Inside the rift, the universe twisted.
It wasn't darkness. It wasn't light.
It was nothing. And everything.
Fragments of dead timelines hovered like shattered glass. Echoes of forgotten battles screamed in reverse. Stars blinked into existence and collapsed before forming light.
And in the heart of it—
Saitama and Garou hovered like ancient titans lost between the seams of creation.
Their last clash hadn't just moved them into another location.
It had shattered the illusion of reality.
Garou twisted midair, panting, his skin glowing with swirling patterns, sigils of power pulled from every plane he'd conquered.
His body looked almost unstable now. Fractured energy leaked from his bones like steam from a broken reactor.
Saitama, on the other hand, floated calmly. His cape flapped in nonexistent wind.
His uniform torn at the collar, a light bruise forming near his jaw—barely noticeable, but real.
"You still don't get it, do you?" Garou's voice echoed in all directions, as if reality itself was repeating his words. "I've evolved beyond death. Beyond entropy. I could destroy this place and rebuild it in my image."
Saitama tilted his head. "But you haven't."
Garou's eye twitched.
"What?"
"You haven't destroyed anything yet. You keep saying you're unbeatable, but you're still throwing fists like everyone else. What's the point of godhood if all you do is punch?"
Garou roared, his aura bursting into fractals of pure color.
"It's not the punch! It's the intent! I fight to change the world!"
Saitama blinked. "Cool. I fight because I was bored."
And then he vanished.
No sound.
No light trail.
Just gone.
Garou barely reacted in time.
Saitama appeared behind him, his fist already in motion.
Garou twisted his body midair and caught the punch—but the force behind it warped the space around them, flattening nearby time rifts like sheets of paper crushed in a fist.
They spun.
Garou launched a spiral kick imbued with dimension-cutting chi. It grazed Saitama's shoulder, opening a tear in his uniform, and in the fabric of space behind him.
Another punch from Saitama landed squarely in Garou's gut.
The force sent shockwaves backward through time.
Somewhere, thousands of years ago, a comet altered its path slightly.
Garou coughed stardust.
"Why… won't you just… fall?!"
Saitama looked at his own fist, then at Garou.
"I don't fall."
He disappeared again.
This time, Garou couldn't keep up.
The next blow came from above, hammering him downward into a collapsing sphere of reality.
It should have ended there.
But Garou rose.
Barely.
Bleeding energy. Bones visibly cracked. His aura flickering like a dying star.
"This is it," he growled. "My final form… my true state."
He spread his arms, absorbing the last fragments of collapsing timelines.
And changed.
He grew horns—not symbolic ones, but ancient, celestial appendages. His skin became pitch black, with veins of glowing white coursing through it. His voice warped into a chorus.
"I am the Godfist Absolute."
Saitama cracked his neck. "That's a mouthful."
And then—
They both vanished.
The impact this time was silent.
So fast. So violent. So complete—
That time stopped.
Planets paused in orbit.
Stars stuttered.
Even light hesitated.
And in that moment of absolute stillness—
Garou screamed.
Because Saitama's punch had hit everything at once.
Every form.
Every evolution.
Every future version.
Collapsed.
And Garou was falling.
Not through space.
Not through time.
But through defeat.
There was no light in the fall.
No color. No gravity. No sky.
Only Garou, drifting downward through a void that did not recognize his power, his rage, or his ambition.
He felt everything at once.
Every punch he had thrown. Every enemy he had crushed. Every twisted path of evolution he'd taken to become a being above gods.
It all came crashing down in that one moment where Saitama's fist didn't just hit him, it hit his destiny.
He tumbled.
Fell through timelines where he had ruled galaxies.
Through worlds where he'd become peace incarnate.
Through realities where he had never trained at all.
They folded into each other like cards in a burning deck, each one searing his skin with truths he'd never wanted to see.
And then—
A voice.
Saitama's.
Calm. Plain. Echoing.
"You were strong. You just went the long way."
Garou's eyes opened.
He was no longer falling.
He stood, somehow, on a small patch of earth, an island floating in an endless, colorless space. Around him were reflections of himself: young Garou, the hero-hunter version, the cosmic forms, even the Godfist he had just become.
They stared at him.
None of them spoke.
Because none of them could justify why.
Why he had gone so far… and still failed.
"Was it all for nothing…?" he whispered.
"No," said a familiar voice.
He turned.
Saitama stood there, hands in pockets, looking at the projections of Garou's many selves.
"You helped people. Even if you did it wrong."
Garou clenched his fists. "I wanted to change the system. I wanted people to fear evil so badly, they'd change the world!"
Saitama nodded slowly. "And instead… you became the thing they feared."
Garou's shoulders dropped.
The weight of his own path fell on him like an avalanche.
"I lost."
Saitama shrugged. "Maybe. But I think you're finally done running."
Garou stared down at his hands.
The cosmic armor faded.
The horns receded.
His form returned to something more human—scarred, tired, breathing hard.
And for the first time in countless lifetimes… he looked at Saitama not as an enemy—
But as the end of his journey.
"…Then finish it."
Saitama smiled faintly. "Nah."
Garou blinked.
Saitama looked up. "You already did."
A pulse ran through the void. Light returned. The universe breathed.
And Garou collapsed to his knees.
Defeated not by brute strength—
But by clarity.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
He wasn't angry anymore.
Just… done.
Above them, the fractures in space began to seal.
The One Punch Man timeline was pulling them back.
And Garou, for once, didn't resist.
An Hour Later - City Z
The sky above City Z was cloudless.
A pale blue dome stretched over the broken skyline, cranes frozen in place beside crumbled buildings, while reconstruction crews buzzed like ants in the distance.
The city was healing, one day at a time.
On the edge of a low rooftop, Saitama sat cross-legged in his usual yellow jumpsuit, cape fluttering lightly behind him.
The wind brushed his face, carrying the familiar scent of concrete, smog, and life.
He held a grocery bag in one hand. Miso, leeks, and two cartons of discounted eggs.
Beside him, Genos' spot was empty.
Because Genos didn't exist in the other world.
And here… he still hadn't come back.
"Guess I'm home," Saitama murmured, eyes half-lidded.
Behind him, the teleporter gate, now a smoking ring of bent metal and fading energy, sealed with a silent hum. The last portal closed. The chapter in that other world… over.
In the distance, people walked again. Kids laughed. An old man swept his storefront, unaware the man who just saved multiple timelines sat overhead with 30-yen discounted miso.
Saitama sighed.
"Not even a thank you sale."
He leaned back against the rooftop ledge, looking at the sky.
No gods. No demons. No Garou.
Just silence.
And then, footsteps.
Soft. Familiar.
King appeared at the doorway, breathing hard, holding two cans of soda. "I heard you were back."
Saitama looked over. "Yo."
King handed him a drink. Sat beside him.
"Big fight?" he asked.
Saitama cracked open the can. "Yeah."
"Win?"
"Eventually."
King chuckled. "You always do."
For a while, they drank in silence, the only sound the gentle breeze across the rooftops.
"You saved their world too, huh?" King finally asked.
Saitama didn't answer immediately.
He just looked at his own hand. The one he used to flick black holes. Crush gods. Break through every concept of power.
Now, it just looked like a regular hand again.
"…No," Saitama said. "They saved themselves. I just helped clear the way."
King nodded slowly. "Still… not bad for a guy who started with 100 pushups and no AC."
Saitama smirked.
A crow landed on the rail above them. Cawed once. Flew away.
Peace.
True, quiet peace.
"I don't think I'll ever understand strength anymore," Saitama admitted.
"That's okay," King said. "Maybe you're not supposed to."
Saitama looked over.
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
King smiled. "Whatever you want."
A beat passed.
Saitama blinked. "Then I wanna eat hot pot tonight."
They both laughed.
Far above them, in orbit, cosmic remnants of the battle still flickered in impossible wavelengths. But Earth spun on, unaware, uncaring, peaceful.
The storm was over.
Saitama sipped his soda and finally leaned back all the way.
No threats.
No battles.
No words.
Just the quiet sound of life… continuing.
Or is it?
THE END
[This short-story cum novel may not be the best, but I tried to make it good enough at least in terms of action. Saitama wasn't as active in the middle parts of the story and the shift was on Baki's characters, but that's how he is most of times. Coming when needed the most. Anyway hope you liked the novel!]