With the ten tournament fighters selected and their general tactical framework established, only one element remained: actual practice. Theory meant nothing without practical application, and Raditz wanted to see how well their strategy would hold up under pressure.
An idea struck him. He used Instant Transmission to travel to the Saiyan homeworld, gathering all available Saiyans and bringing along Tumat—the loyal mechanical bird companion he hadn't seen in quite some time. When they materialized on Earth, Rukon's face lit up with genuine joy at seeing his old friend again.
The boy rushed forward to embrace the mechanical bird, but this time with remarkable gentleness. He'd grown significantly since his younger days of accidentally dismantling poor Tumat out of childish curiosity. Now he treated the construct with the care and respect it deserved.
Raditz quickly assembled two teams from the gathered warriors. The first was their official tournament roster—the ten fighters who would represent Universe Seven. The second team comprised everyone else: the remaining Saiyans from the homeworld, Earth's other fighters including Krillin and Tien, plus Android 18, Android 16, and Zangya.
"What exactly is Raditz planning?" Beerus asked from his observation position, genuinely puzzled by the gathering.
Whis, as usual, had already deduced the intent. "I believe Lord Raditz intends to simulate the tournament conditions. After all, this competition's victory condition is quite specific—opponents must be thrown from the ring. Simply defeating them isn't sufficient. The team needs practice with that particular requirement."
"Ah." Beerus took a sip from his drink, settling in to watch with renewed interest.
Shin and Old Kai stood nearby, both well aware they had nothing to contribute to actual combat preparation. They could only observe and offer commentary—which, honestly, suited them fine.
Once everyone had gathered, Raditz addressed both teams with a smile. "Alright, here's what we're going to do: a practice battle to simulate tournament conditions. Our official ten-fighter team will face everyone else simultaneously. However—" he raised a hand to forestall the worried expressions already forming "—everyone is restricted to maximum Super Saiyan 2 level power. No higher transformations, no god-level techniques."
The collective sigh of relief from the opposition team was almost comical.
"Oh thank God, I thought we'd have to fight full-power Super Saiyans," someone muttered.
"Yeah, that would've been a massacre..."
The non-tournament fighters exchanged glances of profound gratitude. Fighting against the likes of Goku, Vegeta, and Frieza at full strength? Even ten-on-one, they'd all be eliminated within seconds. A single wave of Frieza's hand could probably knock out half their team. But restricted to Super Saiyan 2 levels? That at least gave them a fighting chance to make the practice meaningful.
Off to the side, Master Roshi, Bulma, Oolong, and other non-combatants had formed an impromptu spectator section. Pilaf and his companions bustled about serving Beerus—refreshing his drinks, changing his plates, generally keeping the God of Destruction comfortable and content. They were working harder than they'd worked in years.
Raditz surveyed the grassy plains around them and frowned. "This location won't work. Earth's surface isn't durable enough to withstand the kind of impacts we're about to generate. We need to relocate to the Sacred World of the Kais—it's both more resilient and more spacious."
Kibito's eye twitched violently. "What? You want to use the Sacred World again? For sparring practice?"
"DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?" Beerus's head snapped around so fast it was almost comical, his expression radiating menace. "If Universe Seven gets erased, your precious Sacred World disappears along with it! So unless you want EVERYTHING to cease existing, I suggest you stop complaining!"
"I—I wasn't—" Kibito backpedaled frantically. "I just meant I'll... I'll transport everyone there immediately! Right away!"
Defeated utterly by Beerus's glare, Kibito resigned himself to his duty. Using his Kai-Kai technique, he began transporting groups to the Sacred World of the Kais. This certainly wasn't their first visit—many of the fighters had been there multiple times for various reasons—so they arrived without any sense of intimidation or reverence, immediately making themselves comfortable on the divine grass.
They're treating the Sacred World like a public park, Kibito thought despairingly. Does NOBODY respect the sanctity of this place anymore?
"Kibito." Shin's hand landed gently on his attendant's shoulder, and the younger Kai's voice carried unusual warmth. "Lord Beerus is absolutely right, you know. This tournament determines Universe Seven's survival. At a time like this, there's no meaningful distinction between 'sacred realm' and 'mortal world.' We're all in this together." He smiled. "Besides, Raditz taught me something important: gods must learn to integrate with mortal communities if we want to truly understand and develop our universe. Look—even our ancestor gets it."
"Huh?" Kibito followed Shin's gesture and nearly choked.
Old Kai sat in animated conversation with Master Roshi, and spread between them was a fashion magazine the old pervert had brought from Earth. The pictures were... let's say 'provocative,' and the content was thoroughly inappropriate for a sacred deity to be examining with such obvious interest.
This is what you mean by "integrating into the collective"?! Kibito's eyebrows twitched spasmodically.
While the spectators settled into their positions, Whis raised his staff and began weaving divine energy. A massive circular platform materialized from nothing—a pristine arena constructed of indestructible material, rising slowly into the air until it floated several dozen meters above the ground.
The spectator area rose as well, elevating alongside the arena and positioning itself to one side, creating perfect viewing angles. The overall setup mirrored the Universe Six tournament's configuration, though the ring itself was larger and circular rather than square.
Beerus claimed the prime seat in the front row, with Whis standing gracefully beside him. Raditz and the elder Kais took positions nearby, all perfectly situated to observe every detail of the coming battle.
"Whenever you're ready, everyone," Whis announced pleasantly. He tapped his staff against the ground, and a resonant bell-tone echoed across the Sacred World—the signal to begin.
GONNNNG!
The sound had barely faded when both teams exploded into action.
Krillin and the other non-tournament fighters had mentally prepared themselves for this confrontation, but actually facing Goku, Piccolo, and Vegeta in combat—even with power restrictions—sent anxiety coursing through their bodies. These were warriors who had saved the universe multiple times, beings whose casual strength eclipsed their absolute maximum.
Goku, by contrast, showed no such hesitation. Even without transforming, he launched himself at the opposing team with characteristic enthusiasm. Gohan and Vegeta followed suit immediately.
The Saiyans surged forward as one, their love of battle overriding any tactical considerations. They simply wanted to fight, to test themselves, to enjoy the pure thrill of combat.
But not all of the tournament team charged blindly.
Broly remained exactly where he'd started, standing motionless in his designated position. He was following Raditz's instructions to the letter: attack anyone who attacked him, but otherwise remain stationary. Since nobody had engaged him yet, he simply... stood there.
Of course, everyone knew exactly how terrifying Broly was. Even warriors as aggressive as Nappa gave the legendary Saiyan a wide berth, choosing to engage literally anyone else rather than provoke that particular monster.
Frieza also hadn't moved. The tyrant stood near the edge of the arena, arms crossed, observing the chaos with cold, calculating eyes. He made no move to engage, content to analyze the battlefield and wait for the perfect opportunity.
And just like with Broly, nobody willingly approached Frieza. The emperor's reputation preceded him, and the non-tournament fighters valued their continued presence on the arena too much to deliberately challenge such a dangerous opponent.
What should have been a ten-versus-everyone brawl had effectively become an eight-person engagement, with two terrifying entities standing idle on opposite sides of the ring.
"They're completely scattered," Shin observed with clear disapproval. "Shouldn't they be consolidating position? Occupying the center ground?"
"Not necessarily," Raditz countered thoughtfully. "Standing at the edge makes you vulnerable to ring-outs, yes, but claiming the center means you'll inevitably get surrounded and attacked from all sides. Given the chaos of a battle royale, I think dispersing like this is actually optimal." He leaned forward, studying the fighters' movements. "Besides, positioning is secondary. In the end, this kind of battle comes down to raw strength and individual skill."
As if to punctuate his words, one of the Saiyans went flying off the arena.
The warrior had attacked what he thought was Tapion on the sidelines, only to discover too late it was an illusion. When the real Tapion materialized behind him and struck with his tail, the off-balance Saiyan had no chance to recover before sailing over the edge.
First elimination, Raditz noted mentally.
On the main battlefield, Piccolo had begun demonstrating his support capabilities. His arm stretched to impossible lengths, wrapping around a charging Saiyan and using the momentum to hurl him off the platform. Before the victim had even hit the ground below, Piccolo's arm retracted and then extended again, providing Tarble with an impromptu launching point for an aerial attack.
Krillin saw an opening and unleashed his Destructo Disc, the spinning energy blade severing Piccolo's extended limb cleanly. But the Namekian's regeneration kicked in immediately—flesh, bone, and muscle reforming in seconds until his arm was completely restored.
When he attacked again, Android 17's barrier had already expanded to intercept. The android followed up with a barrage technique, releasing a rain of energy blasts that forced multiple opponents to dodge or defend rather than press their assault.
Tien and Yamcha activated Kaio-Ken, red auras flaring around their bodies as they pushed their power levels higher. The Saiyans countered by transforming into Super Saiyans, golden energy crackling as they met force with force. Android 18 and Android 16 focused their attention on Android 17, engaging their fellow android in an energy exchange that lit up that section of the arena.
Trunks and Goten decided to team up, their coordination honed from years of fusion training. Meanwhile, Rukon charged fearlessly into the center of the chaotic melee, his natural talent and pure heart compensating for his relative lack of experience.
BOOM! CRASH! BANG!
As more fighters committed fully to the battle, the arena descended into beautiful chaos. Kamehameha waves, Tri-Beam Cannons, Special Beam Cannons, and dozens of other signature techniques crisscrossed the battlefield. The entire platform blazed with colliding energies, light and force painting the air in violent colors.
The sounds were equally overwhelming—fists impacting flesh, energy attacks detonating against barriers, warriors shouting their techniques or roaring with effort. The sheer acoustic assault shook the air itself, the accumulated power on display genuinely terrifying despite the power restrictions in place.
Nappa fought like a berserker unleashed, his Super Saiyan 2 form giving him strength that placed him among the elite at this level. He crashed through the opposition like a living battering ram, even managing to engage Goku directly—trading punches and kicks with the legendary warrior while bellowing challenges.
The non-tournament fighters showed impressive coordination, frequently ganging up two-on-one or three-on-one against their more powerful opponents. Their teamwork was genuinely good, their tactics sound.
But the tournament team fought more individualistically, relying on personal combat awareness and superior technique rather than coordination. Yet despite this apparent disadvantage, they held their ground effortlessly.
Android 17's protective barriers and Piccolo's support capabilities proved devastatingly effective. Not a single member of the tournament team had been carelessly eliminated, and they all fought with a calm, unhurried confidence that spoke to their vast experience.
Meanwhile, Majin Buu strolled through the battlefield as if taking a leisurely walk, whistling cheerfully while dodging or absorbing attacks almost absentmindedly. He was searching for something—a specific target or opportunity—though what exactly remained unclear.