Mikami spat a few meaningless taunts and continued swinging his massive blade at Saitama with heavy, chopping strikes.
Without Shisui's support, Saitama began to feel the pressure. Mikami, wielding the larger weapon, gradually drove him back with brute force alone. His slashes were wild and unrefined, but relentless. Saitama stepped back again and again, carefully avoiding the sweeping arcs.
As he attacked, Mikami hurled insults, exhaling heavily and grinning between jabs.
On the side, Shisui was still recovering from Mikami's earlier kick and hadn't yet rejoined the fight.
Then—thud!
Saitama's foot connected with Mikami's left flank in a powerful spinning kick. The impact forced Mikami to stumble. In that moment, Saitama twisted, and with his left hand, he grabbed Mikami's weapon-wielding arm.
"Haa!"
He brought his short sword down in a vicious arc. Blood sprayed across the forest floor.
"Gaaah!" Mikami screamed. If he hadn't instinctively released his weapon and counter-grabbed Saitama's wrist, twisting with the momentum, the blade might've cleaved into his neck.
He staggered back, blood flowing from a deep chest wound, narrowly dodging Shisui's returning strike.
Clutching his injury, Mikami gritted his teeth in frustration.
The gash ran at least ten centimeters across his torso. The edge was clean and deep—his flesh peeled open where the blade had struck, and blood poured freely from it.
Shisui stepped up beside Saitama, casting a sidelong glance at their bleeding opponent. He smiled faintly.
"As expected, you never disappoint."
"Let's finish this. Once he's down, we return."
Saitama eyed his short sword. Mikami was tougher than expected, with decent adaptability. He'd clearly mistaken Saitama's retreat for weakness, and tried to capitalize on it with a lethal strike. But even Mikami's quick reflexes couldn't prevent that injury—just delay the inevitable.
"Agreed. It's time."
"Hah!"
The two dashed forward in unison. Mikami, now unarmed and wounded, couldn't hold his ground. Covering his chest with one hand, he struggled to keep moving, but the pain slowed him.
Their twin assault left him slashed in several places. Though none were immediately fatal, the accumulation of blood loss and injuries was overwhelming.
Panic overtook him. The hot sting in his chest, the slick blood between his fingers—he realized he could die here.
"Wait! I'll give you whatever you want! Just let me live!" Mikami cried out, the arrogance from earlier completely gone.
Saitama and Shisui paused. They looked at each other, mildly amused.
Mikami, seeing their hesitation, pressed on. "I've saved up for years—money, scrolls, intel! You can have it all! Just let me go, alright?"
Saitama smiled, his voice cold. "Sure."
And then—shff!—he lunged forward and drove the blade into Mikami's chest.
The tip of the short sword punched cleanly out through his back.
"Isn't everything yours anyway… once you're dead?"
The blade slid in white, came out red. Mikami's eyes bulged in disbelief as he stared at the metal embedded in his heart.
"Hhh—!"
Saitama pulled the blade free and let Mikami drop. He stepped back without a word.
Mikami's body twitched. He didn't die instantly. His mouth moved slightly, lips trembling. His gaze slowly faded as the light drained from his eyes.
Shisui walked over, glancing down at the dying man, then at Saitama.
"This mission's over," Saitama said, voice flat. The corpse didn't affect him.
"Yeah… I wonder where Sen and Lin wandered off to."
As soon as he spoke, two figures flickered into view on a nearby branch. Startled, Saitama snapped into a defensive stance, blade raised. Shisui mirrored him.
They hadn't forgotten: the enemy camp had only eleven people, but they'd just counted twelve bodies. Was someone still hiding?
"Relax, it's us," came Uchiha Sen's voice.
Recognizing their allies, Saitama and Shisui lowered their weapons.
"Impressive," Sen said as he leapt down. "For your first real mission, you handled it well."
He eyed Saitama with faint interest, resting a hand on his katana.
Uchiha Lin said nothing. She moved past them and approached Mikami's body. Crouching, she rifled through his pouches. A moment later, she retrieved a sealed scroll.
After examining it, she nodded toward Sen.
Sen smiled. "That's the one. Our secondary objective is complete."
"Alright, mission over." Sen turned and began walking away, Lin close behind.
"We'll rest in the eastern village," he called over his shoulder. "Return to Konoha tomorrow."
They vanished into the trees.
Saitama stood still, breathing calmly. The blood on his body was still warm, and it stained his clothes and skin.
He watched their retreating figures. For now, he just wanted to find a quiet place to rest.
This was his first true kill.
Is it hard to kill?
That question now sat like a stone in the back of his mind. He had taken a life—a living, breathing human being. Warm blood had splashed against his hands. Resentful eyes had glared at him as death approached.
Most would be terrified.
Life is precious… but only your own. That's the truth of a shinobi.
When killing becomes routine—part of your life, your survival—it loses its weight. For ninja, this is the way.
And the truth is: nothing hones a shinobi faster than war and fire.
---
Three months later.
Since that mission, Saitama and Shisui had carried out dozens of operations. Their teamwork became seamless. Their kills, precise.
But Saitama had changed.
He no longer spoke as much. His expressions became harder to read. His once-warm eyes grew colder by the week.
Shisui noticed the shift first. Though they fought side by side, he felt a growing distance between them. The old Saitama was slipping away.
But Saitama didn't mind. The growth he felt—the sharpening of his skills—was worth it.
Strength always came at a price.
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