The arena was no longer an arena.
The ground had ceased to be earth; it was a fractured mosaic of shattered stone, glowing fissures, and bottomless voids. The barrier overhead—once thought indestructible—was a spiderweb of trembling cracks, each pulse of power pushing it closer to collapse. The spectators stood in stunned silence, their bodies pressed against the protective walls as if proximity to this battle might annihilate them outright.
And in the center, two figures stood.
Sung Jin-Woo, cloaked in shadows thick as night, his aura pulsing like a black sun. His army spread around him, endless, mutating, swelling into monstrosities that even the greatest hunters would call gods. His eyes burned with relentless hunger—not for conquest, not for blood, but for the singular thrill of facing something he had thought impossible: resistance.
Saitama, bald cape fluttering in the storm, hands loose at his sides. The ground beneath his boots crumbled with each subtle flex of his muscles. His blank stare had sharpened, ever so slightly, and though his voice was still monotone, something new vibrated behind it.
Excitement.
Jin-Woo raised his hand.
The shadows screamed.
Kamish's wings unfolded fully, blotting out the false sun of the arena. The dragon's maw belched fire that scorched reality itself, purple flames burning hotter than plasma. Igris stepped forward, his blade humming with a resonance that shook the air. Beru screeched, claws like guillotines, his form twisted into something even more terrible under his master's will.
And then came the tide—an ocean of warriors, wolves, serpents, colossi—layer upon layer of darkness stretching to the horizon. Each soldier a fragment of Jin-Woo's infinite dominion, each movement fueled by his will.
Jin-Woo's daggers gleamed, obsidian wrapped in lethal silver light. His voice was calm, yet beneath it trembled exhilaration.
"Come, Saitama. Let me drown you in infinity."
Saitama exhaled softly. His cape lifted in the rising tempest of shadow energy.
"…Fine."
He cracked his neck to one side. Then the other.
"For once, I'll actually try."
The words were quiet. But to everyone watching, it was as though thunder had rolled across their bones.
Genos's sensors overloaded instantly, error codes flashing through his mechanical eyes. "Sensei is… releasing limiter output…" His voice trembled like a machine on the edge of collapse.
Bang whispered, "So the legends are true. He's… he's never been serious before."
The ground began to quake. Not from Jin-Woo's shadows. From him.
The shadows surged first. Kamish's firestorm descended, the heat warping even the light within the barrier. Tens of thousands of shadow soldiers leapt, blades and claws flashing, a storm of teeth and steel.
Saitama vanished.
One heartbeat, he was standing still. The next, he was everywhere at once.
BOOM.
A dragon's head imploded.
BOOM.
A colossus shattered, bones crumbling like glass.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
Hundreds of soldiers disintegrated in a chain of punches too fast for human eyes to follow.
Yet for every shadow destroyed, a hundred more filled the gap. They swarmed, black tides latching onto him, grappling, biting. For an instant, Saitama disappeared beneath the tide.
The crowd gasped—then the arena detonated.
A single punch vaporized the horde around him, the shockwave blowing apart even Kamish's inferno. Dust and shadow particles filled the air like black snow.
"…Tch. Annoying," Saitama muttered.
Jin-Woo blurred into existence behind him. His daggers flashed—slashes aimed at arteries, tendons, eyes. Lightning-fast, precise, lethal. He moved with the grace of a predator, the efficiency of someone who had cut down thousands of foes.
But each strike met flesh harder than steel.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sound of daggers scraping against the indestructible form of Saitama.
Saitama didn't even flinch. He simply turned his head slightly, eyes half-lidded.
"Still tickles."
Jin-Woo grinned, exhilarated. His shadows pooled beneath him, spiking upward like black spears.
Saitama sidestepped lazily, the ground exploding with every step. One fist lashed out—not a killing blow, but enough to send shockwaves.
Jin-Woo crossed his blades, absorbing the impact. The force sent him sliding backward hundreds of meters, tearing trenches into the fractured earth. But he did not fall. He steadied. He smiled.
From the stands, Cha Hae-In pressed a hand to her chest, breath ragged. "He's… he's pushing Jin-Woo into something else."
Indeed, Jin-Woo's aura warped, dark flames spiraling around him. His voice trembled with manic joy.
"Yes… yes! Stronger! Stronger!"
The air split open. For the first time, Sung Jin-Woo tapped into the very root of his throne—the primal essence of the Shadow Monarch. The dimension itself began to bend, the arena flickering as shadows spread into the cracks of reality.
The spectators gasped as the world seemed to tilt, colors bleeding.
"He's merging his domain," Yoo Jinho whispered, horrified. "The battlefield… it's not just here anymore. He's dragging him into the void."
The light dimmed. A second sunless world layered atop the arena—an endless, desolate plain of black.
The Infinite Shadow Domain.
And Saitama stood in the middle of it.
Unfazed.
He scratched his head. "…New background, huh? Okay. Still ugly."
Jin-Woo's grin widened.
The shadows converged.
The monarch's full army descended with world-ending force, every shadow general leading a legion. Kamish roared, Beru shrieked, Igris charged at the front like a comet of steel.
Saitama planted his feet.
The ground beneath him shattered, fissures racing outward like lightning. His fist drew back.
For the first time, his expression shifted.
Not boredom. Not irritation.
A faint smirk.
"…Alright. Let's see how much fun this can be."
He punched.
One punch.
The sky broke.
The shockwave ripped through the Infinite Shadow Domain, splitting the horizon in half. Legions of soldiers were obliterated instantly, their forms erased without trace. Kamish disintegrated in a flash of bone and smoke. Igris's armor cracked, the knight forced to his knees before bursting apart in shards of shadow.
Beru screamed, wings torn away before his body scattered like ash.
Tens of thousands of shadows vanished in the wake of that single blow.
And yet—Jin-Woo remained standing. His cloak flared wildly, his face drenched in sweat, but his smile feral. His soldiers respawned, crawling from the cracks, endless once more.
"You see it now, don't you?" Jin-Woo shouted, voice hoarse but ecstatic. "You can't end me with just power. I will rise forever!"
Saitama lowered his fist, unimpressed. "Then I'll just keep punching until forever's gone."
Their eyes locked.
The storm raged.
The crowd couldn't breathe. Heroes and hunters alike had lost all words. This was no longer a match. It wasn't even a war.
It was a paradox: infinity against absolute.
A monarch who could never be exhausted. A hero who could never be defeated.
And both, for the first time, enjoying themselves.
To be continued…