Brilliant starlight surged, gathering upon a single raised fist — a weapon of steel forged from cosmic energy itself.

With one tremendous swing, Zenin Kyūjō drove that fist into the god’s colossal face. It was like a hammer of divine judgment striking against a mountain.

The shockwave from the blow tore through space, and the impact rumbled across the stars — awakening the slumbering god whose dreams had lasted longer than worlds could count.

Doom.

A sacred bell-like resonance echoed, its tone so deep it seemed to shake the soul itself.

The sound should have been impossible in the void of space — yet it reverberated everywhere.

Even on distant Earth, faint tremors rolled across the atmosphere. People paused mid-panic, their hearts pounding as if they had just heard the heartbeat of the universe itself.

— — —

The giant’s body shattered. Fragments of divine flesh and golden dust drifted silently among the stars, like shards of glass in a black sea.

Saitama — the Bald God of Earth — blinked. His usually blank face twitched slightly.

All that… from just one punch.

“So he actually beat him in a single hit? Then why’d he say I could go next if he couldn’t handle it?”

His brow furrowed. “What was the point of me coming all the way here, then?”

Annoyance crept into his tone. He started floating forward, planning to confront Kyūjō about it — maybe even throw in a friendly spar to see who really was the strongest man in the cosmos.

But before he could say a word, Kyūjō turned toward him. His expression had gone completely serious.

Through telepathy, his calm voice reached Saitama’s mind.

> “That wasn’t enough. The god isn’t dead. Don’t come any closer, Saitama.”

“This time… I might not win.”

When those words ended, Kyūjō turned back.

He inhaled slowly, gathering every ounce of Starforce within him. The radiant energy wrapped around his body like a living constellation, forming a divine armor that shimmered like the night sky itself.

But he knew — armor alone would not be enough.

He stretched both hands forward, manifesting a sword of pure light that extended over a hundred meters long. With a swift step through the void, he lunged.

The god’s scattered remains were knitting themselves back together, forming anew. Kyūjō struck before the regeneration could complete — his blade carving across the divine mass like a streak of silver lightning.

Once. Twice. Again.

Each strike severed flesh and energy, but no matter how many times he slashed, the god’s essence remained untouched.

Through his Infinity Sense System, Kyūjō could see the truth — every swing only scraped fragments of outer energy. The being’s core was eternal.

A god’s energy, it seemed, was infinite.

If this battle continued like this, the one who would run dry was not the god… but him.

He clenched his teeth. This world’s laws still felt foreign to him. Though compatible enough to manifest Starforce, his time here was far too short.

Back in the Naruto World, he had taken centuries — maybe millennia — to refine Starforce to its current perfection, enough to stand against the Ōtsutsuki gods themselves.

Even then, he’d nearly died. He’d opened all Eight Inner Gates, burning his body to cinders to defeat a god that wasn’t even fully awakened.

Now, once again, his foresight — the power of Infinity that could predict the future — began to blur.

Just as it had against Ōtsutsuki Shibai, his future-sight failed.

That could only mean one thing:

This “God” was a higher-dimensional existence — one whose very being transcended the plane of reality itself.

But something puzzled him.

Even now, his Infinity system could still partially read Saitama — the bald man standing quietly behind him.

Why?

Could it be… that Saitama hadn’t yet reached his true limit?

If his limiter were ever to break completely, perhaps even Kyūjō’s system wouldn’t be able to perceive him at all.

He shook the thought away. Speculation could wait.

The god’s body had nearly restored itself — massive, divine, resplendent in its rebirth.

Kyūjō exhaled. “This might be it,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll probably die here.”

But that was fine.

Death was nothing new to him.

He had died countless times across countless worlds, and not even the gods of those realms could stop his reincarnation.

The being that could — the one responsible for his endless cycle — remained forever unseen, existing beyond even his comprehension.

— — —

The god didn’t make him wait.

In seconds, all fragments floating across the starfield converged, reforming into one perfect, divine body.

It said nothing this time.

Instead, it simply breathed.

And with that breath — planets shattered. Entire worlds disintegrated into dust.

Among the infinite debris, faint specks of golden light shimmered — cosmic particles that drifted toward the god like iron to a magnet.

They fused into his form, wrapping him in a radiant shell of molten gold.

His body gleamed like a living star.

Kyūjō’s eyes widened. Stellar Essence.

An ancient cosmic material — indestructible, even to black holes. The primal substance from which the universe itself was born.

And now, the god had forged it into his armor.

Meaning… unless one’s power surpassed the very limits of this universe, there was no hope of piercing it.

— — —

Then, the god moved.

A single fist rose — vast, divine, unstoppable — and hurled itself toward Kyūjō.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat.

Even knowing he would lose, he faced it head-on.

With all his might, he swung his blade of light toward the incoming fist.

The blade struck — and shattered instantly, like fragile glass against diamond.

A heartbeat later, the god’s golden knuckles collided with Kyūjō’s chest.

The impact was absolute.

His armor fractured in an instant, splintering into stardust. His body was hurled across the void like a meteor, trailing fire as he vanished into the endless dark.

For a long moment, the cosmos was silent.

Saitama stood there, motionless. His face unreadable.

He watched the fading light of Kyūjō’s fall.

Then, slowly, he looked back at the towering god before him.

No anger. No surprise. Just that same expressionless calm.

But deep in his eyes — somewhere behind that blank, deadpan gaze — something unfathomable stirred.

A quiet pressure began to fill the void, invisible yet absolute.

Even the stars seemed to hold their breath.

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