The arena was no longer silent.
Every strike, every movement between Sung Jin-Woo and Saitama shattered the stillness with an intensity that shook the world. It was as though the air itself recoiled from their presence, unable to hold steady under the titanic clash of powers.
The audience—friends, comrades, and enemies alike—watched from behind the barrier, their breaths caught in their throats. To them, it wasn't just a battle. It was a revelation.
Jin-Woo's daggers glimmered under the arena's dim light as he lunged. Each strike was sharpened by monarchic authority, cutting faster than lightning, sharper than death itself. His movements blurred, his footsteps leaving afterimages in the stone.
But Saitama's defense was maddeningly simple. He didn't dodge with fancy footwork or counter with elaborate martial arts. He raised his fists, swatted with open palms, leaned just enough to the side, all with the air of a man brushing aside mosquitoes.
Clang. Snap. Boom.
The daggers rang uselessly against his skin. Shockwaves from blocked blows tore cracks in the arena floor, but the bald man's expression remained unchanged—calm, detached, almost bored.
Almost.
Because for the first time, there was something flickering in his gaze. Interest.
Jin-Woo caught it. His smirk widened just slightly as he vanished into shadows and reappeared behind his opponent. His blade swept for Saitama's neck—only for the hero to tilt his head lazily, the dagger slicing through empty air.
A casual backhand sent a hurricane-force gust hurling through the shadow army, dispersing dozens in one motion.
"Che," Jin-Woo muttered under his breath, but his heart was pounding. His veins hummed with fire.
This… this is the kind of fight I've been waiting for.
Jin-Woo leapt back, spreading his arms. His aura flared outward, so dark and vast it seemed to eclipse the stars above.
"Arise."
The word was a decree, and reality bent to it.
Thousands more shadows rose from the ground, surging into formation. The arena now writhed with an ocean of soldiers—knights, beasts, sorcerers, dragons. The barrier flickered, straining against the impossible numbers.
And towering above them all, Jin-Woo's greatest weapons: Beru, the insectoid commander, wings humming like thunder, and Igris, the red knight, his greatsword blazing with killing intent. At Jin-Woo's back, Kamish, the colossal shadow dragon, reared once more, flames licking its maw.
The crowd roared in awe. To them, this was the pinnacle of supernatural might.
But Saitama just tilted his head.
"…This is gonna take forever if I punch them one at a time."
The shadows charged. The ground split under their combined weight. Beru shrieked, wings cutting the air as he dove. Kamish's firestorm consumed the arena in black flame.
Saitama exhaled through his nose. "Fine."
He cocked back his fist.
Serious Series—
The punch never touched them. It didn't need to.
The air erupted outward, an invisible wall of force obliterating the frontlines instantly. Entire battalions of shadows burst into smoke. Beru was swatted out of the sky like an insect, crashing into the far barrier and dissolving before impact. Kamish's flames scattered like candles in a storm before the dragon itself unraveled into nothingness.
The shockwave spread through the battlefield, leaving only silence and a flattened crater where an army had stood.
Gasps and cries filled the spectator stands. Some fell to their knees, trembling. Even Jin-Woo's most loyal lieutenants stood wide-eyed.
But Jin-Woo himself didn't falter. His lips curved upward.
"That's more like it."
They rushed at each other again.
Saitama, the embodiment of raw, absolute power.
Jin-Woo, the master of shadows and monarch of death.
Their collision resounded like the crash of worlds. Each exchange was a storm, each impact rewriting the landscape. Jin-Woo's daggers clashed against Saitama's fists, sparks erupting like miniature stars.
Every technique in Jin-Woo's arsenal came into play. He shifted through shadows, striking from impossible angles. He layered his Monarch's Authority over every blow, making space itself rebel against his opponent. His army, shattered again and again, reformed, attacking in waves to open his strikes.
And Saitama met it all with simplicity. A punch. A flick. A sidestep. But every action carried the weight of inevitability, erasing armies, nullifying techniques, crushing strategies with sheer, overwhelming force.
And yet—Jin-Woo endured.
Blood trickled from his lip where a glancing blow caught him. His arm throbbed from deflecting a strike that should've shattered him entirely. But he pushed forward, daggers flashing, aura surging, refusing to fall.
So this is him… this is the wall I've been climbing toward all my life…!
Beyond the barrier, their allies and friends could only watch in awe and dread.
Go Gun-Hee, once Jin-Woo's mentor, whispered, "He has surpassed every monarch… every ruler. But against this man… can even Jin-Woo's will stand?"
Meanwhile, Genos pressed his hands against the barrier, eyes wide. "Sensei…" His voice trembled. "This opponent—he's different. He's—he's actually making you try!"
The crowd's voices merged into a single wave of disbelief, fear, and exhilaration. For them, this was more than a duel. It was the impossible, made flesh.
The battle escalated.
Jin-Woo unleashed Domain of the Monarch, a suffocating field of darkness that swallowed the arena whole. Inside it, shadows gained infinite regeneration, and every wound healed in moments. His daggers struck with amplified force, his body bolstered by the essence of death itself.
The arena became a world of darkness.
Saitama stopped mid-step, blinking around.
"…Did the lights go out?"
Jin-Woo appeared from the shadows behind him, blades descending for his spine. At the last instant, Saitama twisted—his fist caught one dagger, stopping it cold. The ground beneath them cratered. Jin-Woo pushed, shadows piling on, but Saitama barely blinked.
With a grunt, Saitama pushed back, launching Jin-Woo out of the darkness into the open crater.
Jin-Woo skidded, shadows rallying around him. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat glistened against his brow.
He stopped it. He broke my domain like it was nothing.
But instead of despair, his veins thrummed with something else. Excitement.
For the first time, their eyes met and acknowledged each other—not as predator and prey, not as invincible and challenger, but as warriors.
Jin-Woo raised his daggers once more, his aura blazing like midnight fire.
"Come, Bald Hero. Show me the peak."
Saitama rolled his shoulders, fists tightening.
"…Guess I can stop holding back a little."
The air tensed. The crowd held its breath.
Then they vanished.
To the spectators, they seemed to disappear completely. The sound followed after—a roar like splitting mountains. Shockwaves battered the barrier. Fist met dagger in flashes of light, each strike resounding like thunderclaps.
The ground gave way entirely, the arena floor collapsing into molten rubble. Energy surged skyward, cutting fissures in the clouds.
The duel was no longer a fight. It was a cataclysm.
And as the dust rose higher, two figures remained locked in combat—Sung Jin-Woo, fighting with every ounce of skill, cunning, and willpower; and Saitama, answering every blow with effortless, unstoppable might.
Their clash was endless, titanic, and utterly magnificent.