Saitama swirled his wineglass, looking impatient. "Mister, quit nagging. I've heard enough of it at home! Let me finish this drink, then I'll leave, okay?"
Ishihara Shin sighed and tipped back a cup of wine.
"You're a ninja, aren't you, mister?" Saitama pointed at his forehead protector, his eyes gleaming.
"Mm." Ishihara Shin nodded. A trace of disgust for his identity as a ninja suddenly rose within him, but he immediately suppressed the thought—his son had merely died, that was all. Whose family hadn't lost someone on the battlefield? Once the war was over, he could just have another!
Three of the five wine cups were empty. As a ninja, he would never truly get drunk. Five cups a day was just right—enough to numb his nerves without affecting his work.
Saitama drained his cup and rapped his knuckles against the table. "I'll be going, then!" He gave a shy smile, and as he rose, his gaze swept toward the entrance—several Hidden Stone ninja were staggering outside.
Ishihara Shin raised his cup in farewell, then sank back into his drink.
Saitama straightened his collar and followed four drunken Hidden Stone ninja into the night. They traded crude jokes. Two of them suddenly turned into an alley lit by pink lanterns, where courtesans at the entrance smiled seductively at them.
Saitama turned toward the other two—his chance had come.
"Bring some food to those lazy bastards!" one of them suddenly shouted. "You head back first!"
When the two Hidden Stone ninja led Saitama to the edge of town, one suddenly slapped his forehead. Muttering that he needed to buy a late-night meal for his slacking comrades, he turned back alone.
Saitama narrowed his eyes.
Although he could easily handle four Hidden Stone ninja, he was still deep in enemy territory. The