One Punch Man: "The hell!! Did I transmigrate as King?" Chapter 172: Undersea Civilization in the Sixth Region

The sheer scale of Blue Grill defied comprehension. It wasn't just a giant clam—it was a moving continent, a living ecosystem, a civilization that had thrived in the depths for longer than most species had existed. Its bioluminescent glow pulsed like a slow, ancient heartbeat, illuminating the abyss for hundreds of kiloters in every direction.

Toriko pressed his forehead against the window, his breath fogging the glass. "Ten million square kiloters... that's bigger than so countries in the Human World."

Coco's analytical mind was already running calculations. "The amount of energy required to sustain a creature of this size... it must be drawing directly from the Soul World. That's the only explanation."

Sunny's hair was practically vibrating with aesthetic appreciation. "Look at the patterns on its shell. Those aren't random—they're art. Centuries of growth, each layer adding to the masterpiece. It's the most stylish thing I've ever seen, and I've seen myself in a mirror."

Zebra, arms crossed, was more practical. "Forget how it looks. How do we get inside?"

Golden Chef Gigi chuckled, his orange fur rippling. "Ah, that is the question, isn't it? Blue Grill does not simply 'open' for anyone. It must be... invited."

Komatsu tilted his head. "Invited? By whom?"

Gigi's ancient eyes twinkled. "By the civilization within. The descendants of those who sought refuge in Blue Grill's shell when the surface beca uninhabitable. They are the gatekeepers, the stewards of the Shell King's secrets. And they have not opened their doors to outsiders in over ten thousand years."

The cabin fell silent. Then Saitama, ever practical, asked: "So we knock?"

Everyone stared at him.

"What? If soone's inside, you knock. That's just manners."

Garou rubbed his temples. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... he's not wrong. We're not invading. We're asking for help. Knocking seems appropriate."

King, who had been quietly observing the glowing shell, finally spoke. "Saitama's right. We knock. But not with our fists." He looked at Komatsu. "With food."

Komatsu's eyes widened. "You want to... cook sothing that will convince a civilization that's been isolated for ten thousand years to open their doors?"

"You've convinced ingredients to give up their secrets. You've convinced an Eight King to dance. You've convinced a horse god to weep from flavor." King smiled. "Convincing a few gatekeepers should be easy."

Kaka, who had been listening intently, nodded. "The people of Blue Grill are descendants of the ancient ocean civilization. They worship taste above all else. If we can present them with a dish that honors their heritage, that shows we understand not just their food, but their culture... they may welco us."

Gigi stroked his chin. "It will not be easy. Their palates have been refined over millennia. They have tasted the best the deep sea has to offer. To impress them..." He looked at Komatsu, then at Toriko, then at King. "You will need to cook sothing that has never been cooked before. Sothing that carries the mory of the surface, the mystery of the depths, and the promise of the Soul World."

Komatsu swallowed hard. "No pressure."

Toriko put a hand on his shoulder. "You've got this. We've got this. Together."

Rin, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly spoke up. "I can help. I've studied ancient ocean recipes. The ones passed down through my family for generations." She smiled softly. "My ancestors were from the sea. They said the ocean taught them everything they knew about flavor."

Komatsu's eyes lit up. "Rin, that's amazing! Can you show us? Can you teach us?"

Rin nodded. "I'll do my best."

The group began to buzz with preparation—discussing ingredients, techniques, and the history of the ancient ocean civilization. But King remained at the window, watching Blue Grill's slow, majestic pulse.

Heracles, the Horse King, rose from its resting place and stood beside him, its golden mane reflecting the clam's blue glow.

"Big, isn't it?" King murmured. "And old. Older than most things in this world. It's seen civilizations rise and fall. It's seen the surface turn to poison and the depths beco a refuge."

Heracles snorted softly, a sound that might have been agreent.

"And now it's going to see sothing new." King's smile widened. "It's going to see a chef who can hear the voice of all ingredients, a hero who's never lost a fight, and a horse who thinks it's better than everyone else."

The Horse King's snort this ti was clearly offended.

"I said 'thinks,' not 'is.' Calm down."

Outside, the glow of Blue Grill intensified, as if the ancient clam sensed the arrival of sothing unprecedented. Sothing that would change the course of its long, long existence.

The door to the lost civilization waited.

And the feast had not yet begun.

The Thousand Flavor Seafood Street was exactly as advertised—a kaleidoscope of culinary wonders that stretched as far as the eye could see. Stalls made from giant clamshells offered grilled delicacies on beds of glowing coral. Restaurants carved into living sponge structures served bubbling stews from pearl-encrusted cauldrons. And everywhere, everywhere, was the sll of the sea—not the harsh, salty sll of the surface oceans, but sothing sweeter, cleaner, touched with notes of honey and citrus.

Saitama was already gone, weaving through the crowd with a speed that belied his casual deanor. Within seconds, he had acquired a skewer of sothing that glowed faintly blue, a cup of liquid that changed colors as he drank it, and what appeared to be a whole roasted fish that he was holding by the tail.

"This place is AMAZING!" he shouted back, mouth already full.

Garou, trying to maintain his dignity, nonetheless found himself drawn to a stall selling fried tentacles. "I'm just... sampling. For research purposes."

Toriko was already deep in conversation with a fishmonger, discussing the optimal aging process for deep-sea eel. Rin was examining a display of jewel-like sea grapes, her eyes bright with professional interest. Komatsu had sohow acquired a notebook and was scribbling furiously, no doubt recording every new ingredient he encountered.

King walked at a more leisurely pace, Heracles padding silently beside him. The Horse King, despite its status, seed genuinely curious about the offerings, its nose twitching at particularly aromatic stalls.

Golden Chef Gigi led them through the crowds with practiced ease, occasionally stopping to greet a vendor or admire a particular dish. "The people of Blue Grill are passionate about their food," he explained. "Every stall, every restaurant, every ho cook—they all have their own secret recipes, passed down through generations. So of these families have been perfecting a single dish for over ten thousand years."

Komatsu's eyes went wide. "Ten thousand years? For one dish?"

Gigi nodded. "In the surface world, you asure culinary history in centuries. Here, we asure it in epochs. The ocean teaches patience, young chef. A recipe is never truly finished—only refined."

They passed a stall where an elderly rmaid was carefully arranging translucent slices onto a bed of ice. The slices seed to shimr with their own inner light, and the aroma that rose from them was complex—floral, mineral, with a hint of sothing almost like lightning.

"What is that?" Komatsu asked, drawn despite himself.

The rmaid looked up, her ancient eyes crinkling with amusent. "Moon Jelly sashimi. Aged for five hundred years in pressure chambers made from extinct whale bone. Would you like to try?"

Komatsu's hand trembled as he accepted a slice. The mont it touched his tongue, his eyes watered. Not from pain—from sheer, overwhelming deliciousness. The texture was like nothing he'd ever experienced: firm yet yielding, with a subtle crunch that gave way to a creamy interior. The flavor built slowly, starting with a clean oceanic salinity before unfolding into notes of honeydew lon, fresh cream, and sothing else—sothing that tasted like the mory of starlight.

"This is... this is incredible," he breathed.

The rmaid smiled, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth that sohow seed friendly. "You have good taste, young chef. Most surface dwellers cannot appreciate the subtlety of properly aged jelly."

King, who had been watching the exchange, stepped forward. "I'll take a dozen."

The rmaid's eyebrows rose. "A dozen? That's... a significant investnt."

King produced a small pouch from his coat. The sound it made when he set it on the counter was unmistakable—the clink of high-quality gourt currency. "I have a horse who appreciates the finer things."

Heracles, as if on cue, lifted its head and sniffed the air with regal interest.

The rmaid's eyes went wide. She had lived long enough to recognize sothing extraordinary when she saw it. "Of course, honored guest. Of course."

As she carefully packaged the order, Gigi tugged at King's sleeve. "We should continue. Don Sli does not like to be kept waiting."

King nodded, accepting the package. "Lead on."

They left the bustling market street and entered a district of grander architecture—buildings carved from single massive corals, streets paved with mother-of-pearl, gardens filled with glowing sea anemones that swayed in slow, hypnotic rhythms.

And at the center of it all, the Spiral Blue Tower rose toward the artificial sky, its surface shimring with inner light.

"Don Sli," Gigi announced, "is not just a ruler. He is a gourt historian, a keeper of flavors long extinct on the surface. He has in his archives recipes from civilizations that fell before humanity's ancestors crawled from the primordial soup." He paused, his expression growing serious. "He is also, I should warn you, sowhat... eccentric."

Saitama, who had caught up with the group, still clutching his various snacks, asked: "Eccentric how?"

Gigi's smile was enigmatic. "You'll see."

The doors of the Spiral Blue Tower opened, revealing a cavernous interior filled with shelves upon shelves of cookbooks—not paper, but tablets of coral, sheets of pressed seaweed, scrolls made from giant squid skin. And at the center of it all, behind a desk made from a single, massive pearl, sat a figure that defied easy description.

Don Sli was not human. He was not Nitro. He was sothing older, sothing stranger—a being of living jelly, his form constantly shifting, his features resolving and dissolving like clouds in a storm. His eyes, when they focused on the group, were points of deep, ancient blue.

"So," he said, his voice like the distant rumble of a submarine volcano. "The surface dwellers have co at last. I have been expecting you for so ti."

King stepped forward, unimpressed by the display. "Then you know why we're here."

Don Sli's form solidified slightly, taking on a more recognizable shape—tall, slender, with features that might have been handso in a distant, alien way. "You seek the [ANOTHER]. You seek to enter the Soul World and bring back a flavor that has not been tasted since the world was young." His eyes fixed on Komatsu. "And you believe this... child... can accomplish what the Blue Nitro could not."

Komatsu straightened, eting the ancient gaze. "I don't know if I can. But I'm willing to try."

Don Sli was silent for a long mont. Then, slowly, his lips curved into sothing that might have been a smile.

"Willing to try. How refreshing." He rose from his pearl desk, his jelly form flowing like water. "Very well. I will grant you access to the Golden Chefware. I will even provide you with the recipes for Spirit Food that have been lost to the surface for millennia." His eyes narrowed. "But first, you must pass a test."

Saitama, who had been quietly eating his way through a second skewer, looked up. "Another test? We just did tests. Can't we just cook?"

Don Sli's smile widened. "This is a test of cooking, young man. A simple one, even. You must prepare a dish that satisfies my hunger."

Saitama blinked. "That's it? Just cook sothing you like?"

"Just cook sothing I like." Don Sli gestured, and a massive kitchen materialized behind him—counters of polished abalone, stoves fueled by geothermal vents, ingredients that glowed and pulsed with inner life. "You have until the tide turns. Fail, and you will leave Blue Grill with nothing. Succeed, and the path to the [ANOTHER] opens before you."

Toriko cracked his knuckles. "We've faced worse odds."

Komatsu took a deep breath. "Together?"

"Together."

The kitchen humd with potential.

The test had begun.