One Punch Man in Baki's World

Kurozuchi's Bunker – 3 Hours After Renga's Defeat

The air inside Kurozuchi's underground sanctuary was frigid despite the oppressive summer heat above ground.

Dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting ghostly shadows on the rusted walls lined with surveillance screens.

Each monitor displayed a different location—warehouses, training grounds, apartment blocks—each feed meticulously cataloging the movements of Baki's allies.

But the main screen now played on loop: the moment Hanayama crushed Renga's spine.

Kurozuchi stood in front of it, arms crossed behind his back, his obsidian robes swaying slightly as the ventilation groaned overhead.

His lieutenants watched silently from the edges of the room, tension crackling like static.

Renga's unconscious body had been recovered and returned to the base an hour earlier.

Medics were working to stabilize him, but Kurozuchi had not visited. Not yet.

Instead, he stared at the footage.

Over and over again.

The part that played the longest—frozen on screen—was not Renga's defeat.

It was the moment just before it.

Saitama's arrival. His blank expression. His flick. The way Renga had stopped mid-air, the sound of his bones cracking, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"That man..." Kurozuchi muttered.

A silence fell so deep the flickering screens seemed deafening.

"He did not exert pressure. He did not build rhythm. There was no chi. No bloodlust. Just motion. Just stillness—turned lethal."

One of the younger lieutenants, a red-haired prodigy named Hanza, dared to speak. "Shall I prepare a counter-unit? Someone… immune to raw force?"

Kurozuchi turned his head slowly, almost like an animal sniffing the air.

"No. There is no counter to a void," he said. "He is not of this world's traditions. He does not follow our paths. To fight him is to fall."

Hanza paled.

"But we will adapt," Kurozuchi continued. "We will reshape the battlefield. Let the pillars fall, not from brute force—but from within."

He turned toward the next screen.

It showed Kozue Matsumoto.

"She is the final thread that binds Baki to restraint," he said. "Pluck it… and we unravel the storm."

The room held its breath.

"Prepare the vessel," he said. "Tonight, we bring her here."

Hanayama's Apartment – One Hour Later

Baki stood at the threshold of Hanayama's apartment, still breathing heavily from his own morning training.

His arms were slick with sweat, and his wrists still wrapped in gauze. But it wasn't pain or exhaustion that weighed down his expression—it was disbelief.

"You fought him?" Baki asked, stepping inside.

Hanayama, calm as always, sat cross-legged before the house shrine, a stick of incense burning in front of an old photograph. A cup of sake rested beside it.

Despite having gone to war with Renga just hours ago, the Yakuza giant looked as composed as a statue.

"He was fast," Hanayama said. "But not enough."

Baki sat across from him. "And the bald guy?"

Hanayama smiled faintly.

"Strange one. No spirit. No aura. No killer instinct. He just appeared, dropped a man like a leaf, and then asked if we wanted miso soup."

Baki blinked. "Seriously?"

Hanayama nodded.

"It wasn't power like we understand it. It was…" he searched for a word, "...oblivion. He fought as if the concept of struggle meant nothing to him."

Baki stared at the incense smoke curling toward the ceiling.

"Saitama…" he muttered.

Hanayama turned toward him. "You've fought men who bend their bones. Masters of chi, of destruction. But this one… he breaks the rulebook."

"And that terrifies me," Baki admitted.

Hanayama's eyes sharpened. "Good."

They sat in silence for a while, two warriors caught in the eye of a coming storm. Outside, the wind had started to pick up again. Rain was coming.

"Do you think Kurozuchi will stop now?" Baki finally asked.

"No," Hanayama replied. "He tasted what resistance feels like. He will escalate."

Baki clenched his fists.

"I need to find Kozue. She hasn't texted back since yesterday."

Hanayama said nothing. But he rose.

That said more than words.

Kozue's Apartment – That Night

Rain drizzled gently across Tokyo's neon skyline, casting reflective patterns along the sidewalk.

The alley outside Kozue's apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. A faint buzzing echoed from an old streetlight overhead.

Inside the building, the lights were off.

A silence hung in the hallway like a held breath.

The front door to Kozue's apartment had been forced—but cleanly. No splinters. No mess. Just a quiet lock, turned by someone with precision and experience.

Inside, the apartment was eerily tidy. Her slippers sat neatly by the door. A half-eaten apple remained on the dining table. The incense burner by the window was still warm.

But she was gone.

A chair was slightly askew.

The bathroom door swung open just slightly.

And on the bed…

…a folded note.

When Baki arrived, his soaked shoes slipped slightly on the hardwood floor. He stormed through the apartment, heart racing, eyes darting.

"Kozue?" he called. "KOZUE!"

No answer.

Only the flicker of a desk lamp that had been left on.

Then he saw the note.

He snatched it up. A single phrase was printed in clean, red ink:

"Strength built on love can be shattered by fear."

His hands trembled.

His heart sank.

Then it twisted into something else entirely.

Rage.

The note had no name, no signature—but he didn't need one. He knew.

Kurozuchi.

Lightning cracked across the sky as Baki stood in the middle of the darkened room, his shadow stretching across the floor like a beast awakening.

The war was no longer a whisper.

It had just roared.

American Embassy Safehouse – Shibuya District, Midnight

The clink of a fork against porcelain echoed through the steel-and-marble kitchen of a private suite—technically off the books, but funded by U.S. black ops.

A perfectly grilled steak lay untouched on the plate. The scent filled the room, but Mr. Oliva wasn't hungry anymore.

He stood by the window, shirtless as always, muscles tensing and relaxing in silent rhythm.

Raindrops tapped against the glass, mirroring the thoughts swirling in his head. His phone screen glowed on the nearby counter.

[ALERT: TARGET - KOZUE MATSUMOTO. STATUS - TAKEN. SUSPECT - KUROZUCHI.]

[PRIORITY RED: POTENTIAL DESTABILIZATION OF JAPAN'S MARTIAL CORE.]

Below that: a grainy satellite feed. A freeze-frame of Baki's enraged face staring down at a blood-red note.

Oliva tapped the screen to replay the audio log from a local surveillance drone:

"Strength built on love can be shattered by fear."

He snorted through his nose, teeth grinding against each other.

"They're making this personal," he muttered. "Stupid move."

Behind him, a government attaché in a cheap suit stood nervously. "Sir, the Joint Command requests you observe only. If this escalates further—"

Oliva raised a single finger.

Silence.

He turned around slowly, deliberately, his massive chest rising and falling like a mountain breathing.

"I came here for steak and a chat with the bald guy," he said. "Not for someone to start cutting into kids' lives."

He walked past the attaché toward his travel case.

With one hand, he unzipped it and pulled out a belt the size of a truck tire. It gleamed with golden embroidery: "THE UNCHAINED."

"Consider this diplomacy," Oliva said. "American style."

He slid the belt over his shoulder, cracked his neck, and walked toward the exit.

"Sir," the attaché stammered, "they've warned us not to provoke Hanma's son or intervene in internal conflicts—"

"Did I ask permission?" Oliva growled. "Because I'm not here to help Japan."

He turned at the door, his eyes sharp.

"I'm here to meet the man who dares try to out-monster monsters. Kurozuchi thinks this is a chessboard. But I don't play games."

He tossed his phone onto the bed.

On it, a paused map blinked.

"TRACKING ACTIVE: LOCATION: UNKNOWN – PROBABLE LOCATION: KUROZUCHI'S BUNKER (WEST TOKYO)"

Oliva cracked his knuckles.

"Let's see if ghosts can bleed."

And with that, the strongest man in America left without backup, without clearance, and without a second thought.

Outside, the storm greeted him.

As if the city knew war had just gained a new player.

TO BE CONTINUED...