It took Gon and Killua just two days to climb from the 50th floor to the 100th.
Saitama snapped a cob of corn from Heaven's Arena's free cafeteria in half. He watched every match from the back row. Gon stepped onto the ring, threw one punch, and sent his opponent flying out. Killua stepped up, struck with the edge of his hand, and dropped his opponent. The cafeteria offered unlimited grilled corn, so Saitama grabbed another cob after every match. The dipping sauce bottle in his plastic bag no longer bore its dragon-patterned label from Kukuroo Mountain; he had replaced it with a bottle of self-serve barbecue sauce from the cafeteria.
They reached the 100th floor. A promotion notice lit up on the screen: 50,000 Jenny for reaching the 50th floor, around one million Jenny for reaching the 100th. Private rooms and the free cafeteria were now available to them.
"Look, Killua! We've won six matches! We can go up to the 100th floor!" Gon waved his fight record card.
Killua leaned against the corridor wall, hands in his pockets. "You get a private room above the 100th floor. But if you get knocked below it, you lose the room. Lots of people will do anything to avoid losing so they can stay here. Some fighters whose strength is impossible to judge even stay on the 100th floor to train."
Saitama stood in the middle of the corridor, looking from Gon's room on the left to Killua's on the right. Their room numbers were next to each other: 2157 and 2158. He looked toward the end of the corridor. No other rooms were vacant.
"Where's my room?"
"You're not a contestant, Saitama, so you don't get one." Gon poked his head out of his room, clutching a white bathrobe he had just taken from the wardrobe.
No room.
Saitama looked down at the plastic bag in his hand. Barbecue sauce from the cafeteria, discount potato chips he had bought at the shop last month, and half a bottle of mineral water. He set the bag on the corridor floor and rummaged through it. Everything he owned was in there, but none of it could get him a place to sleep.
The corridor. The tiles were hard, and an air vent blew straight across the middle of the floor. It would probably be nice and cool lying there. But he would hit the wall if he rolled over. No, it was about as good as the bench in the waiting room downstairs. His back would hurt after a night on it.
There were free benches in the first-floor lobby, but tomorrow the fighters lining up to register would trample him awake. The rooftop was probably empty, but the wind would blow away his bag of chips. The free cafeteria had seats, but it locked its doors at night.
He needed a room. The 100th floor had private rooms, but only contestants could stay in them. He wasn't a contestant.
"Where do I sign up on the first floor?"
The first-floor registration hall was packed and noisy. Dozens of matches ran at once, with referees' whistles, spectators' cheers, and fighters' roars blending together. Hundreds of names and their corresponding floors scrolled across the screen in the middle of the hall. A long line stretched from the registration desk. Fill out a form and you could compete; win a match and you could climb higher. The first floor was an ability assessment: judges would use each contestant's performance in a three-minute match to decide which floor to send them to.
Saitama waited in line for quite a while before reaching the window. A staff member handed him a form and a pen. "Fill this out, then wait for a ring assignment. The first floor is an ability assessment. The referee will decide where you start based on your performance. Winners get prize money, and losers still get 152 Jenny—about enough for a can of juice."
"Do winners get a room?"
"There are private rooms from the 100th floor up. But if you lose and fall below the 100th floor, your room is taken away."
Saitama looked down and filled out the form. Name: Saitama. Age: 25. He hesitated at the fighting experience section, then wrote, "Three years as a hero. Fought some monsters near my home." He handed the form back through the window. The staff member tapped a few keys. "Ring D. The referee will call your number."
His opponent in Ring D was a burly man who called himself Iron Wall. He had already won several matches in a row on the first floor. His muscles bulged like stone, and fighting wraps covered his knuckles.
The referee raised the timer. "First-floor ability assessment—ready, begin!"
Iron Wall charged, arms spread for a grappling throw. His feet thudded heavily against the ring mat.
Saitama stood still. His right fist tightened on instinct. It was the same punch he had thrown countless times in Z City—clench, swing, done. He had already drawn his fist back half an inch.
Then he suddenly remembered something: the man facing him wasn't a monster.
Monsters could punch through ceilings, blast entire underground bases to rubble, and smash people, armor and all, into mountainsides. This man was just an ordinary fighter. If he won, he got prize money; if he lost, he went home with 152 Jenny to buy juice. One punch from Saitama would probably send him straight out the front doors of Heaven's Arena from the first floor.
He couldn't stop his fist now. Saitama unclenched it, spread his fingers, and pushed his arm downward. The gust from his fist swept past Iron Wall's shoulder and rattled the railing behind him. Iron Wall froze for a moment, thinking the punch had missed, then quickly shifted his feet to try the throw again.
Saitama turned to dodge. His foot caught the edge of the ring mat, loosened by the gust from his punch. He tipped backward and landed butt-first on Iron Wall's shoulder.
Before Iron Wall could react, Saitama's rear end sent him flying backward. Saitama braced an elbow against the mat as he landed. Iron Wall hit the railing, bounced off, and fell flat on his back in the center of the ring.
The audience went quiet for a good while. Someone in the back row stood up. Someone else set down a drink can.
The referee looked down at Iron Wall, then up at Saitama. After a long silence, he picked up his pen and wrote "50th floor" on his clipboard. He crossed it out and changed it to "100th floor." "Contestant, do you have fighting experience?"
"Fought some monsters near my home."
"Your reaction speed, your judgment of distance, the way you cushioned your landing—all well beyond the 50th-floor standard." The referee turned his clipboard around. It read: Recommended floor: 100th.
"Does the 100th floor have rooms?"
"Yes. There are private rooms from the 100th floor up."
"Then the 100th floor." Saitama bent down, helped Iron Wall up from the mat, and guided him to the edge of the ring. Then he headed for the elevator.
The elevator stopped at the 100th floor. The doors opened, and Saitama stepped out with his plastic bag in hand.
It was the same corridor as before. Gon was in room 2158, Killua in 2157. Saitama's room was at the end of the corridor: 2159. It wasn't big, but it had everything he needed—a single bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a private bathroom. He set his plastic bag on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed to test the mattress.
Beyond the window, lights blazed across Heaven's Arena. Most of the dipping sauce was still in the bag, and he could take a hot shower tonight. The bathrobe in the wardrobe was very white and felt like cotton.
He was about to lie down when a faint electronic chime sounded in his mind. It came neither from outside the window nor from the corridor, but from deep inside his skull. He hadn't heard that sound in a long time.
[Host has registered as a contestant in Heaven's Arena and won his first match] [Hidden quest unlocked] [Quest name: Clear Heaven's Arena] [Objective: As a contestant, climb from the current floor to the 251st floor, defeat every opponent in your path, and become the new floor master of Heaven's Arena] [Time limit: None] [Reward: Upon returning to the world of One-Punch Man, all hair will be restored]
Saitama sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the blank wall in front of him.
Huh.
He raised a hand to his bald head. Smooth, cool, and no need to buy shampoo. The quest reward... restore all...
He blinked.
Hair?
He remembered that morning three years ago when he had looked in the mirror and first noticed his hairline receding. Soon afterward, it had all fallen out. Three years since then: bald, smooth, cool, no shampoo needed.
"..." He opened his mouth at the empty air, then closed it. Slowly, the corners of his mouth rose into an almost goofy grin. "Heh heh."
[Quest accepted. Current progress: 100th floor. Target: 251st floor.]
He lay down, folded the bathrobe, and placed it beside his pillow. His bald head caught a faint, cool glimmer in the dark. Hair. He closed his eyes, the goofy grin still on his face. He would have to buy shampoo then. He wondered if the supermarket ever put shampoo and conditioner on sale together.
In front of the television, Genos popped a seaweed-flavored potato chip into his mouth. On the screen, his teacher sat on the single bed on the 100th floor, examining the bathrobe's fabric with a serious expression. Genos called up the replay of the ability assessment: his teacher's right fist clenched, opened, pulled its strength, then he turned and knocked his opponent flying with his rear end. Genos paused the footage frame by frame. The time from pulling the punch to planting his foot and landing on Iron Wall was extremely short. The impact of Iron Wall's landing had been confined to the area inside the ring railing. Genos wrote in his notebook: Teacher has entered the competition. Even his rear end has become invincible. Note: The bathrobe is cotton.
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