Heaven's Arena (God)

The 100th-floor arena.

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

Saitama looked down at his yellow T-shirt and sneakers, then at his opponent, who was rolling his neck—Tyson, a former world heavyweight champion. His shoulders were far broader than an ordinary person's, his knuckles were covered in calluses, and confidence gleamed in his hazel eyes.

Then an electronic voice exploded in his mind, several times more urgent than it had been last night. The piercing alarm made him squint slightly.

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

[Initiating arena upgrade procedure.]

[Upgrade name: Heaven's Arena (God)]

[Upgrade details: The tower itself will become indestructible by the host; the arena will automatically restore itself after sustaining devastating damage; the strength of all contestants will be increased according to their floor level to match the host's combat power; cross-dimensional spectators will be introduced—all individuals connected to the host across multiple timelines will be forcibly transported to spectator seats. During viewing, spectators cannot leave the seating area, use any ability to interfere with arena battles, or attack one another. Time within the arena will flow at the same rate as the outside world.]

[Upgrade countdown: Three seconds.]

[Upgrade complete.]

Before the last line vanished, Saitama felt it—not Nen, not aura, but something more fundamental being rewritten. The fluorescent lights above flickered, and an incredibly faint golden glow spread through the air, as if someone had coated every inch of the arena walls with an invisible film. The tiles beneath his feet trembled slightly. That vibration traveled from the foundations to the top of the tower, every floor being recalibrated.

A dense cluster of blue points suddenly lit up in the stands. They were not lights, but people—one after another, pulled from the void and dropped into seats.

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

Genos.

He looked down at the bowl in his hand, then at the arena before him. The chip slipped from the corner of his mouth. His teacher was in the ring, wearing that yellow T-shirt. He tried to stand, but his knees seemed nailed to the seat—he could not leave the stands.

"Teacher—"

Gon and Killua appeared beside Genos next. Gon was still in the middle of throwing a punch, while Killua's chocolate bar hung suspended in his hand.

"Saitama!" Gon leaned over the railing, practically hanging out of the stands, his eyes wide. "Why are you in the ring?!"

Hisoka appeared by the aisle a few rows behind them, turning a playing card between his fingers. Golden light swept over his pupils. He froze for a moment, then the corner of his mouth slowly curled upward as he lightly ran his tongue along the card's edge.

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

Netero appeared in the center of the highest row, still holding a teacup. Beside him, the silhouettes of Silva, Zeno, and Wutong lit up in sequence—the three generations of the Zoldyck family had all been placed in the stands. Zeno rested his folded hands atop his cane, Silva stood with his arms crossed and a face like stone, while Wutong quietly instructed the attendants to control the situation.

More and more people filled the remaining seats. Former masters of Heaven's Arena were transported from their private upper-floor passages to the judges' seats. Hunters arrived from all over the world, and Nen users sat mixed among monsters from the outer world.

Mushroom Man leaned against the aisle railing. Deep Sea King stood with his arms crossed, blocking the view of spectators behind him. Boros's single eye glowed dim gold in the darkness—he stared at the bald man in the ring, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the armrest. The opponent he had searched countless galaxies for had appeared before him again in such a way.

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

"Oh? It's pretty lively here."

Chrollo Lucilfer.

Once every face had appeared, the system notification sounded again.

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

Saitama swept his gaze around the stands. Genos was still trying to stand. Gon and Killua leaned over the railing, waving at him. Netero and the Zoldyck family sat in the highest row, overlooking the entire scene. When he turned his gaze back, he found Tyson staring at him.

"I heard you jumped straight from the first floor to the hundredth?" Tyson shook his head, lightly tapping his gloves together before his chest. "This floor isn't the first floor. Anyone who reaches the hundredth has some real skill—what's your real skill? Luck?"

Saitama thought for a moment.

"Maybe lining up to grab discounted eggs. The supermarket cut egg prices in half last week. I waited in line forever, but the person ahead of me bought three cartons, and they sold out just as it was my turn."

A few people in the stands laughed. One contestant in the front row did not. He merely folded his arms tighter and watched the ring.

Tyson laughed too, but his laughter abruptly stopped. His left foot ground forward half a step, and his right fist shot out at the same instant. He threw his entire center of gravity behind that punch—he had thrown it countless times, and every time, it had been enough to end a match.

It struck Saitama square in the chest.

A dull thud echoed between the arena walls. The smile at Tyson's lips froze before it could fully bloom.

Saitama did not move an inch.

"That was so light. Like cotton candy." Saitama's tone was exactly the same as when he had described discounted supermarket eggs. "If that's all you've got, surrender already. I want to get to my next match."

Tyson slowly withdrew his fist and looked down at his still-trembling knuckles. Then he laughed—not the relaxed laugh from before, not the laugh of an experienced fighter looking down on his opponent, but a deeper, harsher laugh. His shoulders began to shake.

"Hehehe! You're pretty good, but this is far from all I can do."

He slowly raised his head. His hazel irises split open from the center, dark green light seeping from the cracks as another kind of biological pigment swallowed his pupils.

"I haven't shown you my real strength yet either—guess I have no choice but to let you see it. Every time I bring it out, I end up like this."

His body began to swell.

It was not his muscles growing—it was his bones. His skin tore open from within, revealing black carapace underneath. Not armor, but a true exoskeleton—Chimera Ant genes. Now, after someone had stopped his punch head-on for the first time, they awakened.

Purple mucus poured from ruptured blood vessels, flowing down his arms and dripping onto the ring with sizzling, corrosive sounds. He grew past two meters tall, his pectorals bulging like granite, black serrated spikes sprouting from his knuckles. His back split open, and two more arms grew out—four arms clenched their fists at once, their joints cracking in unison. Dark green compound eyes pushed out beneath his brow ridge, reflecting a metallic sheen under the fluorescent lights.

"The carapace of a Chimera Ant, combined with a human's combat intelligence. You're no match for me now."

His voice turned low and raspy, as if two sets of vocal cords were vibrating in his chest at once.

"The ant handles the shell, and the human handles the brain. If you threw that punch back at me earlier, I might have shattered. But now—I want to see whether your fist can still punch through this shell."

Some people screamed in the stands, while others recoiled. Genos did not move, a rapid stream of combat data flashing through his pupils. Gon gripped the railing with both hands, his knuckles white. Killua had crushed the chocolate bar in his hand, crumbs trickling through his fingers. Netero set down his teacup, its base making an incredibly soft clink against the table. Silva still stood with his arms crossed, but his gaze shifted from Tyson to Saitama—the bald man was standing exactly as before, unchanged.

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

Not because he was afraid. It was because he saw the purple mucus flowing across the ring toward his plastic bag. He quietly stretched out a foot and hooked the bag farther behind him. Good thing he had set it far away this time. It probably would not get splashed.

"Your shell got tougher, huh?" he said. "I hope you don't disappoint me."

The air in the arena suddenly solidified. Only several meters of golden, glowing floor tiles separated the four-armed beast from the bald man. Purple corrosive fluid sizzled on the ground, while the golden protective film trembled faintly in the air.

Everyone in the stands held their breath. Data streams surged wildly through Genos's pupils. Netero lightly tapped his fingers against the table. Boros's single eye shone like a star. Hisoka's playing card spun faster and faster between his fingers, the two figures in the ring reflected in his golden pupils as his smile widened. He licked his lips and silently thought, Fight. Fight even harder. Let me see who the true fruit is.

Tyson let out a low roar. All four arms clenched at once, their joints cracking in unison. His dark green compound eyes locked onto Saitama, every muscle in his body tensing.

Saitama raised his right hand. His fist slowly clenched.