As usual, the stadium was packed to the brim. Somehow, Bulma had managed to secure front-row seats again—an accomplishment I'd long since learned not to question.
My brother's first match was… bizarre. Not because his opponent was strange or strong—but because he ended up marrying her.
The crowd erupted into cheers as if they'd just witnessed something extraordinary. I watched in silence, trying to process it all. On this planet, celebrating a coupling seemed to be a major event. Public. Loud. Joyful.
It was… alien to me.
Among Saiyans, choosing a partner was practical. Private. You found someone strong—or suitable—and that was that. There was no ceremony. No applause. Certainly no announcement to the world. The idea of celebrating it had never once crossed my mind.
As the cheers continued, my thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Vegeta still calls himself the Prince of all Saiyans, I mused. But we don't even have enough survivors left to form a village.
And Nappa—still clinging to hierarchy and rank, as if the structure itself hadn't already collapsed.
I couldn't help but smirk faintly. They would be furious if they ever heard that thought spoken aloud.
Tien and Piccolo Jr. advanced through their matches with minimal resistance. Their opponents put up a fight, but it was clear neither of them had been truly challenged.
Yamcha, however, had drawn Krillin.
The fight began energetically—quick jabs, sharp kicks, clean footwork. Yamcha pushed forward confidently, trying to control the pace. But it didn't take long for the imbalance to show.
Krillin used his smaller size and lower center of gravity expertly. He was only slightly faster than Yamcha, but every strike Yamcha threw seemed to miss by inches. Despite Yamcha's reach advantage, he couldn't capitalize on it.
I narrowed my eyes.
They looked evenly matched at first glance—speed, strength, timing. But beneath the surface, the truth was clear. Krillin wasn't even sweating. Yamcha, on the other hand, was already breathing hard.
The exchange was entertaining, almost theatrical. Back and forth. Give and take.
Krillin could end this, I realized. But he won't.
He was being careful. Considerate.
Krillin didn't want to humiliate Yamcha.
That restraint made sense. Yamcha had already suffered a crushing defeat at Tien's hands in the previous tournament. This—this measured pressure—was Krillin's way of respecting him.
But when Krillin eventually faced Tien, Goku, or Piccolo Jr., he wouldn't hold back.
And when that happened… Yamcha would understand.
As we watched, I leaned slightly toward Bulma.
"You'd look good in that ring," I said casually.
She laughed, brushing it off. "You think so?"
"I know so," I replied. "Even without your armor—or that upgraded scouter of yours—you'd make it to the semifinals easily. As long as you didn't face Krillin, Tien, Goku, or Piccolo."
She smirked. "Just because I can doesn't mean I should."
Then she glanced at me. "So why aren't you entering?"
"I could win," I answered honestly. "But I don't see the point."
She nodded, as if that was exactly the response she'd expected.
"The semifinals will probably be Krillin versus Goku," she said after a moment. "And Tien versus Piccolo."
I hummed in agreement. "Tien's never met King Piccolo. I doubt he understands who Piccolo Jr. really is."
Bulma's eyes returned to the ring, excitement lighting her expression.
"I can't wait to see how it plays out."
Neither could I.
The anticipation in the stadium was thick, almost tangible. Whatever happened next, one thing was certain—
This tournament wasn't just about strength anymore