"New Wolf Fang Gale Fist!"
Yamcha moved.
Driven by extreme fury, he burst forth with speed beyond his previous limits.
Behind him, it seemed as though a massive phantom wolf materialized, its jaws wide open, riding a shrieking gale as it lunged straight at Krillin.
This attack contained everything he had.
To defeat Tien Shinhan.
To reclaim Bulma.
He had fought wild beasts in the wastelands.
He had tempered his body beneath crushing waterfalls.
Every punch and claw strike had been honed through relentless hardship.
The angles were vicious.
The speed terrifying.
Countless afterimages filled the air, sealing off every possible escape route.
"Die! Die! Die!"
Yamcha's eyes burned red. His fists sliced through the air like blades, producing piercing shrieks. Even his fingertips grew scorching hot from friction alone.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
"So fast! I cannot even see him clearly!"
"Yamcha is this strong now? He is several times faster than three years ago!"
"That bald guy is finished. Even stone would be pulverized by that combo!"
Yet, in the face of this overwhelming assault, Krillin did not move.
He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, not even raising a guard.
Against Krillin's system-enhanced perception and his absurd speed exceeding a thousand, Yamcha's movements appeared almost comically slow, like a scene playing in slow motion.
Streams of data flickered through Krillin's vision.
Enemy attack detected: New Wolf Fang Gale Fist
Power rating: 180
Speed rating: 150
Flaw analysis: 28 total openings. Unstable weight on left foot. Excessive tension in right shoulder. Irregular breathing pattern.
Too slow, Krillin thought calmly.
He merely tilted his head slightly, or shifted half a step aside.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Yamcha's claws, capable of shattering rock and steel, brushed past Krillin's skin again and again.
It looked perilous, but every strike missed by the slightest margin.
No matter how much Yamcha accelerated or how loudly he roared, he could not even touch the edge of Krillin's clothes.
"Why? Why can't I hit you?!"
The more Yamcha attacked, the deeper his panic grew.
Krillin felt like an insurmountable mountain standing before him, crushing his will.
It was as though every ounce of strength he threw was swallowed by empty air.
"Are you finished?"
Krillin's calm voice suddenly sounded beside Yamcha's ear.
In the next instant, Krillin vanished.
When he reappeared, he was already standing directly in front of Yamcha.
Krillin's eyes were still and emotionless, like a silent pool reflecting Yamcha's terror.
"So this is your full strength? How disappointing."
Slowly, Krillin raised his right hand.
He did not clench it into a fist. He extended only one finger.
"Your heart is in chaos. When the heart falters, so does the fist."
His finger lightly touched Yamcha's chest.
Boom.
That gentle motion unleashed a terrifying force in an instant.
Pure physical power compressed together with ki, released through a refined close-range technique known as inch force.
"Puhhh!"
Yamcha's eyes bulged violently. His face twisted in agony.
It felt as though a speeding train had slammed into his chest. His organs shifted violently, his internal energy completely scattered like a punctured balloon.
That single strike shattered more than his body.
It crushed his spirit.
Yamcha's body flew backward like a cannonball, carving a tragic arc through the air before slamming into the wall outside the arena.
Crash!
The solid brick wall caved in, forming a human-shaped crater. Rubble and dust exploded outward.
Yamcha slid down like a broken doll, foam spilling from his mouth as he lost consciousness completely.
Silence.
The entire arena froze.
Every spectator stared blankly at the bald young man standing calmly at the center of the ring.
Even the blond announcer failed to notice the microphone slipping from his hand and hitting the floor.
One finger.
Just one finger.
Yamcha, who had dominated the preliminaries and once ruled the desert as a bandit, had been defeated instantly.
"What is that monster?"
"What just happened? I did not even see him move!"
"Is this really the Turtle School? This is not even a fight on the same level!"
"That bald guy is a beast wearing human skin!"
The referee trembled as he raised his hand, his voice sharp with disbelief.
"The winner is Krillin! He advances to the top eight!"
Krillin neither celebrated nor posed.
He simply adjusted his collar calmly, as though he had just brushed away an insect.
He glanced toward the medical team tending to Yamcha, a trace of complicated emotion flickering through his eyes.
Half an hour later, in the competitors' lounge.
The smell of disinfectant lingered in the air.
Yamcha slowly regained consciousness.
The pain made him suck in a sharp breath, but unlike before, there was no rage.
That single strike had shattered his pride and cleared his mind.
"You're awake?"
Krillin leaned against the doorway, holding a bottle of water and handing it to him.
Yamcha looked at Krillin for a long moment, then let out a bitter laugh and accepted it.
"I lost. Completely."
He lowered his head, his voice heavy with exhaustion but also relief.
"You're a monster now. I cannot even see your back anymore."
"I thought effort alone would let me catch up. I was wrong."
"As long as you are still walking the path, there will always be something ahead to see," Krillin replied calmly.
"Do not belittle yourself. You simply chose the wrong opponent."
At that moment, the door opened and Bulma walked in.
She looked at Yamcha wrapped in bandages, her expression complicated but peaceful.
"Yamcha…"
"Bulma."
He spoke first, inhaling deeply as he lifted his head. His eyes were clear.
"I'm sorry. I was a jerk back then. I did not know how to cherish what I had."
"Compared to me, Krillin suits you better."
He raised his bandaged hand and gave Krillin a thumbs-up.
His smile was strained, but sincere.
"I wish you both happiness. Truly."
Bulma froze, then smiled warmly, tears glistening in her eyes.
"Thank you, Yamcha. You should work hard too, and maybe stop being such a flirt."
"Haha. I'll try."
He scratched his head, looking once again like the carefree desert rogue he used to be.
"Maybe I should change goals. Being a rich and handsome normal guy sounds good too. Fighting is dangerous."
The three of them shared a quiet laugh.
Krillin wrapped an arm around Bulma's shoulders as they stepped out of the lounge into warm sunlight.
"Next up is the quarterfinals," Krillin said, gazing toward the distant arena.
His eyes were deep and focused.
"Kami… Piccolo…"