Semifinals... Goku Will Win

The bell announcing the semifinals echoed over Kapok City, deafeningly loud.

The roar from the stands nearly tore off the venue's steel-beam roof, yet the atmosphere in the competitors' tunnel was icy cold.

Chen He leaned against the rough concrete wall, his right hand clamped tightly over his right thigh. After unleashing two full-power heavy punches in succession under fifty times the limit of gravity, the muscle fibers throughout his body were spasming sharply. Scalding sweat soaked his black training uniform.

Chen He closed his eyes and silently calculated that less than forty percent of his stamina remained.

Right now, he was like a heavily armored mech about to run out of fuel. If he could not finish his next opponent within a few moves, the fiftyfold "celestial mountain" weighing on him would crush him alive.

But his next opponent was Son Goku.

"Chen He, it's our turn."

A clear voice came from the other side of the tunnel. At some point, Goku had already stepped into the boundary between sunlight and shadow. He had torn off his somewhat damaged blue school jacket, leaving only a neat, fitted undersuit.

Goku looked at Chen He's knees, trembling ever so slightly beneath the extreme burden. The usual innocence and simplicity had vanished from his clear eyes, replaced by an almost pilgrim-like fervor and solemnity. His Saiyan battle instincts, along with all the blood and sweat he had shed in the wilderness of Mount Paozu over the past year, were roaring madly at this moment.

"I know very well that even moving a finger takes all your strength right now." Goku rolled his wrists as he walked step by step onto the arena, his blazing gaze fixed on Chen He. "But I also know that if I don't fight you now... then someday, when you take off that strange thing you're wearing, I might not even be qualified to see your punches clearly."

"So don't hold back, Chen He!"

Hearing Goku's near-declarative growl, Chen He pulled at the corner of his mouth in self-mockery. Don't hold back? Just maintaining his stance was draining his blood and strength at a frantic rate. But he did not explain. He merely drew in a deep breath of scorching air mixed with pulverized stone dust, then dragged his mercury-heavy steps forward, climbing onto the arena one step at a time amid the wooden boards' shrill groans of protest.

Below the stage, medical staff were carrying the unconscious Tien Shinhan away on a stretcher.

The Crane Hermit followed beside them, his face livid. His hands shook so badly that he could barely grip his cane. Looking at the black-haired youth on the arena, who pulled open his collar to reveal a dark weighted vest, the ruthlessness belonging to a veteran martial artist in the depths of his eyes was completely swallowed by fear.

"Monster... That isn't even ki, nor is it a move from any school..." the Crane Hermit muttered through gritted teeth, as though he had lost his soul. He had always believed Mercenary Tao had died in some conspiracy, but now, seeing the power of Chen He's palm bursting the air apart, he finally understood that before absolute strength, the Crane School's prized assassination techniques were nothing more than children playing in the mud.

In the competitors' seats, Krillin and Yamcha stood side by side.

"Yamcha, can you see him clearly?" Krillin swallowed, a thin sheen of sweat appearing on his bald head.

"No." Yamcha had been staring at Chen He's feet the entire time, his eyes filled with bitterness and acceptance. "He doesn't need us to see him clearly. Krillin, do you understand? When that palm came down, he wasn't trying to find us. He filled every bit of space around us where we could dodge. We're fighting a moving iron wall."

At that moment, Master Roshi, still in disguise, leaned silently in the shadow of the stands and removed his sunglasses.

The god of martial arts, who had lived for several centuries, looked at the two youths on the stage, whose presences were entirely different yet equally earthshaking, and let out a long sigh. He had intended to teach his disciples at this tournament that there was always someone stronger out there, but Chen He's very existence had hammered that lesson into everyone's faces in the crudest, most physical way possible.

"The waves behind drive on those before... My era really has passed." Looking at Chen He's skin, faintly streaked with blood under the fiftyfold gravity, the old man's eyes held not only relief, but even more concern for an unknown fate. He could sense the pragmatism and indifference in Chen He's eyes. This youth was not fighting for the martial path; he seemed to be frantically arming himself against some immense, invisible disaster that was about to arrive.

"First match of the semifinals! Contestant Chen He versus—Contestant Son Goku!!"

"Begin!!"

BOOM!!

The instant the referee's whistle fell, the air above the arena exploded!

In a flash, Goku's body became a golden bolt of lightning that the naked eye could not possibly catch. Unlike Tien Shinhan, he did not blindly charge head-on. Instead, using the Turtle School's incomparably nimble footwork, he raced along the edge of the white shockwaves squeezed out by the fiftyfold gravity, searching for the tiny gaps in Chen He's breathing caused by the extreme burden.

Meanwhile, Chen He stood steadily in the center of a marble crater, his black hair whipping madly under the savage wind pressure.

"Come, Goku."

A cold gleam flashed through Chen He's eyes. His right fist once more carried a muffled rumble of thunder as, under gravity's pull, he slowly assumed his stance.