Chapter 25 — Twenty Five Punch
Gojo Satoru chose a high-end yakiniku restaurant in Ginza. By the time they left that night, the group was still carrying the scent of grilled meat on their clothes, completely satisfied.
"I didn't expect we'd get to eat top-grade beef. I'm full, thanks for treating us." Saitama said, pushing aside the hanging curtain at the restaurant entrance and bending slightly as he walked out, smiling at Gojo.
"Sensei, I can do something like this too," Genos quickly said. "Tomorrow I'll buy the best beef!"
"No need, Genos," Saitama waved casually. "Even good stuff shouldn't be eaten every day. Eating ordinary meals most of the time, and saving the fancy stuff for special days, makes it more satisfying."
"I'm telling you, Genos, don't underestimate the value of ordinary meals," Saitama said eagerly, raising a finger. "Whether it's a cheap banana or a plain raw egg mixed with rice, they may seem unremarkable, but they're the foundation of the happiness you feel when eating grilled meat."
Genos froze, as if a lightning bolt had struck the back of his mind. He continued staring blankly at Saitama, but his hands had already subconsciously pulled out his small notebook and pen.
Then, lowering his head, Genos's hand flew across the page in a flurry of rapid writing.
"The point is clear! Sensei means that while basic training may seem trivial, it must never be ignored. Like having the most powerful weapon on your body—you still need the standard components that allow the weapon to function properly… As expected of sensei!" Genos said loudly.
"Huh?" Saitama stared at Genos, who was writing at lightning speed, a little dumbfounded. "Did I really just say that?"
"..."
Yuji Itadori and the others walking out of the restaurant were speechless, staring at Genos. Fushiguro asked Gojo, "Gojo-sensei, are we heading back to Jujutsu High now?"
Gojo, lost in thought as he watched Saitama and Genos, was pulled back by Fushiguro's voice. "Hmm… well…"
"You all go ahead. I'll escort Saitama-kun and Genos-kun," he said quickly.
"Oh." Fushiguro didn't try to stop him. "Yuji, Nobara, let's go."
...
"You don't need to escort us. I feel awkward with you treating us to a meal and then sending us home," Saitama said as they walked toward his apartment.
Gojo Satoru shook his head with a smile. "It's fine. I also wanted to take a look at the Ghost City anyway."
"Oh, I see."
Saitama pushed open the small gate on the rusted wire fence. The squeak of the hinges tore through the quiet night. A crude sign, left by the last residents who moved out, read: "Monsters Ahead — No Entry." Beyond the fence lay the Ghost City.
Gojo had to bend slightly to pass through the fence because of his height. Once inside, he walked while observing the surroundings with his Six Eyes.
The Ghost City was as clean as when he last came, without a single curse in sight. Only one area along the way bore the marks of recent fires and traces of lingering cursed energy. Judging by the state of the remnants, these traces were at least half a month old.
Probably something Saitama had taken care of.
The group arrived at the entrance of Saitama's apartment building. Genos suddenly veered to the side.
"Sensei, there's a delivery."
Moving into the shadows along the wall, Genos picked up a black box and looked up at the sky. "Couriers wouldn't enter the Ghost City, so this box was probably delivered by a drone."
"Who's it from?" Saitama asked, scratching his head. "I don't think I know anyone who would send me something."
"The sender says…" Genos read the label on the box. "Juvenile Detention Parents? Maybe it's an apology or a thank-you letter from the parents."
"Oh, let's open it and see then!" Saitama paused for a moment, then suddenly became excited.
Noticing that Gojo was still standing outside, he quickly said, "It's fine to leave it here."
"Mm." Gojo watched Saitama and Genos enter the building.
Over the past month, he had received news that after the Juvenile Detention incident, Fukuoka Mayor Shotaro Harada seemed to be secretly collecting information on Saitama, likely scheming something. That was why Gojo had taken the time to check the Ghost City himself.
After a quick inspection, it seemed Gojo found nothing concerning.
...
Saitama returned to his small apartment, brimming with excitement. After turning on the lights, he sat cross-legged and hugged the box, eagerly tearing at the seal.
"I wonder what it could be…" he murmured, opening the box. "In all these years of taking down evil forces, this is the first time I've received something from a fan!"
"If it were just letters, they could have used an envelope," Genos speculated. "Since they used a box, there might be a gift as well. It was sent from Hakata, so maybe it's a specialty from there."
"Oh, now that's something to look forward to!" Saitama said excitedly. "Speaking of Hakata, we can't forget mentaiko! Honestly, I've wanted to try Hakata's mentaiko for ages. It would be amazing in a mentaiko rice bowl or mentaiko ramen!"
"…Huh?"
Genos had been watching Saitama open the box, but suddenly sensed that something was off.
The seal Saitama tore off was tossed casually onto the floor. It wasn't the usual packing tape used for shipments—it was a strange tape Genos had never seen before. The material had a subtle dark yellow hue, and the surface was covered in symbols resembling talismans.
Genos picked up a piece and examined it carefully in his palm.
"Sensei, I've never seen tape like this before," he said, pointing to it. "It almost feels like it's meant to seal something…"
"Oh," Saitama glanced at it, thought for a moment, and then slapped his forehead. "Probably just a new tape design. Lately, there have been a lot of strange trends."
"True enough," Genos said, putting his doubts aside.
Under the eyes of the blond cyborg, Saitama removed all the seals from the box.
"I wonder what my very first gift will be…"
Saitama's eyes were bloodshot from nervousness as he took a deep breath and carefully lifted the lid.
"…Huh?"
When the box was opened, both Saitama and Genos froze.
Inside the box wasn't a gift at all—it was a pile of long, jet-black hair.
"Wait, seriously…?" Saitama said in disbelief. "They sent me this? Did they send it to the wrong person?"
Genos picked up the box lid and checked it carefully.
"The recipient's name is indeed yours, Sensei," he said, pointing to the label.
Saitama stared at his name on the shipping label, sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck.
"Uh…" he muttered, looking at the box of hair. "Could it be… a fake—"
Before he could finish, the hair inside the box began to stir. At the center, it slowly swelled, forming a shape about the size of a human head.
"Huh? There's something inside the hair," Saitama said, slightly startled.
The object beneath the hair grew taller and taller, eventually blocking the ceiling light. Saitama's gaze followed the rising hair as his own figure gradually vanished into the shadow.
"Gugugugugu…"
The hair began to tremble. Soon, a pale face emerged from the dense black strands. Beneath the neck was no body—just a long, pale spine.
"Sensei, that is…" Genos exclaimed, his golden eyes flashing with analytical data. "That's a curse!"
"Gugugu…" the cursed hair spirit hissed, its black strands moving as if blown by an invisible wind, wrapping toward Saitama's neck. "Kill… kill… kill!"
"Sensei!" Genos bent forward sharply, igniting the incinerator cannon in his palm. "Leave it to me—"
Boom!
Saitama raised his fist high. The cursed spirit, which had been thrashing its hair, didn't even have time to scream before it was smashed into black fragments that flew into the air. The hair itself was cut by the force of the punch, falling in strands like a shower of black rain across the room.
"Damn it, showing off your hair in front of me…"
The fragments of the cursed hair floated away as Saitama maintained his upward punching stance, his eyes hidden in the shadow cast by his brow.
"Looking for trouble?!" he shouted angrily.
Genos stared blankly at the remnants of the cursed spirit, the glow of his incinerator cannon flickering once before fading completely. "…I'm okay now."
"..."
The cursed hair spirit had completely turned to dust before it even hit the floor. Saitama slowly lowered his fist and lifted his head, still wearing a deeply annoyed expression.
"Infuriating… I thought it would be a gift, but someone actually sent me this on purpose. I'll remember that guy's name…" Saitama muttered, picking up the box lid with the shipping label. "Uh… huh, there's no sender name on this…"
After putting the lid down, he paused, then turned to Genos with a troubled expression. "Do you really think my head is that noticeable?"
Genos's gaze slowly slid from Saitama's face to his completely bald head.
It was a perfectly round, flawless dome, reflecting the ceiling light like a mirror. The white light scattered softly throughout the room after bouncing off Saitama's head, transforming into a warm, flesh-toned glow. In a way, his bald head alone provided indirect lighting for the entire room.
Genos: "..."
Saitama grew impatient. "…Say something, Genos! Isn't this the exact moment you're supposed to deny it immediately?"
Genos: "..."
Saitama's anxious expression gradually faded. His simple, almost doodle-like face now carried a solemn, world-weary look, as if he had seen through the absurdity of life.
"…Oh, so that's how it is."
---
Fukuoka City, Mayor's Office.
"Damn it!"
Mayor Harada Shotaro of Fukuoka sat at his desk, staring gloomily at the documents in front of him. In the top right corner of the papers was a photo—a bald head.
"Didn't they say that the curse would entangle his bald head, drain his blood, and tear him apart?" Harada slammed his fist onto the desk. "Why is he still alive?! Are you even a real curse user?"
"Of course I am."
A young man lounging on the office sofa let out a leisurely yawn. He wore a loose, ragged-looking outfit that exposed most of his slender chest. He turned his head toward Harada, resting comfortably against the back of the sofa.
His high ponytail swayed lightly over his shoulder. Under his eyelids, six teardrop-shaped patterns glimmered faintly with vibrant color.
"I am a curse user, didn't I sent over was indeed a semi-grade two curse," he said with a pleasant smile that somehow sent chills down one's spine. "But from start to finish, I never promised that bald guy would definitely die, did I?"
"Whether he dies or not," Harada said, raising his hand with his thumb and index finger forming a circle while the other three fingers pointed up, "ten million. Don't you dare skimp on this money."
"Tch!" Harada's face darkened as he stared at the other man. "Shigemo Haruta…"
Shigemo Haruta was the curse user Harada had contacted through certain channels. This was Harada's first time dealing directly with a curse user. Even as an ordinary human without any sorcery talent, he could feel an unsettling aura emanating from Haruta.
"Thirty million," Harada suddenly added. "This time, you do it yourself. Finish off that bald guy completely."
Haruta looked at Harada with mild surprise, then suddenly laughed.
"Sure thing, it's a deal." He leapt off the sofa, grasping a hand sticking out from the edge—an oddly prepared severed hand, whose wrist had been carefully fitted with a guard perfectly matching the broken edge. Extending from it was a gleaming white blade.
"Time to get to work!" Haruta grinned eerily at Harada, holding the sword made from the severed hand, and pushed the door open to leave.
Once the door closed behind him, Harada relaxed, wiping the sweat from his temples.
"What's with that sword… and that look in his eyes…" He shivered at the memory of Haruta's gaze as he left, then let out a vicious laugh. "Still, being able to hire someone like that with money… that's wonderful."
---
The next day, Tokyo, near the Ghost City.
"Not many people here, huh." Shigemo Haruta wandered through the sparsely populated streets near the Ghost City, frowning and scanning the area. His high ponytail swayed with each step. "Is that bald guy really living nearby?"
"Wait… isn't this just before the so-called 'Ghost City'? There shouldn't be anyone living there," he muttered, fingering the sword handle made from the severed hand. "Must be some mistake in information from Uncle Harada. Honestly, I wouldn't have taken such a greasy old man's job if the pay weren't good. I prefer cute girls, after all."
"Fine, I'll just head back and ask for extra compensation."
Just as Haruta turned to leave, his peripheral vision caught a figure slowly appearing at the end of the road, under the shadow of an overpass.
He stopped, squinting to get a better look. After a moment, he let out an "oh—".
At the dimly lit end of the street, a bald man wearing a blue tracksuit walked steadily forward. In his hand was a supermarket plastic bag, holding a few bananas, a white radish, and a bunch of green onions.
"That head… is really here," Haruta murmured, standing still and staring intently at Saitama as he approached.
As Saitama drew nearer, he glanced back at Haruta, then turned his gaze forward and passed by without noticing anything unusual.
Truly, no sense of danger at all.
Haruta looked at Saitama's retreating figure, stayed silent for a moment, then a twisted smile spread across his face. The markings beneath his eyelids flickered with an unusual color.
"Looks like my luck's really good." He took a step, moving stealthily to follow Saitama.
----
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