The stadium was gone.
No—it was still there. But compared to the two figures standing at its center, it might as well have never existed. Rows of broken seats, warped concrete, and stunned spectators clinging to life on the edges—all of it was insignificant, a painting smeared by forces far beyond comprehension.
Sung Jin-Woo rose to his feet, cloak of shadows knitting itself back together in frayed tatters. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped. His daggers gleamed, rematerialized from void essence.
Across the debris, Saitama stood unharmed. His suit torn at the edges, cape scorched slightly at the hem. He brushed a bit of rubble off his shoulder with a casual flick. His face bore no strain. Only a faint… spark.
For the first time in this fight, his eyes weren't half-lidded.
They were alive.
The world held its breath.
Genos, barely functioning, tried to process what his sensors registered. "Sensei's… power level… cannot be quantified. Dimensional readings off the charts. If he continues… the planet itself—!"
Bang clutched his cane tighter, eyes wide in awe and dread. "This… this is not martial skill. This is… existence itself being bent."
Meanwhile, hunters and S-Class heroes alike, those who had survived this long, simply stared. None dared intervene. None dared move.
Because what came next would be the deciding clash.
Jin-Woo raised a hand. The air bent.
From every crack in reality, from every shard of the broken Infinite Shadow Domain, his army spilled forth once more. A thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand shadows reformed in the stadium, their black mass blotting out the ruined sky.
Kamish reared back with a roar that shook what remained of the arena. Beru screeched, wings slashing the air. Igris stood at the vanguard, sword burning black with monarch's fire.
This was not just an army.
It was will incarnate.
Sung Jin-Woo's voice thundered across the broken earth:
"Even if you stand above gods… I will drown you in infinity."
Saitama's brow furrowed. He tilted his head side to side, loosening his neck. His voice was quiet, almost lost in the chaos.
"…Guess I'll try a little harder."
He vanished.
Not leapt. Not dashed. Vanished.
The entire front line of shadow soldiers exploded simultaneously, a tidal wave of black mist spreading outward like ink dropped into water.
Kamish lunged, fangs bared—Saitama appeared atop its skull, stomped once, and the dragon's body flattened into the ground like paper.
Beru swooped from above—Saitama clapped his hands together, the shockwave sending the insect sprawling across the horizon before bursting into dust.
Igris met him blade-first, a flaming strike that could have cleaved a star.
BANG.
The knight's sword shattered into fragments, his body following a heartbeat later.
But they came back. Always. The shadows reformed, evolving. The cycle repeated. Death. Rebirth. Death again.
And Jin-Woo grinned through bloodied lips.
"Yes…! Struggle against me! Fight me until the end!"
Their duel escalated.
Jin-Woo launched himself forward, daggers glowing with the concentrated essence of the Shadow Monarch. He struck from impossible angles, his blades carving black afterimages that tore through steel, stone, and space.
Saitama's fists blurred in return, each punch a sonic boom, each movement collapsing the ground beneath his feet.
Their collision was no longer confined to earth.
One strike shot them skyward, the air igniting from sheer friction. Clouds evaporated. Lightning bent away from their clash. The atmosphere itself roared as if in pain.
From the surface, it looked like two stars smashing into one another in the heavens.
The moon shuddered.
With a single exchange, the fighters slammed onto its gray surface, cratering it deeper than any meteor. Dust clouds blanketed the horizon.
Jin-Woo staggered upright, shadows weaving a cocoon around him for protection. His daggers cut through the void, gleaming under distant starlight.
Saitama landed a few steps away, unaffected by the vacuum. He looked around. "Huh. Been here before."
And then Jin-Woo struck again.
Shadows poured across the barren moon, transforming its dead surface into a writhing kingdom of monsters. Titans rose from lunar stone, colossal wolves of shadow howled soundlessly in vacuum, and serpents coiled toward the bald hero.
But Saitama's fist swept once—
And half the moon vanished.
The army disintegrated in the blast, fragments scattering into the black. The moon cracked, threatening to tear itself apart.
Sung Jin-Woo breathed heavily, staring at the destruction. His lips curled into a bloody smile.
"…Perfect."
Their fight could no longer remain celestial. Each blow threatened planetary annihilation. The moon itself groaned under the strain, fissures splitting its crust like eggshell cracks.
And then, as if in agreement, the universe responded.
The shattered remnants of Jin-Woo's Infinite Shadow Domain stitched themselves outward into the void, connecting like a spider's web. A battlefield beyond stars, a plane woven from pure shadow, unfolded between galaxies.
Here, distance no longer mattered. Every step was a leap between worlds. Every swing of a blade could cut through constellations.
This was no longer hero versus monarch.
This was creation itself cracking open.
Jin-Woo charged, daggers imbued with annihilation, cloaked in an ocean of shadows. His strikes carved reality itself, gouging glowing wounds in the starfield.
Saitama met him with fists that bent light. Every punch rippled across galaxies, sending quakes through distant solar systems.
Planets shattered in their wake. Suns flared and extinguished. Nebulae bent like ribbons.
The fight echoed through eternity.
But then—Jin-Woo faltered.
Not because he was weak. Not because his shadows dwindled.
But because Saitama was still there.
Still untouched. Still invincible.
His Infinite Shadow Army, his endless dominion—it was not enough. For every star he collapsed, every legion he raised, Saitama's single punch negated it.
For the first time, Sung Jin-Woo's laughter wavered.
"…Why… won't you… fall…?"
His daggers trembled. His army shrieked, distorted, their forms breaking under the strain of infinite resummoning.
And in that moment—Jin-Woo felt it.
The abyss staring back.
Not his abyss. Theirs.
The abyss of a man who would never lose.
Saitama finally spoke, his tone steady.
"You're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever met."
He raised a fist, his cape fluttering against the starless dark.
"But you're trying too hard."
Jin-Woo's eyes widened.
"This strength of yours—" Saitama's gaze sharpened. "—it's not for you alone, is it?"
And for the first time, Jin-Woo hesitated.
His shadows flickered. His soldiers faltered.
Saitama's punch came down—not to kill, not to erase—but to decide.
The blow struck.
The cosmic battlefield convulsed. Stars blinked out. Shadows screamed. Jin-Woo's entire army disintegrated in one overwhelming burst, their essence scattered like ash across the galaxy.
And the monarch himself was hurled across the void, crashing into the black fabric of creation.
Silence followed.
The universe trembled.
And both warriors hung in the aftermath of ruin.
The audience on Earth could not see it. They only felt the sky shiver, the ground tremble, the oceans pull back. Somewhere deep within them, every living creature knew: two forces had collided, and creation itself had been scarred.
And as the silence stretched, Jin-Woo's voice whispered, weak yet unbroken:
"…Then I'll just have to go… beyond infinite."