One Punch Man in Baki's World

Interior – Underground Labyrinth, Somewhere Beneath Tokyo

The walls were made of stone—not concrete or metal, but old, uneven stones, slick with moss and centuries of condensation.

The light was dim, emanating from weak orange lanterns that flickered as if shy of their own brightness.

Saitama scratched his head.

"…Where the hell am I?"

He had entered the underground fortress an hour ago—through what he thought was a sewer access point Doppo mentioned in passing.

But instead of following the planned route, Saitama had seen a side tunnel labeled "Authorized Personnel Only" and thought, "Looks faster."

It wasn't.

Now, he wandered aimlessly, his plastic grocery bag still swinging in his hand. Inside: a half-eaten convenience store egg sandwich, two daifuku, green onions, and a box of instant miso.

"Oh man," he mumbled. "Did I pass this mossy wall already? Or is this a new mossy wall?"

He sighed and looked around.

The air felt stale. The walls seemed to breathe, but not in a haunted way—more like the occasional pressure of a vast space adjusting to his presence.

The deeper he walked, the quieter it became.

Saitama turned another corner.

This one had a statue.

A seven-foot carved warrior, crumbling and worn, holding a sword made of rusted iron.

Saitama stared at it.

The plaque at the base was in ancient kanji.

He squinted. "Huh… I should've paid attention in history class."

Suddenly, he heard a sound, low, distant.

BAM.

Then another.

THUMP.

He turned toward the noise.

Another corridor twisted out from the statue chamber, and at the end of it was… nothing. A blank wall. But behind it, Saitama heard something.

Breathing.

Whispers.

"…Saitama…"

He blinked.

"Huh?"

The voice vanished. The breathing stopped.

Saitama scratched his cheek, unbothered. "Maybe the rice ball was bad…"

Still munching on the remaining daifuku, he turned left instead of right—accidentally heading closer to Kurozuchi's throne room, completely unaware.

Elsewhere – Doppo's Route

Orochi Doppo, the veteran tiger-slaying master, was far less lost, but only marginally better off.

He moved briskly through a series of branching corridors, having marked his path with chalk streaks like a true professional.

The deeper he went, the more signs he noticed, old Sea King emblems etched into the stone, crushed bones in the corners, forgotten trophies.

Then he heard music.

Traditional flute. Slow. Twisted. Like a lullaby in reverse.

Doppo's eyes narrowed.

"Ah. Kurozuchi's little cult… playing with nerves, are we?"

From the shadows ahead, movement. Figures in masks—two disciples in ornate silk, holding twin spears carved from sharkbone.

Doppo cracked his knuckles. "It's been a while since I broke a spear in half."

He advanced into combat.

Elsewhere – Oliva's Path

Meanwhile, Mr. Oliva had not followed any chalk lines, maps, or common sense.

He had punched through a wall five minutes in and made his own tunnel.

Now he stood in a room the size of a swimming pool, a gravity chamber, the walls covered in rotating weighted plates and magnetized panels.

Two modified underground wrestlers, hulking and chemically enhanced, growled from across the chamber.

Oliva looked around.

"No steak? Fine, I'll settle for tenderized meat."

With a grin, he launched into battle, leaving footprints etched into solid titanium behind him.

Back to Saitama – Still Wandering

Saitama arrived at a large iron door with red warning signs scrawled in several languages: "DO NOT ENTER," "ABSOLUTE ZONE," "DEATH BEYOND THIS POINT."

He blinked.

"Well, that sounds like the exit."

He pushed the door open casually.

And behind it…

Stairs. Leading down. A lot of them.

The kind of stairway that echoed back your thoughts, carved deeper than any maintenance shaft or bunker ever should be.

Saitama took one cautious step in.

Suddenly, the air pressure shifted. The smell changed, from old stone to incense and iron.

Somewhere, far below, Kurozuchi opened his eyes.

"...He's near."

Kurozuchi's Inner Sanctum – The Command Chamber

The chamber was darker than night.

The only light came from the hollow eyes of statues lining the walls, Sea King relics, twisted to resemble monsters more than warriors.

Incense burned in metal braziers, thick smoke swirling like spirits across the cold floor.

Kurozuchi sat cross-legged on a raised dais, a staff laid across his lap, eyes closed.

Around him, his lieutenants knelt silently, all listening to the faint humming of the walls. Not mechanical. Not wind.

It was resonance.

From deep in the labyrinth, through over a mile of twisting tunnels and death traps, something was moving… and the walls felt it.

"Is it Oliva?" one lieutenant asked, voice steady.

"No," Kurozuchi whispered. "Too loud. Too proud. His strength shouts."

Another disciple leaned forward. "Doppo Orochi?"

"Sharp, but predictable," Kurozuchi said.

The chamber trembled faintly—just once. A drop of molten wax fell from the incense bowl and struck the floor.

Then… silence again.

Kurozuchi opened his eyes.

"…He has no chi."

The others turned.

"No rhythm. No fear. No weight," he said softly. "Something is moving toward us… but the air around it isn't reacting."

One disciple stood. "Shall we intercept?"

Kurozuchi raised a hand slowly. "No."

"But—"

"No."

The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.

"This is not a trespasser," Kurozuchi said. "This is an omen."

He rose slowly, every movement practiced and deliberate. "He steps through our domain like water. The labyrinth does not resist him. It simply… opens."

Another tremor—small, but clear.

A candle on the far end of the room snuffed itself out.

"He's coming," Kurozuchi said.

"And I must see him. Saitama."

Elsewhere – Saitama's Descent

Saitama rubbed his eyes.

The stairs had stopped.

He stepped into a huge underground coliseum—dusty, ancient, and circular. Torches ignited automatically in a ring around him.

The whole place looked like a boss fight arena.

"…Seriously? This again?"

He glanced around and sat on a small rock, opening his convenience store miso cup. He pulled out a thermos of hot water and started pouring.

"I wonder if I should just blast through walls…"

He slurped quietly.

From the far end, ancient gears started turning.

A gate slowly began to rise…

Back in the Command Chamber

Kurozuchi closed his eyes again.

"Alert the sentries. Call Shigure. Prepare the ceremonial room."

"But Master," one voice asked. "Do we fight him?"

Kurozuchi smiled.

"We observe."

He turned to a far corner where a cracked mirror showed faint images: Oliva throwing a man into a wall, Doppo surrounded by spearmen, and in the lower corner…

A bald man eating miso.

No chi. No aura. Just presence.

Kurozuchi touched the mirror with his fingertips.

"So you decided to move… Let the world see what power without purpose truly becomes."

TO BE CONTINUED...