Wait, why does this feel a little too real?
At first, I laughed—like, really laughed. The absurdity of Saitama ending every fight with one punch, the way villains build themselves up with dramatic monologues only to be splattered in a blink—it’s hilarious. I remember actually choking on my drink during that crab monster scene in the first episode, because the timing was so perfect. The show leans into that ridiculousness with such confidence, like it knows exactly how to drag you in with the spectacle and then leave you sitting there going, wait, why does this feel a little too real?
What stuck with me was not the humor. It was the strange, vacant smile on Saitama's face when he wins—again—without any effort whatsoever. I didn't expect an anime about a bald hero to keep me awake at 2 a.m. rummaging through my mind and contemplating the times I've put in effort for something and been left feeling strangely unsatisfied. The way that he talks about how being a hero feels normal now—like he's trapped in this rut of frustrating victories—is where it really got me. Because hasn't every one of us had those times? Working for something, achieving it, and then sitting around thinking, so… now what?
But the catch is: even with all the existential dread bubbling beneath the surface, the show left me feeling alive. There is something so wonderful about how it straddles parody and sincerity. Take Genos, for example. His intensity, his desire to be tough, his unshakeable adoration of Saitama—there was a point where I laughed at how melodramatic he was, and another where I just wanted to hug him. That kid is trudging around with ambition and pain on his metal shoulders, and in his own right, he's searching for the same thing Saitama is: purpose. Their dynamic is where the heart of the show is at. Genos looks at Saitama like he's the answer to all the world's problems, and Saitama shrugs because he has no idea what the question is anymore.
And the villains—God, they’re some of the funniest and scariest I’ve ever seen. That mosquito girl scene still makes me laugh when I think about it, especially the way it undercuts Genos’s dramatic fight with Saitama casually swatting her away. But then you get arcs with monsters that actually make you stop laughing for a second, like Boros. That fight wasn’t just flashy; it was the first time Saitama met someone who could take more than a single punch, and you could see the flicker of thrill in his face. It was almost sad—because even when he finally got that taste of challenge, it still wasn’t enough. That moment stuck with me, because it said more about loneliness and the hunger for purpose than most “serious” shows ever manage.
One Punch Man reminded me of walking around and back and forth between two states: laughing to my stomach ached, and then suddenly drifting into one of these tiny spaces of contemplation. The world of Saitama is a reflection as though it reveals to you the absurdity of today life when the heroes are ranked in the same group as influencers and everyone is just obsessed with fame, yet the void hiding behind all commotion can be just as empty.
And truth tell me, I did not look forward to such a strange feeling of identification with Saitama himself. He is bald and expressionless and frequently bored to death--and yet, somehow, I wanted him to win like he was some friend of mine that I wanted to laugh. That deadpan expression, that cheap grocery mania, that sigh, when some other big fight is over too soon, it made me laugh, it made me ache a little. Since I believe we all have an understanding of the desire to have something more, even when we do not even know what that more might be.
It was like sitting with a friend who makes you laugh so hard you can’t breathe, then suddenly drops a line that makes you go quiet. That’s what it felt like to watch One Punch Man. And that’s why it’s still rattling around in my head long after the credits rolled.
Thumbnail is designed by me on pixelLab and other images are screenshot from the movie
