The S.S. Discount was never designed for deep space travel. It was built for hovering over cities and looking menacing. Its life support system groaned. Its coffee maker rattled. And its "hyperdrive" was actually just three nuclear thrusters salvaged from Metal Knight's reject pile, duct-taped together by Child Emperor.
They were three days past Jupiter, drifting in the silent dark.
Saitama lay draped over the captain's chair, staring at the void. "Are we there yet?"
"We have traveled 0.0004% of the distance to the Oort Cloud," Genos replied, checking the nav-computer. "At current speed, we will arrive in seventy-two years."
Saitama sat up. "Seventy-two years? My coupons will expire!"
"We need a boost," Fubuki said, pacing the bridge. "We need to hit lightspeed."
"Impossible," Metal Knight's drone interjected from the console. "This vessel has the aerodynamic profile of a brick. Attempting lightspeed would shear the hull apart."
Garou was doing push-ups on the ceiling. "Then we make it faster." He dropped down. "Or we push it."
"Push it?" Child Emperor looked up from his Gameboy. "You want to push a 400,000-ton battleship to lightspeed? The physics alone..."
"Not us," Garou pointed a thumb at Saitama. "Him."
All eyes turned to the bald man picking at a hangnail.
Saitama blinked. "You want me to get out and push? In space? It's cold."
"We can wrap you in thermal insulation," Genos offered.
"And how do I steer?"
"I'll give hand signals through the window," King suggested weakly.
Operation: Human Thruster.
Saitama stood on the rear hull, magnetic boots engaged (which he thought were just "sticky shoes"). He placed his hands on the massive engine exhaust ports.
Inside, Fubuki grabbed the intercom. "Ready?"
Saitama gave a thumbs-up through the reinforced glass.
"Launch in 3... 2... 1!"
Saitama didn't push. He jumped. But since his feet were magnetized to the hull, he didn't go anywhere. Instead, the force of his leg muscles transmitted directly into the ship's frame.
He shoved.
Serious Series: Serious Push.
Inside, everyone was slammed back into their seats. The artificial gravity failed instantly. Coffee cups floated. King screamed in slow motion.
The S.S. Discount didn't just accelerate; it vanished.
Stars turned into streaks of light. Planets blurred by. They crossed the asteroid belt in four seconds (smashing through six asteroids along the way, but the shield held).
"Warning!" Genos yelled, pinned to the rear wall. "Speed exceeding Mach 8000! Hull integrity critical!"
Saitama, hanging onto the back like a human outboard motor, was having a great time. "Woooooo! Space is fast!"
They blazed past Saturn. Past Uranus.
Suddenly, a massive shape loomed in the darkness ahead. It wasn't a planet. It was a fleet.
A new fleet. Black ships. Ancient. Runes glowing purple on their sides.
The Void Armada. God's personal guard.
"Obstacle detected!" Metal Knight droned. "Collision imminent!"
"Brakes! Brakes!" Fubuki shrieked.
Saitama saw the ships. He let go of the engines. He climbed over the ship—running up the hull like a spider—to the front.
He stood on the bow.
"Stop," Saitama said.
He punched the space in front of the ship. The shockwave created a localized wall of compressed vacuum.
SKREEEEEEEE.
The ship slammed into the "air" wall. Everyone inside flew forward (except King, who was somehow strapped in perfectly by sheer luck). The ship drifted to a halt, smoking.
They drifted right into the middle of the Void Armada.
Thousands of black ships turned their guns toward the intruders.
"Oops," Saitama tapped on the bridge glass. "Is this a bad neighborhood?"
Inside the flagship of the Void Armada, a being sat on a throne of weeping stone. He wore robes made of shadows. His face was hidden behind a mask that constantly shifted expression—joy, rage, despair.
This was Avatar Sol. The Voice of God.
"The Anomaly approaches," Sol whispered. His voice resonated in the skulls of every crew member. "He seeks the Core."
"Shall we open fire, High Avatar?" a Void Priest asked, kneeling.
Sol stood. He was ten feet tall. "Weapons are useless. Did you not see him push a battleship through the galaxy? He defies causality."
Sol raised a hand. Black energy swirled.
"We must use the ultimate trap. The Prison of Reflection."
He clenched his fist. "Deploy the Mirror."
Outside, a massive structure detached from the Void flagship. It looked like a giant picture frame floating in space.
Inside the frame wasn't glass. It was liquid silver.
"That's weird," Saitama said, floating by the airlock. "Space art?"
Fubuki's voice came over his suit radio. "Saitama! Don't look at it! Sensors indicate massive psionic energy! It's a mental trap!"
"Too late," Saitama muttered. He was staring right at it.
But nothing happened. No hypnotic trance. No vision of desires.
Instead, the liquid silver rippled. It bulged outward. A figure emerged.
It stepped out of the mirror. It was six feet tall. Bald. Yellow suit. Red cape.
Reflection Saitama.
But this one wasn't a sad clone like Shadow-san. It wasn't a fake from a dream.
It was a perfect physical duplicate, created from the universe's memory of Saitama's strength.
The Reflection cracked its neck. The sound carried through the vacuum (don't ask how).
"Hey," Reflection Saitama said. His voice was perfect. Deadpan. Bored.
Real Saitama squinted. "Is that... me? But shiny?"
"I am you," the Reflection said. "Without the weakness."
"I don't have weaknesses," Saitama said. "Except mosquitoes."
"You have attachments," the Reflection corrected. It pointed to the S.S. Discount drifting behind Saitama. "You slowed down. You pulled your punches. You worry about your friends."
The Reflection raised a fist.
"I have no friends. I have no rent. I have no hobby."
It punched.
Saitama blocked.
BOOM.
The shockwave in space was silent but devastating. A ripple of distorted gravity spread out, shattering three nearby Void ships instantly.
Saitama was knocked back a hundred miles, crashing into a small moonlet.
He stood up, dusting off moon dust. "Okay. He's strong."
The Reflection appeared in front of him instantly. Consecutive Normal Punches.
Saitama met it. Consecutive Normal Punches.
Fist met fist. A blur of red gloves. Space fractured around them. Violet cracks appeared in reality.
Back on the ship, Genos was freaking out. "Scans indicate equal power output! The Reflection is matching Sensei perfectly! Every time Sensei escalates, the Reflection escalates!"
"It's a feedback loop," Child Emperor realized. "If they keep fighting, the exponential energy rise will collapse the solar system into a black hole."
"We have to stop it!" Fubuki yelled. "Saitama! Don't fight him! That's what it wants!"
Saitama ignored the radio. He was busy dodging a Serious Headbutt.
"You're annoying!" Saitama grunted, landing a solid jab on the Reflection's cheek. It barely flinched.
"And you're pathetic!" the Reflection countered, kicking Saitama into a crater.
The Reflection floated above him.
"Give up," it droned. "I am the concept of your strength. You cannot punch your own concept."
Saitama lay in the crater. He looked at the fake.
"Concept, huh?"
Saitama sat up. He looked really, really annoyed.
"Concepts are boring."
He reached into his pocket (which miraculously survived). He pulled out a slightly crushed coupon.
"Do you have this?" Saitama held it up.
The Reflection paused. "A... coupon?"
"Yeah. 50% off beef. Valid only on Earth. Expires tomorrow."
The Reflection stared. "Irrelevant. Logic does not process."
"Exactly," Saitama stood up. "You're me without the attachments? Then you're just empty space. You have nothing to fight for."
Saitama tucked the coupon away safely.
"I'm fighting so I can go home and use this."
He took a stance. Not a sloppy one. A serious one.
"Serious Series..."
The Reflection mirrored the stance perfectly. "Serious Series..."
"...Serious Sidestep."
Saitama didn't punch. He moved sideways. Fast. So fast he left an afterimage.
The Reflection punched the afterimage with world-ending force. The punch went through empty space and kept going, creating a beam of destruction that shot off into the universe.
While the Reflection was over-extended, Saitama appeared behind it.
"And this," Saitama whispered. "Is a Noogie."
He grabbed the Reflection's bald head in a headlock. And he started rubbing his knuckles into its scalp.
Serious Noogie.
The friction generated was unimaginable. Sparks flew. The Reflection shrieked—a sound of pure cosmic confusion.
"Stop! Logic error! Cannot compute—OW!"
The Mirror construct couldn't process the indignity. It was built for combat, not bullying. Its form destabilized. The silver liquid rippled, boiled, and finally splashed apart into droplets.
Saitama let go. "Don't mess with the original."
He kicked off the moonlet and flew back to the ship.
Avatar Sol watched from his bridge. He crushed the arm of his throne.
"He... he gave a construct a noogie?"
Sol stood up. "The disrespect. It is... monumental."
He turned to his crew. "Prepare the Wormhole. If mirrors won't stop him, we will send him where no light escapes. The Dimension of the Lost."
Back on the S.S. Discount, Fubuki checked Saitama for injuries. "Are you okay? That thing hit hard."
"Yeah. But look." Saitama pulled out the coupon. It was torn in half.
"The expiration date... it's gone."
Saitama fell to his knees. "NOOOOOO!"
"We're fighting GOD, Saitama!" Fubuki yelled. "Forget the beef!"
"Never forget the beef," Garou muttered somberly, sharpening a claw. "Never."
The ship rumbled again. A massive vortex opened in front of them. A wormhole leading to God's domain.
"Well," Genos revved his engines. "Into the belly of the beast."
Saitama stood up, pocketing the torn coupon with tragic resolve.
"Let's go," he said darkly. "I'm going to punch God until he gives me a refund."