Saitama struck with a sharp, rising kick aimed straight at the chūnin's crotch, the wind whistling from the force behind it.
Height—it's a vulnerability. But I'll use it.
The chūnin's eyes widened in alarm as he caught sight of the incoming foot. His teeth clenched instinctively.
Thinking fast, the chūnin shifted his weight—bringing his right leg across and pressing his knee downward to intercept Saitama's kick. Not only did he block the blow, but he also pinned Saitama's leg in place.
In a flash, Saitama's underhanded tactic was neutralized.
Reacting immediately, Saitama brought his short sword up, catching the chūnin's kunai and forcing it aside with a strong parry. He wasn't aiming to injure—just to push the opponent back and free his trapped leg.
It worked.
The slash forced the chūnin to retreat a step, and Saitama used the opening to jump back, regaining his balance.
This guy's tough… I'm still not strong enough.
Saitama's arm muscles ached faintly from the previous clash—especially from the blocked kick and parry. His body was reaching its limits faster than he liked.
Can I win this by outlasting him?
"Clang!"
Another kunai strike. Saitama blocked it—barely. He retreated again.
His movements were becoming reactive. His rhythm was broken, his offensive nonexistent.
He's got me on the back foot…
But then—
The chūnin suddenly paused.
Kunai still raised, his eyes narrowed. Everyone watching noticed it.
"What's going on?" one of the observers muttered.
The chūnin's expression shifted from confusion to suspicion. A strange sensation was crawling through his limbs—tingling, numbness, especially in his hands.
He glanced at Saitama, who remained in a guarded stance.
It must be him… But how? Poison? Ninjutsu?
He quickly dismissed poison—after all, this was a graduation exam. Forbidden. And besides, he hadn't been wounded.
Then his eyes settled on Saitama's blade.
Thin, glimmering strands were barely visible dancing along its edge—shimmering in the sunlight like threads of light.
Realization struck him like lightning.
"Lightning-style chakra flow…?"
Saitama's lips curled into a smirk. He dropped his stance and raised the blade diagonally, pointing it toward the paralyzed chūnin.
Now in the light, the truth was clear: arcs of Lightning Release chakra flickered faintly across the blade, making it hum with dangerous energy.
The chūnin's eyes widened.
This kid… he's already learned elemental chakra control!?
But Saitama wasn't going to wait for him to recover.
With a burst of speed, he closed the gap, blade swinging down in a fierce arc.
"Boom!"
He sliced through a wooden log—the chūnin had just managed to use the Substitution Jutsu.
But this time, the older shinobi had no time to counter.
Saitama pressed the advantage. His foot connected with the chūnin's guard, forcing him off balance, then followed with a sharp sword strike.
The chūnin barely managed to block, stumbling back.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
Saitama's hands flew through hand seals, and a massive ball of flame shot forward.
The chūnin dodged, but not cleanly. The edge of the flame singed his flak jacket, and smoke curled from his clothes.
Saitama stood firm, breathing evenly. His chakra reserves were still holding steady.
Lightning crackled faintly along his blade—he had maintained the chakra flow the entire time.
He's still not fully recovered from the lightning paralysis. Now's the time.
Saitama took a step forward.
"Alright, I give up!" the chūnin called out, raising his hand toward the proctor.
There was a murmur from the crowd.
This was no ordinary student. The chūnin couldn't believe it.
At that age… mastering Lightning Release and applying it to weapon flow combat?
It wasn't just about power. It was subtle—each strike had channeled minute amounts of lightning chakra into his opponent's body. Just enough to numb the nerves a little at a time.
It was like boiling a frog in warm water. By the time the effect was noticeable, the damage was already done.
A jōnin might notice it earlier. But for him, it was too late.
He stared at Saitama for a long moment, then nodded silently, acknowledging the loss.
Saitama exhaled slowly, then sheathed his short sword.
"Uchiha Saitama, pass!" the proctor declared, astonished.
Few watching had expected this result.