The Tournament Announcer’s throat was already almost hoarse.
But when he read out the matchup list for the third match, his voice became even louder than before.
“Distinguished audience! Next is the third match!”
He purposely paused for two seconds, waiting for the noise in the Arena to subside.
“I believe many veteran viewers present are not unfamiliar with the next two contestants!”
On the wall hung an old photograph; that was Son Goku from three years ago, whose height wasn’t even as tall as the Arena fence, grinning as he laughed.
On the right was Yamcha, with flowing long hair, in a standard martial artist’s styling.
“That is correct! They are both Disciples of the God of Martial Arts, Master Roshi! The orthodox successors of the Turtle School!”
The audience seating began to stir.
The Tournament Announcer accelerated his speech pace: “Contestant Son Goku narrowly lost to Jackie Chun in the finals of the 21st World Martial Arts Tournament, and at the 22nd, he also lost to the previous tournament’s champion, Tien Shinhan!”
Missing the championship for two consecutive tournaments!
As for Contestant Yamcha, he is also a powerhouse from under the Turtle School!
This time, fellow martial brothers meet in the semifinals…”
His voice rose to the highest pitch.
“Just who can take it a step further and storm the championship throne of the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament! Let us wait and see!”
The entire venue was in an uproar.
The front row of the audience seating.
Bulma stood up, cupping her hands around her mouth.
“Yamcha! Do your best!”
Her voice pierced through the entire clamor.
Oolong beside her was grabbed by the ear to use as a handrail, groaning in pain: “Lighter, lighter, lighter! My ear is going to fall off!”
Bulma completely didn’t hear it, continuing to wave her other hand.
Puar took out a small flag, which had “Young Master Yamcha is the strongest” written on it, shaking it frantically in the air.
Launch sat in the back row, her hands clasped together, her lips moving silently, not knowing who she was praying for.
Master Roshi did not stand up.
He sat in his seat, hands crossed and resting on top of his umbrella, his chin resting on the back of his hands.
The eyes behind his sunglasses were half-open and half-closed.
Goku’s Qi was deep and massive, like a dormant volcano.
Yamcha’s Qi was introverted, with almost no fluctuations felt on the surface, but Master Roshi knew that was a sharp blade that had not yet been unsheathed.
He looked at his Disciples.
“Do your best; the era belonging to the youths has arrived.”
The other side of the contestant tunnel.
Piccolo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his white cloak covering most of his face.
His gaze crossed the tunnel, landing on the back of Son Goku who was walking towards the Arena direction.
Son Goku.
Piccolo’s pupils slightly contracted, then returned to normal.
One of his father’s enemies, and also the key target for him to come to this world for revenge.
As for the one called Yamcha…
Piccolo’s line of sight swept across Yamcha’s direction, then immediately withdrew.
Even if Tien Shinhan’s performance just now was indeed unexpected, Piccolo only made an extra mental note of it.
That level of power could not kick up any waves in front of him.
The only thing he cared about was just how much Son Goku had grown stronger; perhaps only Son Goku was the greatest obstacle to his ruling the world.
This match happened to be an opportunity to test the waters.
On the Arena.
Yamcha walked out from the western tunnel, sunlight striking him, several damages on his orange martial arts uniform exceptionally conspicuous under the light.
He did not change into new clothes.
Walking from West City to Papaya Island for two months, this martial arts uniform followed him through sandstorms, withstood deep-sea water pressure, and endured the sharp claws of mutated giant beasts.
Every single tear was a medal.
From the eastern tunnel, Son Goku strode out.
Orange martial arts uniform, black gravity undershirt, his spiked black hair unmoving in the ocean breeze.
The two stepped onto the Arena simultaneously.
The stone slab ground still retained the cracks from the previous match.
A distance of fifteen meters.
Son Goku stood still, moving his wrists a bit, his joints making cracking sounds.
“Yamcha, although we haven’t crossed blows for a long time, I won’t go easy on you, oh.”
“Hmph, if you go easy on me, Goku, I would actually be unhappy instead.”
“Hehe, is that so?”
Son Goku grinned.
That smile was still the same as three years ago, but beneath the smile, his entire aura began to change.
The rubble at the edge of the Arena began to vibrate.
Someone in the front row of the audience seating felt an inexplicable sense of oppression, subconsciously shrinking back, but unable to explain why.
Yamcha didn’t move.
He stood in place, hands hanging down naturally, his breathing steady.
Then, he also let loose.
Two streams of Qi collided in the center of the Arena.
An invisible shockwave spread out from between the two.
The stone slabs on the surface of the Arena developed spiderweb-like cracks, spreading outward from the center.
The referee’s hair was blown backward.
The drink cups in the first row of the audience seating all tipped over.
Bulma’s hair was also blown backward by the air wave; she narrowed her eyes, using one hand to grab Oolong’s little pig head.
Krillin stood at the tunnel entrance, his Adam’s apple moving.
The Qi of these two people…
He closed his eyes and opened them again.
It wasn’t an illusion.
So powerful!
Whether it was Goku or Yamcha, both were stronger than him, and not just by a little bit.
Tien Shinhan stood beside Krillin, his three eyes blinking without pause.
“It has begun; let me see just how much you two have progressed these past three years,” Tien Shinhan said.
The referee’s voice was tight.
“The third match.”
“Match start!”
The moment the words fell.
The two people vanished simultaneously.
Boom.
Right in the center of the Arena, two fists collided together.
A shockwave exploded from the point of collision, and the stone slab ground instantly collapsed into a circular pit.
The aftermath of the two fists colliding hadn’t even dissipated yet, when Son Goku’s right leg had already swept across horizontally.
Carrying a sound-breaking whistle, at a tricky angle, heading straight for Yamcha’s flank.
Yamcha’s left arm sank down, taking this kick head-on.
Foot and arm intersected, Qi explosion sounds blasted across the Arena, and the stone slabs under the two people’s feet cracked simultaneously, debris flying everywhere.
The instant Son Goku retracted his leg, his right fist had already chased after it.
Fast.
Yamcha tilted his head, the fist wind grazing past his auricle.
Immediately following were Son Goku’s elbow strike, knee strike, and palm chop—six consecutive moves, each move leaving no gaps.
Yamcha caught all of them.
Blocking, deflecting, side-dodging, and backhand swatting away—every single neutralization was just right.
The audience seating had already grown quiet.
Everyone could see that the level of these two people was completely not in the same dimension as those previous matches.
“So fast…”
Krillin’s Adam’s apple rolled once, “Son Goku’s attacks are so much faster than three years ago, yet Yamcha actually blocked all of them?”
Tien Shinhan did not speak.
His third eye tightly locked onto the Arena, his pupils reflecting two intersecting afterimages.
On the Arena.
It was another round of offense and defense.
Son Goku threw a straight punch; Yamcha sidestepped to let it pass, his right palm taking advantage of the momentum to smash into Son Goku’s forearm, deflecting his attack trajectory with borrowed force.
Son Goku’s body swayed slightly, immediately stabilizing his center of gravity, jumping back to widen the distance.
The two retreated three steps each, standing face to face.
Son Goku shook his wrists, and the smile on his face became even wider instead.
“Amazing, Yamcha, I didn’t think you could actually keep up with my rhythm!”
“When did you become so strong?”
He scratched his head, uttering words that made Yamcha’s mouth twitch.
“I always thought you were at the bottom among us.”
The entire venue fell quiet for a second.
From somewhere in the audience seating came a muffled laugh that couldn’t be held back.
The expression on Yamcha’s face was very colorful.
Truly Goku’s personality, always speaking the harsh truth.
He wanted to retort, but had no way to retort.
Because according to the strength ranking from three years ago in the original work, he really was at the bottom; Son Goku, Tien Shinhan, Krillin, and even Chiaotzu’s superpowers had more face than him.
And he, Yamcha, currently his greatest battle record was…
“Uh, what was it?”