The Final Four Revealed

The small-fry had been mostly cleared from the ring, and the remaining few occupied their own corners.

Son Gohan stood in the center of the ring, looking toward Trunks opposite him.

Trunks' purple hair swayed slightly, and his face still held the lingering shock of having a fist stopped just before his nose. The fighting spirit in his eyes began to burn, and he decided to lay his cards on the table.

"Trunks, use your full power."

Trunks paused for a moment, then his mouth curled into a grin. He had never truly gone all-out against Gohan, and since Gohan asked for his full power—!

"Alright!"

He planted his feet, clenched his fists, and let out a roar from the depths of his throat. Golden aura erupted from his body, his hair stood on end turning gold, and his pupils shifted to a teal hue.

The stone tiles beneath his feet cracked from the pressure, and debris scattered in every direction.

Super Saiyan! His muscles began to expand, the blocks of muscle on his shoulders and arms bulging as if inflated, and his combat suit stretched taut.

His power was skyrocketing, but it was a surge of strength that sacrificed agility.

Son Gohan took one look: Super Saiyan Second Grade, the power-enhanced form.

It was the same technique Vegeta used during the Cell Games; muscle expansion brought a massive increase in power, but the cost was a drop in speed.

It seemed Trunks hadn't fully grasped the essence of the full-power state; the moment he got heated, he reverted to his old habits.

He did not transform.

In his base form with black hair and black eyes, he simply adopted a starting stance against the golden-aura-blazing Trunks.

Trunks moved. He kicked off the ground, shattering the stone tiles, and transformed into a golden streak of light as he charged.

His right fist, wrapped in golden flames, slammed toward Gohan's face—not fast, but packed with force.

Son Gohan sidestepped the strike, the pressure of the blow whistling sharply past his ear.

Trunks immediately followed up with a horizontal sweep of his left fist. Son Gohan leaned back to dodge, tapped his foot, and drifted several meters backward.

"A-da-da-da-da-da—"

Trunks pursued him, unleashing a flurry of heavy punches, each one carrying enough force to shatter a mountain.

Son Gohan stopped retreating and met the blows with his own. Their fists collided frantically in the air; bang, bang, bang, bang—the muffled thuds merged into a continuous, deafening roar.

Sonic booms echoed over the sea, and the ocean beneath them churned incessantly from the shockwaves.

The two fought from the ring into the sky.

Their figures crossed at high speeds above the water, each collision exploding with visible shockwaves.

The waves were pushed outward, crashing against stone pillars and splashing white spray.

Trunks hammered down with a fist, and Son Gohan raised his hand to block. Amidst the dull thud, he used the momentum to flip his body and swept a whip-kick toward Trunks' waist.

Trunks pulled in his stomach to dodge and countered with an elbow strike toward Son Gohan's shoulder. Son Gohan sidestepped and followed through with a knee strike.

The two were locked in close-quarters combat, blow for blow, each strike landing solidly.

No one in the spectator stands remained seated.

Everyone had stood up, mouths agape, watching the two figures colliding frantically over the sea.

Some couldn't see what was happening with the naked eye, only catching flashes of gold and black light in the sky, each collision accompanied by a deafening boom.

Mr. Satan sat in the VIP box, his face ashen. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his eyes fixed on the two figures over the sea—no, this was not the kind of movement a normal person could produce.

He suddenly clutched his stomach and stood up.

"I, I have a stomachache—I need to use the restroom first—"

His four disciples looked at each other, but before they could speak, Mr. Satan had already scurried into the restroom and slammed the door shut.

Out on the sea, the battle continued.

Son Gohan and Trunks' fists collided once more. The two forces stalemated for half a second, their auras churning violently.

Trunks gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, pouring every ounce of strength into his arms. Son Gohan's expression remained calm, his breathing steady.

He was holding back, keeping his power at a level similar to Trunks, feeding him moves one after another.

Both simultaneously withdrew their power and slid dozens of meters backward, creating distance.

Trunks brought his hands to his waist, golden light condensing in his palms.

Son Gohan mirrored the movement, a blue sphere of light rotating in his palms. Two energy blasts fired simultaneously, colliding head-on in the middle of the sea.

BOOM!!

The explosion's fire lit up half the sky, the shockwave pressing a massive depression into the sea as walls of water surged outward.

A large patch of the ocean was vaporized, and white steam rose up, shrouding their figures.

As the steam dissipated, Trunks was panting heavily, his golden aura dimmed by more than half, his chest heaving with increasing intensity.

The energy consumption was too high; the physical burden of the Super Saiyan Second Grade combined with the high-intensity exchange had nearly bottomed him out.

Son Gohan hovered opposite him, his breathing steady. Fighting in his base form against a Super Saiyan for the entire duration, his stamina hadn't even been taxed as much as his recovery rate.

The two landed back on the ring.

Trunks leaned on his knees, gasping for air. He looked up at Son Gohan, his eyes filled with even more awe than before.

To be able to fight like this in his base form—if he were to transform... he didn't dare to imagine it.

Nearby, Piccolo stood with his arms crossed, his brows slightly raised.

The Son Gohan of this timeline stood on another ring, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes full of shock.

He had watched the entire duel, wave after wave of shock hitting him. This version of himself that had suddenly appeared could fight a Super Saiyan to a standstill while merely in his base form.

"So strong, truly so strong."

Piccolo withdrew his gaze and turned to walk toward the spectator stands. He had no interest in the prize money; he had entered the tournament purely to loosen up his muscles.

Since the final four were decided, he couldn't be bothered to participate in the later stages.

He walked to the edge of the stands and told the referee, "I forfeit." The referee paused, then announced that Krillin would take his place in the final four.

The final four were set: Son Gohan, Trunks, Son Gohan—the referee looked at the two Gohans, coughed, and announced the rules.

"The four contestants will draw lots at random and take vehicles to the four small islands in the north, south, east, and west to challenge Mr. Satan's four disciples.

After defeating the disciples, return to the central ring. The first to return will be the winner and will have the right to challenge the world's strongest, Mr. Satan!"

Four race cars sat at the starting line, engines growling, tires vibrating slightly.

Son Gohan sat in the driver's seat, his fingers resting on the steering wheel.

The countdown began—three, two, one, the red light turned green.

The cars shot out like arrows from a bow, racing into the tunnel with lightning speed.

The roar of engines echoed through the tunnel, the lights on both sides receding rapidly.

Son Gohan gripped the steering wheel, his gaze calm as he looked ahead.