Tien Shinhan was a more versatile fighter than most people realized.
In the previous tournament, he had divided himself into four bodies—splitting both his presence and his power. This time, he only split into two. Even so, each body still carried a power level hovering around eight hundred.
Piccolo Jr.'s power, on the other hand, sat closer to nine hundred.
At a glance, it looked like Piccolo was struggling. He held a defensive stance, absorbing blows instead of pressing forward. But I could tell better than most—this wasn't desperation.
It was restraint.
Tien's duplication bridged the gap in raw power, but it came at a cost. As a single fighter, his strength would have surpassed sixteen hundred easily. Instead, he chose balance over brute force, forcing Piccolo to fight cautiously.
Smart, I thought. But only temporary.
As the fight dragged on, Piccolo adjusted. He learned Tien's rhythm, his angles, the timing of his feints. Once that happened, the outcome was inevitable.
Tien fought brilliantly—far beyond what I'd expected from someone training largely on his own. But brilliance wasn't enough.
When Piccolo finally struck decisively, the match ended cleanly.
The stadium erupted in applause.
Most of the spectators didn't fully understand what they'd just witnessed—but they felt it. Skill recognized skill, even when the details were lost.
I exhaled slowly.
Piccolo wasn't the same as King Piccolo.
He wasn't here to dominate the world. He was here to face Goku—to settle a debt inherited from the past so he could move forward.
At least… that was my read.
Unless he told me himself, it would remain an educated guess.
Goku versus Krillin unfolded exactly as I expected.
It began like a dance—fluid, familiar, almost playful. They knew each other too well. Every feint had a counter. Every strike carried restraint.
Midway through the fight, Krillin pushed himself to his limit. His power climbed to around a thousand.
Goku followed.
Without Bulma's revised scouter, I wouldn't have been able to track those numbers so precisely. Even then, it took focus.
Krillin wasn't as strong as Tien—that much was clear—but Goku was still holding back.
Not to be fair.
To compare.
That's how he fights, I thought. Not to overpower— but to understand.
As their speed increased, the crowd lost track of them entirely. To most of the spectators, Goku and Krillin simply vanished—reappearing only when the ground cracked or the air trembled.
Even Yamcha couldn't follow it anymore.
Bulma, already wearing her modified scouter, leaned forward.
"I've got three possible movement paths at once," she muttered. "And that's still not all of them."
"Enough to keep up?" I asked.
She nodded. "Barely."
As the fight reached its final phase, their movements slowed just enough for the audience to see again.
Krillin was on the back foot.
His stamina was draining fast. Goku hadn't used his full power—not once—but he hadn't held back his effort either. Matching Krillin blow for blow took everything Krillin had.
In the end, Goku won.
Krillin fell, exhausted—but smiling.
He knew he couldn't win.
That didn't matter.
He'd tried.
And that alone made the fight impressive—even to me.
I noticed Yamcha leave the stadium only after it was over.
I'd been too focused on the match to see when he slipped away.
I hoped he'd come to understand, someday, that working alone wouldn't take him where he wanted to go. Tien and Piccolo possessed talents most people could never reach—and even then, they didn't grow in isolation.
Tien, in particular, amazed me.
If he'd been born a Saiyan… I wondered how far he could have gone.
Even as a human, his growth over just a few years nearly rivaled ours.
Still—not even he matched Goku now.
And Goku had advantages no one else did: guidance, technology, a place designed to push him beyond his limits.
Now, the semifinals were over.
Only one fight remained.
Goku versus Piccolo Jr.
I didn't know their full power levels yet—but I knew this much:
They were both stronger than Tien.
And I was about to find out just how much stronger.