"Uh, not really... The World Martial Arts Tournament doesn't have too many requirements for individual participants... But, kid, aren't you afraid of the others? Every single one of them is a top-tier martial artist!"
The referee was genuinely concerned—worried that this young boy, Son Goku, might be too naïve and end up seriously hurt by the seasoned martial artists participating in the tournament.
"That's exactly why I want to fight them!" Son Goku replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He patted the dust off his knees and turned to head back to where Taro and Grandpa Gohan were waiting. His nonchalance left everyone else stunned. The kid was fearless.
A newborn calf doesn't fear the tiger—just a reckless greenhorn.
But that was just a small interlude.
The participants lined up one after another to check in. The referee checked the list and saw that no one was missing or had withdrawn.
"Ahem."
Two referees in black bowed slightly to Taro and the others as well as the nearby journalists with cameras, then calmly spoke into their headset microphones:
"Respected martial artists, spectators, and media friends—good afternoon! We are the referees for Arena 5A!"
Then, pointing to a cardboard box placed on the referee's table by his colleague, he continued:
"I'm sure many of you have already noticed the drawing box behind me. Those of you familiar with this year's preliminary format probably already know what it's for. But for the sake of those who haven't read up beforehand—and for the spectators—let me explain.
"First of all, this year's World Martial Arts Tournament is a very special one. It marks exactly one hundred years since the first tournament, when Master Martial and Master Taro claimed the inaugural title. And this year, it's the twentieth edition of the tournament!
"The organizers, with support from the rising tech-finance giant Capsule Corporation and the globally connected Martial Arts Association, have doubled all the prizes for this event!
"Cash prizes! The latest virtual machines! Global travel packages! And what matters most to you martial artists... Martial Arts Association ranking points! All of it has been doubled! Because of this, sign-ups across all five preliminary regions—including our West City division—have far surpassed previous years!
"To quickly select the sixteen most capable fighters, this year's preliminary round will use a brand-new defense-style tournament format.
"The rules are simple: Any martial artist in a given arena can freely choose whether or not to go up and fight. If you lose, you're out. But if you win, you can either step down and rest, or stay on and defend the stage until you're too tired to continue!
"To keep things fair and avoid turning it into an endurance contest, we're not forcing anyone. Now, some of you might be thinking: 'If that's the case, when a strong fighter takes the stage, I'll just wait it out and let others exhaust themselves...' While that's technically allowed, just remember—each arena will only send one person to the finals! The strong will remain strong. The weak... will always be weak. You can't run forever!
"Even if you avoid the top fighters during prelims, you'll still have to face them in tomorrow's top sixteen elimination matches. And let me be blunt—if you get completely crushed then, it'll happen in front of the entire world watching! So don't think you can get by with luck. Be bold. Challenge the best. That's been the spirit of the World Martial Arts Tournament for the past century!"
The referee's speech flowed rapidly into the microphone clipped to his cheek, and all the martial artists around the arena listened intently. Some looked confused, some were clearly thinking about how to exploit the rules, and some were nervously calculating something in their heads.
Then the other referee behind him gave the cardboard box a pat, and the speaker smoothly transitioned:
"Now, if no one steps up for too long, we'll start using this box. Inside are slips of paper with each participant's number on them. Once drawn, that person must go up—whether the opponent on stage is someone they want to fight, or someone they absolutely don't. Heh. Of course, we hope we won't have to use the box at all today!"
"All right, enough talk—let's begin! The elimination matches for Arena 5A officially start now! Who's willing to be the first to take the stage and accept all challengers?"
The referee spoke with passion, practically spitting with excitement as he professionally swept his gaze around at all the fighters wearing number tags. His eyes urged them to step forward.
But the martial artists just glanced at one another cautiously. They were all trained fighters. They'd been sizing each other up all this time—who was strong, who was weak—and had a pretty good sense by now. No one wanted to be the first to stick their neck out. If they could delay for even one round, they would. The fewer fighters left, the better their odds.
The referee, clearly experienced, wasn't surprised by the silence. He adjusted his glasses and said:
"Well, since no hero is willing to step forward..."
He dragged out the sentence deliberately, hoping someone would take the hint.
Camera flashes began snapping all around. Reporters' eyes lit up as they started scribbling headlines like "Not a Single Fighter Dares Step Up First in West City's Arena 5A Preliminaries." Cameramen zoomed in on the hesitant faces of the surrounding martial artists, causing some of them to twitch nervously.
But since not many people were tuning in to the prelim live broadcast anyway—most viewers preferred the main arena's elimination rounds—the smart ones just kept still, waiting for some fool to step up first.
"I'll go!"
Suddenly, a childish voice rang out. Everyone—including the referees—looked over to see the speaker. It was none other than the same reckless little boy everyone had been talking about!
Snap snap snap!
A barrage of flashes lit up as Son Goku winced from the brightness. He looked toward the source out of curiosity, and the image of his wide-eyed innocence was instantly captured forever by the cameras hanging from the reporters' necks.