Advancing to the Top 8

"New Wolf Fang Fist!!!"

Yamcha moved.

In his extreme fury, he erupted with speed that surpassed his limits.

Behind him, the phantom of a massive gray wolf seemed to materialize, its jaws gaping wide as it lunged at Krillin with a piercing howl of wind.

This technique condensed every ounce of his strength.

To defeat Tien Shinhan, to win back Bulma, he had battled beasts in the wilderness and battered his body beneath waterfalls.

Every punch, every claw strike had been honed through countless trials.

Angled with cunning, swift beyond measure, they left countless afterimages in the air, sealing off all of Krillin's escape routes.

"Die, die, die, die, die!!"

Yamcha's eyes blazed crimson, his fists cutting through the air like blades, shrieking with sharp whistles.

The tips of his fingers burned red-hot from the friction of high-speed motion.

The audience below gasped in shock.

"So fast! I can't even see him!"

"Yamcha's this strong? His speed's several times what it was three years ago!"

"That bald guy's finished—under a barrage like that, even a boulder would be ground to dust!"

Yet, facing this overwhelming onslaught, Krillin stood rooted, unmoving.

He didn't even assume a defensive stance, his hands still clasped behind his back.

Before Krillin's system-enhanced "Genius Intellect" and his speed stat of over 1,000, Yamcha's movements crawled like a slow-motion replay in a film.

System data streamed past Krillin's eyes:

[Enemy attack detected: New Wolf Fang Fist]

[Strength assessment: 180]

[Speed assessment: 150]

[Weakness analysis: 28 vulnerabilities across the body. Left foot unstable, right shoulder muscle over-tensed, breathing rhythm erratic.]

"Too slow."

Krillin commented silently.

He merely tilted his head slightly or shifted half a step.

"Swish... swish... swish..."

Yamcha's claws, strong enough to shatter rock and split metal, grazed past Krillin's skin every time.

It looked perilous, but the difference was a hair's breadth—a mile wide.

No matter how Yamcha accelerated or roared, he couldn't even touch Krillin's clothes.

"Why?! Why can't I land a hit?!"

The more Yamcha fought, the more his heart sank, the more despair gripped him.

Krillin before him was like an insurmountable mountain, crushing him with a deep sense of helplessness.

He felt as if he were punching empty air, all his power absorbed by cotton.

"Had enough?"

Krillin's flat voice suddenly rang in Yamcha's ear.

The next second, Krillin vanished.

When he reappeared, he stood right before Yamcha.

Krillin's gaze was calm as stagnant water, reflecting Yamcha's terrified face.

"So this is your full strength? How disappointing."

Krillin slowly raised his right hand—not a fist, just a single index finger.

"Your heart's in chaos, so your fists are too."

Krillin's finger tapped lightly against Yamcha's chest.

"Break."

That seemingly effortless touch unleashed a force like a landslide at the moment of contact.

It was pure physical power and ki compressed to the extreme—a high-level technique called the "Inch Strike."

"Guh...!!!"

Yamcha's eyes bulged instantly, his face contorted in agony.

He felt as if his chest had been rammed by a speeding train, his Internal Organs shifting from the impact.

The qi within his body was completely scattered by that strike, like a punctured ball losing air.

That single finger wasn't just a physical blow—it was spiritual destruction.

Yamcha's body flew backward like a cannonball, tracing a miserable arc through the air.

He cleared the entire Arena before slamming heavily into the wall beyond it.

BOOM!

The hard brick wall was cratered into a human-shaped hole, rubble flying and dust billowing.

Yamcha slid down like a limp rag, frothing at the mouth, completely unconscious.

The entire venue fell dead silent.

Everyone's jaws hung open as they stared blankly at the bald youth standing in the center of the Arena.

No one even noticed the Blonde Host's microphone clattering to the ground.

One finger.

Just one finger.

That Yamcha—the standout of the preliminaries, the fierce former desert bandit—was taken out in a single blow?

"W-What kind of monster is this?"

"What just happened? I didn't even see him move! It looked like he just poked him?"

"Is this the Turtle School's true power? Terrifying! This isn't even the same dimension of combat!"

"That bald kid... he's a beast in human skin!"

The Referee raised a trembling hand, his voice shrill from overwhelming shock.

"W-Winner... Krillin advances to the top eight!"

Krillin didn't cheer or strike a victory pose.

He just calmly adjusted his collar, as if he'd merely swatted a fly.

He turned his head toward the Medical Team frantically working on Yamcha, a flicker of complex emotion passing through his eyes.

Half an hour later, the contestant lounge.

The air reeked of disinfectant.

Yamcha slowly came to.

The searing pain made him suck in a sharp breath, but unlike before, he didn't erupt in rage.