Cracks spread from the top of the Meteorite Garlic, crawling across its dark-silver skin like a spiderweb.
"Crack—crack-crack—"
The fine cracking sounds echoed through the quiet VIP room, each one seeming to strike Leib right in the heart.
He had studied it for five years.
Five years.
Knife cuts, fire, Nen impacts, high-pressure steaming, even alternating quenching with Permafrost Ice and volcanic magma brought back from the Dark Continent—all of it had been useless. The garlic's skin was 1.7 times harder than Gang diamond, and not even a scratch could be left behind.
But now.
This bald man in a yellow bodysuit had gently squeezed it with both hands.
And it had cracked.
Leib's laughter caught in his throat, unable to rise or fall. Beneath his mask, his face shifted from green to white.
Saitama lowered his head and looked at the cracked garlic in his hands. The fissures were still spreading, but it had not completely broken apart. He tried applying a little more force—
"Wait!"
The Cleaver King rushed over and seized his hand.
"Don't! Don't use force!"
His voice trembled—not from fear, but from heartbreak.
"Although this thing's outer skin is hard, its internal structure is extremely fragile! If you just break it open, the garlic flesh inside will be shaken into paste, all its energy will be lost, and it'll be ruined!"
Saitama blinked.
"Oh."
He released his grip and handed the Meteorite Garlic, which now had a crack running through it, to the Cleaver King.
"Then you do it."
The Cleaver King accepted the garlic with both hands, as if he were holding some priceless treasure, and carefully placed it on the counter. His hands trembled, but a chef's distinctive fervor burned in his eyes.
"Five years..." he murmured. "I can finally see what this