The Horn of the Semifinals

The list of semifinalists was posted on the bulletin board at the end of the competitors' passageway, four names written in red ink: Son Goku, Krillin, Lin Chen, and Joey. There was an asterisk beside Joey's name, with a small note next to it: "Last year's runner-up." The handwriting was messy, as if it had been added in passing.

Lin Chen stood before the bulletin board for a while, confirming that beside his name was written, "Semifinals · Advanced from Ring Three," before turning and heading into the rest area. Nearly every bench in the rest area was occupied now—spaces that had been empty in the morning were filled. Some people were changing clothes, some squatted in corners drinking water, and two people were discussing something in low voices, half drowned out by the whir of the fan.

He sat near the door. Not long after, the door was pushed open. The short, bald man walked in—Krillin. He wore a faded training uniform with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing clearly defined muscles in his forearms. He held a roll of bandages in his hand. When he entered, he glanced at Lin Chen, paused, then sat down beside him.

"We're facing each other tomorrow," Krillin said. As he spoke, he lowered his head and unwound the bandage around his hand before wrapping it again. The rustle of fabric was especially clear in the quiet rest area. "I watched your match this afternoon. Your defense is solid, but you attack too little. At the semifinal level, you won't get far by relying on defense alone."

Lin Chen leaned against the back of his chair, his gaze settling on an old poster hanging on the opposite wall. It bore the portrait of some champion from years ago, its corners already curling up. "I watched the replay of your match. You're very fast, but after every three rapid attacks, you pull back."

Krillin's hand paused. He looked up at Lin Chen as though confirming something, then lowered his head and continued wrapping the bandage. "You observed that pretty closely. But I do that on purpose—I'm building up power while pulling back. If you think it's an opening and rush in, you'll get knocked back."

He stood, pressed down the end of the bandage, and flexed his fingers. "We'll find out tomorrow." With that, he pushed the door open and left. It let out a faint creak as it closed, like the hinges needed oil.

The people in the rest area gradually left. Lin Chen sat back in his chair for a while, sensing several more tiny balls of light drifting over from the nearby arena—an added quarterfinal match was taking place there. Though it had been arranged at the last minute, plenty of spectators had come to watch. Cheers and the sounds of fists and kicks colliding carried through the walls. The light orbs were small and scattered, like trace amounts of energy floating in from afar. He could barely feel anything when they touched him.

[ Ding! Collected Trace Energy Fragments ×5, Energy +1. ]

He rose and walked to the window, glancing toward the main ring. The sun had already dipped westward, stretching the arena's shadows across the grass at an angle like another, faded layer of the grounds. Several staff members were clearing debris from the ring, while someone gathered scattered signboards together. The intermittent, crisp clinks of metal striking metal sounded especially distinct across the open venue.

An elderly man wearing glasses emerged from the other end of the competitors' passageway, a cane in hand. His pace was slow but steady. As he passed the window where Lin Chen stood, he paused and tilted his head to look at him. "Young man, tomorrow's match won't be easy. That boy named Krillin is a disciple of the Turtle School."

Lin Chen looked at the iron bars on the window. "And you are?"

The old man did not answer directly. He merely tapped his cane against the ground. "When you fought Iwata Go, some of those habits were the kind you could only develop through years of training. Anyone could tell you weren't cramming at the last minute."

After saying that, he continued onward without looking back, and without seeming to wait for Lin Chen's reply. He wore a loose gray coat, his back casting a long shadow beneath the setting sun. The sound of his cane touching the ground gradually faded as he moved farther away.

Lin Chen stood by the window for a while longer, then turned toward the entrance to the rest area. As he pushed open the door and walked out, the setting sun slanted across the concrete corridor, stretching his shadow into a long gray outline.

The competitors' dormitory at night occupied one wing of an old two-story building. The rooms along both sides of the corridor were small, with iron-framed beds covered in faded white sheets. When Lin Chen pushed open his door, a faint breeze stirred the curtains. Paint had chipped from the edges of the window frame, and as the wind passed through, the curtain's edge softly brushed against the wall with a faint flap of fabric. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned against the headboard for a while, his eyes sweeping over a crack in the corner of the ceiling. In his mind, he summoned the interface. The numbers on it had changed again compared to the daytime.

[Host: Lin Chen]

[Combat Power: 145]

[Bloodline Slot: (Empty)]

[Martial Arts Library: Basic Fist and Kick Techniques (Mastery), Basic Footwork (Proficient), Skirmishing Footwork (Incomplete Manual, Comprehension 21%)]

[Skill Library: None]

[Talent Traits: None]

[Inventory: Empty]

[Pickup Range: 1 meter]

He turned off the light and lay down. Someone passed through the corridor outside, footsteps drawing nearer from afar before gradually fading away again. The floor tiles gave off a faint echo under each step, as though someone were walking across a thin layer of sand.