The Cosmic Overlord Returns from Death Once More

The elevator doors slowly opened.

Saitama walked out carrying an insulated bag with a supermarket logo printed on it. A small grease stain from the instant noodles he had eaten that morning marked his yellow T-shirt. He yawned and sleepily glanced over the 120th-floor arena—twice the size of the 100th floor, with an absurdly high ceiling. The granite tiles glowed faint gold; the system had just upgraded them to a shatterproof material.

He walked to the farthest corner of the arena and bent down to lay the insulated bag flat.

He unzipped it and took a look.

The last discounted serving of oden.

The daikon was still steaming.

The konjac knots had not come apart either.

Satisfied, he nodded and shoved the insulated bag hard against the wall three times, making sure that even if the arena were blown through, not a single drop of broth would spill. Only then did he straighten up and roll his shoulders, producing several soft cracks.

The referee checked the information on the other side. The spectator stands were packed, and hushed whispers surged like a tide.

"Look, the bald guy is here."

"Which bald guy?"

"Come on, is there another bald guy in all of Heaven's Arena wearing a yellow T-shirt and carrying a bag?"

"Tyson got taken out in one punch. Even Salas, turned into a mosquito, couldn't beat him."

"And he's bringing food to a fight..."

Saitama did not hear them.

He looked down at his sneakers. One of the laces had come loose.

He crouched down and retied it in a tight knot.

The instant he finished the final tie.

BOOM!!!

It was not a crack.

It was an explosion.

A dark-gold pillar of light descended from the sky, punching straight through Heaven's Arena's dome. Reinforced concrete and special alloy