"Now's my chance!" Peter reacted instantly, firing webs to stick the symbiote slime clumps that had separated from their hosts and whipping them onto the walls.
Saitama's method was even simpler.
He set down the broken fire hydrant outlet that was still spraying (the water kept blasting, washing over the street), then walked straight toward the symbiotes that had been scattered across the ground and were still writhing.
For every black lump that tried to regroup or launch an attack, he answered with the same thing—one plain punch.
Bang! One punch, and a symbiote clump exploded, sludge splattering outward as it completely lost all activity.
Bang! Another punch, and the clump that tried to sneak-attack was smashed apart in midair.
He wasn't moving fast, but every step landed at exactly the right moment, every punch struck the core dead-on. These symbiotes—infamously resistant to physical attacks—were as fragile in front of his fist as soap bubbles.
Peter kept assisting with webs while watching Saitama stroll around like it was a casual walk, punching each symbiote "problem" away one by one. Black slime splashed everywhere—some even got on Saitama's shiny head and his cape—but he didn't seem to care, just wiping it off at random.
In less than two minutes, every active symbiote on this street had been cleared out. All that remained was the roar of water, and the civilians on the ground who were slowly regaining consciousness.
Saitama shook the water and leftover slime from his hands, glanced at the wrecked street, and said to the still-stunned Peter, "Oh, Peter. These black things don't seem very tough."
Peter hopped down from the billboard and landed in front of him, the lenses on his mask stretched wide. "Sa-Saitama, you… you just… blew them up like that?"
"Hm?" Saitama looked down at his fist. "Aren't they weak to heat? Rinse them with water and they're way easier to hit. Just… kinda messy." He stared at the black smears on his clothes with obvious disgust.
Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s scientists and analysis teams had spent ages researching, drafting complicated plans—sonic expulsion, low-temperature isolation, precision capture. With Saitama, it turned into a simple process: "Rinse with water, then punch until it pops."
In the face of absolute power, so-called "resistance" felt like a joke.
"The rest is on you guys. I gotta find somewhere to wash my hands." Saitama waved at Peter and continued down the street, like he'd only cleared an obstacle out of his way.
Peter watched Saitama's back, then looked at the symbiote remnants scattered across the ground—lifeless after being "popped"—and the civilians gradually waking up. He drew a deep breath and spoke into his communicator to report to S.H.I.E.L.D.:
"Sir… the symbiote threat in Sector Seven… is neutralized. Repeat, neutralized. It was Saitama… He used a… very direct method."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before Fury's low voice came through:
"…Understood. Cleanup team, move in. Provide aid to civilians. Continue monitoring other zones."
Peter knew the crisis wasn't fully over—there were still symbiotes causing chaos elsewhere in San Francisco. But watching the direction Saitama had gone, he felt strangely steadier.
Maybe, for certain existences, complicated problems really could be solved in the simplest way.
It was just that no one else could ever replicate that way.
(End of Chapter)
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