Papaya Island, near South City.
Normally a quiet vacation spot, the island had become a boiling sea of people today—voices everywhere, excitement shaking the air.
A massive banner reading "WORLD MARTIAL ARTS TOURNAMENT" snapped in the wind. Martial artists from all over the globe, fight fanatics, and tourists who just wanted to watch the chaos packed the island's center, surrounding the iconic circular arena until there was barely room to breathe.
The air smelled like sweat, popcorn seasoning, and pure anticipation. Shouts, cheers, vendor calls—everything blended into one roaring storm of noise, celebrating a grand event that came only once every four years.
Near the registration area, two figures stood out immediately:
A short bald kid… and a spiky-haired boy with a tail.
"Goku!"
Krillin tugged at the orange-clad boy beside him, eyes bright with confidence and excitement.
"The guy you told me about—the one with a tail like yours—Vitelli… is he really that strong? Don't forget, we trained with Master Roshi like we were in hell!"
Krillin clenched his fists and flexed proudly. His muscles were leaner now, tighter.
"I feel terrifyingly strong!"
Goku scratched the back of his head, his clear eyes showing a hint of uncertainty.
"Uh… I don't know about now. But one year ago, he moved really fast. I didn't even see it—then I couldn't move at all, and I lost."
He recalled that helpless defeat, still a little baffled.
"Hah! Then you were just weak back then!"
Krillin's confidence instantly exploded. He planted his hands on his hips and grinned like he owned the world.
"It's different now! We're Master Roshi's top students! After all that insane training, I, Krillin the Great, am super strong! If that Vitelli shows up, I'll beat him until his teeth fall out!"
Goku nodded slowly.
"…Oh."
In his heart, though, he wasn't convinced.
If Krillin fought Vitelli… Goku had a bad feeling Krillin would lose horribly.
Before he could say anything, a long, powerful hand suddenly appeared from the side like a ghost—pinching Goku's chubby cheek with perfect accuracy, then maliciously tugging it outward.
"Ow ow ow—That hurts!!"
Goku yelped, tears nearly popping out as he tried to pry the fingers off his face.
Krillin jumped in shock and turned—
And saw a tall young man in a black combat suit standing beside them as if he'd been there the whole time.
Black hair. Sharp features. Handsome enough to be unfair. A playful smile rested at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze carried the kind of casual confidence that made your instincts scream danger.
Behind him, a furry tail swayed lazily, almost rhythmic.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk… well, well."
Vitelli's tone was exaggerated, amused, full of teasing.
"Isn't this our little Goku? Only one year, and you've already become the legendary Turtle Hermit's disciple? How adorable~"
He dragged out the last word on purpose—then pinched even harder.
"Let go! You bastard—who are you?! Let go of Goku!"
Krillin charged, angry and protective. He grabbed Vitelli's wrist and tried to pry his hand off—
It didn't budge.
Panic rising, Krillin actually opened his mouth and lunged like he was going to bite Vitelli's arm.
"Tch."
Vitelli frowned. He had absolutely no interest in getting bald-kid saliva on him.
With a small flick of his wrist, he tossed Krillin's motion aside like it weighed nothing—then released Goku's cheek.
Goku immediately clutched his face, red and sore, glaring with pure grievance.
"Vitelli! That really hurt!"
"Vitelli…?"
Krillin rubbed his arm, which felt numb from the casual toss. His pupils tightened.
He stared at the man whose presence felt "ordinary" at first glance—and yet made his skin prickle with an instinctive dread.
"You're that Vitelli?"
"If there isn't another guy named Vitelli wandering around," Vitelli said, dusting his hands as if he'd just brushed off lint, "then yes. That's me."
His smile turned sharper, wilder. He looked Krillin up and down with faint disdain.
"Just a completely ordinary Saiyan."
Krillin's competitive spirit flared. He forced down that uneasy feeling, folded his arms, and puffed his chest out as hard as he could.
"Hmph! Quit acting mysterious! I don't care who you are—if you're competing too, then listen carefully! If you run into me or Goku on the stage…"
He paused, voice turning fierce.
"We won't go easy on you! So don't come crying when you get beaten up!"
It was clearly meant to sound intimidating.
Vitelli stared at the tiny bald kid standing tall on pure stubbornness and almost laughed.
He held it in and nodded like he was humoring a child.
"Mhm. Sure. Got it. Thanks for the warning."
His tone—especially that drawn-out cadence—was pure mockery.
Just then, a clear, bright female voice cut through the crowd.
"Vitelli! You disappeared the moment I looked away! I've been searching everywhere!"
Bulma squeezed through the mass of people with her wallet in hand, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She wore a stylish casual outfit today, her short blue hair even more vibrant in the sun.
The moment she saw Vitelli, she naturally walked up and linked her arm through his, leaning against him with obvious intimacy.
"Oh—Goku?"
Bulma finally noticed the two kids beside him, her face lighting up.
"You're here too?!"
"It's Bulma!"
Goku brightened instantly, forgetting the pain in his cheek.
"Krillin and I came with Master Roshi! But he said he wanted to 'go admire the scenery' and then he just vanished."
"Master Roshi… that dirty old pervert is here?" Bulma's expression instantly chilled.
But when she looked back at the two kids, her usual sparkle returned.
"Perfect! I booked the best hotel on the island. It's almost lunchtime—come on, let's eat together! My treat!"
She patted her bulging wallet proudly.
"Really?! Yes!!"
Goku's eyes instantly turned into stars at the word food.
Krillin, however, stared at the way Bulma clung to Vitelli's arm—how naturally they fit together—and some inexplicable bitterness rose in his chest.
He clicked his tongue and muttered under his breath:
"Hmph… true martial artists prioritize the Way. Getting obsessed with women… only slows down your punches…"
Even he sounded like he didn't believe his own words.
Unfortunately for him, Vitelli's hearing was absurdly sharp. To Vitelli, it was basically Krillin shouting into a megaphone.
Vitelli raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint flashing in his eyes.
Oh? Baldy's trying to act noble? Fine. I'll remember that. Someday I'll make sure you get exactly what you "want."
At noon, Bulma's luxury hotel hosted a scene the staff would remember for the rest of their lives.
Vitelli demonstrated—through pure action—what a Saiyan stomach truly meant.
He didn't look like he was rushing, but the speed and efficiency were terrifying. Food didn't feel "eaten" so much as erased.
Steaks piled like hills. Whole roast chickens. Mountains of fried rice. Endless soups and desserts—
All disappeared into his mouth as if he were connected to a black hole.
The kitchen staff were practically smoking from overwork. Waiters ran until their legs trembled.
And still, Vitelli's plates kept stacking up at a horrifying rate.
Krillin watched, mouth open, chopsticks slipping from his fingers.
Goku could eat a lot too—but compared to Vitelli?
He was a beginner standing beside a monster.
Bulma, meanwhile, wore the expression of someone who'd already accepted her fate. She ate salad gracefully, occasionally wiping the corner of Vitelli's mouth with indulgent familiarity, and calmly ordered more like a general commanding troops.
"Two more whole roasted piglets. Yes, whole. And bring five more servings of that seafood pilaf!"
After the feast—four people leaving the restaurant, though it was mostly Vitelli and Goku doing the "feasting"—they returned to the tournament grounds.
The preliminary draw was about to begin.
A huge electronic screen rolled numbers.
Vitelli reached in casually, pulled a slip, and glanced at it.
No. 7.
He stuffed it into his pocket, eyes sweeping over the contestants—some fierce, some steady, all eager.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
None of these people interest me.
He was here for two reasons:
One, to watch young Goku and Krillin—future legends—up close.
Two…
To enjoy himself a little.
Yes. A tiny bit of showmanship.
As the afternoon qualifiers raged across multiple side rings, Vitelli was assigned to Ring C.
He leaned against a pillar beside the stage, arms folded, eyes half-closed—like the roaring crowd and cracking fists had nothing to do with him.
Only when someone the audience screamed for—"Chapa the King! Eight-Arm Fist!"—stepped onto the ring did Vitelli lazily lift one eyelid.
The man was huge, muscles bulging. He shouted and began swinging his arms so fast a blur of fists appeared in front of him.
It looked impressive.
To normal people.
"Heh…"
Vitelli let out a soft scoff and closed his eyes again.
In his view, it was slow-motion replay—full of holes, full of openings.
Boring.
Time passed.
Finally, the judge's loud voice rang out:
"Ring C, Match Seven! Contestant No. 7, Vitelli, versus Contestant No. 11—!"
Vitelli opened his eyes at last.
Under Bulma's excited stare and Goku and Krillin's curious gaze, he walked onto the ring at an unhurried pace.
His opponent was a lean man with sharp eyes—clearly experienced. He immediately took a tight defensive stance, watching Vitelli like he was staring at death.
The judge announced, "Begin!"
The man roared and launched forward like a predator, throwing a straight punch toward Vitelli's face—fast, heavy, confident.
He believed the punch was perfect.
Then—
Vitelli moved.
He didn't even shift his feet.
He casually raised his right hand, like shooing away an annoying insect, and waved through the air.
WHOOM—!
No collision. No impact sound.
Just an invisible, crushing palm-force that compressed the air like it was being slammed flat.
The opponent's expression snapped from ferocity into horror.
He felt like he'd been hit by a speeding train.
"UGHH—!"
A short, broken scream escaped him as his body spun away like a ripped kite, launching off the ring in a clean arc—
THUD!
He crashed into the sand more than ten meters away and went instantly unconscious.
Ring C fell into absolute silence.
It was as if someone had crushed the crowd's throat.
People stared at the black-haired young man on the ring—whose clothes hadn't even fluttered.
What… just happened?
He waved his hand… and the other guy flew?
The judge froze too, brain short-circuiting. A long second passed before he stammered and raised his arm.
"C-Contestant No. 7… Vitelli… w-wins!"
The silence shattered into a tidal wave of shock.
"My god—what was that?!"
"He didn't even touch him!"
"That guy was last year's quarterfinalist!"
"Monster! He's a monster!"
Goku and Krillin stood in the crowd with their jaws practically on the floor.
Goku grabbed Krillin's arm and shook it hard.
"Krillin! Did you see that?! He's amazing! Just like last year—no… he's even scarier now!"
Krillin was pale, staring blankly.
"…This is… a joke, right? How do you fight something like that?"
In the contestants' area, a certain "participant" in disguise quietly removed his sunglasses.
Master Roshi's old eyes were heavy with shock and seriousness.
He saw it more clearly than anyone else.
That wasn't a simple gust of wind.
It was ki—compressed, shaped, and released with frightening precision.
And the control was perfect: strong enough to send the man off the ring, yet not lethal.
That level of mastery… that level of power…
It was bottomless.
Who is this Vitelli?
Since when did the martial world produce someone like this?!
After that, even Goku and Krillin's easy victories felt dull in comparison.
Vitelli lost interest completely. He took Bulma's hand and left early, choosing the island's sea breeze and night lights over watching "amateurs trade punches."
Papaya Island's night was far more entertaining than watching weaklings struggle.
The next morning, sunlight poured over the island again.
The noise of yesterday had settled into a sharper tension—anticipation thick enough to taste.
The main event of the World Martial Arts Tournament—
The official bracket—
was about to begin.
The main arena was packed to overflowing, waves of sound crashing nonstop.
In the contestant waiting area, the final eight stood ready.
Goku and Krillin warmed up, nervous and excited, hyping each other up.
The other fighters prepared too—eyes sharp, battle spirit burning.
Only Vitelli looked relaxed, like a tourist enjoying the beach, calmly observing the roaring crowd.
Bulma sat in the front row, standing up to wave with both arms as she shouted at full volume:
"Vitelli!! Do your best!! Win!! Show them how amazing you are!!"
Vitelli turned toward her and smiled—steady, reassuring, utterly confident.
Foolish girl… I almost wish there was someone here who could make me lose even once.
Just then, the host's booming voice erupted through the speakers, igniting the entire island like a fuse.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Fighters and fans from all over the world—thank you for waiting!"
"The moment you've all been waiting for is here!"
"THE 21ST WORLD MARTIAL ARTS TOURNAMENT—!"
"NOW… OFFICIALLY BEGINS!!"
A crisp strike of the gong rang out—
and it felt like the whole island shook.
Every gaze locked onto the arena.
And the tournament's curtain was about to be lifted—
by the hands of a Saiyan who came from far beyond the stars.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
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