Time had a strange way of slipping past me when I wasn't looking.
I still remembered when Goku barely reached my waist—when I could rest a hand on his head without even bending my arm. Now, standing beside me, he was only a few inches shorter. The difference felt… unreal. Like I'd looked away for a moment and the world had quietly rearranged itself.
Krillin, by comparison, hadn't changed much in height at all. His strength had grown steadily—remarkably, even—but next to Goku, the contrast was obvious. Goku's longer limbs gave him a natural reach advantage, especially in close combat. Even so, Krillin's spirit hadn't dimmed in the slightest. If anything, it only seemed to sharpen his resolve as the tournament drew closer.
That stubborn determination was one of the things I admired most about him.
I'd visited Tien and Piccolo a few times over the past months as well. Their growth had been impressive, especially considering how isolated their training was. Piccolo, in particular, no longer carried the raw hostility he once radiated—but that didn't mean his score with Goku was settled. Not even close.
I'd shared everything I knew with them. Techniques, theory, instincts.
What they chose to do with that knowledge was no longer my decision.
Bulma had surprised me, too.
I'd been almost certain she would enter the World Martial Arts Tournament this time. With her current power level—somewhere around five hundred in her base state—and her armor capable of amplifying that to fifteen thousand, she could easily qualify.
But she chose not to.
When I asked her why, she only shrugged.
"I don't need a trophy to prove anything," she'd said. "I already know what I can do."
Her armor had become more refined than ever, but more impressive was the system integrated into her latest scouter—predictive modules capable of mapping multiple movement possibilities in real time.
Every time we sparred, she could see my next action before I made it.
The problem, of course, was that the system never showed just one outcome.
It showed dozens.
Choosing the most likely one—and reacting fast enough—was the real challenge. For most people, that kind of information overload would be paralyzing. For Bulma, it was simply another puzzle to solve.
Her greatest weapon had never been power.
It was her mind.
Goku's strongest training robot now operated around a power level of two thousand. The mass-produced versions I sold to the public were far weaker—around two hundred fifty—but safe, reliable, and practical. I continued refining the next generation, though at this point Bulma herself was a far more effective sparring partner than any machine I could build.
I still sparred with Goku and Krillin several times a week, but more often than not, they trained together.
They knew each other's rhythms too well now.
Too comfortable.
Sparring didn't require a winner.
The tournament would.
That difference mattered.
I could feel their anticipation building—Goku's excitement bright and infectious, Krillin's quieter but just as intense. The World Martial Arts Tournament wasn't just a test of strength for them.
It was a measure of how far they'd come.
I wouldn't be entering myself.
This time, I'd be watching from the stands—cheering, observing, and trusting that when the moment came, they'd show the world exactly what they'd grown into.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt confident doing so.