"Ding!"
Shisui caught the blade.
He had already seen through Saitama's routine—relentless slashes with impressive speed, but lacking deadly precision or unpredictability.
The angles lacked killing intent, and the strikes weren't sharp or committed enough to break his defense.
Shisui could already predict the next move: Saitama would retreat slightly after this clash—and in that moment, he would counter.
"Boom!"
Saitama followed through with a downward slash aimed at Shisui's sword hand. The strike was met with the flat of Shisui's blade, but the force rattled his grip.
Startled by the intensity, Shisui let go momentarily. With his left hand, he quickly reached into the pouch strapped to his thigh, pulled out a kunai, and slashed toward Saitama's right wrist.
The goal: force him to drop his blade and reset the fight to even terms.
Saitama released his grip on the sword and immediately launched a kick to Shisui's chest.
"Boom!"
Shisui was knocked backward by the blow.
Saitama drew a kunai of his own and stared at Shisui, who now stood a few meters away, calmly regaining his posture.
The kick hadn't done any real damage—Shisui had twisted away at the last moment. The foot barely grazed his chest, so the impact was minimal.
"No more sword," Saitama said with a small grin. "Now what?"
Shisui's eyes narrowed. "A shinobi isn't just their swordsmanship."
He spoke with a rare seriousness. The training he'd endured over the past few months had sharpened not only his skills but also his mindset.
Drawing another kunai, Shisui dual-wielded and charged forward once more.
The fight wasn't over yet.
Saitama's expression grew focused. He mirrored the move, drawing his own kunai and preparing to meet him head-on.
...
Later that day
"That's enough for today," Shisui said, catching his breath. "I still can't beat you, even after all this training."
"You've been training," Saitama replied, smiling faintly. "It's not like I've been slacking off."
He tossed the short sword back to Shisui.
Their sparring match had ended in a draw. Neither had landed a decisive blow. They were too evenly matched now, both adapting rapidly to each other's moves.
Still... she hadn't awakened yet. No matter how strong she was, there was still a ceiling—one that would shatter once her true potential surfaced.
That thought reminded Saitama of something: his chakra.
Lately, something had felt... strange.
Could it be related to the Sharingan?
Shisui, after all, was already six years old. His eyes could awaken soon—perhaps in the next emotional trigger or near-death experience.
"Keep pushing forward, Saitama!" Shisui called as he slung the short sword onto his back and waved.
Saitama watched him walk away, noticing how much more mature he seemed now.
Shaking his head with a sigh, Saitama cleaned up his things and left the forest.
He lacked a reliable mentor. That was the truth.
No Jonin sensei, no clan backing. Even with his exceptional talent, his growth was beginning to plateau.
"I need to graduate from the Academy soon," he muttered. "Find a real sensei... someone strong enough to push me forward. Otherwise, I'll just keep spinning in circles."
...
By the time the semester ended, Shisui no longer came to class.
Still, Saitama kept up his own training schedule, staying consistent.
He skated through the daily tests, deliberately holding back and only scoring just enough to stay above average. It wasn't that he couldn't excel—he just didn't want unnecessary attention.
Inwardly, he respected the Academy instructors. Despite their limitations, they worked hard to teach every student the basics of being a shinobi.
The new year approached.
It was nearing the 45th year of the Hidden Leaf calendar.
Then came news that sent shockwaves through the shinobi world:
The Third Kazekage of Sunagakure had gone missing—presumed dead.
It was the first major tremor in years. The balance between villages, so carefully maintained since the end of the Second Great Ninja War, was starting to unravel.
That night, after dinner, Saitama sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, unsettled.
His strength had reached a bottleneck.
He didn't know what to focus on next. No direction. No roadmap.
His eyes ached faintly.
Even with his naturally powerful body, there were no signs of a bloodline limit manifesting—no dojutsu, no change.
"Does it need a trigger?" he wondered.
He remembered the "golden finger" he was born with—the transmigrator's cheat.
The promise was clear: the strongest talent. A bloodline that would awaken in time without the harsh conditions Uchiha children had to endure.
And yet, here he was.
Taking a deep breath, Saitama noticed a strange heat behind his eyes.
His chakra was being drawn in... devoured by something deep within.