Everyone is a Friend

The atmosphere in the preliminary hall finally eased after Chen He left, recovering from the suffocating pressure that had nearly crushed everyone. But the once-noisy venue had now fallen to nothing but subdued whispers.

Bulma hurriedly helped Krillin and Puar support Yamcha onto a row of chairs in the lounge. Yamcha leaned against the cold wall, his chest still heaving violently as cold sweat ran down from his temples. Bulma dug out some wet wipes from her bag and wiped the blood from his face, unable to stop herself from complaining, "What on earth did Chen He grow up eating? How could he be so heavy-handed... We're all friends. Did he really need to use that much force in the preliminaries?"

"Stop it, Bulma."

Yamcha closed his eyes, his voice somewhat hoarse. He raised a hand to push hers away, tugging at the corner of his mouth with a self-mocking bitter smile. "He didn't even touch me... It's not his fault. I was the idiot who thought I'd found an opening. In the end, I couldn't even withstand the wind kicked up by his punch."

Yamcha turned his head and looked at the glaring sunlight outside Kapok City. Over the past year, he had lived alongside the wind and sand in the desert, training every day until every bone in his body felt shattered. Yet in that instant, the bit of pride and dignity he possessed as a man had been smashed to pieces by reality. He did not resent Chen He. He simply felt a profound sense of powerlessness. It was like a mortal exhausting everything he had to climb to the mountaintop, only to discover that a god had long been seated among the clouds, looking down on him.

Krillin sat beside him, rubbing his bald head, his expression no better. Looking at Yamcha, much of the excitement he had felt about showing off in the main tournament faded away as well.

"Goku, tell me honestly." Krillin turned to look at Goku, who was crouched on a bench with a serious expression. "That thing Chen He has strapped to his body... what is it? I only touched him for a second, but it felt like my whole arm was about to be pulled out of its socket."

Goku laid the Power Pole across his knees and rested his chin in both hands. A complicated flame flickered in his usually clear eyes.

"It's weighted clothing," Goku said quietly.

"Weighted clothing?" Bulma froze for a moment.

"Yeah." Goku nodded, recalling the scenes from his hard training on Mount Paozu over the past year. More than once, when he went to find Chen He, he had seen him struggling inside bizarre, complicated iron frames, pressed down so hard he could not even straighten his back, his sweat pounding holes into the dirt beneath him.

"Chen He's been weighing himself down with loads we can't even imagine. When he fought Yamcha just now, that weight on him... was probably a hundred times, maybe a thousand times heavier than the turtle shells we used to carry." Goku straightened up, his fists tightening slightly. "He wasn't moving slowly. He was deliberately fighting against that weight. If he took that weird thing off..."

Goku did not continue, but Krillin and Yamcha both understood.

If he took it off, how fast would he be? Even King Yemma probably would not be able to catch his shadow.

At that moment, the announcement for the main tournament draw had already been posted on the notice board in the center of the hall.

The quarterfinal roster was freshly announced: Son Goku, Chen He, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien Shinhan, Chiaotzu, Jackie Chun, and Bangpote.

At the corner of the corridor, Tien Shinhan leaned against the wall, both hands tucked into the sleeves of his green robe. His third eye was already closed, but the pure trail of airflow left behind by Chen He's punch continued replaying in his mind over and over.

"Senior Brother, you look terrible," Chiaotzu said softly beside him, still holding a bag of roasted chestnuts he had bought outside earlier.

"Chiaotzu, when the match starts, use your psychic powers to keep an eye on that guy named Chen He for me." Tien Shinhan opened his eyes, and a flash of the Crane School's ruthlessness and unwillingness to yield passed through them. Since childhood, he had been taught by his master, the Crane Hermit, and his uncle, Mercenary Tao, that martial arts existed for killing and victory. Although Mercenary Tao had completely vanished a year ago and the Crane School had publicly declared its retirement, Tien Shinhan had been holding in a fire all this time.

He wanted to prove on this stage that the Crane School was the greatest in the world. But Chen He's presence was like an unnamed mountain standing before him, filling him with an irritation he had never felt before.

"I don't believe there's anyone in this world who can't be defeated. His moves are so sluggish—there has to be a limit!" Tien Shinhan gritted his teeth, as though trying to convince himself.

Meanwhile, beneath the quiet shade of the trees behind the venue.

Chen He sat alone on a stone bench. The collar of his black training uniform hung wide open, exposing the dark vest beneath it, heavy in an almost unnatural way. The extreme fiftyfold gravity was still madly tugging at each of his internal organs. His breathing remained heavy, and every few minutes, his fingertips twitched faintly from muscle overload.

Without the system's cold prompts, without the cheerful chime of points being credited, the surroundings were so quiet that only the cicadas could be heard.

Chen He raised a hand and looked at his callused palm. With 40,000 power level, he could have coasted through this era of Earth like a god. But the rigor and pragmatism carved into his bones made it impossible for him to enjoy himself peacefully without the system's oversight.

The system's words before it went dormant—"I was almost discovered"—still hung over him like the Sword of Damocles.

Discovered by whom? Earth's god? Or Frieza somewhere in the universe?

Chen He let out a breath of stale air, and his gaze became cold and resolute again. Whoever it was, in this Dragon Ball world where the strong devoured the weak, only power truly held in one's own hands would never deceive him. Fiftyfold gravity made every step difficult and prevented him from enduring for long, but the pain of forcing his body to its limits was, bit by bit, thoroughly forging those inflated power levels granted by the system into his flesh and blood.

"The main tournament is about to begin, Chen He."

Goku's voice came from beyond the shade.

Chen He did not turn around. He merely rose slowly to his feet, and under the pressure of fiftyfold gravity, the dirt beneath him sank again, leaving two distinct footprints. He fastened the buttons of his training uniform one by one, forcibly locking that violent ki, which was nearly overflowing, inside his clothes.

"Let's go."

Chen He tugged at his collar and strode toward the arena.