Chapter 27

"Oh?" Saitama was a little surprised. They had known each other for so long, yet he had never realized Nagisa lived so close to him.

"Perfect, I haven't eaten either. Let's go mooch a good meal at Sen's place." Saitama smiled openly, utterly unembarrassed by what he had said.

"Sure!" Nagisa nodded excitedly.

Sen had not even waited for Saitama to spread the word through the Guard Force yesterday. He had invited everyone himself, and Nagisa was naturally among those invited.

"What were you staying up late for last night?" Saitama caught sight of Nagisa's panda-like dark circles.

"Hehe, you know." Nagisa scratched the back of his head.

"Being a teenage boy sure is hard." Saitama knowingly asked the question just to tease him.

"Hehe!" Nagisa failed to catch the mockery in his words. After all, he was still just an eleven-year-old brat.

The two headed toward Sen's home side by side. Sen's house was on the eastern side of the Uchiha clan compound, not far from the Guard Force headquarters.

Along the way, Saitama met up with several more Guard Force comrades. Their group gradually grew, and they noisily made their way toward today's "**" home.

With the New Year season upon them, everyone was dressed smartly. A few who were attending the wedding had even put on flamboyant kimonos.

Amid the youths' boisterous chatter, they soon arrived at the wedding venue.

"Saitama!"

The moment he arrived, Saitama saw Shisui waving at him.

"Yo!" Saitama went over and stood beside him. "You got here pretty early?" He had not run into Shisui on the way and had thought he was lagging behind.

"Brother Sen specifically told me to come early and help out yesterday." Shisui smiled as he held a tray of tea.

Looking around, Saitama saw nearly ten tables set up in the courtyard, each already supplied with tea.

"Don't just stand around! Go give them a hand in the back!" Saitama shouted. The Guard Force members who had been sitting and drinking tea slowly rose to their feet. They had come to help in the first place.

"Got it!"

"Come on, let's see what good stuff they've got in the kitchen!"

"Hehe, charge!"

Taking the tea tray from Shisui, Saitama gave him a shove. "Go do your thing. Don't worry about me!" With that, he walked toward a familiar figure—a man dressed in bright red, grinning broadly at him.

"Yo, groom?" Saitama set the tea tray on a table and sidled over with a mischievous grin.

"Knock it off, Saitama!" Sen kept a straight face, his expression as stiff as if frozen. He clearly wanted to smile but was desperately holding it in.

"It's almost eight. How are the preparations?" Seeing Sen's nerves, Saitama deliberately changed the subject. It was only natural to be inexperienced at your first wedding.

"Everything's ready. We're just waiting for you all to dig in." Sen's tone lightened, and his brow relaxed as well.

"Where's the bride?" Saitama waggled his eyebrows and peered behind him.

Sen and his girlfriend had been together for a long time. Today was merely a make-up ceremony to formally establish their relationship. In fact, his girlfriend had already moved into Sen's home and lived with him.

"She's upstairs. She'll come down later." Sen tipped his chin at Saitama.

As a rising star favored by the Uchiha clan head, Sen's wedding drew many clan members who came to celebrate. Every seat in the courtyard was filled.

During the simple ceremony, Saitama and the others from the Guard Force finally met Sen's girlfriend—who should now be called his wife.

She was a gentle, dignified woman, warm and kind in her dealings with others. Every gesture revealed her deep affection for Sen.

"I can't drink anymore! I really can't!" At another table, Sen had been plied with so much alcohol that his face was flushed red and his gaze had begun to lose focus.

Everyone at Saitama's table was underage, so they could only watch enviously as Sen was urged to drink cup after cup, their hearts itching with impatience.

The banquet lasted three hours. By the time it ended, the courtyard was a mess of cups and plates.

"We're leaving, Sen. Congratulations on your wedding!" Konoha Village had no custom of disrupting the wedding night, so once the feast was over, Saitama got up to say goodbye.

The holiday season was over, and the drinking feast had been enjoyed to the fullest. He needed to make preparations for the coming mission, or at least gather more intelligence.

"Alright, Shisui, you head back first!" A drunken Sen patted Saitama on the shoulder, mistaking him for Shisui.

Sen's wife supported her husband and smiled as she nodded to Saitama. She knew he was a junior her husband valued highly.

Saitama did not mind and left first with Nagisa. Kindhearted Shisui stayed behind to help clean up—he could never bear to watch the Sen family busy themselves alone.

"Saitama, I signed up for this year's Chunin Exams," Nagisa suddenly said as they walked side by side.

"With your strength, you'll be fine." Saitama nodded.

"But I don't want you to leave me too far behind. When are you becoming a Jonin?" Nagisa pressed.

"Take it slow. There's no rush." Saitama had little interest in empty titles. Such ranks could neither increase combat strength nor provide any tangible benefit. How could they compare to quietly growing stronger?

"See you." After saying goodbye to Nagisa, Saitama quickened his pace.

Time was becoming more precious by the day. He needed to hurry home, retrieve his weapon, and put in some extra training at the training grounds.

"Confirmed?"

A chilling voice pierced the darkness.

"Drip!"

A droplet leaking from a pipe struck the ground.

"The Uchiha mission candidate has been confirmed. The mission document was sent directly to the Hokage's office, and the target has been assigned to carry out this mission."

The kneeling figure bowed his head respectfully.

"Continue surveillance. You must confirm the exact time the target leaves the village." That low voice sounded again.

After a dull metallic clash, only a half-kneeling figure remained in the dim space.

"Understood!"

The figure slowly raised his head, his mask glinting coldly in the faint light.

Silence returned to the surroundings, broken only by the steady rhythm of dripping water against the ground.

An invisible undercurrent was closing in on Saitama, yet he remained completely unaware—but fear? That word had never existed in his dictionary.

"Slash!" The ninja sword wreathed in lightning split the wooden target in two, arcs of electricity dancing across the broken surface.

As he sheathed his blade, Saitama let out the stale breath in his chest.

"Time to rest. I still have to collect the mission from the captain tomorrow." He rolled his wrists, the ninja sword at his waist swaying lightly.

The amount of chakra surging through his body had long exceeded conventional units of measurement. Perhaps it was equivalent to several forests? Or dozens of Shisuis?

Without any accurate benchmark, Saitama could only make a rough estimate. But the energy that continued growing every day meant he had almost never found himself in the predicament of chakra exhaustion.

The combination of Lightning Release Swordsmanship and the Sharingan was his core fighting style at present. Although swordsmanship would gradually decline in importance later on, the latter two were still fields he had to explore deeply.

"I still haven't developed Wind and Fire chakra. I need to find an opportunity..." Lost in thought, Saitama had already left the training grounds.

"Wind Release should work well with swordsmanship. If I alternate it with Lightning Release... perhaps I could try the Rasengan too?" He stroked his chin, mentally rehearsing various combination techniques.

The Sharingan's evolution seemed to have stalled. He could clearly feel the bottleneck, yet he always lacked the crucial opportunity to break through. It reminded him of the "strongest talent" he had received when he transmigrated—

"What a complete scam." Saitama curled his lip. Ever since unlocking the two-tomoe Sharingan, his bloodline limit had seemed frozen, showing no progress at all.

Where was the promised cheat? Every bit of strength he had now was earned through blood and sweat. There was none of the satisfying ease a transmigrator was supposed to have.

"Forget it." Shaking his head to clear away the stray thoughts, he looked toward the darkening sky.

Winter was approaching, but ever since mastering Lightning Release Chakra Mode, neither cold nor heat could disturb his body.

After returning home, the warm time he spent making rice balls with Granny Xiang made for a simple dinner. Blade flashes danced through the courtyard for a while longer, and once the food had fully digested, he turned and went upstairs to continue studying his scrolls.

"There's a new thing in the village lately. It can play movies and TV dramas you buy. Next time I see one, I'll bring one back for Granny Xiang so she can pass the time."

When he noticed the light still on in Granny Xiang's room while heading upstairs, Saitama silently considered it.

He had saved up some spare money, enough to afford it.

"Basic information on the client. Dispose of it after reading." Fugaku pushed a stack of papers toward Saitama.

"The mission requires you to escort the client safely to the capital. The rest is up to your judgment."

The implication was clear—he only needed to ensure the target stayed alive.

"Understood!" Saitama straightened his back and accepted the documents.

Bang!

The office door closed behind him as Saitama headed toward the Hokage Building.

His black high-collared coat fluttered lightly in the wind, and the katana at his waist remained sheathed as Saitama strode directly into the Hokage Building.

Knock, knock!

Several ANBU wearing beast-patterned masks silently led the way, and he stopped precisely before the Third Hokage's office.

"Enter." A hoarse voice came through the door.

"Lord Hokage." Saitama lowered his head before the desk.

The Third Hokage was reviewing documents, his pipe resting to his right. His withered fingers pointed toward the reception sofa, signaling Saitama to wait.

The ember in the pipe flickered. Ten minutes later, the Third finally set down his pen and took a deep draw from the pipe with his aged hand.

"Uchiha Saitama?" White smoke slipped through his teeth.

"Yes." Saitama rose sharply.

His back stood straight as a pine, with only his neck slightly inclined in respect.

"One year since graduating from the Ninja Academy. You have killed several enemy Jonin on the battlefield, and your assessed strength is close to that of a Special Jonin."

The Third tapped the bowl of his pipe against the desk, his gaze piercing through the smoke.

Saitama stood still as a blade, his eyes utterly unmoving. These records should have long been sitting on the higher-ups' desks. There was nothing surprising about them.

He's a good prospect. The Third narrowed his eyes, smoke obscuring his deeply wrinkled face.

"Fugaku recommended you for this mission. Are you confident?"

"A ninja must fulfill their mission with their life." Saitama's voice was ice-cold. "I will never fail Konoha's trust."

"The client is a noble from the capital and is currently in the village. Take the mission document and meet with him, then depart according to his instructions." The Third rubbed his pipe as sparks drifted into the crystal ashtray.

The payment for this operation would go directly into the military budget, and Saitama would not receive a single cent. This was also why Konoha's major clans did not need to rush to the battlefield during wartime.

Konoha assigned special missions to certain clans within the village, allowing them to avoid fighting on the front lines without drawing the hostility of civilian ninja—after all, everyone was contributing to the village.

But these missions were by no means trivial. Some were even more difficult than fighting on the battlefield.

"For now, it has been designated a ** mission. Although the client mentioned that ninja would certainly be encountered along the way, and Jonin might even appear, it is not enough for the village to classify it as S-rank."

The Third continued explaining, his gaze fixed on Saitama's face as he tried to observe his reaction. Unfortunately, Saitama retained the same calm expression he had worn while listening.

"Understood." Saitama nodded. Based on the Third's description, the mission should be within his capabilities.

"This is a photograph of the client. He should currently be at the largest izakaya on the shopping street. You can go find him there first."

The Third handed him a photograph.

"Yes!" Saitama accepted the photo, bowed once more to the Third, and left the Hokage Building.

"Ha ha ha! Cheers! Keep drinking!"

"Milord can really hold his liquor!" "Milord is amazing!" "He'll definitely drink his opponent under the table!" "Hahaha, he's down! Milord wins!"

"Another round? What, can't do it anymore?" The moment Saitama reached the izakaya entrance, the rowdy clamor made him frown.

Pushing the door open, he found a complete mess before him. A few people stood scattered around the hall, while more drunkards lay sprawled across the floor or slumped in their seats. The pungent smell of alcohol hit him head-on. The only burly man still standing hugged a wine jar as he staggered about, looking ready to collapse at any moment.

Saitama found a clean seat and sat down—the burly man throwing drunken punches was the client for this mission.

"Burp!" The burly man swayed over to Saitama and belched a mouthful of alcohol-scented breath into his face.

Saitama's expression did not change. He merely looked calmly into the other man's eyes.

Slap! The mission scroll was thrown onto the table. Saitama pressed a hand over it, blocking the view of the others who wanted to crowd over and watch.

"Burp?" The burly man's gaze paused on the scroll before he hugged his wine jar and staggered away.

"Burp! I've had my fill today! I'll treat everyone to another grand drinking session some other day!" The burly man suddenly announced loudly. Though his breath reeked of alcohol, his mind was unexpectedly clear.

"Burp! Rest well, milord!"

"Tomorrow, we drink again!"