The Sleeping System

The hall was so quiet that only the intermittent sounds of sharp breaths could be heard.

Yamcha leaned against a stone pillar, gasping for air. Every breath sent piercing pain through his ribs. Puar hurriedly flew over, tears welling in his eyes as he tugged at Yamcha's collar with his tiny paws. "Master Yamcha! Are you okay? Don't scare me!"

Yamcha said nothing, only waved a hand to signal that he was not dead yet. He lowered his head and looked at his trembling hands. Sand still lingered between his fingers, kicked up when he had assumed the opening stance of the Wolf Fang Fist.

He had lost many times. He had lost to Son Goku in the desert, and to that perverted old man disguised as Jackie Chun at the last martial arts tournament. Every time he lost, he would find an excuse to train desperately afterward, always holding that breath of resentment in his heart. He believed that if he were just a little faster, a little fiercer, he would eventually reclaim his honor.

But that punch just now—Chen He had not even bothered to look at him properly.

That "ki," which had compressed even the air until it felt like raw iron, was not something that could be overcome with techniques or skill. Yamcha raised his head and watched Chen He's retreating figure through his scattered bangs, each step producing a dull thud against the wooden floorboards. Bitterness welled up in his mouth. He suddenly felt that all his grueling training in the desert over the past year might have looked like a clown's performance in the other man's eyes.

"The gap... how could it be this huge?" Yamcha tugged self-mockingly at the corner of his mouth, only to pull at the wound on his face and suck in a sharp breath from the pain.

Below the stage, Krillin and Son Goku had already hurried over.

"Senior Brother Chen He, isn't this a bit too much?" Krillin grabbed Chen He as he descended the steps, but the instant his hand touched Chen He's arm, his entire body abruptly sank downward.

It felt less like he was supporting a person and more like he was holding up a solid chunk of iron just pulled from a furnace. The heat radiating from Chen He's skin was terrifyingly intense, and the muscles beneath his clothes were hard as stone. Even through the fabric, Krillin could feel unnatural spasms ripple through them.

"Are you insane, Chen He?" Krillin lowered his voice, his eyes full of anxiety and confusion. "How much weight are you carrying? Did you really need to push yourself this hard against Yamcha? How are you supposed to fight in the main tournament in this condition?"

Chen He did not answer immediately. He walked down the steps, pulled his hands from his pockets, braced them against his knees, and gulped down air.

Fifty times gravity was nearly crushing his lungs flat. Enduring such extreme weight was torture for both mind and body. His vision had even started to blur from oxygen deprivation, yet his rigorous, practical nature instead gave him a strange sense of reassurance at this moment.

Without a system that might inexplicably fall asleep, he could at least still control his own body.

"Otherwise, this tournament would be too boring." Only after his breathing steadied somewhat did Chen He straighten up and brush away Krillin's supporting hand.

He turned his head toward Son Goku, who stood nearby watching him.

Son Goku was not laughing carelessly as usual today. Instead, he had his arms folded across his chest, his gaze so deep that it barely seemed like him. This wild kid who had grown up on Mount Paozu possessed a sharper instinct for ki and battle than anyone else. He stepped forward twice, stopped beside Chen He, and sniffed.

"Chen He, have you been fighting this thing every day for the past year?" Son Goku's voice was soft, but the knuckles gripping the Power Pole had turned slightly white.

He could feel Chen He's pain right now, as well as the sluggish force in Chen He's attacks that had nearly torn space apart. Son Goku was not afraid. Instead, hot blood surged straight through his veins to his head. He had thought that he had improved quickly enough over the past year, but Chen He had been risking his life in an abyss none of them could even see.

"I'm really looking forward to meeting you in the main tournament, Chen He." Son Goku looked up and revealed a complicated smile mixed with fighting spirit and concern. "When the time comes, don't lose to someone else because of that huge burden."

"Worry about yourself." Chen He replied blandly, then casually tore open the third button from the top of his black training uniform.

At the back of the crowd, Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu silently left the preliminary hall.

Tien Shinhan's steps were somewhat stiff. The third eye on his forehead was filled with fine red blood vessels after he had overexerted himself trying to follow the trajectory of Chen He's punch. It hurt so badly that he had no choice but to close it.

"Tien Shinhan... that black-haired person looked like he was about to die just now." Chiaotzu tugged at Tien Shinhan's clothes, fear in his voice. "His ki is so chaotic, but... it's terrifying."

"That wasn't chaos. His body was resisting something." Tien Shinhan clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms. As the Crane School's trump card, he had originally believed he had come here to win the championship and humiliate the Turtle School while he was at it. But the sheer strength Chen He had displayed in that punch had ground his pride straight into the mud.

"Damn it... how can there be a monster like this on Earth?" Tien Shinhan gritted his teeth, unwillingness and ruthlessness flashing in his eyes. "No matter what secret he's carrying, if I meet him in the main tournament, I definitely won't sit there and wait to die like Yamcha!"

At that moment, Jackie Chun, standing not far away, let out a sigh. He slowly pulled a handkerchief from his robe and wiped away the cold sweat beading on his forehead.

He had initially thought that the destruction of the Red Ribbon Army had merely been the result of good luck and cooperation between those two brats. But now, it seemed that Chen He—a young man who was calculating and ruthless—had long since left these so-called senior martial artists so far behind that they could not even see his back.

"This World Martial Arts Tournament... may end up tearing apart even the arena here in Kapok City." Master Roshi watched Chen He's retreating figure, and a trace of concern for the future joined the bitter smile on his lips.

Chen He merely walked out of the hall step by heavy step. The sunlight outside made him narrow his eyes. He touched his empty mind, then took one last look at his slightly trembling palms.

The system was asleep, and the shadow of "almost being discovered" still hung over him—but so what? He was steadily growing stronger too, constantly tempering himself. Perhaps he would learn the answer before long, but for now, the most important thing was to increase his combat power.