The promotion for the "World Martial Arts Tournament" was overwhelming, spreading across cities large and small. The hype grew day by day, with keywords like Planet Company, "Martial Arts Tournament, Martial Arts, Martial Skills, and Prize Money dominating online search trends.
"…Physical fitness may be important, but is this kind of competition missing the point? The advancement of technology is the true future of humanity—where does martial arts even fit in? It's said that ancient martial artists could fly through the skies and be impervious to blades and bullets, but looking at it from a scientific perspective, it was nothing more than folklore and stage tricks. What exactly is Planet Company trying to achieve with such a spectacle?"
— Hilda, Central Capital Daily
"…This is a regression of the times! Exercise is fine, but what's the point of indulging in reckless displays of brute strength? Can it outrun a bullet? Can it withstand artillery fire? Even if someone could punch through solid rock with so-called 'mystic arts,' so what? Would it stand a chance against weapons developed by scientists? In the event of war, would we rely on these brawlers to fight? If Earth faced a crisis, should we trust these so-called 'martial artists' who make a living throwing punches, or should we put our faith in real scientific weaponry? Planet Company is leading the public astray! And what's behind the massive prize money—could there be a deeper conspiracy?"
— Pralari, RedEase News Network
---
At a southern port city, a muscular man, shirtless and covered in sweat, was taking a break from moving cargo. He gulped down a mouthful of tea when a coworker handed him an old newspaper. His rough hands snatched it up carelessly, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the bold headline.
"World Martial Arts Tournament?" he muttered, recalling the grueling days of martial arts training in his youth. "World's best? Pfft..." But as his eyes caught sight of the tournament's prize money, they widened in shock!
In an instant, the man shot to his feet, his physique resembling a tower of pure muscle, sweat cascading down his body like a waterfall. The ground beneath him was already damp.
"Whoa, bro! What's up with you? Take a break—we've got another shipment to unload soon!" A coworker wiped his sweat with a towel.
The man flung his towel aside and strode away with giant steps, leaving only one parting sentence:
"To hell with moving cargo—I'm going to fight!"
---
Not all news outlets echoed the same negative sentiment. There were also voices in support of the tournament.
"With the advancement of modern technology, people's lifestyles have changed, and physical fitness is becoming increasingly neglected. Some scientists predict that in the future, human limbs will severely degenerate, while the brain will continue evolving, and even hair will disappear. This shift in aesthetics is not the direction our generation should accept. The 'World Martial Arts Tournament' might just be the turning point. Promoting a warrior culture may be excessive, but what's wrong with encouraging physical fitness?"
Such discussions and debates continued.
---
Regardless of public opinion, the tournament's promotional campaign proceeded methodically.
On February 29th, the banner for the "First World Martial Arts Tournament" was officially unveiled to the media, along with the event's emblem. The bold calligraphic characters of "World Martial Arts Tournament" were reportedly handwritten by an anonymous artist. The powerful strokes, combined with the ink-brush-styled emblem of a martial artist in action, exuded an undeniable warrior's spirit.
The televised announcement showed Planet Company's chairman, Tam, and Kuanto Entertainment Group's current CEO, Kenny, unveiling the tournament banner. The seven grandly written words, alongside the martial artist silhouette on the left, ignited a fiery passion that even reached viewers through their screens.
"Who created this calligraphy?! Every stroke radiates strength! The composition, the technique… I'm blown away! I've never seen such penmanship—has anyone else?" A viewer frantically typed in the comment section after watching the broadcast.
"This style… feels familiar." Someone replied.
"Yeah, every artist has a unique signature, and since so many of us recognize it, there must be older works in circulation. But who could it be?"
"Hanma? Sleepwind? South Hua Dream? No… none of them have this style..."
In West City, within a quiet home, a young boy noticed his grandfather trembling as he adjusted his reading glasses, eyes fixed on the television screen displaying the "World Martial Arts Tournament" calligraphy and martial artist logo.
The old man joyfully slapped his thigh, sighing with both excitement and nostalgia.
"It's him. It's his authentic work… I never imagined the 'Soul Painter' was still alive!"
"Soul Painter? Who's that?" the boy asked.
And so, the grandfather began recounting the time when he had seen an original piece by the Soul Painter at an art exhibition in his youth—how deeply it had moved him, how unforgettable the experience had been. The boy listened in awe, captivated by the tale.
---
East City, underground fighting ring…
"Sign it! As soon as you sign this, you'll get one million in cash immediately!" A greasy, overweight man sat on the couch, grinning sinisterly at the dark-skinned young man with thick lips sitting across from him. "And when Wanderlei wins the championship tomorrow, the remaining two million will be yours too!"
The young man tightened his lips, gripping the pen in his hand so tightly that the tip hovered over the contract's signature line, unable to touch the paper. Why had he trained in martial arts? Just to be a stepping stone for these useless nobodies? But what choice did he have? How many more years could he last in the ring? How much money could he even make? His mother's illness was a bottomless pit, devouring money endlessly. He had to earn—earn and keep earning!
But… he closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw himself as a child, listening to his father's stories about the Martial Artists, remembering those scorching summer days and freezing winter nights when he trained endlessly, punching a wooden post day after day. One punch, then another, until the bark was stained with blood, until the indentations grew deeper and larger, until the calluses on his fists thickened and peeled away, until the post itself was finally destroyed…
Was it all just to humiliate himself for money here?
Suddenly, he looked up and saw the fat man flipping through a newspaper. With a swift motion, he snatched it from his hands and widened his eyes as he scanned the page.
"Hey, are you signing or not?" The fat man flinched. He knew exactly how terrifying this brute could be when he fought. But seeing that the young man was only reading the paper, he sighed in relief. Tch, there weren't even any pictures of sexy women—could this brute even understand what he was reading?
The young man's expression shifted multiple times before he finally slammed the newspaper into the fat man's face and roared, "Sign my ass! Get lost! Tomorrow, I'll beat that trash to death myself!" With that, he turned and strode out, slamming the door behind him.
The fat man stood frozen, dumbfounded, then glanced at the newspaper. "The World Martial Arts Tournament… What the hell is this crap?!"
---
North City. Two figures, one tall and one short, had just entered town.
The shorter one had a sharp, fierce aura that made him look dangerously aggressive. Despite the freezing weather, he wore only a short-sleeved shirt, and his long braid was tied behind his head. It was none other than Tao Pai Pai! The taller figure, with white hair and a youthful face, walked with his hands behind his back—it was Tsuru, who had finally regained his memories.
Pedestrians passing by were startled by the menacing presence of Tao Pai Pai. Though he had only recently begun learning martial arts under Tsuru, he had already made significant progress. Combined with his unscrupulous, no-holds-barred fighting style, he was not someone to be underestimated. He was still young, reckless, and wild.
The two of them stopped at a street corner. Tao Pai Pai noticed that his older brother was staring up at something. Following his gaze, he saw a massive screen mounted on a skyscraper, displaying a promotional video for the "World Martial Arts Tournament."
Tao Pai Pai grinned. "World's strongest, huh? Brother, the prize money is huge! Let's enter! You take first place, and I'll settle for second." His tone made it clear he didn't consider anyone else a threat.
In his eyes, his brother was currently the strongest man in the world—at least until he surpassed him one day. And he himself, while not yet as powerful, was already far stronger than most.
"First place?" Tsuru withdrew his gaze and cast a sideways glance at Tao Pai Pai. His lips curled into a faint, ambiguous smirk—half mocking, half self-deprecating. He snorted. "If you want to join, go ahead. I have no interest in something like this."
"Heh, I get it. Brother, you don't want to waste your time with those flashy martial artists… Then I'll just take the title myself!" Tao Pai Pai cracked his knuckles, his excitement palpable.
The world's strongest?
Tsuru sneered internally. With Taro still alive, who in this world could dare claim that title? Even if their master, Mutaito, returned, he wouldn't last more than a single exchange against Taro.
Back then, the terrifying demon clan that once dominated Earth—Piccolo Daimao's kind—weren't just a handful, but numbered in the dozens, maybe even hundreds. And yet, in an instant, they had been wiped out by Taro's hand. In the end, Tsuru hadn't even been able to figure out where Taro's true body was.
Such martial prowess was no different from that of a god walking the earth…
---
March 2nd, March 16th, March 28th… April 1st, April 15th, April 25th…
The promotion for the World Martial Arts Tournament never ceased. Whenever one topic cooled down, the organizers would spark a new discussion, ensuring that public attention remained fixated on the grand event.
TV commercials, online video ads, bus posters, mobile notifications—everywhere, an overwhelming bombardment.
Pre-registration had long since begun in five major cities, with massive lines forming daily at the offline registration sites. The online sign-up website saw its traffic surging exponentially. Then, when the organizers announced that a "mystery competitor, likely the tournament's strongest contender", would be entering, the internet exploded with speculation.
"What's that supposed to mean? Are they rigging the championship?" some skeptics muttered.
"That can't be right. If it's rigged, why would they even promote it?" Some people didn't believe the rumors, thinking that the so-called "mystery contestant" might have some hidden twist. They kept refreshing the World Martial Arts Tournament's official website, eagerly awaiting new announcements.
Suddenly, a live broadcast link appeared.
Clicking on it revealed an interview with Mr. Tam, the chairman of Planet Company.
Tam's legendary life, combined with his striking looks and the melancholic, world-weary aura of his youth, had already made him an internet heartthrob—an idol for countless young girls. In fact, many of them had no interest in the martial arts tournament at all; they were only following Planet Company and Tam himself.
"Mr. Tam, regarding the World Martial Arts Tournament that you helped organize, will Miss Ninn be participating as well?" A microphone was shoved in front of Tam. Beside him stood Ninn, dressed in casual clothes and wearing oversized sunglasses, exuding youthful charm.
Tam frowned slightly and gave a concise response: "No."
Ninn smirked to herself. She knew very well that her grandfather would be participating in this tournament. She couldn't help but pity the other contestants—they were doomed to have no chance at the championship.
"Why not? Miss Ninn is known for her all-around athletic talent and even led her school team to victory in the national women's track and field championship..." The reporter pressed on, determined to link the nation's beloved sports icon to the martial arts tournament.
"I already said, she won't be participating," Tam stated firmly. Though his expression wasn't particularly menacing, the sheer presence of this "demon king" sent a chill down the reporters' spines.
After a moment of thought, Tam decided he might as well drop a little bombshell. "I'll give you a hint—this 'mystery contestant' that everyone's been speculating about... is a legendary figure. That's all. Now move aside."
The reporters had no choice but to disperse, each of them mentally noting down the words "legendary figure". They exchanged glances, trying to probe whether anyone else had figured out who this "mystery contestant" was, but no one had a definitive answer. They would have to go back and draft their articles first.
"The Legendary Figure! Who Is the Mystery Contestant? Top Candidates Revealed!"
"Shocking! The Mystery Contestant Is Actually Him?!"
"Breaking Down the True Identity of the World Martial Arts Tournament's Mystery Contestant!"
By the next morning, headlines like these flooded newspapers and magazines.
Speculation ran wild—some guessed it was a reclusive old martial artist, others thought it was a retired champion, a former undefeated Sanda master, or even an ex-special forces soldier. One particularly outrageous theory even suggested a top-secret government experiment involving a modified human weapon.
"…Given Kuanto Entertainment's former CEO's obsession with the legend of the 'Muten Master, could it be that the 'legendary figure' mentioned by Mr. Tam actually refers to the mysterious Muten Master?! … But based on the timeline, a 'great figure' from over a hundred years ago should have long passed away!"
Inside a boxing gym, a young man sat in the corner, scrolling through news articles on his phone. The dim glow of the screen reflected on his tired face. He muttered under his breath, "Muten Master… Muten Master…"
Ruffling his hair, he closed the browser and opened his contact list. His finger hesitated over the entry labeled "Senior" before finally tapping it.
"Hello, Senior? It's me… Yeah, I'm doing fine… Are the others still around? … You saw the news too? … The Muten Master—Senior, our sect's founder, is he really the Muten Master?"
"Senior, I… I want to participate. I… I… I miss the days when we trained together under Master… I… Alright. This weekend, it's set. We'll all meet up, and then… we go to West City!"