"New Wolf Fang Fist!!!"
Yamcha moved.
In his extreme fury, he burst forth with speed that surpassed his limits.
Behind him, the phantom of a gigantic gray wolf seemed to appear, jaws wide open as it lunged at Krillin with a mournful howl.
This move gathered all the strength in his body.
To defeat Tien Shinhan and win Bulma back, he had fought Beasts in the wilderness and let waterfalls pound against his body.
Every punch and claw strike of his had been tempered through countless trials.
His attacks came from tricky angles and moved at incredible speed, leaving countless afterimages in the air and sealing off every escape route Krillin had.
"Die, die, die, die, die!!"
Yamcha's eyes were bloodshot, and his fists sliced through the air like blades, letting out sharp whistles.
Even his fingertips had grown scorching hot from the friction of moving through the air at high speed.
The spectators below the Arena cried out in amazement.
"So fast! I can't see a thing!"
"Yamcha's that strong? He's several times faster than he was three years ago!"
"That bald guy's done for. A combo like that could pound even stone into dust!"
Yet in the face of this overwhelming assault, Krillin stood perfectly still.
He didn't even take a defensive stance. His hands remained clasped behind his back.
Against Krillin's system-enhanced Genius Intellect and speed stat of over 1,000,
Yamcha's movements seemed as slow as a movie playing in slow motion.
System data streamed rapidly across his vision:
[Enemy attack detected: New Wolf Fang Fist] [Power assessment: 180] [Speed assessment: 150] [Weakness analysis: 28 openings detected. Unsteady center of gravity on left foot; right shoulder muscles overly tense; breathing rhythm disrupted.]
Too slow.
Krillin offered his silent assessment.
He merely tilted his head slightly or shifted half a step.
"Whoosh... whoosh... whoosh..."
Yamcha's claws, strong enough to shatter stone and split metal, grazed past Krillin's skin every time.
It looked perilous, but each strike missed by a hair's breadth.
No matter how much Yamcha sped up or how loudly he roared, he couldn't even touch the hem of Krillin's clothes.
"Why?! Why can't I hit you?!"
The longer Yamcha fought, the more alarmed he became—and the more desperate.
The Krillin before him was like an insurmountable mountain, filling him with a profound sense of helplessness.
He felt as if he were punching at empty air, all his strength landing on cotton.
"Had enough?"
Krillin's calm voice suddenly sounded beside Yamcha's ear.
The next second, Krillin vanished.
When he appeared again, he was standing right in front of Yamcha.
Krillin's gaze was as still as a pool of dead water, reflecting Yamcha's terrified face.
"Is that all you've got? How disappointing."
Krillin slowly raised his right hand. He didn't make a fist; he simply extended one finger.
"Your mind is unsettled, so your fists are too."
Krillin lightly tapped Yamcha's chest with his finger.
"Thump."
The seemingly casual poke unleashed a force like a landslide the instant it made contact.
It was pure physical strength, combined with highly compressed ki—a sophisticated technique known as the Inch Strike.
"Gah...!!!"
Yamcha's eyes bulged, and his whole face twisted with pain.
It felt as though a speeding train had slammed into his chest, shifting all his internal organs in an instant.
The blow completely scattered the ki inside him, like air escaping from a punctured ball.
This strike had not only battered his body but shattered his spirit as well.
Yamcha's body flew backward like a cannonball, tracing a pitiful arc through the air.
He sailed across the entire Arena before slamming into the wall outside it.
"Crash!"
The hard brick wall caved in, leaving a human-shaped crater as rubble flew and dust billowed up.
Yamcha slid down like a lump of mud, foaming at the mouth and completely unconscious.
The entire venue fell silent.
Everyone stood gaping at the bald boy in the center of the Arena.
No one even noticed when the microphone fell from the Blonde Host's hand.
One finger.
Just one finger.
Yamcha, who had stood out in the preliminaries and entered the fight with such imposing force—the former desert bandit—had been defeated in a single blow?
"W-what kind of monster is that?"
"What just happened? I didn't even see him attack! It looked like he just poked him!"
"Is this the strength of the Turtle School? Terrifying! They're not even in the same league!"
"That bald guy... he's a monster wearing human skin!"
The referee shakily raised a hand, his voice turning shrill with shock.
"The... the winner is Krillin! He advances to the top eight!"
Krillin didn't cheer or strike a victory pose.
He simply straightened his collar, as though he'd just swatted a fly.
He turned to look at Yamcha, whom the Medical Team was treating, and a complex emotion flickered in his eyes.
Half an hour later, in the contestants' lounge.
The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant.
Yamcha slowly came around.
The pain throughout his body made him suck in a sharp breath, but he didn't fly into a rage like before.
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