God-Tier Heaven's Arena

The arena on the 100th floor.

The referee was checking both fighters' details, and the stands were packed. Someone in the back row lowered his voice. "Isn't that the bald guy who fought his way up from the first floor? I heard he knocks everyone out with one punch."

Saitama glanced down at his yellow T-shirt and sneakers, then at the opponent loosening his neck across from him—Tyson, a former world heavyweight champion. His shoulders were unusually broad, his knuckles thick with calluses, and confidence shone in his brown eyes.

An electronic voice suddenly blared inside Saitama's head, several times more urgent than it had been last night. The piercing alarm made him narrow his eyes.

[Warning: The host is about to release power exceeding the threshold. Without intervention, Heaven's Arena will collapse completely within 0.1 seconds, killing all 12,763 people inside.]

[Initiating arena upgrade program.]

[Upgrade name: God-Tier Heaven's Arena]

[Upgrade details: The host will be unable to destroy the tower itself; the arena floor will automatically restore itself after a devastating blow; all contestants' strength will be raised according to their floor to match the host's combat power; spectators from across dimensions will be brought in—all individuals connected to the host across multiple timelines will be forcibly transported to the stands. During the match, spectators cannot leave the seating area, use any abilities to interfere with the fight, or attack one another. Time inside the arena will flow at the same rate as outside.]

[Upgrade countdown: Three seconds.]

[Upgrade complete.]

Before the last line vanished, Saitama felt it. It was neither Nen nor some other kind of energy. Something more fundamental was being rewritten. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, and a faint golden glow spread through the air, as though an invisible film had coated every inch of the arena walls. The tiles beneath his feet trembled. The vibration traveled from the foundation to the top of the tower as every floor was recalibrated.

Dense blue points of light suddenly appeared throughout the stands. They weren't lights. They were people, pulled from the void one after another and deposited in the seats.

The first appeared in the center of the front row: a young man with short silver hair, his mechanical arm still holding a bowl and half a seaweed-flavored potato chip between his teeth.

Genos.

He looked down at the bowl in his hand, then at the arena before him. The chip slipped from his mouth. His teacher was down there, wearing that yellow T-shirt. Genos tried to stand, but his knees might as well have been nailed to the seat. He couldn't leave the stands.

"Teacher—"

Gon and Killua appeared beside Genos. Gon was still in the middle of throwing a punch, while Killua held a chocolate bar suspended in midair.

"Saitama!" Gon leaned over the railing, eyes wide. "What are you doing down there?!"

Hisoka appeared two rows back, near the aisle, spinning a playing card in his hand. Golden light swept across his eyes. He paused, then slowly smiled and ran his tongue along the edge of the card.

"Oh? Dragged here to be a spectator. Interesting."

Netero appeared in the center of the highest row, still holding a cup of tea. Beside him, Silva, Zeno, and Wutong materialized in turn—three generations of the Zoldyck family, all confined to the stands. Zeno rested his clasped hands atop his cane. Silva sat with his arms crossed, his face set like stone. Wutong quietly instructed the attendants to keep the situation under control.

More and more people filled the remaining seats. Former masters of Heaven's Arena were transported from the upper-floor private passage to the judges' seats. Hunters arrived from around the world. Nen users sat alongside monsters from another world.

Mushroom Man leaned against an aisle railing. Deep Sea King folded his arms, blocking the view of the spectators behind him. Boros's single eye glowed dark gold in the shadows as he stared at the bald man in the arena. His fingers tightened around the railing without his noticing. The opponent he had crossed countless galaxies to find had appeared before him again like this.

The last seat to light up was in a corner of the highest row. A man in a black coat appeared out of thin air, holding an apple with a bite taken out of it. He looked at Saitama, then at Netero beside him. He took another bite and spoke through a mouthful of apple.

"Oh? Quite a crowd."

Chrollo Lucilfer.

Once every face had appeared, the system's voice sounded again.

[Cross-dimensional viewing, dedicated channel: 100th-floor arena. Current spectator count—full. The fight is about to begin. All spectators, please maintain order and do not cross the boundaries of your seating areas.]

Saitama swept his gaze over the stands. Genos was still trying to stand. Gon and Killua waved at him from the railing. Netero and the Zoldycks watched from the highest row. When Saitama looked back, he found Tyson staring at him.

"I hear you went straight from the first floor to the hundredth?" Tyson shook his head and tapped his gloves together in front of his chest. "This isn't the first floor. Anyone who makes it here has some real skill. What's yours—luck?"

Saitama thought for a moment.

"Maybe lining up for discounted eggs. They were half price at the supermarket last week, so I waited ages. The person in front of me bought three cartons, and they sold out just as I got there."

A few people in the stands laughed. A contestant in the front row didn't. He just folded his arms tighter and watched the arena.

Tyson laughed too, then abruptly stopped. His left foot drove half a step forward. At the same instant, his right fist shot out, the full weight of his body behind it. He had thrown this punch countless times, and each time it had been enough to end a match.

It struck Saitama square in the chest.

A dull thud echoed between the arena walls. Tyson's smile froze before it could fully form.

Saitama hadn't moved an inch.

"So light. Like a marshmallow," Saitama said, in exactly the same tone he'd used to describe the discounted eggs. "If that's all you've got, hurry up and surrender so I can get to the next match."

Tyson slowly pulled back his fist and looked down at his trembling knuckles. Then he laughed—not the easy laugh of a veteran who thought himself superior, but something lower and rougher. His shoulders began to shake.

"Heh! Not bad. But I've got a lot more than that."

He slowly raised his head. His brown irises split from the center, dark green light seeping through the cracks as another creature's pigment swallowed his pupils.

"I haven't shown you what I can really do either. No choice now. I'll show you my true strength. Every time I bring it out, this is what happens."

His body began to swell.

It wasn't his muscles expanding. His bones were growing. Skin tore open from within, exposing the black carapace beneath. It wasn't armor. It was a real exoskeleton—Chimera Ant genes. Now, after someone had taken his punch head-on for the first time, they had awakened.

Purple fluid poured from ruptured blood vessels and ran down his arms, hissing as it dripped onto the arena floor. He grew past two meters tall. His chest bulged like granite, and black serrated spikes sprouted from his knuckles. His back split open, and two more arms emerged. All four hands clenched into fists, their joints cracking in unison. Dark green compound eyes pushed out beneath his brow and reflected the fluorescent lights with a metallic sheen.

"A Chimera Ant's carapace and a human's fighting instincts. You're no match for me now."

His voice had grown deep and raspy, as though two sets of vocal cords were vibrating inside his chest.

"The ant provides the shell. The human provides the brains. If you'd hit back after that last punch, I might've shattered. But now—I want to see if your fist can still break through this shell."

Someone in the stands screamed. Others recoiled. Genos didn't move, but combat data flashed rapidly across his eyes. Gon gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. Killua had crushed his chocolate bar; crumbs sifted through his fingers. Netero set down his teacup with a faint click. Silva's arms remained crossed, but his gaze shifted from Tyson to Saitama. The bald man stood exactly as he had before. Nothing about him had changed.

Saitama looked at the beast towering before him, twice his height, and frowned slightly.

Not because he was afraid. He'd noticed the purple fluid flowing across the arena floor toward his plastic bag. He quietly hooked the bag farther behind him with his foot. Luckily, he'd left it some distance away this time. It probably wouldn't get splashed.

"That shell's tougher now," he said. "Hope you don't disappoint me."

The air in the arena seemed to freeze. Only a few meters of gold-lit tiles separated the four-armed beast from the bald man. Purple fluid hissed on the floor, while the golden protective film trembled faintly in the air.

Everyone in the stands held their breath. Data raced across Genos's eyes. Netero tapped a finger lightly on the table. Boros's single eye blazed like a star. Hisoka's playing card spun faster and faster between his fingers. The two figures below were reflected in his golden eyes, and his smile kept growing. He licked his lips. Fight. Fight harder. Let me see which of you is the real fruit.

Tyson let out a low roar. All four hands tightened into fists, their joints cracking in unison. His dark green compound eyes locked on Saitama, every muscle in his body taut.

Saitama raised his right hand and loosely closed it into a fist.