Yamiru almost rolled off the stage.
He was completely exhausted.
"No! I won't eat! I won't eat it!" Yamiru pushed the devilish thought aside in his mind.
The thought was tempting him: eat it, eat the half Senzu Bean left in his pocket...
But what was more important? The spot in the Martial Arts Tournament, or the half Senzu Bean? It was obvious which was more important.
Yamiru didn't have high expectations for his unprepared debut in the tournament, nor did he expect the mysterious old man to offer him a Senzu Bean for free. Therefore, it was better to save the Senzu Bean for now. What if he lost an arm or a leg later on? That half Senzu Bean could save his life.
"At least I've gained a lot from this competition. Maybe that old man pulled me into this tournament for this very reason. No matter how much I think or talk about it on my own, it's never the same as stepping into the ring and fighting for real... it helps me see my own heart more clearly."
Regaining as much stamina as possible in a short time was also a quality every martial artist should possess.
Yamiru decided that from now on, he would hold himself to the standards of a martial artist.
After all, it was better than relying on Senzu Beans every time he got a little winded, right? If that became the case, there'd be no need for battles or competitions anymore. Everyone could just sit back and compare how many Senzu Beans they had...
Yamiru slumped against the wall, tapping his bulging muscles, massaging and kneading them here and there, feeling quite accomplished.
"So much muscle..." In his past life, he would have had to Work his ass to build this.
Yamiru smiled slightly and consciously pushed aside the thoughts that were starting to scatter. He cleared his mind and tried to rest and recover.
"You're really amazing!"
Little Mark came over again with his father.
Why was this kid so tired? Marda frowned, incredulously asking, "You... didn't really swim here all the way from South City, did you?"
"You two were on that passenger ship too?" Yamiru sat on the ground, tapping his arms and legs, "Yeah, I'm exhausted. Almost got eaten by a shark. It was really exciting."
"You're amazing..."
Little Mark mumbled as he squatted down and poked Yamiru's hard calf muscles. He could feel how tense they were. When his finger touched them, the muscles twitched uncontrollably, like a soldier who hadn't yet recovered from battle, on high alert, holding his gun, wary of everyone around.
Marda couldn't help but think about one question: what kind of lunatic gets chased by sharks and ends up swimming across a whole bay?
"But why did you jump off the ship after getting on?" Marda asked.
"Because I didn't have a ticket," Yamiru casually replied. "This guy was so annoying. Couldn't he let him rest for a moment? Look at how quiet and well-behaved his son was."
Marda: "Is this kid serious?" He thought.
Losing to such a naive kid made him feel quite disgruntled.
It wasn't long before Yamiru's next match was about to start. The monk on the stage called his name—during the first match, he'd been referred to by his number "Contestant 23", but after winning two rounds, the monk had remembered his name.
Yamiru jumped onto the stage, mimicking Bruce Lee by making a fist and shaking his arms downward. He moved his neck and twisted his ankles, trying to loosen up his tense muscles as much as possible.
"Ha…" He closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully.
At that moment, his opponent climbed up the wooden steps. Yamiru opened his golden eyes and looked over. This time, his opponent was once again a large, hefty individual.
Not an animal person, but an ordinary human. The kind of sumo wrestler-sized big guy, walking with his massive bulk shaking side to side.
"Why are there so many fat guys?" Yamiru quietly asked the monk next to him.
The monk, who had developed a fondness for the polite and capable young man, lowered his voice and smiled, "The Martial Arts Tournament doesn't turn anyone away. There's no strict standard for participation, so many people with great natural strength who aren't martial artists also come to compete…" Essentially implying that many of these big, fat guys, relying on their strength, didn't know their limits and just showed up for the tournament.
"But I'm also a "naturally strong person" and not a martial artist; at least yet." Yamiru couldn't help but feel embarrassed.
"Try to grapple with him, drag out the time," the monk whispered quickly and then moved a distance away from Yamiru.
Yamiru was stunned and thought, "Has the monk noticed that I'm running low on energy? Well, this is the Martial Arts Temple, which is qualified to host the world's greatest martial arts tournament.
The monks here should be skilled martial artists as well. The monk wants me to grapple and stall for time, so I can recover some of my energy... That's thoughtful of him, though I was planning to do that anyway."
The monk no longer looked at Yamiru. He stood between Yamiru and the sumo-like opponent, scanning both sides before announcing the start of the match.
"Hah!"
"Uwah!"
"Huh!"
Boom, boom, boom, the sumo's loud roars filled the arena as his heavy body stomped, making the ring resonate with deep thuds.
But Yamiru was like a fish in water—nimble and slippery. No matter how the large man tried to grab, shoulder-barge, or sit on him, Yamiru always found a way to slip through the gaps and avoid the attacks.
"Good observation!" Below the stage, King Chappa was watching, "There's no trace of any particular martial arts style in his moves, but his exceptional physical fitness has carried him this far... Moreover, his remarkable observation skills are allowing him to improve his techniques with every real combat experience!"
Such potential. King Chappa even felt a slight sense of regret at the thought of the boy's raw talent.
"Little brat! Stop running around!" the sumo yelled, panting. His skin, except for the loincloth, was slick with sweat, looking greasy and repulsive.
He was confident that once he caught the little guy, he could overpower him with sheer strength, either forcing him to surrender or tossing him out of the ring. But he couldn't even touch Yamiru's pants. Yamiru's small size, excellent physical ability, endurance, enough explosive power, and the sharp insight from his Golden Veil made him a difficult target to pin down.
"I'm not running, you think I'm gonna get the oil you call sweat all over me?" Yamiru laughed.
"Bastard! Who are you calling fat!" The sumo hated being mocked for his size. Hearing Yamiru insult him made him explode with rage, and he stomped forward.
"I've figured out your moves!" Yamiru focused on the incoming massive figure, feeling an incredible sense of calmness, as if a snow-covered courtyard had settled in his heart.
He wasn't sure how to describe this feeling of confidence.
Yamiru didn't know how an ordinary martial artist would probe their opponent's moves during a fight, but he genuinely felt that after dodging more than ten times, he had figured out the sumo's attack habits. He could predict the speed of his approach, the angle of his first punch, the thought process behind his counterattacks, and even the timing of his stiff stops after a quick pause…