Saitama had no impression of what happened next. His injuries were too severe—he had lost too much blood, suffered broken bones, and sustained internal damage. All of it combined to drag him into unconsciousness.
In the depths of that dark void, Saitama vaguely saw Seabuckthorn standing again, a kunai in hand, a cruel sneer on his face as he looked down at him with mockery.
"Die!" Seabuckthorn hissed, lunging forward with the kunai.
Saitama wanted to move, to dodge, to fight back—but his body didn't respond. He felt completely paralyzed.
The kunai drew closer and closer, reflecting a glint of light as it neared his face. Death seemed inevitable.
"Go to hell!" Seabuckthorn roared—but at that instant, chakra flared before Saitama's eyes. A burning sensation lit up behind his pupils, and in that flash, tomoe spun into existence—one, then two. Crimson Sharingan.
In that moment, Saitama's body moved on its own.
With a sudden gasp, he sat up sharply, eyes blazing red. His fist clenched and swung forward instinctively.
---
"Huh...?" Saitama blinked. He was no longer in battle. He looked around to find himself in a tent, lying on a tatami mat. The interior was clean and orderly.
"Ugh..." He tried to sit up but winced as pain exploded through his chest. His hand reflexively moved to the bandages tightly wrapped around his torso, the sharp medicinal scent stinging his nose.
"You're awake!" said a voice.
The curtain at the entrance fluttered open, letting in a chill breeze. In walked a familiar figure—Uchiha Lin, holding fresh gauze and a packet of strong-smelling antiseptic.
Saitama frowned. "Why are you here? Isn't this wartime? Shouldn't you be on the frontlines?"
"I happened to be stationed nearby, so I stopped by to check on you," Lin replied casually. "Normally, the medical-nin handle this."
He knelt down beside Saitama and passed him the supplies. "You've been unconscious for three days. When we found you, we thought you were done for—your body was drenched in blood, and a kunai was still lodged in your chest. Your breathing was barely detectable. Lucky for you, you're built like an ox."
Saitama gave a weak chuckle. "Well, at least I'm still breathing."
"Now that you're awake, you can change the bandages yourself." Lin sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, eyeing him curiously.
"What?" Saitama asked, pulling at the gauze. Lin's stare made him pause. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I'm just surprised. You've gotten stronger... fast." Lin smiled. "Word's spread around camp. A genin who defeated two chunin and even held his own against a jonin? That's not something you hear every day."
Saitama didn't respond. He peeled off the old gauze layer by layer. Some had stuck to the wound, and the process reopened the scab slightly, drawing fresh blood.
"Tch." He grimaced.
"You can't just rip it off like that," Lin said with amusement. "At this rate, you'll reopen the whole wound."
Ignoring the jab, Saitama applied the new medicine and rewrapped his chest. He tried to stand, but his limbs felt stiff and sluggish—a side effect of lying still for so long.
"How are you feeling?" Lin asked, leaning forward.
"Weak," Saitama admitted.
"So... how'd you beat that Sand shinobi?" Lin asked, his gaze sharpening.
"What do you mean?" Saitama glanced up. Lin, a bit taller than him, looked him straight in the eye.
"Sharingan, huh?" Lin said, confirming his suspicion. "A double tomoe already... impressive."
"If I hadn't awakened it in that moment, I'd be dead," Saitama said with a faint smile, touching his chest. "That guy was a jonin, after all."
"Well, a blessing in disguise. Just focus on recovering." Lin clapped a hand on Saitama's shoulder like an old comrade.
"Let's go for a walk. The war with Suna is heating up again. Still, most of it's probing skirmishes—no major moves yet."
Saitama pulled on the folded clothes beside the tatami and followed Lin outside. Lin held open the flap of the tent and gestured for him to step out.
Saitama squinted against the light. It had been a long time since he'd seen the sun. Its warmth on his skin was oddly comforting.
Stepping outside, he realized this tent was the same one he was first assigned to when he arrived at the camp. No wonder it felt familiar.
It was midday. The sun hung high overhead, casting long shadows across the camp. A gentle breeze carried specks of sand that clung to their clothes.
"Oh! You're awake, brother?" a voice called out.
Saitama turned. The man was unfamiliar.
"Do I... know you?"
"This is Moonlight Masano," Lin explained. "He's the one who carried you back. If he'd arrived any later, you'd have been a goner."
"Oh—thank you, uncle!" Saitama bowed deeply. "I owe you my life."
Masano smiled warmly. "We're all Konoha shinobi. It's only right to help each other. But you're tough—I didn't think someone so badly wounded would be up and walking within a few days."
Saitama's gaze drifted to the sword on Masano's back. His thoughts lingered for a moment—so this man was from the Moonlight clan. Known for their kenjutsu. He had always been interested in learning sword techniques...
"I've got other duties, so I'll leave you two for now," Masano said with a nod. "Take care."
"Thanks again, uncle!" Saitama replied with a smile.
Lin watched him go, then turned to Saitama. "Let's walk around. I've got no missions today, so I'll keep you company."
"By the way, how are Hyugaki and the others?" Saitama suddenly asked.
"You mean your squadmates? They're fine. Lying low in recovery tents. Their injuries weren't as bad as yours."
Saitama nodded. "Good to hear."
"The captain asked me to check if you want to be transferred to the rear lines for recovery. You could leave with the next group of injured."
Saitama shook his head. "I didn't come to the battlefield just to run from it."
Lin grinned. "I figured you'd say that."
As they passed another tent, a savory smell wafted through the air. Saitama's stomach growled.
"Let's eat," he said. "I haven't had a real meal in days."
"There's cooked food available. Not just ration pills," Lin said, leading the way. "Only jonin can eat whenever they want, but you've earned it."
They entered the mess tent. Saitama sat down and immediately piled plates with food—mostly stewed meats and boiled eggs.
"Can you eat all that?" Lin asked, staring at the ten or so plates.
"I'm starving," Saitama replied matter-of-factly, already tearing into the meat.
He had forgotten his hunger after waking, but now that the scent of food hit him, his body reacted with primal urgency.
Like a whirlwind, he devoured every last bite, faster than even Lin expected. It was a sight to behold.
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