The individual living spaces provided by The Arbiter were the epitome of functional, sterile design. Each was a perfect cube of cool, white light, entirely featureless except for a mattress built into the floor and a small, chrome dispenser on the wall.
Satou Kazuma was the first to realize the true horror of their situation.
"No! No, no, no! This is an insult! This is a mockery of my suffering!" he wailed, staring at the perfectly square, greyish-green block of food that had just dropped from the dispenser.
Tanjiro approached, smelling only vitamins and efficiency. "Kazuma-san, this food smells very clean and highly nutritious. We should be grateful to The Arbiter for the supplies."
"Grateful?! I'm from a world with exploding cabbages and sentient giant toads! I need flavor! I need adventure! I need Aqua's questionable purification magic to turn this into a decent bowl of rice!" Kazuma yelled, tossing the cube back at the dispenser in disgust. It simply bounced off the chrome surface.
Okarun, meanwhile, was carefully eating his food cube, looking nervously at the blank walls. "I just hope the Arbiter doesn't make us fight a ghost that looks like a health inspector. That would be too embarrassing."
"Forget health inspectors, Okarun! This is worse than a Demon King's dungeon! There are no side quests, no hidden currency, and the loot box just gives you a brick of sadness! We need excitement! We need funds!"
Kazuma's eyes, ever the gambler, fixed on the stack of uneaten food cubes by Okarun's bed. "Okarun. I propose a game. A simple dice roll. You wager two food cubes, I wager two of my stolen alien gizmos. Winner gets the next meal."
"B-but I'm terrible at gambling! And I don't want to use my Turbo-Granny luck for this!"
"If you lose, you get spiritual strength! If you win, you get to eat! It's a win-win, you coward! Now, where's a rock?"
While the two weakest members engaged in highly illegal commissary wagering, the three powerhouses were dealing with their own unique versions of restlessness.
In his room, Sung Jin-Woo was performing high-speed calisthenics, his body a blur of black shadows and taut muscle. He was maximizing the limited space, every movement precise and purposeful. He refused the food cubes, relying on his spiritual endurance, and instead focused on commanding his army internally.
Igris, scout the surrounding space. Beru, analyze the Arbiter's voice pattern. Tusk, prepare for a full-power output.
His inner monologue was interrupted by a faint tink outside his door.
Jin-Woo paused, his glowing eyes fixed on the entrance. He moved with silent, practiced speed and ripped the door open.
There was Gojo Satoru, twenty feet away, hands in his pockets, humming a cheerful tune. On Jin-Woo's door was a massive, neon-pink sticky note that read: "WE'RE OUT OF MILK! GOJO."
"I believe I told you to leave me alone," Jin-Woo's voice was dangerously low, a subterranean rumble.
Gojo just smiled brightly. "Oh, sorry, Shadow Monarch-kun! Did I interrupt your push-ups? I was just conducting a psychological warfare experiment. I wanted to see if the Shadow Monarch's pride could withstand the sheer humiliation of a bright pink, passive-aggressive note."
"Your parlor tricks are irrelevant. I am planning for the next trial, which you nearly ruined with your arrogance in the last," Jin-Woo retorted, stepping out into the neutral hallway. "If you cannot control your ego, I will be forced to restrain you before the next event. The reset of my world is not a game to me."
Gojo's grin faltered, replaced by a look of intense, genuine interest. "Restrain me? That's cute. You realize that your entire army, all one hundred thousand shadows, would hit an infinite wall? My power is conceptual, Jin-Woo. Yours is just physical and dimensional. I could send you to a space where time doesn't exist just by looking at you."
"And I could bury that space under a mountain of my strongest soldiers," Jin-Woo countered, his killing intent spiking. The air around them grew heavy, the white walls shimmering under the pressure of two gods preparing to clash. "Your Infinity is useless against a command from the Ruler's Authority."
Meanwhile, in his own space, Saitama was still bored. He had wandered into his washroom—identical to the main room, except for the lack of a door—and was idly staring into the mirror.
"I wonder if I should try growing a beard again," he mused, rubbing his smooth chin. "Genos says it makes me look more 'stoic,' but it was too itchy."
He heard the shouting from the hallway. Gojo and the shadow guy again. Arguing about who's stronger. He sighed, retrieving a freshly dispensed food cube.
He walked out of his room, chewing loudly, and watched the confrontation. Gojo had his hand raised, ready to unleash Blue, and Jin-Woo was flexing his immense magical power, preparing to summon his full force.
Saitama stepped between them and took an enormous bite of the nutrient cube. The loud, wet CRUNCH of the processed food echoed through the sterile hall.
"Seriously?" Saitama asked, chewing with his mouth full. "It's naptime. I can hear the noise through the Arbiter's soundproofing. Do you guys realize how annoying it is when you can hear every little sound, even when you don't want to? Go back to your rooms and be quiet. I'm trying to digest."
Gojo, having his ultimate showdown interrupted by a man worried about his digestion, broke down in laughter. "Hahaha! Oh, Saitama-kun! You are a master of anti-climax! You ruined it! You utterly ruined the whole dramatic tension!"
Jin-Woo's rage immediately receded, replaced by a cold wave of frustration. Saitama's casual existence simply nullified any attempt at drama or authority. He glared at Gojo, then at Saitama, then returned to his room and slammed the door with a loud, entirely unnecessary magical surge of force.
Tanjiro emerged from his own room, having finished mending a tear in his haori. He saw Saitama eating the nutrient cube and smiled.
"Saitama-san, you stopped them! Your presence is so calming!"
"No, it's just loud when they fight," Saitama corrected, swallowing the last piece. "Anyway, I'm going back to check the dispenser. I think it gives out a slightly crunchier cube on the hour."
Tanjiro watched the hero walk away, then looked at Gojo, who was leaning against the wall, chuckling. "Gojo-san, please, you must stop provoking him. Jin-Woo-san is worried about his world. We need to be allies."
"I know, I know," Gojo replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But how else am I supposed to figure out how strong they are? We have to know their limits, right? The key to winning is understanding the threats—both outside and inside the team."
Gojo's cheerful, yet chilling, assessment hung in the air. Their alliance was a flimsy shield held together by the thin thread of self-preservation, and beneath it, powerful rivalries were already starting to fester.
00:08:42 flashed the countdown in the corner of the hall. The rest period was almost over.
The brief rest period is done! The team is provisioned and ready—or at least, the powerhouses are ready to fight each other, and the weaklings are ready to hide.