Saitama's brow furrowed little by little.
At first, he was only a little annoyed. It was like having a mosquito in the house in summer. If a few swats missed, so be it.
But Salas was different. He was doing it on purpose, flying straight for Saitama's most sensitive spots.
His ears, his hair, his neck, and the bottle of barbecue sauce in his hand.
"Bzzzz—"
"Bzzzz—"
The sound bored into Saitama's head like a needle and refused to go away.
Saitama began swatting nonstop.
Left, right, over his head.
His movements grew faster and more frantic.
His fists slammed into the arena floor, punching crater after crater into the hard granite.
Chunks of stone flew everywhere.
But the mosquitoes always dodged just before his fists landed.
"Can't hit me! Can't hit me! You just can't hit me!"
Salas's voice rang with feverish excitement.
"Aren't you supposed to be strong? Didn't you kill Tyson with one punch?"
"Come on! Kill me!"
"Go ahead and tear down all of Heaven's Arena if you can!"
Saitama said nothing.
His breathing grew heavier, and cold sweat beaded on 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 villains. Even when he fought Boros or Garou, he had never felt this frustrated.
Having all that strength and nowhere to use it.
Being toyed with like an idiot.
Having mosquitoes buzzing in his ears without end.
It was driving him mad.
"You're so annoying!"
Saitama let out a sudden roar.
He carefully set the barbecue sauce bottle on an intact floor tile by his feet. Then he clenched both fists and began punching wildly at 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 buckled inward under the pressure, and all of Heaven's Arena trembled faintly.
The swarm scattered in every direction, but soon came together again. Not a single mosquito had actually been killed.
Salas's laughter grew even more smug.
"It's no use! No use!"
"No matter how fast your fists are, they can't outrun the air!"
"You'll never hit me!"
Saitama stopped.
He stood in the center of the arena, panting.
Sweat had soaked through his yellow T-shirt, and his hair was a mess.
For the first time in his life, he had spent this long fighting someone without touching so much as a hair on his head.
At his wit's end, he turned in a circle and instinctively looked up at the front row of the stands.
"Genos!"
Genos sat bolt upright, his mechanical pupils flaring.
"Teacher!"
"How do I get rid of all the mosquitoes?"
Saitama shouted at the top of his lungs, a hint of wounded frustration in his voice.
Genos immediately pulled out his black notebook and flipped through three pages.
"Teacher, according to my calculations, there are four viable options."
"Option one: activate the plasma incineration system and cover the entire arena in flames at 3,000°C. All targets can be completely vaporized within 0.1 seconds, leaving no residue."
"Option two: fire an infrasonic weapon tuned to the resonant frequency of mosquito wings. This will instantly shatter every target's internal structure."
"Option three: create a localized vacuum by removing all air within ten meters above the arena. Every target will break apart from oxygen deprivation within 1.5 seconds."
"Option four: release a swarm of nanobots to track and destroy each target individually, with 100% accuracy."
Genos closed his notebook. A cannon barrel sprang from his mechanical arm, flickering with blue light.
"Teacher, I'll break through the restrictions and come up there to clear them out for you right now!"
He lunged with all his strength, only to find himself pinned to his seat, unable to move an inch.
"I'm sorry, Teacher."
Genos's voice dropped.
"The arena's rules are restricting my movements. I can't leave my seat."
Saitama blinked.
Then he blinked again.
He stared at Genos, utterly lost.
"I... can't do any of that."
He spread his hands, despair filling his voice.
"All I've got are my fists."
Salas heard him.
He laughed even harder.
His hysterical laughter echoed throughout the arena.
"Hahahahaha! Just your fists!"
"You really only have your fists!"
"How about it, Saitama? Give up. You can't beat me."
A mosquito landed lightly on the tip of Saitama's nose.
"Bzzzz—"
Saitama's eyes slowly turned red.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.
He took a deep breath, then slapped the tip of his own nose with all his strength.
Smack!
A sharp crack rang out.
The entire audience fell silent.
The mosquito flew away.
A broad red mark spread across Saitama's nose.
Salas's laughter rang throughout the arena.
It wasn't a triumphant laugh. It was hysterical, edged with tears.
"Hahahahaha! You hit yourself! That's hilarious! You, the invincible bald guy, hit yourself!"
Saitama slowly lowered his hand.
He stood in the center of the arena, breathing hard.
His face held no expression.
His eyes, usually half-lidded as though he had just woken up, were fully open for the first time.
But his gaze had grown so heavy that even the people in the stands who knew him best held their breath.
Gon's mouth hung open, but no words came out.
Genos set down his bowl of instant noodles. The restraint system on his wrist was still flashing red. He had tried to rush up and help his teacher, but the arena's rules had pinned him firmly to his seat.
The playing card stopped between Hisoka's fingers, and his pupils contracted. The unclassifiable thrill he had felt when he first saw Saitama roasting a flying beast in the hall at the bottom of Trick Tower surged through him again.
He licked his lips, but this time he did not smile.
Saitama looked down at the barbecue sauce bottle lying among the rubble.
The bottle was intact, though a layer of dust coated it.
He bent to pick it up, wiped it clean with his sleeve, and carefully placed it on the flattest slab of stone at the edge of the arena.
He raised his head and looked at the mosquito swarm filling the air.
Then he slowly lifted his right hand.
His fingers curled lightly into a fist.
There was no glow this time, but in an instant, the temperature throughout Heaven's Arena dropped to freezing.
Loose stones began to float up from the ground, and the compressed air gave off a low hum.
No one in the stands dared breathe. All they could hear was that skin-crawling buzz and the steady sound of Saitama's breathing.
In the highest row, Boros shot to his feet.
His single eye blazed with dazzling light.
He felt it. The power he had crossed countless galaxies and searched so many years for was finally about to erupt in earnest.
He was silent for a long time. Then he murmured something only he could hear:
"Not a Normal Punch. He's serious."
He paused.
"No—more than serious."
Saitama took a deep breath.
The mosquitoes filling the air reflected in his pupils as countless tiny black specks.
He stepped forward.
Three words left his mouth softly. His voice was quiet, yet everyone heard them clearly:
"Shut up already."
His fist shot forward.
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