Against everyone's expectations, Krillin had actually won — using clever tactics instead of brute strength.
"F-finally… victory…"
As soon as the announcer's voice confirmed it, Krillin flopped down on the floor, completely spent. His fight with Rai Wu had drained nearly all of his energy and stamina — he was running on fumes.
Raw power alone isn't everything.
Brains, strategy, and technique are just as vital for victory.
After all, nothing in the world is absolute — even battle power is just a number.
Winning against a stronger opponent isn't impossible.
Of course, that logic doesn't apply to those muscle-brained aliens out in space who believe numbers are everything.
"Get lost! I didn't lose!"
Leiwu pulled himself out of the dirt, snarling. "I just let my guard down — that round doesn't count!"
Ignoring the referee's protests, he tried to climb back onto the stage.
"Defeat is defeat," came Piccolo's cold voice from above, freezing Rai Wu in his tracks. "You look pathetic, Rai Wu."
"...M-My King…" Rai Wu turned stiffly toward him.
"Get back here."
Rai wu clenched his jaw, then quietly retreated to Piccolo's side, head bowed, trembling.
Piccolo despised failures.
Even the demon man standing beside him flinched — he knew exactly how terrifying Piccolo could be.
This was no ordinary warrior.
This was a true Demon King — terror itself walking the earth.
"Learn from this mistake," Piccolo said at last — surprisingly, without punishing Rai Wu. "I don't want to see it happen again. Understand?"
A king couldn't rule by cruelty alone.
Sometimes, sparing a loyal subordinate who still had potential was the wiser choice.
Besides, Piccolo recalled a story Naruto had once told him — about a Demon King named Mutian, who often forgave his subordinates' repeated blunders.
Still, Piccolo had his principles.
He wasn't that so-called "King Mutian."
He would tolerate failure once — and only once.
"Y-Yes, I understand!" Rai Wu nodded rapidly like a pecking chick, standing obediently beside Piccolo. The contrast between this meek demeanor and his earlier arrogance was almost comical.
"Whew…"
Both the demon man and the mummy fighter exhaled in relief.
Even though the punishment wasn't directed at them, they'd been scared stiff.
If only Asura were here, the demon man thought. He was always the one who could calm His Majesty's anger.
"Next match: Tien Shinhan versus the Mummy Man!
Would the two contestants please enter the ring!"
Tien, wearing a black fighting vest, stepped up alongside the heavy-footed mummy.
"Huh? That guy looks kinda familiar…"
Goku stared at the mummy, frowning as he tried to recall. Then he suddenly squirmed. "Hey, Chi-Chi, you're standing too close."
"Husband and wife are supposed to be close," Chi-Chi said sweetly, clinging to his arm, cheeks glowing with happiness.
"Yeah, but your butt's pressing on me."
"That's the mummy from Fortuneteller Baba's place!" Krillin exclaimed. "Yamcha lost to him back then!"
"It wasn't Fortuneteller Baba, it was Zhanbo Baba," Yamcha corrected automatically — then froze. "Wait, huh?"
"No, no, it was Zhanbao Baba!" Oolong and Puar said in unison.
"What nonsense are you all spouting?" Master Roshi finally cut in, unable to bear it. "She's my sister — Clay Baba!"
But as soon as he said it, Roshi fell silent too.
"…"
Somehow, no matter how they said it, it just sounded wrong.
My sister must've gotten her hands on another one of those strange things again…
He thought back to the Immortal Elixir she'd once given him.
The mummy had grown far stronger than before — but still wasn't anywhere near Tien's level.
After only a few exchanges, he was knocked clear off the stage.
"You and he are on completely different levels," Piccolo said flatly. "Losing was inevitable. Go report to Asura when you return."
He didn't blame the mummy at all.
Expecting someone four times weaker to win was an impossible task —
especially when the mummy clearly wasn't the tactical type like Krillin.
"Next match: Piccolo Junior versus Yamcha!"
"Pffft—!"
Yamcha nearly coughed up blood.
Of all opponents… it had to be the Demon King's heir.
"Would both contestants please come to the stage."
Yamcha's face twisted with misery, but he didn't forfeit.
He took a deep breath — and walked up.
"I'll check out that demon's strength for you guys," he said over his shoulder.
"Be careful," Goku warned seriously. "That guy's really strong."
Strong? No kidding.
Bulma said my battle power's around six hundred… His is at least fifteen hundred — that's nearly triple!
Standing before Piccolo, Yamcha could feel the crushing aura pouring off him.
He swallowed hard, forcing a polite, awkward smile. "Uh… hey there."
"Human martial artist," Piccolo said coldly, eyes narrowing. With all of Piccolo's memories within him, he naturally recognized Yamcha. "You were one of those who fought my father, weren't you?"
Yamcha winced. Technically yes — though he'd just been a background extra in that fight.
"Three minutes," Piccolo said, holding up three fingers. "You have three minutes to do whatever you want — use your full power and entertain me.
"If you can satisfy me… I'll consider sparing your life.
"If not…" His voice dropped to a dark murmur. "Then you can go to Hell and apologize to my father."
"Don't look down on me!"
Yamcha's anger overcame his fear. "I'm a disciple of the Turtle School!
If you underestimate me, you'll end up like your subordinate — paying for your arrogance!"
Piccolo only nodded slightly.
"You can even use that little bald one's trick, if you want," he said coolly.
Yamcha froze. Solar Flare? He didn't even know that technique!
"Damn it…" He leaned forward, channeling ki into his palms. "Take this—!"
"New Wolf Fang Fist!"
Like a lone wolf on the hunt, Yamcha lunged at Piccolo in a flurry of fierce strikes.
"Oh? A technique that imitates animal hunting patterns," Piccolo mused, dodging effortlessly. "Unfortunately…"
"In the Demon Clan, techniques like that are child's play."
"Utterly worthless."
After watching Yamcha's entire combo, Piccolo exhaled lightly —
and that single breath hit like a punch to the gut.
"Back."
The gust slammed into Yamcha's abdomen, sending him flying backward.
"Next technique," Piccolo said in a voice that sounded more like an order than a suggestion.
The gap's too big, Yamcha thought bitterly, clutching his stomach as he forced himself to stand. Even if I gave it everything, I can't win.
Just breathing near him almost knocked me to my knees…
He steadied himself. "Turtle School Martial Arts!"
"Pathetic human tricks."
Piccolo exhaled again — this time, Yamcha heard a crack as pain shot through his ribs.
"Show me something interesting."
Yamcha unleashed every technique he knew, but nothing even touched Piccolo.
Soon, his body was covered in bruises, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Why doesn't Yamcha use the Kamehameha?" Krillin asked anxiously, watching the one-sided beatdown.
"He probably doesn't want Piccolo to learn it," Naruto explained. "You guys use the same technique — if Piccolo figured out its flow, it could become a weakness for all of you."
He paused, smiling faintly. "Though honestly, it wouldn't matter. The Kamehameha is unique to each person — one technique, a thousand variations. No two are ever the same."
"No more interesting techniques?"
Piccolo looked down at Yamcha, who was barely standing. His tone was almost disappointed.
"Then you have no value left."
"…Heh." Yamcha gave a strained, bitter smile. "I thought I'd at least get a read on your strength. But you've been toying with me from the start."
He clenched his fists. "Guess I'll have to use this move early — I was saving it for Goku."
He gripped his right wrist with his left hand — light began to gather in his palm, forming a perfectly round ki sphere.
"Oh? Gathering all your energy into your palm?" Piccolo murmured, intrigued for once.
"Ha!" Yamcha brought his two fingers together and pointed straight ahead. The glowing sphere shot toward Piccolo.
"Witness my ultimate technique — Spirit Ball!"
There it was — the only man in all of Dragon Ball who dared to control his ki.
"Beep-beep-beep!"
Bulma's scouter shrieked in alarm.
"Battle Power of the Spirit Ball — 880!"
"An interesting technique," Piccolo said calmly, making no move to dodge. "But your attack method is too straightforward."
Yamcha's lips curled into a grin. "That's what you think. The real secret of the Spirit Ball is—"
Just before impact, Yamcha shouted: "—I can control its movement!"
He flicked his fingers upward. "Go up!"
The sphere shot skyward in an instant, leaving even Piccolo momentarily surprised.
"Now—curve!"
The Spirit Ball looped around in a tight circle, coming up behind Piccolo.
"Go!"
It dove down at his back —
"Got you!" Yamcha roared—
—but the orb passed straight through Piccolo's body.
A mirage.
Afterimage!
"You still can't control your ki precisely enough," Piccolo's voice came from behind him. A clawed hand shot out, seizing the Spirit Ball midair.
"All your focus was on controlling this orb… and you ignored your surroundings."
He studied the glowing sphere in his grasp, eyes gleaming. "Interesting technique. I'm satisfied."
Then he clenched his hand — and the Spirit Ball burst apart with a faint pop.
"Congratulations. You get to live."
He flicked his hand, sending a gust of wind that blew Yamcha clean off the stage.
"Winner — Piccolo Junior!" the announcer declared.
"Truly worthy of our King!" Leiwu shouted proudly. "Such elegant fighting — we could never hope to match it!"
The demon man cast him a sidelong glance. And your shameless flattery is something I could never match either.
"Next match: Crane Hermit versus Chiaotzu! Please take the stage!"
"M-Master…" Chiaotzu stammered, staring at the Crane Hermit across from him.
"Traitor," the old man said softly, stroking his beard. "Do you have anything to say for yourself? Do you know how miserable I've been these past three years?"
"If you two had just listened to me back then…"
"I-I'm sorry…"
Chiaotzu rarely looked this pitiful. But facing the man who had raised him — his teacher — he couldn't help it.
The Crane Hermit's hand trembled as he pointed at him.
"What hurt me most is that neither of you even tried to find me."
His eyes reddened. "Three years! For three whole years, every morning the first thing I saw was that brat — that bespectacled devil!"
And the toilet demon, he added silently, gritting his teeth.
"I won't forgive you so easily."
The Crane Hermit's fury burned. He had thought his pupils hadn't found him because they'd lost their way — but after returning and learning they had been training at Kami's Lookout all this time, his resentment boiled over.
"Especially you, Tien," he growled. "I'll make you both regret betraying your master!"
"Tien…" Chiaotzu whispered.
The trembling boy suddenly steadied himself.
He raised both hands toward the Crane Hermit, his eyes glowing blue.
A telekinetic attack — his trademark psychic ability.
But the Crane Hermit just smirked.
"Give it up. I taught you that power, remember? I know exactly what you can do."
He walked toward Chiaotzu, each step landing like a hammer against the boy's chest.
By the time he reached him, Chiaotzu's will to resist had already broken.
"Chiaotzu," the Crane Hermit said quietly, placing a hand on his head.
A faint sound — and Chiaotzu collapsed, unconscious.
"Winner — Crane Hermit!"
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