning was clear—protection was the priority.
"Understood." Saitama nodded and accepted the mission file with both hands.
Bang!
He shut the door gently behind him as he left Fugaku's office. Now, he needed to report to the Hokage.
---
Dressed in a black high-collared jacket, his sword secured at his waist, Saitama entered the Hokage Office Building. A few ANBU in animal masks led him silently through the corridors.
Knock knock.
He stopped in front of the Third Hokage's office and knocked twice.
"Come in," came a tired voice.
Saitama stepped inside.
"Hokage-sama."
He bowed respectfully upon approaching the desk.
Hiruzen Sarutobi didn't respond immediately. He was finishing a report, his brow slightly furrowed. After a few quiet minutes, he exhaled and reached for his pipe.
"Uchiha Saitama?"
White smoke drifted as the Hokage spoke, still studying him.
"Yes, Hokage-sama."
Saitama straightened his back. His posture was firm, eyes forward.
"You graduated from the Academy only a year ago, but you've already taken lives on the battlefield. Intelligence says your combat ability rivals that of a full-fledged chūnin."
Sarutobi took a long draw from his pipe and exhaled again, smoke coiling in the dim room.
Saitama remained silent. He expected this evaluation—after all, those reports had likely landed on several desks.
"What remarkable self-control... not many your age are this composed."
The Third's eyes narrowed slightly in appraisal.
"Fugaku personally recommended you for this mission. Do you feel ready?"
"A shinobi completes missions with their life. I will not disappoint the village's trust."
Saitama's voice was calm and steady—unshaken.
"The client is a noble from the capital. You're to escort him there safely. He's currently staying in Konoha. With this letter of authorization, you'll be able to locate him and begin according to his instructions."
Sarutobi passed him a sealed document.
"The mission rank is A-Class. The client anticipates potential ambushes, possibly from missing-nin. However, it hasn't met the threat level for S-Rank."
This was common. Missions involving nobility often fell into gray zones, with political undertones and unexpected dangers.
Saitama gave a slight nod. Everything so far was within his capabilities.
"Here's the client's photo. He's likely at the commercial district's largest izakaya. Locate him and begin your escort detail."
"Yes, sir."
Saitama accepted the photo, bowed again, and left the Hokage's office.
---
Later That Evening – Commercial District
"Heh! Drink up!"
"Lord-sama is unstoppable!"
"He'll crush his enemies with one hand!"
"Cheers! He won again!"
As Saitama neared the izakaya, the sound of shouting and laughter leaked through the wooden door. He frowned slightly.
Inside, the room was a mess. Several patrons were passed out at their tables or sprawled on the floor, the air thick with the stench of sake. One large man stood weaving between tables, clutching a sake jar, his steps uneven.
Saitama scanned the room and identified him immediately—the target from the photo.
He quietly took a seat at a nearby table, choosing the cleanest spot he could find.
Hiccup!
The brawny man lurched toward him and belched loudly. The sour reek of alcohol washed over Saitama's face.
Expressionless, Saitama met his eyes with an unshaken calm.
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