The Axiomatic Palace rippled, the obsidian floor rising into towering, infinite mahogany bookshelves. The air smelled of aged parchment and spilled ink. This was the "Sense-Space" of Dazai from No Longer Allowed in Another World.
Dazai sat at a small, cluttered writing desk in the center of the arena, his dark kimono draped loosely over his shoulders. He was holding a small bottle of sleeping pills in one hand and a fountain pen in the other. He looked tired—not the fatigue of battle, but the exhaustion of a man who has seen too many poorly written stories.
Saitama stood opposite him, looking confused. "Uh, are you the one I'm supposed to fight? You look like you need a nap."
Dazai looked up, his eyes hollow but strangely sharp. "A nap? No, I am waiting for the sweet embrace of the double-suicide I was promised. But instead, I am stuck here, forced to witness yet another 'Overpowered Hero' trope. It is truly... disqualified."
The Opening Act: The Power of the PenInternal Monologue (Dazai):Look at him. The ultimate 'Cheat' character. No backstory, no struggle, just absolute, unearned power. He is the very embodiment of the narrative rot that ruins every world. To save this story, I must provide him with the one thing he lacks: an ending.
Dazai opened his notebook. "Saitama-kun, was it? You are a character who has reached the end of his development. There is nowhere left for you to go. Therefore, your presence in this world is a narrative error. Allow me to fix the prose."
Dazai's ability, Disqualified (Poetic Justice), activated. The ink on his page began to glow with a sickly, violet light.
"In this story," Dazai whispered, writing frantically, "the hero finds that his strength was merely a dream. He returns to the mundane. He is... No Longer Allowed."
A wave of literal "Narrative Force" slammed into Saitama. In any other world, against any other protagonist, this would have stripped them of their levels, their magic, and their gear, returning them to a level-zero human.
The Conflict: Reality vs. ProseSaitama felt a strange tugging at his soul. For a second, his yellow jumpsuit flickered, turning back into the business suit he wore as a failing job hunter.
Internal Monologue (Saitama):
Wait, I remember this suit. It was really itchy. And the tie was too tight. Is this guy making me go back to job interviews? That's way scarier than the Monarch guy.
Saitama grunted, his muscles tensing. The "Narrative Force" buckled. The business suit snapped back into the yellow jumpsuit. The sheer, physical reality of Saitama's existence—the result of his 100 pushups, 100 situps, and 10km runs—refused to be rewritten as a "cheat."
"Hey," Saitama said, stepping forward. "I don't know what you're writing, but I worked hard for this. It's not a dream."
Internal Monologue (Dazai):
What? My pen... it's snapping. The story is refusing to change. This isn't a 'Cheat' ability I can nullify. It's not a gift from a Goddess or a system-given perk. This man's strength is a fundamental fact of his world's physics. He isn't a character in a story... he's the period at the end of every sentence.
The Climax: The Serious SeriesDazai stood up, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and genuine fascination. He pulled out his "Cypress Box" coffin, ready to accept the end. "Incredible. A character who exists outside the reach of the author. You are the ultimate 'Disqualified' entity, Saitama. You have no place in a world of logic."
Saitama approached, his face becoming serious. He didn't want to kill the man; he just wanted to end the lecture.
"I don't care about stories," Saitama said. "I just want to go home."
"Then show me," Dazai smiled, spread-eagled as if welcoming a lover. "Show me the strike that ends the book."
"Serious Series..."
The library began to shake. The books flew off the shelves, their pages turning to ash. Saitama pulled back his fist.
"Serious Punch."
Saitama aimed the strike at the air above Dazai's head. The shockwave was a physical manifestation of "The End." It tore through the mahogany shelves, shattered the infinite library, and blew away the very ink Dazai had used to try and rewrite reality.
The force sent Dazai spinning backward, his kimono fluttering like a broken bird's wing. He crashed into the obsidian floor as the library dissolved back into the white void of the Palace.
The ResultDazai lay on his back, staring up at the shifting ceiling. He looked peaceful.
"A perfect ending..." Dazai whispered. "No dialogue. No unnecessary drama. Just... force."
Malak raised his hand, his voice glitching. "Variable Dazai Osamu: Failed. Initiating Square One Protocol."
Dazai looked at Saitama one last time. "Saitama-kun... when you get back... don't let them write a sequel for you. Stay as you are. Meaningless and... free."
Dazai's body dissolved into blue static. In a distant world, a man in a dark kimono woke up in a truck, looking for a good place to meet a beautiful lady for a double-suicide, his memories of the Architects erased.
Winner: Saitama.