One Finger

The preliminary hall was crudely divided into four sections, where brutal elimination matches raged simultaneously.

There was no referee counting down here—only victors and the vanquished.

The clamor of battle cries rose and fell in waves.

The dull thuds of fists against flesh, the sharp cracks of breaking bones, and the unwilling wails of the defeated wove together into a symphony of violence.

"Section Four, first match! Goku versus Chaba King!"

No sooner had the Referee's voice fallen than a stir rippled through the crowd.

"Chaba King? That guy who used to be the World Martial Arts Champion?"

"Good grief, a heavyweight showdown right from the first match?"

"I heard he got eliminated in the prelims three years ago. He's been training like a madman ever since, swearing revenge."

"That kid Goku looks kind of clueless, and he's not tall either. He's probably doomed—might even get killed."

On the Arena.

Chaba King wore a bright yellow training uniform, his muscles bulging like granite.

His face was a mass of coarse flesh, baring a set of gleaming white teeth, his eyes gleaming with bloodthirsty excitement.

"Heh heh heh, Goku..."

Chaba King clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking with sharp pops.

"I've waited three whole years for this day!"

"For three years, I've tempered my body under waterfalls and honed my fists in thorn forests!"

"To beat you, I've mastered the ultimate 'Eight Hand Fist'!"

"I've already seen through every move you make!"

Compared to Chaba King's murderous aura, Goku seemed far too relaxed.

He stood there, hands hanging naturally at his sides, not even assuming any opening stance.

He just blinked, looking at the other man with utter calm, like he was watching a frog croaking by the roadside.

"Oh."

Goku replied flatly.

"Let's start, then. I'm in a hurry to eat."

This dismissive attitude instantly ignited Chaba King's fury.

"Bastard! Don't look down on me! Die!!"

Chaba King roared, his body exploding into motion.

His speed was immense, blurring into a yellow lightning bolt in the eyes of ordinary people.

"Eight Hand Fist Secret Technique: Thousand Hand Asura!!"

In an instant, Chaba King's arms whipped around like a high-speed windmill, leaving countless afterimages in the air.

It was as if he truly had eight arms, or even more.

His fists howled with a sharp, air-tearing screech, sealing off all of Goku's escape routes.

Faced with this overwhelming onslaught, Goku moved.

No, to be precise, everyone felt like he "might have" moved.

There was no flashy dodging, no fierce counterattack.

Goku simply raised his right hand slightly, fingers pressed together like an unsheathed blade.

Then, facing the charging Chaba King, he swung it lightly, casually.

"Whoosh..."

The motion was as gentle as shooing away a fly.

But the next second, something terrifying happened.

A visible current of air was sliced cleanly by that hand blade.

The compressed air turned into an invisible wall, crashing into Chaba King with the force of a tidal wave.

Chaba King's countless fist shadows vanished without a trace in an instant.

He felt like he'd slammed into a speeding train.

"Wha..."

Chaba King's eyes bulged. Before he could even scream, he toppled backward stiffly, still frozen in his punching stance.

"Thud."

The dull sound of his fall echoed through the hall.

The world fell silent in an instant.

The Chaba King, who had been shouting for revenge just moments ago, now foamed at the mouth, rolled his eyes back, and twitched unconsciously, completely losing consciousness.

The Referee stood frozen for a full half-minute, the whistle dropping from his hand.

He walked over trembling to confirm, then raised his hand and stammered:

"Th-the winner... Goku!"

The whole Arena erupted.

"Wh-what the hell?"

"What just happened? Did he even touch the Chaba King?"

"It looked like... just a wave of his hand? Was that wind pressure?"

Goku hopped up cheerfully, dusting off his hands.

"Awesome! I won! Krillin, how was that move?"

Behind a pillar in the distance.

Piccolo (Demon Jr.), draped in a white cape and wearing a massive turban, had his arms crossed tightly against his chest. His fingers dug deep into his own arm muscles.

"That move just now..."

A flicker of disbelief flashed in Piccolo's sharp eyes.

"He didn't use any burst of ki, nor any advanced technique. Pure... physical speed and force creating wind pressure."

"To reach this level with just his body alone?"

"Goku, you've really gotten stronger. But..."

He let out a cold laugh, turned, and walked away, his cape flapping behind him.

Elsewhere.

"Second bracket, Krillin takes the stage!"

Krillin's opponent was a giant sumo wrestler over two and a half meters tall and weighing at least four hundred pounds.

With every step he took, the Arena floor groaned in agony, as if it might collapse at any moment.

"Little bald head!"

The sumo wrestler slapped his mountain-like belly with a thunderous smack and boomed, "Running into me, 'Bulldozer' Yokozuna, is your bad luck! I'll flatten you into a pancake!"