Yamcha decided not to dwell on this topic.
“Come to think of it, Goku, the two of us haven’t sparred since our battle in the desert.”
Son Goku blinked, his spiky black hair swaying slightly in the sea breeze.
“That’s right!”
He slapped his fist into his hand, as if remembering something important, “Back then, I knocked you flying with a single pole, and you rolled quite a distance.”
“Ahem, do we have to bring that up?”
“Fine, then today, let’s have a proper spar!”
Son Goku’s smile faded by half.
His feet sank slightly, his knees bent, and his center of gravity lowered.
It was the basic stance of the Turtle School, but he used it to a degree of natural perfection.
His Aura was changing.
Yamcha could feel it.
The Qi on Son Goku’s body began to rise, surging up layer by layer from the bottom.
He was increasing his Aura.
The gravel on the edge of the Arena began to bounce, and a few pieces were directly blasted out of bounds.
The Tournament Announcer took two steps back, his legs feeling a bit weak.
In the front row of the audience.
Master Roshi’s fingers tightened.
He could feel this Qi released by Son Goku.
What kind of shape had the three years of training at Kamis Lookout truly forged this kid into?
But what truly concerned Master Roshi wasn’t Son Goku.
It was Yamcha.
Facing Son Goku’s gradually climbing Aura, Yamcha stood in place without any change in expression.
Master Roshi had lived for over three hundred years and had seen countless martial artists.
He knew far too well the difference between “putting on a calm front” and “true composure.”
Yamcha’s state at this moment was the latter.
“Yamcha… just how much is he hiding?” Master Roshi muttered to himself.
On the Arena.
Son Goku moved.
This time, he was more than twice as fast as before.
His figure pulled out three afterimages on the Arena, approaching simultaneously from three angles: the front, the left, and the right.
Afterimage Technique.
The three afterimages threw punches simultaneously, and gasps erupted from the audience.
Yamcha didn’t dodge.
He closed his eyes.
One second.
His right hand raised, blocking the physical attack cutting in from the left.
Son Goku’s fist smashed into Yamcha’s palm, and a shockwave of Qi exploded from between them.
Son Goku’s pupils shrank slightly.
“How did you know I was on the left?”
Yamcha opened his eyes, a trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
“The Afterimage Technique can fool the eyes, but it can’t fool the perception of Qi.”
As soon as these words came out, Tien Shinhan’s body in the contestant tunnel leaned forward slightly.
Identifying position through Qi perception.
Tien Shinhan could do it himself, but at that speed, accurately locking onto the real body’s position required a very refined level of Qi perception.
Since when did Yamcha reach this level?
Was this still the man he knew, the one who had his leg broken?
On the Arena, the two separated once again.
Son Goku clutched his fists, the excitement on his face no longer suppressible.
“You really have gotten stronger! Come again!”
The next second, Son Goku disappeared.
His speed increased once more.
This time, even Krillin couldn’t keep up.
He could only see the continuous exploding spots of Qi blasts on the Arena, two figures intersecting and colliding within them, so fast they were reduced to blurry patches of color.
An interweaving of orange and orange.
Fist techniques taught by the same Master, yet executed with completely different styles.
Son Goku’s punches were fierce and direct, every strike pouring out full strength; offense was the best defense.
The training at Kamis Lookout had brought his speed and power to a terrifying level.
Yamcha’s counter-measures were the exact opposite.
Every block and dodge moved the minimum required distance, minimizing excess movement as much as possible.
Fragments of the Arena were still drifting down.
Son Goku had jumped three meters away.
He shook his wrists, “Your strength has gotten stronger too!”
Yamcha steadied his body, his gaze shifting from defense to offense.
“I’m going to start my counterattack.”
Yamcha stepped forward, his entire body finding the optimal angle and distance at that moment.
The basic stance of the Turtle School.
He threw his left fist.
Son Goku’s body leaned back, the wind of the fist brushing past his chest.
Immediately following, his right elbow cut in at a tricky angle, attempting to lock down Goku’s flank.
But Son Goku spun around, sliding past with his back pressed against the fist and elbow, while his left hand already counterattacked.
Yamcha didn’t take it head-on; instead, utilizing the opponent’s momentum, he twisted his wrist, deflecting Son Goku’s fist away from his own body.
A ferocious assault of the Turtle School’s consecutive fist techniques.
The spectators watched with rapt attention, but almost everyone failed to keep up with the rhythm; they could only see two figures leaving afterimages across the Arena.
Tien Shinhan’s voice was very low: “No good, Yamcha still can’t catch up to Goku.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Son Goku’s speed was still fundamentally a bit faster.
For every attack Yamcha made, Goku could always find a gap to dodge. This story is hosted at g.com.
The orange figure swerved, dodging Yamcha’s chop, and their bodies were already pressed close.
Son Goku’s right fist went straight for Yamcha’s face.
This punch had no tricks, just straightforward ferocity.
Yamcha’s left hand lifted.
But just as his arm reached halfway up, his movement stopped.
His body arched backward, Son Goku’s fist brushing past his forehead, the wind of the punch blowing back Yamcha’s spiky black hair.
An extreme distance.
Less than a centimeter apart.
Son Goku didn’t follow up.
His body had already begun to pull back, preparing for the next round of offense.
But it was this split-second pause that gave Yamcha all the opportunity he needed.
Yamcha’s right foot heavily stamped the ground.
The Qi within his body was mobilized in that instant, wrapping around his fist and forming a wolf-shaped Ki Blast fluctuation.
“Take this.”
“New Wolf Fang Fist.”
A wolf head attached to the fist began to spin.
Not that kind of illusory afterimage, but solid, genuine Qi.
A visible energy vortex wrapped around his entire arm, white light blooming from the center of his fist.
Son Goku’s pupils dilated instantly.
He had never seen Yamcha’s brand-new version of this move.
The speed of his reaction couldn’t keep up with the degree of surprise.
Son Goku’s body reflexively dodged to the side, but the fist chased after him.
Yamcha’s entire leg was rotating, the rotational amplitude of his body was exaggerated, and the coverage range of his fist exceeded Son Goku’s expectations.
Son Goku forcefully changed the direction of his body, but it was half a beat too late.
The fist smashed into his face.
The sound of a Qi explosion burst from between them, and the stone flagstone ground shattered piece by piece under the impact.
Son Goku’s entire body was beaten into a parabola by this punch, flying backward a full ten meters.
His back heavily crashed into the edge of the Arena.
The entire audience went silent.
It lasted for three seconds.
Before the Tournament Announcer’s hoarse voice rang out.
“Son… Son Goku has been knocked flying!”
His tone was mixed with absolute shock, “That punch from contestant Yamcha… Ladies and gentlemen, I have never seen such a fist technique in all my life!”
In the front row of the audience.
Master Roshi took off his sunglasses.
Bulma stood up from her seat, cheering and rooting for her boyfriend.
Piccolo’s body leaned forward slightly, his originally crossed arms unfolding at that moment.
“Impossible.”
How could that guy named Yamcha possibly be strong to this extent?