Defeating Apathy and Ease with One Punch: Modernity and the Problem of Omnipotent Boredom

Abstract

Saitama, the titular hero of ONE’s One Punch Man, is a man so absurdly powerful that nothing, and no one, can stand against him. This limitless ability, rather than acting to make a superhero idol of Saitama, has instead reduced his psychological state to that of extreme nihilistic apathy. It is not until Saitama begins to unlock other aspects of his life, including friendship and community, that he begins to see there is more to life than strength. Working within the satirical bounds of the text, which skewers everything from false fulfillment in accolades to false friends to just about every superhero and manga trope in between, Saitama eventually reengages with his life and becomes far more heroic because of it. In the Overview, the text discusses the manga’s origin and explains some of the satirical jabs. In the Heroic Journey, the article takes you through Saitama’s past and current mental state. In the Super Takeaway, the life lesson Saitama’s story can teach us is that even in the face of boredom and a world in which work itself feels obsolete, there remain ways to overcome apathy so long as we are willing to find them for ourselves.

1. Overview

Known as Saitama to his friends and Caped Baldy to the world at large, the titular One Punch Man is a self-proclaimed “superhero for fun,” a man so powerful that no enemy can withstand even a single attack. The desire to “become stronger,” otherwise known as the central motivating factor for protagonists in Shonen battle manga is used so often it is a trope. Saitama begins this journey toward strength at the end as a hero so unbelievably strong that he verges on plot device. Simultaneously, this unparalleled strength acts to rob Saitama of his motivation, for, finding absolutely no challenge in the battles in which he engages, he descends into boredom and apathy so deep they threaten to become his central character traits. This intentional satire makes Saitama both interesting and paradoxical, a neigh-invincible, yet utterly nihilistic and myopic beacon of hope to the masses. Stripped of his central motivation, One-Punch Man asks a simple question of the reader: “What’s the answer to What Now?” Via the use of philosophical and cultural examination rather than empirical media study, and with respect to our modern age of preeminent boredom brought about by technological ease and instant gratification, this article aims to use Saitama as a powerful literary model through which the humanity of personal connection and friendship can salvage someone from the deepest pits of nihilistic despair, regardless of external strength, capability, or connection. Saitama, in other words, embodies the ability to not just continue on but thrive in one’s life despite stress, anxiety, and psychological malaise, even when external pressures—like apathy—appear too great to surmount.

At its most essential level of text, One Punch Man is satire, specifically, satire of the Shonen (young male audience) battle manga genre wherein characters spend much of their time attempting to gain strength for (sometimes narratively relevant) reasons. The various targets of its satire include these aforementioned Shonen manga tropes, superhero comic origin stories (Saitama acquired his unbelievable strength via a basic strength training program), and, most importantly for our purposes, the adversity faced in daily life by those for whom life has become too easy. The text has three adaptations across media: its original, a minimalist webcomic written and illustrated by ONE, a highly detailed manga adaptation written by ONE and illustrated by Yusuke Murata, and an anime version produced by Studio Madhouse (season one) and JC Staff (seasons two and three), curated and translated into English by Viz Media. The anime is primarily a manga adaptation rather than one from the webcomic. Because the manga (and its anime portrayal) include unique scenes not found in the webcomic which highlight Saitama’s apathy and emotional numbness, they serve as our primary texts, despite not originating the character. It is also worth mentioning here that the trope of “impossibly powerful” exists within Shonen manga as a whole—popular examples include Dragon Ball Z and Super, Solo Leveling, Fist of the North Star, and Bleach, amongst too many others to list—but the primary difference in all of One Punch Man’s adaptations is that rather than use this trope to illustrate the different level on which the protagonists exist, it is treated as humorous and unchanging. Dragon Ball Super, as an example, sees Goku achieve power on par with the Gods of the fiction, but this is merely a narrative setup to raise the stakes of the culminating battle. In One Punch Man, by contrast, Saitama continues to end his battles sans all narrative drama—in one punch.

The core narrative amidst all three adaptations remains identical: it is not the battle between good and evil which pervades the story, but rather the battle within one’s own psyche, the confrontation between ennui and challenge. The rogues’ gallery in One Punch Man also both embodies and satirizes this shift in attitude from world-challenging threat to reason to get out of bed. Although aliens (Lord Boros), monsters (the Deep-Sea King), and treacherous supervillains (Garou) make regular appearances in early seasons, the narrative uses them as self-referential lenses to highlight the true battle, emphasizing not the combat against enemies but rather the self. The takeaway that Saitama’s story offers that we may learn is that often the greatest battle we fight is with ourselves—perception, motivation, or anxiety—and, much like Saitama ultimately does, we may overcome this adversity.

2. Heroic Journey

One of these examples shows up early in the text through the treatment of the first and second villains Saitama encounters, and the dichotomy between the two is designed to be our introduction not only to how powerful Saitama has become in only a few short years, but to also demonstrate how far his psychological condition has fallen.

The series begins with Saitama’s origin story constructed as flashback. Saitama, at this point of the series without powers, is forced to act heroically to save a young child from the monster Crablante. While wandering the streets of his city (a fictionalized sector of Tokyo called Z-City) in search of a new job, he encounters the monster by chance, who is stalking and attempting to kill a young boy who pranked him. When Saitama challenges the monster in defense of the child, he says that “I’m unemployed and looking for a job, but I’m in no mood to turn tail and run” (ONE 2012), and, while injured and staring down the mysterious being, he affirms his desire to “…be a hero, someone who can send rotten villains like you flying with one punch!” (ONE 2012). He then rises to the call, saving the child and defeating the monster (in gruesome fashion), the expected part of the shonen protagonist, finally making the ubiquitous promise to himself to “get stronger” (ONE 2012). Although the entire encounter occupies only a few pages, the expected stage is set for the reader. This makes the next battle, told through the eyes of Genos, a thoroughly unexpected swerve.

Returning to present time, a mere few years later, we are introduced to Genos, the “Demon Cyborg,” a freelance hero in search of a city-wide threat known as Mosquito Girl. Mosquito Girl demonstrates her power by controlling giant hordes of mosquitos and draining people to husks in seconds. Her battle with Genos is typical of the Shonen genre: flashy, larger-than-life, and destructive. It should be noted here for those unfamiliar with manga that audience is the core evaluative component when identifying genre, more so even than aesthetic value or plot structure (like “romance,” for example). Shonen manga are marketed toward pre-teen and teenage males. Eventually, Genos is dismembered by Mosquito Girl and moves to engage self-destruct to stop the threat when Saitama accidentally intervenes. A single, open-handed slap from the latter sends Mosquito Girl flying into a building where she is obliterated into a comically large blood splatter. Although, Mosquito Girl reemerges later in the story as a comic relief, having evidently survived being quite literally squashed like a bug, but she vanishes from importance in the narrative after this point. By this time Saitama has trained to his titular state (and lost all his hair as a consequence of his strength). His victory over Mosquito Girl is both accidental and ludicrous; he was irritated by the mosquitos she brought, and defeats her while totally naked, having lost his clothes by standing too near one of Genos’ attacks. His reaction to this victory is starkly contrasted by the one against Crablante, where he swore an oath to himself to get stronger. This time, he utters only a single sigh of disappointment and drops an action-movie-worthy one-liner: “Bugs suck” (ONE 2012).

Genos, for his part, a future S-Class Hero Association hero and a reluctant Saitama’s disciple, follows the more familiar protagonist archetype, including a tragic past, a willful sense of justice, and a tendency toward self-sacrifice, a character trait which is often played for laughs. He is able to, over the first several chapters, make inroads into Saitama’s damaged psyche, but after the Mosquito Girl fight he is merely Saitama’s hero foil, the version of Saitama we expect him to grow into after his fight with Crablante. The dichotomy between the two battles, as well as that between Genos and Saitama, is designed both to introduce us to our protagonists’ absurd power but also demonstrate how far his mood has fallen. Young Saitama is inspiring, prideful (yet compassionate), and quick-thinking. The Saitama that defeats Mosquito Girl is, by contrast, blank, bored, and apathetic. Even his tagline has changed, though we do not hear it until later in the chapter. In the early days, as noted, Saitama wanted to “get stronger,” but now, he merely wants to be a “hero for fun” (ONE 2012), a willful distraction from his ennui, and certainly not the sort of inspiring rhetoric typically employed by super protagonists.

After this battle, Saitama moves through the story seemingly without aim. Constantly broke, his only goal is often to find a sale at local stores. Even the most challenging and dangerous beings that appear to menace the city are trivial, including monsters and meteors. Perhaps the best example of both Saitama’s power and boredom comes against the “world-destroying level threat” Lord Boros, the leader of an alien invasion that requires the combined strength of all the Hero Association’s most powerful heroes to battle to a standstill. Every plot element of classic Shonen action is present in the battle: a ticking clock, a superhero battle royale, feats of heroism, the saving of innocents, and grace under pressure. Saitama, thinking that, at last, he has found an enemy worthy of his notice, enters Boros’ city-sized spaceship alone and hunts down the alien leader. When the expected battle finally comes, complete with buildup, transformations, stare downs, and copious amounts of threatening banter, Saitama again wins with a single “Serious Punch,” and the defeated Boros lauds his strength. Saitama, supremely disappointed, wills himself to be gracious, telling Boros that he “gave it his all” (ONE 2012), to which the defeated alien only replies: “Liar. You weren’t even trying” (ONE 2012).

Saitama’s isolation and apathy brought about by his immeasurable strength are textual themes, but they are simultaneously the catalyst for the true heart of the narrative: his slow, reluctant journey toward re-engagement with life and those that live it. This process begins immediately after the defeat of Mosquito Girl, when Genos begs a reluctant Saitama to take the cyborg on as a disciple. Through Genos’ eyes, Saitama is appreciated, a viewpoint which eventually begins to validate Saitama’s existence in a way he cannot at first fully articulate. What he is feeling is responsibility for Genos’ growth and well-being, a student–teacher dynamic, and although he is often comically annoyed by Genos’ long-winded seriousness, Saitama begrudgingly, and eventually, leans into the role of teacher. He occasionally offers oddly wise life advice to the younger, trauma-ridden cyborg between training and chores, but it is exposed on more than one occasion that having Genos around to chat, share meals, or play video games has a subtle lifting effect on Saitama’s spirits. A commonly repeated motif, for example, is Saitama’s annoyance and frustration that Genos (and later, King) beat him at every video game, an emotional state that, while typically considered negative, demonstrates the beginnings of Saitama’s re-engagement with life and those around him. Annoyance, in this context, represents vested interest in outcome, a state preferable to apathy, which was heretofore Saitama’s only countenance. Further, it is illustrated that the aloof mentor also cares deeply about his pupil’s safety, where he shows concern not because of his anxiety for battle but rather because his friends are in peril.

Saitama’s continued reawakening proceeds with the later introduction of King, a largely unexplored character in the webcomic who becomes pivotal in the manga adaptation. King becomes arguably Saitama’s closest friend, and is the perfect foil for the protagonist: he is weak (he not only has no superpowers, but is also an extreme coward and supernaturally unlucky) and, in contrast to Saitama, he is widely respected as “the strongest of all heroes,” having mistakenly been given credit for all of Saitama’s efforts before joining the Hero Association. As such, he finds himself above suspicion from those around him.

King and Saitama bond over lengthy video-game sessions, providing our protagonist with something akin to “buddy time” which was previously absent from his life. In one pivotal scene, Saitama confides in King his boredom and frustration. King, despite his own insecurities, is both humble and honest, and replies in a candid and direct way, pointing out that Saitama’s lack of satisfaction might mean he is looking at things the wrong way. Using a video game metaphor, he emphasizes that “…reaching the max level isn’t the end,” (6) and that there are other ways to find purpose, such as setting new goals, handicapping oneself, or turning to assist others. In essence, King tells Saitama that meaning will not simply make itself known to the One Punch Man; rather, it is something that must be actively sought, and it must be in a manner that does not include physical combat, which in and of itself offers no challenge, a secret of which King is well aware (ONE 2015–2019). This is a breakthrough moment for Saitama, who not only comes face to face with his inner Jungian Shadow (Jung 1971) but also finds in King an individual who, while not an equal in combat by any measure, provides companionship and pushes Saitama toward introspection.

As the narrative continues, other characters begin to draw Saitama further from his malaise. Fubuki, the leader of the self-serving “Blizzard Group” initially approaches Saitama for selfish reasons and ends up forming something of an alliance with him. Through her machinations Saitama (and Genos) are repeatedly and inadvertently dragged into social situations, and though Saitama finds them tiresome, he eventually begins to demonstrate a protective, if still nonchalant, attitude toward her and her subordinates. S-Class hero “Silver Fang” (Bang), treats Saitama as an equal and repeatedly offers him a place in the latter’s dojo, implicitly including Saitama in a community of martial artists. Even Mumen Rider, the earnest Class C hero, touches Saitama with his display of genuine heroism against the Deep Sea King despite having no powers of his own. Saitama saves Mumen Rider and defeats the Sea King in one punch but plays off his role to the astonished crowd and allows Mumen Rider to take credit for the victory, demonstrating that he empathizes enough to care to preserve another’s dignity and hope, even if it costs him recognition in the end. This gradual development, occurring over the course of multiple story arcs, underscores the key message of the text: relationships and a sense of belonging are crucial to finding meaning, as well as King’s forthright assertion that your happiness is your own responsibility.

The root of Saitama’s psychological malaise, and the lessons we can take from his story and example, stem from extreme boredom and purposelessness. As discussed by Shuvam Das in his analysis of Saitama as Sisyphean in nature, “[Saitama] can defeat any enemy with a single punch, leaving him bored because of the lack of an actual challenge. His task…is to find purpose in life.” (Das 2022). The antidote for this apathy, for us, is to lean into community, relationships, friendship, and goals. For someone omnipotently powerful like Saitama, a goal to merely increase his power is both senseless and inane, and without any driving motivation, his personality has really only three possible paths: find a new goal (the advice King gives to him), give up (his demeanor at the outset of the text), or find value in what he has achieved. This third, healthy option is difficult for Saitama as he feels no value in the things he has accomplished, seeing them only as stepping stones toward an ever-elusive goal of “getting stronger.” This echoes Masahiro Morioka’s warning regarding a “Painless Civilization,” which poses the significant risk of robbing life of both purpose and flavor. In his titular book, he writes: “Living in a civilization without suffering or hardship may seem … ideal … But in a society packed with pleasure and surrounded by systems to keep suffering away, will people not on the contrary lose sight of joy and forget the meaning of life?” (Morioka [2003] 2023).

As Morioka and Das indicate, the greatest problem for Saitama, and by extension, for us, is that things are too easy. Modern psychological research reinforces this philosophic ideal. Boredom, it indicates, is not a trivial complaint but rather a symptom that one’s activities lack either meaning or value alignment or both. Individuals often feel bored when lacking autonomy, meaning, challenge, or novelty, regardless of how they define each of the four. A more clinical definition of boredom is provided by Mikulas and Vodanovich (1993) in “The Essence of Boredom”: “…a state of relatively low arousal and dissatisfaction, which is attributed to an inadequately stimulating situation,” and, further, that “[Boredom is] a state of being or a state of consciousness, a particular combinations of perceptions, affect, cognitions and attributions” (ibid.), and, finally, regarding the status of boredom as a state, that “States are transitory; a person may be in a state of boredom on instant and not in the next” (ibid.). This lack of interest signals the colloquial definition of boredom as having “nothing to do,” but by aligning the psychological provided by Mikulas and Vodanovich with the philosophical provided by Morioka, we may provide a more meaningful and accurate definition of boredom pertinent to both Saitama and ourselves. To wit: “Nothing meaningful to do.”

This definition finds further support in Seneca, who also notes the danger inherent to the state of boredom, noting that “From [unchecked leisure] arises boredom and self-dissatisfaction, that turmoil of a restless mind…those who loathe their own leisure and complain they have nothing to do” (Seneca [1949] 1997, p. 78). In Saitama’s omnipotent power and in our (for our purposes, American) relatively comfortable modernity, there remains, without rational and grounded perspective, “nothing meaningful to do.” Seneca continues by noting that those who have no pressing responsibilities or challenges often fall into “…fickleness, boredom and a ceaseless change of purpose” (ibid., p. 74) and eventually end up “yawning from apathy” (ibid., p. 74). He describes an ideal individual much like Saitama who feels no challenge, and thus no fulfillment, and therefore is overwhelmed with indecision, seeing even large changes and accomplishments as inconsequential (ibid., pp. 74–77), finally noting that such an individual suffers from “dissatisfaction with oneself” (ibid., p. 74).

Viktor Frankl aligns with this perspective as well. In Man’s Search for Meaning, he affirms the connection between comfort and purposelessness, speaking of an “existential vacuum” (Frankl [1946] 2006, p. 167) in affluent societies (much like our own modern one). Frankl states that “…the existential vacuum manifests itself mainly in a state of boredom” (ibid., p. 167) originating within, and amplifying from, leisure and material ease. He continues: “…boredom is now causing more problems…than distress” (ibid., p. 168), and that with what he terms “progressive automation” (ibid., p. 168) and overt convenience, people have more free time and less struggle, yet are seemingly paradoxically unable to decide what to do with it (ibid., p. 171). Saitama’s boredom is the root of his malaise.

The solution to this malaise is not the one first espoused by the Stoics, a version of “make life more difficult” (Cloward 2025, pp. 2–13). In this version, Saitama might, for example, enter every battle with his eyes closed—and although he would encounter a higher challenge, he would also run the risk of losing and thus endangering all that rely on him. Instead, more correctly, the question to ask is “What might be the proper mechanism to combat purposelessness without compromising the cultural or technological evolution that brought us to this point?” More succinctly, “How do we find fulfillment in an era where work has been minimalized?”

The answers to these questions are provided through Saitama’s evolution on his heroic journey. Our protagonists’ connection to friends, family, and community all act as stabilizing forces on his wayward psyche, allowing him to climb from his nihilistic pit and rediscover both responsibility and companionship. In Meditations, Marcus Aurelius alludes to this very fact: “…and this shall be thine only fear, not that some time or other thou shalt cease to live, but thou shalt never begin to live according to nature” (Aurelius [~170] 2013, p. 104). Aurelius is emphasizing that death is preferable to a life lived against natural law, and one natural law of humanity is their social nature. Saitama embodies this perspective: he is alive but not truly living. Even at the beginning of the text, Crablante is ready to ignore the fledgling hero because he has “…dead eyes, like me” (ONE 2012). Over time Saitama’s relationships with others begin to break this tendency, and even when he receives nothing but ill will from patrons of the Hero Association who assume his strength is some kind of trick or cheat, Saitama continues to live according to Marcus Aurelius’ version of Stoicism and continues to Do Good Anyway.

Existentialists like Heidegger saw boredom as a state that strips away distraction and forces a person to commit to their authentic self (Heidegger [1929–30] 2001). Saitama’s boredom forces introspection through unspoken queries like “Why did I choose this life? Why am I a hero?” and, most poignantly, “What do I do with myself?” Only when Saitama is forced to honestly confront his emptiness by King, Genos, and others can he grow emotionally. Stoicism and Existentialism converge here in that one must choose to assign meaning to one’s action; no external circumstance confers value, a fact made explicit by the image-obsessed Hero Association, a satire of empty reward. Saitama must craft his own reason to live. By reorienting his mindset and goals, Saitama begins to make this move, and the series gently pushes him to realize that being a hero is not about the adrenaline of battle but rather protecting others, bettering society, and becoming a worthwhile role model. This realization is Saitama’s first step toward authenticity.

3. Super Takeaway

The key points that we, as readers, can take away from Saitama’s character arc include the value of community and relationships, the ability to be honest with oneself toward motivation even in the face of nebulous goals, and that our own happiness and satisfaction are, at least in part if not primarily, our own responsibility. The optimistic take that the text offers us as readers, as well, is that even someone so absurdly powerful and detached from reality as Saitama can make this reengagement successfully.

Modern psychology offers further strategies to discuss Saitama’s emotional evolution. One key concept is “flow,” otherwise defined as the state of deep engagement in an activity that is challenging but attainable. Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi found that people are happiest when they are absorbed in meaningful, stretching tasks. Crucially, “When there are too many demands, options, challenges, we become anxious. When there are too few, we get bored” (Csikszentmihalyi 1990, p. 7). Saitama is, of course, a walking illustration of this principle, whose skills vastly exceed all challenge. The solution for him, as for anyone in a stagnant situation, is to seek new challenge or to increase complexity of one’s endeavors to restore emotional balance. This might mean Saitama shifts to focus on different goals (as King suggests). For others, it means a monotonous job or circumstance requires engagement with unfamiliar territory to re-engage your mind, learn a new skill, set a higher goal, or step outside your comfort zone to find new places to test yourself. This wisdom has kernels as far back as Ecclesiastes.

Another lesson Saitama, and, consequently, we, learn in his struggle is the insight that meaning is often found in connection to something larger than oneself. Psychologist Roy Baumeister argued that people find meaning through four primary needs: purpose, values, efficacy, and self-worth (Baumeister 1992, p. 11). Saitama lacks all of these initially: he has no clear purpose, does not reflect on values, feels no efficacious challenge, and gets no respect; however, by developing both bonds and a sense of duty, these needs begin to become fulfilled and Saitama grows as a result. More modern research in positive psychology suggests concrete ways to combat this sense of meaninglessness in line with those practiced by Saitama, like forming close relationships, helping others, and committing to prosocial goals. Studies demonstrate that volunteering or acts of altruism can reduce feelings of depression or boredom, as people can derive a sense of purpose and significance to contributing to the well-being of others. Though Saitama seldom admits it (his pride will not allow him), his acts of altruism, like saving Mumen Rider from the Deep Sea King, actually do much to lift his mood. He even smiles a bit when thanked sincerely by those that he saved, suggesting heroic service is starting to nourish his long-starved sense of purpose, emotional food that his previous thrill-seeking behavior never could.

One Punch Man ultimately delivers a profound and heartfelt message through its satire. It demonstrates that having limitless power, or limitless comfort, means little if one loses the sense of purpose or connection that makes life worth living. Saitama’s experience can resonate with many individuals of modern affluent societies who feel as if they “have everything” and therefore “nothing matters”. The cure to this existential boredom is not a bigger thrill or an external motivating factor, but a directed and curated alteration in one’s orientation to life itself. Saitama’s relationships and evolving attitude demonstrate that even a self-proclaimed hero “for fun” must find meaning beyond amusement. In a more pragmatic sense, Saitama’s evolution teaches us that meaning must be created, not found. He does not escape his boredom by finding an enemy that can withstand one punch, but rather by opening his vulnerability to others, confiding in them, and forming meaningful relationships. Likewise, we as readers are invited to reflect on our own lives. If we are feeling listless like Saitama, have we ceased to challenge ourselves or connect with those around us? One Punch Man offers a solution outside the hollow pursuit of status, and instead celebrates authentic moments of humanity, like a mentor caring for his student, friends sharing a video game, or a bicyclist-turned-hero standing up for justice.

In the end, the greatest pitch the manga makes is that life’s value cannot be measured by external victory. As readers, Saitama’s triumph over his own nihilism is a hero’s journey in and of itself, and it suggests that even in a world of material abundance we can combat creeping boredom by striving for authenticity, nurturing relationships, and dedicating ourselves to pursuits that align with our core beliefs. In a society that threatens to become a “painless civilization” void of deeper joy, One Punch Man reminds us through satiric superhero spectacle that struggle gives life meaning and that even Gods amongst men need friends.