Chapter 42: Muzan’s War Council – A Bald Threat Emerges

Deep within the labyrinthine fortress that served as Muzan's hideout, the air was thick with tension. The Upper Moons stood in eerie silence, summoned all at once — a rare occurrence that sent chills down even Doma's spine.

Akaza stood with arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk missing. Doma rested his chin lazily on his hands, though his eyes were sharper than usual. Kokushibo, ever the statue, stood at attention — unreadable and unshaken. Further back, Gyokko and Hantengu whispered nervously, their anxiety palpable.

Muzan stepped forward, his elegant white suit glowing faintly in the dim light. His presence alone was crushing, suffocating even his most loyal demons.

"I assume you all heard," Muzan's voice was soft, but it cut through the air like a blade. "About the… anomaly."

They exchanged glances. Rokuro's shattered form knelt trembling in the corner, her blood pooling under her broken limbs.

"A bald man," Muzan continued, his voice dripping with disdain, "who shattered one of my Upper Moons without effort. Who resisted Blood Demon Arts designed to warp reality itself. Who… caught time in his hand and crushed it like paper."

Even Kokushibo's six eyes flickered slightly at that.

"And worst of all," Muzan's lips curled in disgust, "he did all of this without a sword. No breathing techniques. No demonic blood. Just… his fist."

A flicker of nervous laughter escaped Doma, his fan fluttering open. "A human did all that? Oh my, how delightful! I almost feel embarrassed for us."

Muzan's eyes flashed crimson. "It is not a joke."

His gaze stabbed through Kokushibo. "If this 'Saitama' interferes again, you will kill him."

Kokushibo bowed slightly. "As you command, Lord Muzan."

"However…" Muzan's smile twisted into something cruel. "Before that, I want to see what this 'hero' is capable of. Akaza, Doma — you two will test him. Together."

Doma's smile widened, excitement blooming across his face. "A rare team-up! How lovely."

Akaza cracked his knuckles, eyes blazing. "If he's strong, good. If not, I'll tear him apart before you can blink."

Muzan's gaze darkened. "Failure is not an option. Either bring me his corpse, or you do not return at all."

A silence heavier than death filled the room.

---

Meanwhile – Day 2 of Saitama's Training Camp

The Hashira stood in a line, muscles aching and spirits shaken from the first day's brutal training. They had mastered breathing styles, sword techniques, and demon-slaying arts — yet Saitama's "training" felt more like cruel punishment.

"Alright," Saitama stood before them in his usual yellow jumpsuit, scratching his shiny head. "Today's schedule is the same. 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10 km run."

The Hashira groaned in unison. Even Giyuu, who rarely spoke, muttered a faint "This is ridiculous."

"Sensei!" Rengoku, ever the bright flame, raised his hand with burning enthusiasm. "Can't you teach us some secret ultimate move today?"

Saitama paused, thinking for a moment. "Oh… I guess I do have one."

The Hashira leaned in, eyes wide, hearts pounding.

Saitama raised his fist. "It's called… Serious Punch."

They waited for more. An ancient chant? A divine stance? Some breathing style passed down through a thousand generations?

Saitama just stood there. Fist raised.

"That's it?" Sanemi's eye twitched violently. "That's… just a punch."

"Yeah," Saitama said, completely unfazed. "But serious."

Mitsuri's smile faltered. "No breathing technique? No sword? No ancient scrolls?"

"Nope," Saitama shrugged. "You just… punch really hard."

The Hashira stood frozen, their entire worldview crumbling around them.

"But how can you punch that hard without any technique?" Tengen flipped his kunai in frustration. "There's got to be a trick!"

"No trick," Saitama said with a lazy smile. "Just trained. A lot."

It was too much for the Hashira to process — centuries of tradition shattered by a bald man's workout routine.

---

In the Shadows

Perched high in the trees nearby, two figures observed the camp below.

"That's him?" Doma whispered, grinning ear to ear. "The mighty Saitama? He looks so plain! I love it."

Akaza, muscles tensed, glared down at the hero. "Plain or not, he humiliated our side. I don't care if he looks like a boiled egg — I'm going to break him."

Doma's smile only grew. "Let's play with him a bit first. It's boring when they die too fast."

Akaza ignored him, eyes locked on Saitama. His fists burned for battle — and for once, it wasn't out of hatred. It was excitement.

---

Back at the Camp

Rengoku, refusing to lose heart, saluted Saitama. "Then we shall master the Serious Punch under your guidance, Sensei!"

"Cool," Saitama gave him a thumbs-up.

Suddenly, the crows in the trees screeched loudly, wings flapping in panic. A heavy, sickening aura rolled into the clearing like fog. Even the air felt heavier, poisoned by malice.

"Demons," Giyuu murmured, hand already on his sword.

Two figures emerged from the mist, stepping into the clearing with wicked grace — Akaza and Doma, side by side. Upper Moon Three and Upper Moon Two.

"Yo!" Doma waved cheerfully. "We came to play!"

The Hashira drew their blades instantly, but Saitama stepped in front of them casually.

"Two of you?" Saitama yawned. "Guess I'll get my warm-up done early today."

Akaza grinned. "You talk too much, baldy."

The air crackled with tension as the ultimate showdown was about to begin. And the Hashira? They could only watch in awe — for they were about to witness something far beyond human understanding.

---

End of Chapter 42