Universe Seven — Earth
Fresh from their successful practice battle in the Sacred World of the Kais, both Beerus and Shin felt profoundly relaxed, brimming with confidence in their universe's ten-fighter roster. Beerus had immediately returned to his favorite pastime—eating and drinking with such abandon that one might think the tournament had already concluded in their favor.
"Lord Beerus," Whis said with his characteristic smile, "I wouldn't recommend becoming too complacent. We haven't secured victory yet."
"Bah!" Beerus waved a dismissive hand while scooping another spoonful of ice cream. "Our universe will easily win!" He popped the ice cream into his mouth with obvious satisfaction.
Raditz, standing nearby with Zangya tucked comfortably against his side, remained silent but found himself agreeing with Beerus's assessment. It was arrogant, certainly, but not baseless. Looking across the multiverse objectively, there weren't many universes that could genuinely threaten Universe Seven's combat capabilities.
The real question mark was Goku. If he could successfully grasp the complete essence of Ultra Instinct during the tournament—achieve the perfected form in the heat of battle—their chances would skyrocket. Without that breakthrough, however, he'd likely struggle against Jiren or whatever monsters the top-ranked universes might field. Vegeta, too, had the potential to tap into some deeper wellspring of power. The Prince's pride and determination could push him to heights that would surprise everyone if circumstances forced his evolution.
"In the end, it all depends on them," Raditz said, giving Goku an encouraging thumbs-up while pulling Zangya a bit closer.
Seeing Raditz so relaxed, the rest of the gathered warriors began to ease up as well. Laughter and excited discussion filled the air, the earlier tension from the practice battle evaporating into genuine optimism.
Then Beerus suddenly jerked upright in his reclining chair, a thought striking him with obvious urgency. "Wait—there's something you all need to be careful about! I've heard rumors that some universes have mortals who rival Gods of Destruction in power. If you encounter beings like that, do NOT rush in recklessly!" His eyes fixed on Goku with laser intensity. "Especially you, Goku! I'm serious!"
"There are mortals stronger than Gods of Destruction?!" Goku's eyes went wide with a mixture of disbelief and barely-contained excitement.
"That's exactly why I'm warning you! If such a warrior exists, you are FORBIDDEN from seeking them out for a fight! Do you understand me?"
But Beerus's warning had the exact opposite effect of what he'd intended. The moment he mentioned a mortal matching a God of Destruction's power, Goku's fate was sealed. His mouth might agree to Beerus's demands, but his heart had already decided—if such a person existed, he absolutely had to fight them.
"Haha! Well, maybe they'll come looking for me instead," Goku said with that characteristic grin.
"That's not better!"
Raditz watched the exchange with amusement before asking casually, "How much time is left?"
Whis's smile widened just a fraction. "Approximately twelve hours until the tournament begins."
Universe Six — Planet Sadala
Cabba had successfully recruited three fellow Saiyans: Caulifla, Kale, and the veteran warrior Renso. Combined with himself, that made four confirmed participants. Botamo and Magetta—both veterans from the previous Universe Six versus Seven exhibition match—had readily agreed to participate again, bringing the count to six. Add in the Namekians they'd recruited, and Universe Six had assembled nine fighters.
Only one spot remained unfilled.
Of course, Champa already knew exactly who would fill that final position. The challenge wasn't identifying the candidate—it was convincing him to actually participate.
Champa had delegated this particular recruitment to Cabba, and the young Saiyan had complained bitterly about the assignment. No matter who you were, facing that person was inherently nerve-wracking.
Now, standing on this desolate planet with dust-laden winds howling across barren hills, Cabba could see his target's silhouette against the darkening sky—tall, imposing, radiating an aura of cold pride that seemed to repel casual approach.
Cabba's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, preparing to announce his presence—
"Cabba." The figure spoke first, not even turning around.
"Y-yes, Mr. Hit." Cabba's voice came out steadier than he felt.
"What do you need?"
No pleasantries, no preamble. Straight to business. That was Hit—efficiency personified.
"Currently, our universe is facing an existential crisis," Cabba began, then launched into his explanation of the Tournament of Power. He deliberately emphasized the catastrophic consequences of failure, describing universal erasure in graphic detail, hoping to impress upon Hit the severity of their situation.
When he finished, silence stretched between them. Hit remained motionless at the hilltop's apex, his back still turned, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere that made Cabba increasingly anxious.
The pause extended. Just when Cabba was about to speak again—
"Will Son Goku be participating?"
The question caught Cabba off-guard. "I... yes, I believe so. He's one of Universe Seven's strongest warriors, so he'll definitely be there."
"Then I accept." Hit's form blurred, and suddenly he stood directly beside Cabba—so close the young Saiyan could have touched him.
Cold sweat erupted across Cabba's body, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hadn't perceived Hit's approach at all. Not even a hint of movement, no sense of displaced air, nothing. This transcended mere speed—Hit had clearly used his time-skip ability, jumping through fractions of a second to relocate instantaneously.
And in that brief demonstration, Cabba understood something crucial: Hit was stronger than before. Whatever training or development the legendary assassin had pursued since their last encounter, it had elevated him to an even more terrifying level.
"When does the tournament begin?" Hit asked.
Cabba glanced at his time display reflexively. "Less than ten hours from now."
Universe Four — Destroyer's Realm
Quitela paced in tight, agitated circles, his expression twisted with frustration and mounting panic. He'd expended tremendous effort assembling a suitable roster of fighters. The original plan had yielded exactly ten qualified candidates—perfectly meeting the requirement.
Then Raditz had ruined everything.
Because of that Saiyan's interference, because of their disastrous confrontation, Quitela had accidentally eliminated one of his own tournament fighters with his Destruction energy. And when the Grand Priest himself had appeared to resolve the Frieza situation, there had been no opportunity to voice complaints or demand compensation.
Quitela could only swallow his rage, grind his teeth, and accept the consequences of his own scheming. But that didn't change the fundamental problem: Universe Four now had only nine fighters, putting them at an immediate disadvantage against every other competing universe.
"Cognac!" He spun to face his Angel attendant. "Who else in our universe possesses sufficient combat capability? There must be someone!"
"I'm afraid the candidates I've already recommended represent our best options, Lord Quitela." Cognac gestured to the holographic displays projected from his staff, showing profiles of various warriors. "These are the strongest individuals available."
Quitela examined each profile with increasing dismay. "These fighters... they're all inferior to that damned Frieza. Every single one of them! How can I possibly choose from this mediocre selection?"
"Our universe specializes in tactical versatility and special techniques," Cognac reminded him gently. "Our overall average combat power is quite respectable, but we lack exceptional individual powerhouses. That's simply the nature of Universe Four's development."
Quitela understood this reality all too well. Universe Four's relatively high ranking stemmed from broad competence across their civilization—solid fundamentals elevated across the board. The problem was that the Tournament of Power, with its ten-fighter limit, specifically rewarded individual excellence over collective averages. The format was inherently unfavorable to their universe's strengths.
"What am I supposed to do?" Quitela practically wailed, sweat beading on his forehead. "We're going to lose! We're going to be erased because I'm one fighter short!"
Cognac could only shrug helplessly. He'd done everything within his purview as an Angel. The rest was beyond his authority to influence.
"How much time remains?" Quitela asked, though he dreaded the answer.
"Six hours, Lord Quitela."
Universe Eleven — Destroyer's Realm
In stark contrast to Quitela's panic, Belmod—God of Destruction of Universe Eleven—reclined in absolute comfort. An elaborate spread of fine wines and exotic fruits covered the long table before him, and his Angel attendant Marcarita sat nearby with her characteristic gentle smile.
"You're remarkably unconcerned, Lord Belmod," Marcarita observed.
"Why should I be worried?" Belmod laughed, gesturing expansively with his wine glass. "With him fighting for us, Universe Eleven cannot lose. Don't be fooled by Universe Five and Universe Eight's high rankings—they achieved those positions through hard work and broad development, elevating their average mortal levels through consistent effort. But neither universe possesses truly elite individual warriors." He took a satisfied sip. "They're doomed the moment they face real power."
"There's always room for unexpected developments," Marcarita said mildly.
"Not this time!" Belmod's laugh grew more exaggerated. "As long as we have Toppo and Jiren, any opponent—ANY opponent—becomes manageable. Both of them have achieved god-level power, you understand? I seriously doubt any other universe can field warriors of that caliber! HAHAHAHA!"
His confidence wasn't baseless arrogance. Universe Eleven had cultivated Jiren specifically, invested enormous resources into developing a mortal who could challenge even Gods of Destruction. The Pride Troopers represented the pinnacle of heroic might. Belmod firmly believed they wouldn't merely survive—they would dominate.
Elsewhere in Universe Eleven's territory, the full Pride Trooper team had assembled at their headquarters. Captain Toppo stood before them, reviewing tactical considerations and strategic guidelines. The team had literally just finished resolving a universe-threatening crisis days earlier, and now they faced this cosmic tournament without adequate rest.
Everyone listened to Toppo's briefing with focused attention—everyone except Jiren.
The legendary warrior stood apart, silently gazing into the distance. His posture suggested he wasn't ignoring the briefing so much as finding it unnecessary. Jiren didn't need tactics. He didn't follow anyone's strategic plans. He possessed absolute power, and absolute power overcame all obstacles.
Belmod believed this. Toppo believed this. Most importantly, Jiren himself believed this with unshakeable certainty.
The only time Jiren spoke during the entire briefing was to ask a single question:
"How long?"
"The tournament begins in less than two hours," Toppo replied.
Jiren returned to his silence, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if he could already see the battles to come.