Chapter 42
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.