The Ultimate Evasion Born of Ultimate Fear

Saitama's brow gradually furrowed.

At first, he had only found it a little annoying—like running into mosquitoes at home in summer. If he couldn't swat them after a few tries, so be it.

But Salas was different. He was doing it on purpose, flying straight at Saitama's most sensitive spots.

His ears, hair, neck, and even the bottle of barbecue sauce in his hand.

"Buzz buzz—"

"Buzz buzz—"

The sound bored into Saitama's head like needles, impossible to shake off.

Saitama began waving his hands nonstop.

He swatted left, swatted right, swatted above his head.

His movements grew faster and more frantic.

His fists slammed into the arena, punching one huge crater after another into the hard granite.

Chunks of stone flew everywhere.

But the mosquitoes always slipped away at the very instant before his fists came down.

"Can't hit me! Can't hit me! You just can't hit me!"

Salas's voice trembled with sick excitement.

"Aren't you strong? Didn't you kill Tyson with one punch?"

"Come on! Kill me!"

"If you've got the guts, tear down all of Heaven's Arena!"

Saitama said nothing.

His breathing grew heavier, and cold sweat seeped from his forehead.

In more than twenty years of life, he had never been this angry.

One punch took care of monsters. One punch took care of bad guys. Even when fighting Boros or Garou, he had never been this irritated.

This feeling of having strength with nowhere to use it.

This feeling of being toyed with like an idiot.

This feeling of mosquitoes buzzing endlessly in his ears.

It was driving him insane.

"This is so damn annoying!"

Saitama suddenly roared.

He carefully set the barbecue sauce bottle on an intact floor tile by his feet, then clenched both fists and began throwing punches wildly into the air.

"Bang bang bang bang bang—"

Consecutive Normal Punches.

The force of his punches poured across the entire arena like a torrential downpour.

The golden protective barrier around the arena was pressed inward by the gale of his fists, and all of Heaven's Arena trembled faintly.

The mosquito swarm was scattered in every direction by the punch winds, only to gather again moments later—not a single mosquito had truly been killed.

Salas laughed even more smugly.

"Useless! Useless!"

"No matter how fast your fists are, they can't outrun the air!"

"You'll never hit me!"

Saitama stopped.

He stood at the center of the arena, breathing heavily.

His yellow T-shirt was soaked through with sweat, and his hair was a mess.

For the first time in his life, he had fought someone for so long without even touching a hair on them.

He spun around anxiously, then instinctively looked toward the front row of the stands.

"Genos!"

Genos instantly sat upright, his mechanical pupils flaring bright.

"Master!"

"How do I wipe out all the mosquitoes?!"

Saitama shouted at the top of his lungs, a trace of grievance in his voice.

Genos immediately pulled out a black notebook and rapidly flipped through three pages.

"Master, according to my calculations, there are four viable solutions."

"Option one: activate the plasma incineration system and release three-thousand-degree flames across the entire arena. All targets can be completely vaporized within 0.1 seconds, leaving no residue."

"Option two: deploy an infrasound weapon and adjust the frequency to match the resonance frequency of mosquito wings. It can instantly shatter the internal structures of all targets."

"Option three: create a localized vacuum by extracting all air within ten meters above the arena. All targets will disintegrate from oxygen deprivation within 1.5 seconds."

"Option four: release a swarm of nanobots to track and destroy the targets one by one, with a 100% accuracy rate."

Genos closed the notebook. Cannon ports extended from his mechanical arms, blue light flickering.

"Master, I will break through the rule restrictions and rush up to eliminate them for you immediately!"

He suddenly exerted force, only to discover that his body was nailed to his seat, utterly unable to move.

"My apologies, Master."

Genos's voice lowered.

"The arena rules have restricted my ability to move. I cannot leave my seat."

Saitama blinked.

Then blinked again.

He stared blankly at Genos.

"I... can't do any of that."

He spread his hands, his tone filled with despair.

"I only have fists."

Salas heard him.

He laughed even more wildly.

His hysterical laughter echoed throughout the arena.

"HAHAHAHAHA! Only fists!"

"You only have fists!"

"What now, Saitama? Give up. You can't beat me."

A mosquito gently landed on the tip of Saitama's nose.

"Buzz buzz—"

Saitama's eyes slowly reddened.

He clenched his fists tight, his knuckles turning white from the force.

He took a deep breath, then gathered all his strength and brutally slapped the tip of his own nose.

Slap!

A crisp sound rang out.

The entire audience fell silent.

The mosquito flew away.

The tip of Saitama's nose turned bright red.

Salas's laughter resounded through the whole arena.

It was not triumphant laughter. It was hysterical, tinged with sobs.

"HAHAHAHAHA! You actually hit yourself! That's hilarious! You invincible bald guy, you actually hit yourself!"

Saitama slowly lowered his hand.

He stood at the center of the arena, breathing heavily.

There was no expression on his face.

For the first time, his usually half-lidded, sleepy-looking eyes opened completely.

Yet his gaze became heavy—so heavy that even those in the stands who knew him best held their breath.

Gon stood with his mouth open, unable to say a word.

Genos set down the instant noodle bowl in his hand. The restraint system on his wrist was still flashing red—he had tried to rush up to help his master just now, but the arena rules had pinned him firmly to his seat.

Hisoka's playing cards froze between his fingers, his pupils shrinking—he remembered the indescribable thrill he had felt when he first saw Saitama roast a flying beast in the hall at the bottom of Trick Tower. That same sensation now surged up again.

He licked his lips, but this time, he did not smile.

Saitama lowered his head and looked at the barbecue sauce bottle that had rolled into the pile of rubble.

The bottle was completely intact, though its surface was covered in dust.

He bent down to pick it up, wiped it clean with his sleeve, then carefully placed it on the flattest stone slab at the edge of the arena.

He raised his head and looked at the mosquito swarm dancing across the sky.

Then he slowly raised his right hand.

His fist gently clenched.

This time, there was no light at all, yet the temperature throughout Heaven's Arena plunged to freezing in an instant.

The scattered stones on the ground began to float upward, while the compressed air emitted a deep hum.

No one in the stands dared even breathe. All they could hear was the scalp-prickling buzz and Saitama's steady breathing.

Boros, seated in the highest row, suddenly rose to his feet.

The glow in his single eye became blinding.

He felt it—that power he had crossed countless star systems and searched for over so many years was finally about to erupt for real.

He was silent for a long time before quietly speaking words only he could hear:

"Not a normal punch. He's serious."

He paused.

"No—more serious than serious."

Saitama took a deep breath.

The mosquitoes filling the sky reflected in his pupils as countless tiny black specks.

He took a step forward.

Then softly uttered three words. His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached every person's ears:

"You're so annoying."

His fist swung out.