Back to the tournament.
This was a West City regional match of the top eight competing for a place in the final four. Since the West City division had three available spots for the global finals, the winner of this match would very likely step onto the world stage.
The audience was full of anticipation.
Both contestants in this match were absolute highlights!
One of them was an eight-year-old monkey-tailed boy with astonishing martial arts prowess. Not only that, he was the personal heir of the invincible martial artist from years past, the great elder Gohan, and the grand-disciple of Master Taro, a legendary figure whose whereabouts had remained unknown for nearly a century!
The other contestant was also a disciple of Master Taro—an inheritor of the Muten School, the martial arts school founded by Master Taro himself! These days, Muten School had already become a household name in the world of martial arts, and each generation's successor was undeniably crowned as the "Rookie King"! It had been a long time since a Muten School disciple appeared in the World Martial Arts Tournament. And now that one had finally shown up—going head-to-head against Gohan's grandson-disciple, no less—how could the crowd not feel that today's ticket was worth every damn coin?
"So many people." Standing on the stage, Son Goku glanced at the crowd surrounding him.
Although he had fought once on this very stage not long ago—against a beautiful martial artist—he hadn't really paid attention to the spectators. But today, the audience's reaction was so wild that even Son Goku was momentarily distracted from his opponent.
"Nervous?"
Opposite him, Ilip asked with a smile, his demeanor friendly.
After all, he had personally witnessed this boy run up to the side of Master Taro. And back then… the old man under the palm tree beside Taro was likely none other than Gohan himself—the boy's grandfather and martial arts master.
That kind of connection to Gohan and Master Taro—it was hard not to feel jealous.
"Nervous?" Son Goku tilted his head. In his eight short years of life, it was probably the first time he'd ever heard that word. He blinked and grinned. "Hmm… I feel really excited! I can sense it—you're a really strong fighter!"
Ilip was taken aback, a strange feeling rising in his chest. He blurted, "Don't tell me—you've already learned to control ki?!"
"Ki?" Goku looked puzzled.
So… it was just a natural, instinctive sense of his strength. What a terrifying kid.
Ilip took a deep breath and smiled. "Looks like you're still in the physical training stage… someone like that can't beat me. Come!"
The referee, sensing the crowd had hyped up enough and that the two contestants had exchanged a few words, picked up the mic and gave a brief introduction of the two fighters. Then, he announced the start of the match.
Son Goku and Ilip of the Muten School pressed their palms together in a respectful bow. Their eyes burned with fighting spirit.
"Let's do this!"
They both struck the exact same starting pose. Just this pre-fight motion alone was enough to send the spectators into a frenzy! It was really happening—Muten School vs. Muten School! Disciple of Taro vs. disciple of Taro!
Who would win?
Would it be the miracle boy, Son Goku, who had appeared like a bolt from the blue? Or the current-generation disciple of the Muten School, Ilip?
"Come on, win it! Little monkey… Son Goku!" Bulma, seated in a corner of the stands with her father beside her, watched the match. Although she'd had great confidence in Goku, the electrifying atmosphere of the venue had infected her with nervous energy.
Dr. Briefs, seated beside her, wasn't paying much attention to the fight below. His mind was wandering.
"I heard Master Taro himself showed up today… I wonder where he's sitting right now?"
He had only learned about this legendary ancestor of their family when his father had named him "Mu Lang" in tribute.
✦✦✦✦✦
Southeast of West City.
In a mountainous region, at the foot of a hill, nestled a small village-town.
It had been raining lightly over the past couple of days, leaving the air thick and damp. Today, under the lingering drizzle, a little chubby boy wearing a straw rain cloak and carrying two long swords at his waist walked into the town.
No one knew where this chubby kid had come from. He looked like he had been traveling for days to get here, and yet he was all by himself. It was hard to imagine how a fat little kid like that dared to journey so far alone.
"This weather sucks!"
The chubby boy wandered the streets a bit before finally finding a long-established tavern. As soon as he stepped through the door, he muttered and took off his dripping rain gear, placing it near the entrance. He then tightened the swords at his waist.
This little fatty—Yajirobe—squinted through his almost-shut eyelids, scratched at his damp, messy long hair, and swept his gaze across the tavern, where every drinker had turned to look at him. In a slightly nasal childlike voice, he said:
"What? Never seen a fat guy before?"
The country folk burst into laughter. A tavern waiter came over and asked Yajirobe whether he wanted a meal, a room, or both. Yajirobe replied that he wanted both, and the waiter went to inform the back.
The other guests in the tavern watched the sudden arrival of the outsider boy with varying expressions. Their gazes lingered for a moment on the twin swords at his waist before each returned to their drinks.
Nowadays, the Martial Arts Association was a major force. It had united most martial sects across the world and cultivated a culture of chivalry. The truly wealthy now hired bodyguards, and large corporations maintained their own security teams. Without employing famous martial artists, you weren't considered high-class. In the past few decades, even formerly reclusive sects had gradually begun to move in the direction the Martial Arts Association wanted to see.
In short: the world had become dangerous. You never knew if that lone traveler—old man, child, or woman—was secretly a top-level martial arts expert. And when you acted with ill intent, could there be a pair of righteous eyes nearby watching?
And even more so… the Orin Mountains weren't far from here. Nearby sat the major sect of Orin Temple.
Although Yajirobe was confident in his swordsmanship and combat skills, he had carefully mapped his journey south, deliberately choosing routes that passed through the spheres of influence of major martial sects. Better to take a longer road and travel more safely.
When Yajirobe's food and drink were brought to his table, the tavern owner—pressured by the excited demands of the other patrons—begrudgingly turned on the new TV in the main hall.
"Stop being so stingy!"
"Yeah! You make all this money selling booze and can't even turn on the TV?"
"Come on! I heard today's got live coverage of the World Martial Arts Tournament!"
As the rowdy patrons hollered, they finally got what they wanted: live footage of the World Martial Arts Tournament flashed onto the big screen.
This village was almost equidistant from both West City and Central City, so the locals enjoyed watching matches from both regions.