[Warning: The opponent released all his Nen before death—Post-Mortem Nen activated.] ["Immortal Champion's Will": The Nen body is anchored to the audience's memories of the host. As long as those memories endure, the Nen will not dissipate.] [Nen body strength—greater than before death. Estimated combat level: God.]
Saitama straightened up.
The dark-gold specks fading from the ring suddenly gathered again. Nen. Post-Mortem Nen. Every speck was a fragment of Tyson's resentment left behind in the ring, drawn together and woven by an invisible will.
Dark-green light seeped from the center of the specks and intertwined with the dark-gold energy residue, forming a spinning mass of light in the middle of the ring.
Tyson's voice came from within it—hollow and deep, as though rising from far underground. Every word carried the cold echo of Post-Mortem Nen.
"My name is Tyson. Former world heavyweight champion."
Saitama rolled his right shoulder.
He had never seen Post-Mortem Nen before. But he knew one thing: if someone could come back once, he could be smashed apart a second time.
He took a step forward.
In the ring, the dark-green light spun faster and faster.
Tyson's physical body had vanished completely.
Fragments of his shell served as its anchor.
The mass of light kept spinning wildly.
Dark-gold energy residue was drawn into its core, intertwining with fragments of dark-green Nen.
A spinning cocoon of light formed in the middle of the ring.
Tyson's hollow, deep voice came from inside.
It sounded as though it rose from an abyss beneath the earth, each word carrying the cold echo of Post-Mortem Nen.
"My name is Tyson. Former world heavyweight champion, three-gene chimera."
"In this ring, I am invincible."
Someone in the stands cried out his name without thinking.
It wasn't mockery.
It was utter terror.
Fear meant he would be remembered.
His Nen fed on fear and anchored itself to the audience's memories of him.
From beyond death, he dragged himself back by force.
Saitama stood where he was, his right fist still extended from his Serious Punch.
The dark-gold residue on his knuckles was being drawn into the cocoon bit by bit.
He glanced down at his fist, then at the forming cocoon.
"Post-Mortem Nen? You can die and still get back up for another round?"
Cold knowledge surfaced in his mind.
This Post-Mortem Nen was called Immortal Champion's Will.
It was anchored to the audience's memories of Tyson. As long as those memories endured, his Nen would not dissipate.
The Nen body was far stronger than he had been in life.
And conventional physical attacks could not affect it.
It was pure Nen. Ordinary fists could never disperse it.
The thought had barely crossed his mind.
The cocoon split open with a crash.
Tyson stepped out.
He had not regenerated or reassembled.
His body was woven from dark-green Nen, with dark-gold lines of energy flowing across its surface.
No shell, no four arms, no compound eyes.
He looked like a transparent human outline.
A spinning dark-green core floated in the center of his chest.
Dark-gold liquid energy flowed slowly through its channels.
With every turn of the core, the fear in the stands grew stronger.
Fear was his greatest source of fuel.
"I'm more than a whole level stronger than I was just now."
"You smashed my body, but you can't smash the audience's memories of me."
"As long as they remember me, my Nen will never dissipate."
He raised a hand and spread his fingers, aiming his palm at the stands.
Dark-green threads of Nen shot from his fingertips.
They did not fly toward Saitama. Instead, they pierced the protective barrier around the stands.
They spread above everyone like a vast net.
Every thread connected to a spectator's memory.
Some recalled the horror of his transformation. Others whispered his name.
"They're remembering me."
"Every second they spend afraid makes my Nen stronger."
Saitama looked up at the Nen net and tilted his head.
"So if nobody remembers you, you disappear?"
"In theory. But nobody can control another person's memories."
"I don't need to control their memories."
Saitama stepped forward and slowly clenched his right fist.
"I just need to hit you until nobody can bear to watch you anymore."
An air of absolute seriousness erupted from him.
It was not Nen. It was not energy.
It was power in its purest, most unstoppable form.
Rubble lifted from the floor, and the air gave a low hum.
He threw the punch.
His fist went straight through Tyson's transparent body.
The dark-green core shuddered violently, and a hairline crack appeared on its surface.
Tyson looked down at the crack in his chest. For the first time, his hollow voice wavered.
"Your fist... can touch a Nen body?"
"Yeah."
"When I fought Boros, I could touch his energy core too."
"Yours is about the same. Just a different color."
Saitama pulled back his fist, ready to strike again.
But Tyson burst apart.
Countless threads of Nen became writhing snakes and wrapped around Saitama in an instant.
They were not attacking him.
They were memories.
Every thread poured images into Saitama's mind.
A boy putting on boxing gloves for the first time.
The arena lights converging on him as he won the championship.
Black-market dealers strapping him to an iron chair and forcing three kinds of genes into him.
The burning pain of a shell piercing his skin, his cells resonating wildly inside him.
"You think you're a hero?"
Countless voices exploded in Saitama's mind.
"You think you're protecting the audience?"
"I was a champion once! I fought my way to the top with my fists!"
"Now they see me as a monster!"
"When you lose, when you become a monster, see if your friends still recognize you!"
Saitama was silent for a moment, then slowly raised his head.
His voice was flat, as if he were talking about the price of eggs.
"Are you done?"
"You used to be a boxing champion. Good for you."
"Then you became a monster. That's rough."
"But that's your problem."
"Don't use it to scare my friends."
As the words left his mouth.
The Nen threads around Saitama snapped one after another.
He lowered his stance slightly and clenched his right fist again.
The compressed air cracked, and all five layers of the ring's protective light flared at once.
The shockwave sent ripples across the barrier around the stands.
The Nen net overhead shook violently, its threads breaking one by one.
"Consecutive Serious Punches."
The first punch.
It struck the dark-green core.
One crack became three, and dark-gold liquid energy seeped through the gaps.
Specks of light drifted into the spectators' minds, quietly easing their fear.
Some remembered that he had once been a brilliant boxing champion.
They were no longer afraid. They began to forget.
The second punch.
It went straight through the core.
The force of the blow detonated inside it.
Every crack shattered at once.
The dark-green Nen body began to fall apart from the chest outward.
Its fragments turned to wisps of smoke and scattered in the wind of the punch.
The third punch.
Landed.
No one in the stands remembered the horror of Tyson's transformation anymore.
They remembered only the bald man.
One punch had crushed everything.
Saitama lowered his fist and stood straight.
The ring was empty, with only a golden glow flowing slowly across it.
The Auto-Repair System was mending the cracks in the floor tiles.
He glanced at his knuckles and shook off the last trace of dark-green residue.
"Post-Mortem Nen. Supposed to be the will of a champion that never dies."
"You have to be alive to be a champion."
"Once you're dead, you're not one anymore."
He rolled his right shoulder and walked to the edge of the ring.
He bent down, picked up his plastic bag, and checked it.
Not a scratch.
He straightened and looked at the stunned crowd in the stands.
"He was right."
"If you forget him, he really will be gone."
The stands fell silent.
Boros's single eye shone like a star. After a long silence, he spoke slowly.
"Those weren't Consecutive Normal Punches. They were Consecutive Serious Punches."
"Every punch was a blow powerful enough to erase someone from existence."
Saitama entered the elevator and pressed the button for the 110th floor.
The doors slowly closed, and the numbers climbed rapidly.
He rubbed his bald head.
His hair was still a long way off.
But he was getting stronger with every punch.
That was enough.
In the ring, the Auto-Repair System swallowed the last wisp of dark-green Nen.
It became fuel for the God-level arena's continued ascent.
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