Amiu's mind had officially detached from reality.
He watched, as if in a dream, as the five remaining Seven Beasts—creatures that had terrorized the Gourmet World for millions of years—were yanked from the depths like fish on a line. Shark King Electric Shark crackled with lightning, its thousand-volt aura doing nothing against Moon's gravitational pull. Coral King Coral Rem's beautiful, reef-like body scraped against the seafloor, leaving scars on the ocean bed. Scale King Atlantus's armored plates gleamed as it thrashed uselessly. Octopus King Yamata Kurochi's eight tentacles flailed, each one capable of crushing a mountain. Sea King Ocean Mother, the most elusive of them all, let out a mournful cry that echoed across the waves.
And Whale King Moon simply... held them there. Suspended. Helpless.
"Which ones do you need?" Garou asked, as if discussing which vegetables to pick at a market.
Amiu's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. His vocal cords had apparently joined his brain in surrendering.
Saitama walked to the edge of the Turtle King's shell, peering at the floating beasts. "The crab-looking one has big claws. Those look useful."
"Scissors," Amiu managed, his voice a croak. "Golden Chef Gigi said we need scissors for precise cutting."
Garou snapped his fingers. "You heard him, Moon. Crab claws."
Whale King Moon's massive eye shifted, focusing on Scale King Atlantus—a giant crustacean whose claws could shear through continental plates. The creature, despite its legendary status, let out a sound remarkably like a whimper.
A tendril of gravitational force extended from Moon's mouth, wrapping around one of Atlantus's claws. With a sound like cracking thunder, the claw was wrenched free, trailing streams of golden ichor.
"One down," Garou said cheerfully. "What else?"
Amiu looked down at the bone armor Saitama had collected—at the "one piece" he had estimated would take ten years to harvest. Then he looked at the massive claw floating beside Whale King Moon, easily the size of a battleship.
"We... we also need a grinding stone," he said, his voice gaining a surreal calm. "For... for grinding spices."
"Grinding stone," Garou repeated, turning to the floating beasts. "Which one looks grindy?"
The Coral King Coral Rem, perhaps sensing its impending doom, tried to sink back into the depths. Moon's gravitational pull held it fast.
"That one has a lot of texture," Saitama observed. "All those bumps and ridges. Looks grindy."
"You heard the baldy. Coral King, donate a chunk."
Another tendril of force lashed out. A massive section of Coral Rem's body tore away, its bioluminescent flesh pulsing with residual life energy.
"Perfect!" Saitama gave a thumbs up. "Komatsu's going to be so happy."
Amiu stared at the scene—at the legendary Seven Beasts being harvested like produce, at Whale King Moon acting as a celestial fishing rod, at Garou giving orders to the head of the Eight Kings as if it were a well-trained retriever.
"I need to lie down," he announced. "I think I'm having a stroke."
"No you're not," Saitama said. "Your face isn't droopy. I checked."
"When did you check?!"
"Just now. You were staring into space with your mouth open. Classic stroke symptoms, but your lips were symmetrical. You're fine."
Amiu decided not to question how Saitama knew about stroke symptoms. He simply sat down on the bone armor, put his head between his knees, and breathed.
"We also need..." he began, then stopped. What did they need? Golden Chef Gigi had given him a list, but in the face of this absurdity, the list seemed almost quaint.
"Spoons," he said finally. "We need large spoons for serving. And a whisk. And a mortar."
Garou nodded, turning back to the floating beasts. "You heard him. Spoons. Whisk. Mortar. Make it happen, Moon."
The next several minutes were a blur of gravitational force and floating beast parts. Shark King Electric Shark lost several teeth (spoons). Octopus King Yamata Kurochi contributed a tentacle (to be dried and used as a whisk). Sea King Ocean Mother, the most ancient of the Seven after Moon itself, provided a section of its shell (the mortar).
By the time Garou was satisfied, the sea around them was littered with ingredients that chefs would have killed continents to obtain. And Whale King Moon floated serenely, its task complete, waiting for its next command.
"That should do it," Garou said, surveying the haul. "Load it up, Amiu. We've got a kitchen to get back to."
Amiu looked at the mountain of beast parts. He looked at the Camping Beast, which was currently the size of a small truck. He looked back at the mountain.
"I don't think..."
"Moon, shrink the parts."
Whale King Moon's eyes glowed, and gravitational fields compressed the floating beast parts into manageable sizes. The battleship-sized claw became the size of a suitcase. The coral chunk condensed into a cube. The teeth, tentacle, and shell followed suit.
Amiu gave up trying to understand. He simply gathered the compressed materials, loaded them onto the Camping Beast, and climbed aboard.
"Ready," he said, his voice hollow.
"Great!" Saitama hopped on beside him. "Let's go. I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"Not always. Just most of the time."
Garou remained on Whale King Moon's head, arms crossed, looking for all the world like the king of the world. "I'll take the scenic route. Meet you at the kitchen."
Saitama waved. "Don't keep Komatsu waiting. He gets twitchy when ingredients are late."
The Camping Beast lifted off, carrying its impossible cargo toward Blue Grill. Behind them, Whale King Moon sank beneath the waves, its massive form disappearing into the depths. Garou's silhouette was visible for a moment longer—a tiny figure on an unimaginably vast head—before the sea closed over them both.
Amiu watched the spot where they had vanished, his mind still struggling to process.
"Mr. Saitama," he said quietly, "is Mr. Garou always like this?"
Saitama thought about it. "Pretty much. He used to be worse, actually. More... screamy. King calmed him down some."
"King," Amiu repeated, remembering the man who had appeared on the beach, who had tamed the Horse King, who had spoken of cooking and destinies as if they were the same thing. "Who is he, really?"
Saitama was quiet for a moment, watching the waves pass beneath them.
"I don't know," he said finally. "But he makes good food. And he knows where to find more. That's enough for me."
Amiu wanted to argue, to demand answers, to understand the madness that had become his reality. But in the end, he simply nodded.
"That's enough for me too," he said.
The Camping Beast glided on, carrying its cargo of impossible materials and impossible experiences.
Behind them, the sea was calm.
The feast was coming.
And somewhere in the depths, Whale King Moon swam with a new master on its head, and Garou laughed into the wind, already planning his next impossible feat.
The world was changing.
And no one—not the Eight Kings, not the Blue Nitro, not even the ancient hunger that lurked at the edge of existence—could stop it.