Universe Seven's roster was complete. Ten warriors, each one exceptional in their own right: Son Goku, Vegeta, Broly, Son Gohan, Piccolo, Super Android 17, Majin Buu, Tarble, Tapion, and Frieza. On paper, it was a formidable lineup—every single fighter possessed enough strength to stand as a powerhouse in their own right, capable of turning the tide of entire battles single-handedly.
Yet despite the impressive roster, Raditz couldn't shake a nagging concern: coordinated attacks from multiple universes working in concert. Universe Seven had made quite a few enemies over the years, and this tournament would give those rivals the perfect opportunity for payback.
Universe Four was obviously going to hold a grudge after today's humiliation. Universe Nine's Roh almost certainly harbored resentment after watching Universe Seven leap from bottom-tier to fifth place in the rankings. Even Universe Six—despite Champa's general affability—might not have fully let go of their loss in the previous tournament. Pride was a powerful motivator, and Gods of Destruction had pride in abundance.
As for direct combat threats... Raditz mentally catalogued the known dangers. Jiren from Universe Eleven—Whis had mentioned that warrior's name with unusual gravity. Toppo and Dyspo from the same universe were reportedly formidable as well. Hit from Universe Six had proven his capabilities during the last tournament. Those four alone represented serious obstacles.
But beyond those known quantities lay a greater uncertainty: the four universes exempt from the tournament due to their high mortal levels. Raditz had no intelligence whatsoever on their fighter quality. If they'd been forced to compete, what monsters might they have fielded? The mystery bothered him.
No, simple individual power wouldn't be enough. They needed strategy, coordination, some kind of tactical framework to avoid being overwhelmed.
"We need to discuss tactics," Raditz announced to the assembled fighters.
Shin immediately perked up, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes! Absolutely! Even with warriors as strong as Goku and Vegeta, we can't afford to just charge in blindly. Without at least some basic coordination, we'll be far too vulnerable to manipulation."
"Hmph." Vegeta's dismissive snort cut through Shin's optimism like a knife. He stood with arms crossed, radiating confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Tactics are unnecessary. No one in the multiverse can match my power."
In Vegeta's mind, the calculation was simple: without god-tier fighters like Raditz himself participating, the Prince of Saiyans firmly believed he ranked among the absolute elite. Besides Kakarot and maybe Frieza, he couldn't think of anyone who could truly challenge him. Hit had been impressive during the Universe Six tournament, sure—but Vegeta was convinced both he and Goku had surpassed that level by now. Universe Six wasn't a threat.
"I find myself in the unusual position of agreeing with Vegeta," Frieza said with a dark chuckle, examining his claws with affected casualness. "Strategy and coordination are for the weak. When facing opposition, the correct approach is simply to destroy them. How rare that Vegeta and I share the same philosophy on something."
"Uh..." Goku scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I know this probably isn't what you want to hear, but I kinda agree with them? Tactics aren't really our style. We work best when we can just... you know, react to what's happening."
Shin looked around desperately at the other fighters. Majin Buu was picking his nose, clearly not following the conversation. Broly stood silently, his limited capacity for tactical thinking evident in his blank expression. Android 17 had the look of someone who operated best alone, a lone wolf by nature and preference.
The Supreme Kai released a heavy sigh. What kind of team did I end up with?
Beerus licked his ice cream cone and snorted in amusement. "Expecting this group to follow coordinated tactics? You might as well try herding cats. Saiyans don't do teamwork—it's against their fundamental nature."
He had a point. The defining characteristic of Universe Seven's fighters was their individualistic combat style, their preference for personal glory over collective victory. They achieved their best results through improvisation and individual excellence, not through rigid adherence to battle plans. And with 120 fighters creating chaos on the battlefield, any detailed strategy would disintegrate within the first thirty seconds anyway.
Raditz raised a hand, cutting through the mounting debate. "Alright, alright. I'm not asking for complex tactical formations or choreographed combination attacks. But there are a few basic principles everyone needs to remember—guidelines that'll help us avoid stepping on each other's toes."
He waited until he had everyone's attention before continuing.
"First: we have diverse fighting styles, and we need to play to our strengths. Goku, Vegeta, Gohan—you three are our primary attackers. Hit hard, eliminate threats quickly. But conserve your stamina. Don't burn out in the early rounds. Save your maximum power for the final stages when the strongest opponents will still be standing."
The three Saiyans nodded, accepting their roles without complaint.
"Piccolo." Raditz turned to the Namekian. "You've got regeneration, which makes you nearly impossible to eliminate through attrition. More importantly, you have the tactical intelligence to read a battlefield and adapt on the fly. I want you serving as a field commander—calling out threats, coordinating responses when opportunities arise. Also, your extendable arms give you incredible reach. If you see someone falling toward the edge, you can catch them."
Piccolo's expression soured, his arms crossing defensively. "So I'm relegated to support duty? Standing on the sidelines while everyone else fights?"
"Not even close," Raditz assured him with a grin. "When it's time to fight, fight with everything you have. Don't hold back. I'm just asking you to keep situational awareness while you're doing it. Think of it as multitasking."
The Namekian's frown softened marginally. "...Fine. I can do that."
"17." Raditz shifted his attention to the quiet fighter. "You have unlimited energy and defensive barriers that can withstand tremendous punishment. I want you protecting teammates when they're vulnerable and harassing enemies constantly. Rain energy blasts across the entire arena if you want—you'll never run out of ammunition, so make the enemy work for every inch of ground."
17 and 18 exchanged glances, the android raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment. Nearby, Android 16 offered his characteristic warm, simple smile—an expression he'd practiced extensively since his reactivation, trying to project the gentleness that existed within his combat-oriented programming.
"You can do it," 16 said in his deep, gentle voice. "I have confidence in you."
The moment of genuine encouragement from the normally stoic android brought smiles to several faces.
"Broly." Raditz moved on to the legendary Saiyan. "Your role is the simplest: stand your ground and hit anyone who attacks you. Don't kill them—just throw them out of bounds. Can you handle that?"
Broly's recovery had progressed significantly over the past months. His eyes showed more awareness now, more rational thought. He processed the instruction and nodded firmly. "Understood."
"Perfect. Now, Buu..." Raditz grinned at the pink demon. "You're our wildcard. You can turn opponents into candy and eat them—that's a ring-out. You can absorb enemies temporarily. You can even blow yourself up once or twice if we need a desperate reset when our numbers are low. Remember that ghost summoning technique you developed? Use it. If someone's too strong to beat directly, split yourself into dozens of pieces and scatter across the arena. They can't eliminate you if they can't catch all of you."
"Understood! Leave it to Buu!" The Majin patted his chest enthusiastically, taking the responsibility with surprising seriousness.
Raditz had already sealed Buu's cooperation with a promise of the most extravagant feast he could imagine once they returned victorious. Food-based motivation worked wonders with Buu.
Of all their fighters, Majin Buu might actually be the most difficult to eliminate. His combination of Piccolo-like regeneration, magical abilities, shapeshifting, and that ridiculous durability made him a nightmare opponent. Even if someone was stronger, actually catching and eliminating Buu would prove nearly impossible.
"Tarble, Tapion—you two will fight as a unit," Raditz continued. "Tapion, your illusions and sword techniques combined with Tarble's power create unpredictable attacks that are hard to counter. Work together, cover each other's weaknesses."
Both warriors nodded in unison, already comfortable with the partnership.
"Hey!" Frieza raised a hand with theatrical eagerness. "It's my turn now, isn't it? What's my role in this grand strategy?"
Raditz met the tyrant's eyes and smiled. "Do whatever you want."
The response clearly surprised Frieza—and not just him. Several other fighters looked shocked that Raditz would give such a dangerous, untrustworthy individual complete freedom of action.
"Won't that create... problems?" Shin asked carefully.
"This kind of chaotic situation is exactly what Frieza excels at," Raditz explained. "Manipulation, exploitation of weaknesses, striking when opponents are distracted... nobody does it better. Why would I try to constrain that? Let him operate however he sees fit."
"Hahahaha!" Frieza's laugh carried genuine delight. "Exactly what I wanted to hear! Oh, this will be fun."
A sharp, predatory gleam flashed in his eyes. The curse would make any genuine betrayal agonizing, but within the bounds of fighting for Universe Seven's survival, he could still indulge his sadistic creativity to his heart's content.
From the sidelines, Krillin, Tien, and other spectating warriors began to murmur amongst themselves, analyzing the proposed strategy.
"That's actually a really solid combination," Krillin admitted. "You've got four fighters who are almost impossible to eliminate—Broly's too tough to hurt badly, 17 has unlimited stamina and barriers, Buu literally can't be pinned down, and Piccolo regenerates from almost anything. They can hold ground indefinitely."
"And the offensive power is ridiculous," Tien added. "Goku, Vegeta, Frieza, and Gohan all fighting at Super Saiyan Blue levels or equivalent? Most fighters from other universes won't survive a single serious hit from any of them."
"Don't forget Tapion's support capabilities," Yamcha chimed in. "As Raditz's student and a Supreme Kai in training, he's got access to healing techniques. That's huge for a battle of attrition."
Nappa shook his head in something like awe. "Other universes are going to cry when they see what they're up against. This isn't just a team—it's a perfectly balanced nightmare."
Pepara and Android 18 had both harbored quiet hopes of earning spots on the roster, but looking at the final lineup objectively, they couldn't identify anyone they could reasonably replace. Each position served a specific strategic purpose. Reluctantly, they'd accepted their roles as reserves.
From across the rooftop, Bulma noticed the discussion seemed to be wrapping up, the earlier tension giving way to more relaxed conversations and even some laughter. She seized the opportunity, approaching with baby Trunks in her arms while Goten and Pilaf followed behind carrying trays of snacks and refreshments.
Beerus's head snapped around the instant he spotted the desserts, his ice cream cone forgotten as his eyes locked onto the new arrivals with laser focus.
"Everyone, don't work yourselves too hard!" Bulma called out cheerfully. "Even with the universe at stake, you can't fight on an empty stomach. Take a break, eat something!"
She continued forward, one hand gently rubbing her noticeably pregnant belly. Despite being in her third trimester with their second child, Bulma moved with easy confidence, her natural grace undiminished.
Vegeta watched his wife approach, his expression softening in ways he'd never allow in actual combat. "The universe isn't going to end," he stated with absolute certainty. "Not while I'm here. We'll win. That's not a hope—it's a fact."
"Aww, baby! Did you hear that?" Bulma smiled brilliantly, pressing close to Vegeta's side and speaking toward her belly. "Daddy says he's going to win the tournament! Isn't that wonderful?"
Their second child would be born soon—possibly within days of the tournament's conclusion. It was one of Vegeta's primary motivations for fighting with everything he had. He wanted his child to be born into a world that still existed, to see a universe that their father had personally saved. The thought filled him with fierce determination and a warmth he'd rarely felt in his earlier life.
A universe where his family could grow up safe. Where Trunks and his soon-to-be-born daughter could live without fear of erasure. That future was worth any amount of struggle.
But his soft moment lasted only a second before he barked out in embarrassment, "Don't cling to me like that! We're on a rooftop! Everyone can see!"
"Oh? Are you shy?" Bulma teased, not loosening her grip at all. "How cute! The Prince of all Saiyans gets flustered about a little affection!"
Laughter rippled through the gathered fighters—genuine, warm, unforced. Despite the existential stakes they were facing, despite the very real possibility of universal erasure hanging over their heads, the atmosphere on Earth remained light. Hopeful. Almost celebratory.
This was Universe Seven's greatest strength, perhaps: the ability to face apocalyptic threats without losing sight of what made life worth living. The bonds between friends and family, the simple joy of shared meals and gentle teasing, the confidence that came from trusting in each other's strength.
Earth was filled with laughter and warmth, with no visible signs of the tension that should have accompanied such desperate circumstances. And maybe that was exactly how it should be.
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