The cosmos held its breath—not because of impending doom, but because of a coupon. A single, crumpled voucher for "10% Off All Vegetables at Cosmic Greens Emporium" had lured Saitama across dimensions. Whis, the angelic attendant to Universe 7’s Supreme Kai, had slipped it into the hero’s grocery bag after noting his "fascinatingly flat emotional resonance" during a routine snack reconnaissance. Meanwhile, Goku, having sensed an energy signature "like a black hole made of boredom," begged Whis to arrange a sparring session. Rules were strict: no planet-busting, no time travel, and absolutely no Senzu beans until after the match.
The arena was Whis’s masterpiece: a pocket dimension shaped like a dandelion field, where gravity adjusted dynamically to prevent collateral damage. Goku arrived first, bouncing on his toes. "Hey! You’re the guy who beat that moon-thing with one punch, right? I’m Goku! Let’s go!" Saitama blinked. "Uh. Hi. Is there a sale here?" He’d mistaken the arena for a farmer’s market.
Goku didn’t wait. He lunged—not with a killing blow, but a playful jab to test reflexes. Saitama sidestepped, his foot crushing a dandelion. "Whoops. Sorry about your weed." Goku’s eyes lit up. "You’re fast! But can you handle this?" He vanished, reappearing behind Saitama with a spinning kick. Saitama tilted his head slightly. Whoosh. The kick missed by millimeters, carving a canyon in the distant hills. "Huh. You’re pretty quick," Saitama admitted, yawning. "Like that guy who sold me expired yogurt last week."
Goku grinned. Finally, a challenge that doesn’t end in three seconds. He powered up to Super Saiyan Blue, aura blazing like a sapphire supernova. "Okay! Let’s get serious!" He unleashed a barrage: punches faster than light, energy blasts that carved fractal patterns in the sky. Saitama weaved through it all, hands in pockets, humming "Catch the Rainbow" by Rainbow. A stray ki blast grazed his cheek. "Ow. That stung. Like a mosquito."
Frustrated, Goku shifted tactics. He remembered Whis’s warning: "His strength isn’t the anomaly—it’s his indifference." So Goku stopped attacking. He landed, panting. "Hey. You ever just... like fighting? The rush? The sweat? The way your heart goes boom-boom-boom?" Saitama stared. "I like sales. And deep-fried shrimp."
Then Goku did something unexpected. He bowed. "Teach me to be bored."
Saitama froze. No one asked him that. Not the Deep Sea King. Not Boros. Not even the guy who stole his parking spot. For 0.3 seconds, his eyes widened—a crack in the void. "Boredom’s... hard," he mumbled. "You gotta try really hard to find something fun."
Goku saw it. The flicker. This was the fight. He powered up to Ultra Instinct—a state of pure instinct, where thought ceased and movement became breath. His hair turned silver, eyes glowing mercury-white. "If boredom’s the goal," Goku whispered, "then let’s make it interesting."
He didn’t throw punches. He danced. Every movement was a question: a feint left, a step right, a palm strike that stopped a micron from Saitama’s nose. Saitama, for the first time since becoming a hero, focused. His eyes tracked Goku’s flow—not as threats, but as patterns. He parried a wrist flick with his pinky. Dodged a knee strike by swaying like wheat in the wind. When Goku spun into a crescent kick, Saitama caught his ankle. Not with force. With timing.
"Whoa," Goku breathed. "You’re... listening."
Saitama’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "You move like... jazz."
Then Goku did it. The move that broke universes. Not a punch. A pause. He froze mid-combo, radiating calm. Waiting. Inviting. Saitama felt it—the weight of expectation, the electric hum of a moment that mattered. His heart hammered. This was the workout he’d craved. Not strength. Connection.
Saitama threw his first intentional punch. Not a Serious Series. Just... a punch. Pure, unadulterated effort. It met Goku’s open palm. The shockwave didn’t destroy planets—it sang. A harmonic resonance that turned the pocket dimension into a cathedral of light. For three seconds, they stood there, fists pressed together, grinning like idiots.
Then Saitama sneezed.
The spell broke. Goku toppled backward, laughing. "That was AWESOME! Do it again!" Saitama rubbed his nose. "I think I’m coming down with something. Also, is there a bathroom?"
Whis clapped, materializing beside Beerus, who’d been napping on the picnic blanket. "Marvelous! They achieved flow state without a single casualty!" Beerus yawned. "Boring. Where’s the food?" Whis handed Saitama a coupon for Cosmic Greens. "For your trouble. And Goku?" He winked. "Next time, try tango."
As Saitama teleported home (via "accidentally" stepping through a dimensional rift while looking for the restroom), Goku floated on his back, staring at the twin moons. "He wasn’t strong," he murmured to Whis. "He was... free."
Whis sipped tea. "Precisely. He fought not to win, but to feel. A rarer victory than any."
Back in City Z, Saitama paid for broccoli with his coupon. The cashier asked, "Rough day?" Saitama paused. For the first time, he didn’t say "meh." He smiled—a real one. "Nah. Best workout ever."
And somewhere, in a dimension of dandelions, a single crushed flower began to glow.
