It is not that contestants did not want to come, but that they dared not come.
But the number of spectators multiplied several times over.
They all came upon hearing the news to watch deities fight.
…
Behind the World Martial Arts Tournament venue, in the contestant registration area.
Launch was holding a large light blue umbrella.
Master Roshi wore a black hat, a black shirt matched with sunglasses, and was squinting as he stared toward the entrance.
Launch had a worried look on her face.
Master Roshi pushed up his sunglasses, his gaze sweeping across the registering contestants.
A bulky man in tight clothes was stretching against a corner, his muscles quite massive.
Another young man with an afro was bouncing in place to warm up, but it was just the level of an ordinary martial artist.
“The quality of this batch is not up to par.”
Master Roshi muttered.
Launch looked towards the entrance: “Master Roshi, will Goku and the others really come?”
“Rest assured, that kid will not be absent.”
Master Roshi said in a definitive tone, “To Goku, the World Martial Arts Tournament is just like a steamed meat bun; he smells the scent and comes right over.”
Before his voice even faded, a car stopped by the roadside, the car door popped open, and a small blue cat flew out first.
“We’ve arrived! We’ve arrived!”
“Has Young Master Yamcha arrived yet?”
Closely following him out of the car was Oolong, wearing a shirt, and coming out last was Bulma.
“Yo, Bulma!”
Master Roshi’s eyes lit up, and he hurried up to greet her, “Long time no see, you’ve gotten even prettier!”
Bulma glanced at Master Roshi: “Heh, Master Roshi, you old fellow haven’t changed at all.”
“Hehe,”
Master Roshi gave two dry laughs, his gaze passing behind Bulma to look left and right, “Where is Yamcha? Didn’t he come with you?”
Bulma then offered an explanation.
Puar also flew in front of Master Roshi, puffing out his small chest: “Young master told me before setting off that he will definitely arrive before the World Martial Arts Tournament starts!”
Master Roshi fell silent for a few seconds.
He took off his sunglasses, wiped the rain mist on the lenses, and put them back on.
He knew Yamcha, that kid, all too well.
His talent was not bad, but there was a frivolous streak in his personality, and he tended to back down when encountering strong enemies.
But Master Roshi did not expect him to undergo such grueling training.
From West City to Papaya Island, the straight-line distance was thousands of kilometers, and in between were continuous mountain ranges and an entire ocean.
“It seems the shadow of Demon King Piccolo is even greater than I imagined.”
Master Roshi muttered in a low voice.
He remembered the moment in that battle when he exhausted his life to use the Evil Containment Wave and successfully sealed the Devil King.
Although the dragon ball resurrected him afterward, that fear of facing death directly was carved into everyone’s bones.
Goku went to Kamis Lookout, Tien Shinhan and Krillin did not know where they went either, and now even Yamcha was starting to temper himself using such extreme methods.
These young people were fighting even more desperately than he did back then.
However.
truly appeared at the World Martial Arts Tournament, he probably would not be Goku’s match anymore.
That kid had spent nearly three years at Kamis Lookout; goodness knows what kind of monster he had turned into.
I really want to see it.
Sharpening a sword for three years, what kind of stuff could these brats ultimately put on display?
Master Roshi turned solemn for a moment, revealing a bit of a martial arts Grandmaster’s depth.
Then, his gaze uncontrollably looked downward.
The outfit Bulma wore today was a waist-cinching style, and the curves below her waistline were outlined…
“Cough.”
Master Roshi cleared his throat, moved two steps nonchalantly, and edged behind Bulma.
His hand hadn’t even reached out yet—
“Old pervert, I won’t let you succeed!”
Bulma delivered a Black Mamba strike, leaving an elbow print on Master Roshi’s nose.
“Aow aow aow!” Master Roshi squatted down holding his face, “So painful, so painful, so painful!”
Oolong shrank back, wearing a “I knew it” expression.
Launch covered her face with both hands, unable to bear looking straight at it.
“Serves you right.”
Bulma flicked her hair and straightened her skirt hem.
The rain was still falling, and the atmosphere was not quite harmonious.
Under the same sky, one gradually felt the rain changing.
Suddenly.
Master Roshi turned his head to the side; that was the instinctive reaction of a martial arts Grandmaster, as he felt a powerful Qi approaching.
In the curtain of rain.
A figure broke through the low clouds and dropped straight down.
The orange martial arts uniform was torn in a few places, and the fabric of the wristbands had worn down to the point where the threads were curling up.
But as he stood there, his Aura was formidable.
“Hi, Master Roshi, and everyone, how are you all doing.”
Yamcha landed, his shoe soles stepping into the puddle and splashing a ring of water.
He just stood there like that, his gaze sweeping around first and finally falling on Bulma.
Bulma had already taken a step forward.
Just a single step; she didn’t put away her umbrella, and the rain pelted her body just like that.
“Eh, Yamcha, where is the long hair you grew out?”
“As for that, I cut it off.”
Bulma grabbed Yamcha’s martial arts uniform collar with both hands, pulled it down a bit, pulled him to a position level with her own, and then wrapped her arms around him.
The sound of the rain was very loud.
Yamcha hugged her back, lowered his head, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
Puar flew around frantically nearby, anxious to death yet not daring to disturb them, and finally transformed into a small sphere suspended in mid-air, its two eyes shining brightly.
Oolong propped the umbrella over his own head, looked up at the sky, with an expression of “I saw nothing at all.”
Master Roshi did not move.
He stood in place and pushed up his black-rimmed sunglasses.
As a Turtle School Grandmaster, he had seen quite a few martial artists in his life.
Goku, Krillin, each one of them he watched grow up, and he knew their respective Qi.
But this Yamcha before his eyes.
Three years ago, this kid’s Qi was very rash and volatile, like coal about to burn out; he had strength, but couldn’t keep it steady.
But this Qi right now… Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
Master Roshi made a rough estimation in his heart, and the result of this estimation made him pause slightly.
This kid’s Qi had already surpassed that of King Piccolo from three years ago.
Furthermore, when did Yamcha learn the Crane School’s Flight Technique?
No, that is not the main point, the main point is…
“This kid.”
Master Roshi muttered a sentence, not saying the second half out loud.
Launch quietly leaned over: “Master Roshi, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.”
Master Roshi touched his chin again, “This World Martial Arts Tournament is likely to be extremely exciting.”
…
The rain was still falling.
Water was trickling down the edge of the registration area’s shed, and several staff members were rubbing their hands behind the table.
Bulma put away her umbrella, flicked the water droplets from her blue hair, and stepped back half a step to size up Yamcha.
Puar spun around Yamcha three times, so excited his tail was almost wagging off: “Young master! You’ve learned how to fly! When you came down from the sky just now, you were so, so cool!”
“Just the Flight Technique, figured it out myself on the way,” Yamcha answered casually.
Master Roshi pushed up his sunglasses and didn’t take up the conversation.
The Flight Technique was the signature skill of the Crane School, and this kid “figured it out himself” on the way and learned it?
Either he was uniquely gifted, or his control of Qi had reached a certain level.
Not far away, a balloon drifted over from the direction of the registration area.
A little girl with a ponytail chased after it on tiptoe, the rain beating against her face as she looked like she was about to cry.
“My balloon!”
Today’s wind seemed a bit stronger than in the original work, and the balloon was whipped higher and higher by the wind, looking as though it was about to vanish into the gray clouds.
A blue figure flashed through the rain curtain.
Outrageously fast.
Everyone only saw an afterimage flash over their heads, and then the string of that balloon was steadily pinched by a hand.
That person landed in front of the little girl, squatted down, and handed the balloon back.
“Here you go, hold on tighter next time.”
The little girl took the balloon, stared blankly at the person in front of her, and forgot to say thank you.
Rainwater trickled down the person’s spiked black hair, and a smile that stretched to his earlobes hung on his face.
Blue clothes, white headscarf.
This person…
Bulma was the first to react, pointing her finger at that figure as her voice rose.
“Could it be that you are Go… Goku?”
Son Goku stood up and turned his head around.
Rainwater slid down his chin, that face had shed all its childishness, and his facial features were sharply defined.
His height had shot up by a large margin, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and his clothes were held straight by his broad back.
The child who wasn’t even as tall as a table three years ago was standing in front of everyone at this moment, several heads taller than Master Roshi.
The entire audience fell silent for two seconds.
Son Goku scratched his head upon seeing this.
“Everyone, of course I am Son Goku!”