Chapter 46 — Fourty-Six Punch
As soon as Saitama finished speaking, Nanami Kento, who had been standing still, suddenly moved.
There were still about ten meters between them. Nanami lowered his stance slightly and dashed toward Saitama at remarkable speed. Though he was taller than Saitama, he was surprisingly agile, his center of gravity pressed low as he ran, blond hair sweeping toward his temples with the motion.
Genos, watching from the side, widened his eyes. In his golden irises, Nanami's figure was instantly locked onto at several predicted positions. Though invisible to the naked eye, Genos could detect the fluctuations of energy from Nanami through his cyborg sensors. At that moment, Nanami's energy was concentrated in his right hand—and in the bandage-wrapped blade he held.
In just two or three seconds, Nanami had already reached Saitama. Saitama, however, still stood there upright, his blank expression magnified infinitely in Nanami's eyes as the distance closed.
What's going on? Isn't Saitama going to defend?
Though the thought crossed his mind, Nanami did not slow down in the slightest. Without hesitation, he swung his blade toward Saitama's head.
—Though he used the blunt back of the blade rather than the edge, there was no holding back in that strike. The abundant cursed energy of a Grade 1 sorcerer surged fiercely along with the motion, crashing toward Saitama's smooth, bald head.
If that blow really landed, Saitama would probably be knocked unconscious instantly, Nanami thought to himself.
Whether to pull the strike at the last second… I'll decide after it touches his head.
But just as Nanami resolved this, the smooth head before him suddenly blurred with a sharp "whoosh."
"What?" Behind his sunglasses, Nanami's eyes widened abruptly. The back of his blade swept through the air by inertia—but only shredded the afterimage Saitama had left behind.
When did he disappear?
Nanami's heart tightened. Without pausing, he used the momentum of his swing to leap backward, instinctively attempting to sense Saitama's cursed energy. But in the next instant, he immediately realized—
In jujutsu combat, tracking an opponent by sensing the direction of their cursed energy was far more effective than relying on sight. But against Saitama, it was completely useless.
Because Saitama had no cursed energy at all.
Then that near-teleportation speed just now… wasn't the effect of a technique, but purely his own physical ability?
Was that kind of speed really achievable by a human body?
With such speed—and a physique that couldn't be detected through cursed energy alone—even just in terms of rapid assaults, that was already terrifying.
Nanami's mind raced, while his eyes continued scanning for Saitama's figure without pause. In the next second, he caught sight of a white-caped figure sprinting away.
At some unknown moment, Saitama had already circled behind him. The instant Nanami realized this, he pivoted on his left foot and charged toward Saitama at high speed, choosing a trajectory that would intersect perfectly with Saitama's arcing path.
"Oh?" Saitama noticed Nanami heading straight for him and came to a sudden stop.
But Nanami had already picked out a protruding rock. Stepping onto it, he launched himself high into the air, bringing his blade down in a straight vertical strike toward Saitama.
Yet before the attack could connect, the bald, caped figure vanished once again.
With a sharp smack, Nanami's leather shoes hit the ground. Having learned from the previous exchange, the moment he landed this time, he immediately broke into another sprint without hesitation.
Twice now. That wasn't a coincidence. Saitama was truly achieving that evasive speed through pure physical ability.
In his mind, Nanami had already stamped Saitama with a mental note: Never judge him by appearances.
For a time, Saitama ran ahead while Nanami chased close behind, launching repeated attacks—each of which Saitama narrowly evaded.
"Saitama, why aren't you fighting back?" Nanami called out loudly after yet another missed strike, keeping pace behind the fluttering white cape.
"You're not an enemy. You just want to test my level, right?" Saitama replied as he ran ahead, his tone as casual as everyday conversation. "So I can't punch you."
"…"
Is that absolute confidence in his own attacks? Nanami wondered.
If he had originally thought that Saitama's claim of "kicking a Special Grade cursed spirit away with one blow" was mere exaggeration, then after witnessing Saitama's abnormal evasive speed, that judgment was already beginning to waver.
However, if Saitama only kept dodging, Nanami would never get a proper result from his test. What he wanted to verify was the truth of "Saitama kicking a Special Grade cursed spirit away in one blow while simultaneously shattering its Domain from within." And to do that, he had to witness Saitama's attack firsthand.
"Saitama," Nanami said, still running right behind him, "if you don't launch a single attack against me, I won't be able to measure the strength of your strike, and thus I can't verify your and Kokichi's statements. In that case, this mission would fail—even if Gojo Satoru paid triple the commission fee…"
The moment he mentioned "triple the commission fee," Saitama, who was running ahead, suddenly stopped. His body slid slightly forward from the inertia. At the same time, he turned, moving from having his back to Nanami to facing him directly.
Nanami's expression tightened, but his forward stride never faltered.
—Is it coming? Saitama's attack!
In the rapid-fire calculations running through Nanami's mind, everything ahead seemed to slow down as if in slow motion.
Saitama had completed a 180-degree turn, his white cape forming a semicircular arc behind him. His right arm bent and retracted—a clear preparation for a punch.
A punch?
Nanami made the judgment. He held his breath, gripping his blade, positioning the back of it toward Saitama's arm.
If it's a punch, then I'll intercept it with the back of my blade…
Just then, Nanami's overactive mind—pushed to the brink by both battle and analysis—suddenly froze. For some reason, he felt an overwhelming pressure radiating from Saitama—like a mountain collapsing. No, even if all the surrounding mountains in the countryside crumbled, their intimidation wouldn't be stronger than Saitama standing there.
The bald head still wore the same blank expression. Yet to Nanami, Saitama's vacant eyes now seemed to shroud a deadly aura aimed directly at his opponent. That single, deceptively simple punch thrust forward made the blood in his body run cold.
—There's no dodging this. I'm going to die.
In that instant, the cursed energy enveloping Nanami's right hand and his weapon flared fiercely. Acting almost purely on survival instinct, he unconsciously unleashed a jujutsu he had promised Saitama he wouldn't use.
A technique capable of exposing an enemy's weak point and striking with a force beyond normal attack—Ten-Stroke Jujutsu "Waraku Waraku."
The spotted bandages wrapping his weapon bulged under the surge of cursed energy like a blown-up balloon, then burst, fragments scattering in all directions. But just before Nanami's weapon could reach Saitama, something red flashed past his cheek in an instant, lifting his blond hair with it.
Saitama's face was barely half a meter from his own, expressionless. Behind him, Nanami heard a deafening crash—the sound of mountains splitting and rocks collapsing, reverberating painfully in his ears.
What had brushed past his cheek was Saitama's fist, clad in a red glove. Saitama had punched past the side of his face, striking the empty space behind him.
From the start, this guy never intended to actually aim at Nanami.
Just before his weapon could hit Saitama, Nanami barely managed to halt his motion. His blade froze less than a centimeter from Saitama's arm.
The rumbling of collapsing rocks ceased. The thick dust, stirred into a small whirlwind by the debris, swirled lightly around their calves before moving forward.
Silence lingered for a few seconds. Saitama glanced at the weapon Nanami had stopped in front of his shoulder, then retracted his hand.
"In that case, I guess we can call it a draw." He showed no displeasure—in fact, his expression was rather pleased.
"…"
Before Nanami, Saitama's features remained as blank and simple as they had been—the kind of expression you could sketch in twenty seconds. He retracted his punch and, as always, stood in place, muttering to himself, "Does this count as passing your test?"
Sweat from Nanami's temples finally slid down his lean cheeks in the now-stable air, glistening for a moment before dripping into the dust below.
He slowly turned his head and glanced behind him.
The battle had taken place in the mountains on the outskirts. By now, the entire hill behind him had been shattered by Saitama's punch, leaving only a semicircular gap. The dust, not yet fully settled, slanted downward, tinting the air a murky gray.
Just the shockwave from a single punch had such destructive force.
—Calling this a draw? If this guy went all out for real, I probably wouldn't even have a chance to strike.
"Hah…" Nanami exhaled quietly. "I've confirmed it. Your and Kokichi's testimony was accurate, Saitama. You truly possess the immense power capable of shattering a Domain from within."
Genos, observing from the side, focused his gaze on Nanami's slightly lost expression.
Having long been accustomed to witnessing Saitama-sensei's overwhelming strength, he was unsurprised. In fact, after seeing Saitama-sensei's power, everyone wore that same expression.
Because Saitama-sensei was undeniably the strongest in this world.
Nanami continued to stare at the shattered mountainside, momentarily lost in thought, before speaking again.
"After a busy night, I'll treat you all to lunch around noon," he said. "On the plane, I noticed your interest in kaiseki cuisine. I'll take you to try that."
"Oh, oh!" Saitama paused, instantly excited. "Really? I've never had it before!"
As he spoke, Saitama raised his hand to pat Nanami's shoulder. But without realizing it, his elbow struck Nanami's jujutsu weapon.
Snap! The weapon broke cleanly into two under the impact.
Half the blade had yet to be used, and it fell to the ground along with the shattered bandages, scattering a small cloud of gray-brown dust.
Saitama's eyes followed the falling blade. Sweat suddenly appeared on his bald head. "Ah… sorry! I accidentally broke your weapon."
Nanami remained silent for a moment. When he processed it, his face darkened slowly. "…"
…
"I really didn't expect that even after I broke your blade, you'd still treat me to such an expensive meal."
The new tatami had a lively, fresh green hue. Through the viewing garden beside the room, an artificial hill and flowing stream created a serene landscape. Bamboo water spouts automatically poured the clear spring water with a soft gudong gudong sound.
The three of them were now seated in a private room at Kyoto's famous kaiseki restaurant, "Kikunoi." They had changed out of their battle attire into formal kimono, haori, and hakama. Sitting cross-legged at the table, Saitama couldn't help but speak.
"One thing at a time. Breaking my usual weapon is one matter; treating you to a meal is another," Nanami said calmly. "We'll talk about the weapon later. For now, let's just enjoy the cuisine."
"…" At the words "we'll talk later," sweat again began forming on Saitama's forehead.
"The most basic principle of kaiseki is 'ichiju-sansai,'" Nanami continued. "Though the meal isn't limited to this, ichiju-sansai forms the backbone of the entire dining experience."
"'Ju' refers to the soup, while the three dishes are distinct types: seafood, simmered dishes, and fried or grilled items…"
He went on to explain the finer points of kaiseki. Having swapped his battle goggles for a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, he looked refined and mature. Occasionally, the lenses caught the light, adding an air of intellect as he spoke.
"Each dish in kaiseki is modest in portion and fairly light in flavor. Beyond the food, tea tasting is also an important part…"
"The first small dish to be served is called the 'sakizuke'…"
As Nanami prattled on with his detailed explanations, Genos, sitting upright, glanced at Saitama beside him.
"Sensei…"
Could Saitama-sensei, who preferred explanations in under twenty words, really endure such a long-winded lecture?
Saitama sat in his kneeling posture, hands on his knees, staring blankly at the tatami. His vacant eyes seemed to spell a single thought:
Sounds like too much trouble… I kind of want to go home…