We Are No Longer People of the Same World

At the referee's whistle, the contestants who had been crowded around the ring voluntarily stepped back, leaving the open space clear.

Yamcha stepped onto the ring with light, quick footwork, the soles of his shoes making brief rustling sounds against the wooden boards. His hands slowly spread apart before his chest, all ten fingers curled like wolf claws, his gaze locked tightly onto Chen He.

Over the past year, he had trained through countless nights amid the howling winds of the desert. Every time he collapsed onto a dune from exhaustion, the scene that flashed through his mind was the humiliation from a year ago in Kapok City, when Chen He's single Afterimage Fist had intimidated him into complete immobility.

But now, things were different.

His shoulders are sagging badly. With every breath, there's a clear delay in his chest's movement. Yamcha analyzed rapidly, his palms drenched in sweat while his eyes grew brighter and brighter. Last year, his speed was absurd. You couldn't even catch his shadow. But now, even walking these few meters makes his knees tremble slightly.

This definitely was not an act. Yamcha trusted his martial artist's instincts. Chen He had to be practicing some secret technique that placed an enormous burden on the body.

He has devastating power, but he can't even turn his body properly? This is my chance! Yamcha suddenly pushed off with his feet, his body instantly transforming into a lone wolf racing across the wilderness as he moved at high speed toward Chen He's flank.

Below the ring.

"Krillin, do you see anything?" Goku held both hands over his brow as he watched intently, his brows furrowed into a knot.

Krillin rubbed his bald head, his expression unusually grave. It was not just Yamcha on the ring—even standing below, he felt as if his breathing were being smothered beneath an invisible, thick quilt. The "energy" emanating from Chen He was heavy, viscous, and brimming with destructive force, like a living Mount Tai that had been moved into the hall.

"The 'energy' around Senior Brother Chen He is too abnormal." Krillin swallowed and spoke in a low voice. "Look at Yamcha's movements. They seem fast, but the moment he gets within three steps of Senior Brother Chen He's body, his speed inexplicably slows down... It's like something's sticking to him."

Goku shook his head. "No, Chen He isn't sticking Yamcha in place. The air around Chen He is too 'heavy.' That guy Chen He has definitely put something even heavier than Iron Mountain on himself again... He can't even draw back that clean 'energy' he usually has."

Master Roshi, hidden among the crowd nearby, narrowed his eyes slightly behind his sunglasses.

Unlike the younger men, he was not blindly optimistic. Yamcha had seen Chen He's "slowness," but he had not seen the unfathomable composure Chen He concealed beneath that extreme sluggishness. It was like a sparrow frantically probing around an elephant. The sparrow might be nimble, but if the elephant landed a single step on it, it would be crushed to pieces.

That boy Yamcha is still too impatient... Master Roshi sighed inwardly, unable to stop his palm from sweating as well.

On the ring.

"New Wolf Fang Fist!!"

With a wolf's howl that tore through the air, Yamcha's figure abruptly pulled out four blurred afterimages to Chen He's left. His hands carried a chilling claw wind as they raked toward the opening beneath Chen He's exposed ribs.

His speed was more than twice what it had been a year ago, and even the angles of his attacks had become far trickier.

Chen He stood where he was. Under fifty times gravity, even his retinas seemed to perceive Yamcha's movements with a faint, sluggish frame-by-frame sensation. He could clearly feel Yamcha's claw wind tearing through his outer clothing, even causing a slight sting.

Under normal circumstances, he had a hundred ways to instantly kill Yamcha the moment the other raised a hand. But constrained by this body that felt as though it had been filled with lead, he could only choose the most practical—and most brutal—method.

Chen He ignored the claw wind tearing toward his ribs. He simply forced his heavy upper body around, his right arm carving an incomparably dull arc through the air as he threw an utterly ordinary side punch forward.

There was no unnecessary technique, not even a gathered energy wave.

Yet the instant that sluggish, slow punch swung out, the air before its fist could not withstand the immense compression and actually erupted with a thunderous boom!

Boom—!

A visible ring of white air burst outward in a fan shape.

Yamcha's New Wolf Fang Fist had not even had time to touch Chen He's skin before that powerful punch had already slammed head-on into his chest.

"What?!"

The excitement in Yamcha's eyes instantly turned to horror. Before the wind pressure of that punch, the speed, footwork, and afterimages he had been so proud of were as fragile as a scrap of paper in a storm. He desperately tried to twist his body aside in midair, but the surrounding air was as heavy as mercury, locking his joints in place.

Pfft—!

Yamcha spat out a mouthful of blood.

He had not even been struck by Chen He's fist itself before the violent shockwave from its wind blasted him straight away. He flew more than ten meters through the air, crashing heavily into a load-bearing stone pillar in the preliminary hall with a dull impact. Then he slid limply down the pillar onto the marble floor, clutching his chest with both hands as he coughed violently.

The hall fell into deathly silence once more.

Chen He slowly withdrew his fist and stood in place, drawing two harsh breaths. The strain that fifty times extreme gravity placed on his stamina was terrifying. Even after throwing only two punches in such an incredibly sluggish state, the cells in his body churned madly. This weakness, which he could not sustain for long, made him somewhat uncomfortable, but after the smoke cleared, his dark eyes appeared calmer than ever.

He glanced at Yamcha, who sat slumped beside the pillar with a dazed, bitter expression. He slipped his hands back into his pockets, turned around, and walked toward the edge of the ring, one heavy step at a time.

"Th-the winner... Chen He!" The referee's stammering voice finally broke the silence over the entire hall.

Leaning against the stone pillar, Yamcha watched Chen He's somewhat slow yet despairingly heavy retreating figure. His tightly clenched fist slowly fell open.

"So... from beginning to end, we were never people from the same world." Yamcha lowered his head, letting the blood at the corner of his mouth drip onto the floor. In that moment, the pride in his heart had been smashed so thoroughly by that punch that had never even touched him that not a trace remained.