"Hiccup!"
After a sudden hiccup, Saitama realized his injuries had mostly healed again.
Thinking back, he noticed that even the bones broken by that Sand shinobi, Seabuckthorn, had long since mended. The only lingering pain came from the wound on his chest—courtesy of Kuwuwu's kunai.
"Let's go back," said Uchiha Lin, noticing Saitama had finished eating.
"I have a meeting to attend. As Uchiha's field commander, I'm so incredibly idle," he added with a wry smile, gesturing for Saitama to follow him out of the medical tent.
"Yeah, okay," Saitama replied, rubbing his chest. Though he was mostly recovered, some rest still felt necessary.
Just as they were walking, a ninja dropped down in front of them.
"Lord Lin! Lord Orochimaru has summoned you!"
The man was a fellow Uchiha—part of the reinforcements Saitama had come with. He recognized the face vaguely.
Nodding to him, Saitama turned to Lin. "You go ahead. I'll walk back myself." Without waiting for a response, he headed off.
"Let's go," Lin muttered, signaling Uchiha Yun to follow. He turned on his heel and disappeared in the direction of Orochimaru's tent.
Back in his own quarters, Saitama saw his katana leaning in a corner. It had likely been returned to him by Moonlight Masano's unit after the battlefield was cleared. He didn't bother picking it up. Instead, he collapsed onto the tatami mat with a sigh.
From Uchiha Lin, he'd learned that the Sand shinobi he'd fought was eventually captured by Masano's squad. The prisoner was probably undergoing "reeducation" now.
That battle had taught Saitama a harsh lesson: Even a lion goes full force against a rabbit. Holding back strength on the battlefield was practically suicide.
His chest throbbed faintly. The kunai had pierced deep—into a lung lobe, according to the medics. Thankfully, Konoha's medical ninjutsu had worked swiftly, healing even the internal fractures. Now, only a dull ache remained.
"So this mission's about flanking Sunagakure's lines?" he muttered. "An eye for an eye, huh?" He chuckled. Orochimaru wasn't one to let grudges slide.
Last time, a squad led by Nara had failed to intercept the enemy supply team. One of the squad leaders had been captured and, under interrogation, spilled everything he knew. The result? Their operation collapsed and Konoha suffered.
Orochimaru's response was this retaliatory strike—secretly issued just yesterday. A covert ambush against the Sand's rear guard.
"You said you're bored, right? I signed you up," said Lin, stepping in again with a rice ball in hand, cheeks full.
"I've rested long enough," Saitama replied nonchalantly. He really didn't mind missions. His wounds had healed over the past week, whether due to his own resilience or Konoha's med-nin prowess.
"Good. Meet Orochimaru-sama in half an hour—he'll assign the specifics." With that, Lin left. He had other duties to attend to.
"I get it," Saitama muttered to himself as the flap closed.
The mission was risky. Surely Sunagakure would anticipate some retaliation. But in the world of shinobi, nothing was ever truly safe.
"Bah," he sighed, buckling his sword to his waist.
He wore the Uchiha clan's high-collared combat shirt and standard shinobi pants. After packing basic tools, he stepped outside.
The camp was quiet but grim. Wounded lay in rows, tended to by medics. The atmosphere was heavy with fatigue and determination.
Despite his modest stature, Saitama's age and clan name made him recognizable. Since his last mission, his reputation had begun to spread—he was no ordinary genin.
"Saitama!"
He turned to the voice—Hyuga Ki, a teammate from a previous operation.
"Hyuga, it's been a while." Saitama gave a rare, warm smile.
"I haven't seen you since we returned. You alright? I heard you got hit worse than any of us. If not for you, we wouldn't have made it back!"
Saitama waved it off. "Mission," he said simply, lightly tapping the sword at his hip. "You know the rules."
"How about you? Recovered? What about Captain Kawaki?"
"I'm good enough to return to duty. Captain Kawaki's back in the village on medical leave," Hyuga Ki replied, hands folded behind his head.
Saitama thought back to the captain's wary face during their last fight—an experienced man clinging fiercely to life.
"Resting is the right call," he murmured.
"Oh, and Tangliu? He's already out on another mission—I saw him a few days back."
"Alright. We'll talk later." Saitama clapped Ki's shoulder and moved on toward the rendezvous point.
---
Soon, Saitama found himself standing before Moonlight Masano—the same man who had once collected enemy corpses and cleaned the battlefield with stoic calm.
Masano scratched his chin absently, beard slightly unkempt. "Alright, you've all been briefed. Let's discuss our squad's role."
Earlier, at Orochimaru's tent, nearly twenty shinobi had gathered to receive orders. They had broken into three-man teams. Saitama was assigned to Masano's squad.
"We're the taijutsu-heavy team. That gives us a strong edge in this mission," Masano said, glancing at Saitama's katana and the long blade strapped to their third member's back—Sagi, a commoner-trained swordsman and Masano's personal student.
Masano laid out a hand-drawn map of the desert terrain. "We'll approach from the left flank, aiming to circle around Sand's forward line. It's the longest path—also the most dangerous. Don't count on backup."
After a moment, he folded the map. "Let's move."
The three of them departed the camp silently, traveling light but well-equipped. Their goal: the sand dunes northwest of the front, where the terrain offered both concealment and the threat of ambush.
They traveled at night, their footfalls muffled by the sand. Though ninja, they couldn't avoid footprints entirely—but the desert wind would erase them quickly.
Masano motioned silently with hand signals under the moonlight. The others followed without a sound.
The temperature had dropped sharply. The desert near Sunagakure was freezing at night, the daytime heat a distant memory.
Not far ahead, a Sand patrol moved through the dunes—four chunin in standard uniforms.
"Captain, what's the point of patrolling this far out? It's miles from the front!" one whispered.
Their leader, half his face hidden by a gray scarf, glared at him. "Shut it. If Konoha tries a flanking move, this is where they'd come through. Patrol properly—don't let them slip past."
Silence fell.
Unbeknownst to them, Saitama's squad had already slipped past, bypassing them by a hair's breadth.
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