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(Point of view – Ethan)
The silence after Piccolo's fight was so heavy I could hear my heart pounding wildly in my chest. It wasn't just fear. No, it was more like this uncomfortable feeling, like a dark cloud on the horizon warning that a wicked storm was on its way.
"This guy's no joke," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as the medics carried Kuririn away, groaning faintly, unconscious. "If this keeps up, there won't be anyone left to face him."
Down below, the ring already looked like an abandoned scene. Papers flew in the wind, the crowd shouted from afar, and the referee was shaking like a leaf trying to announce the next match.
"I-I'd like to call our next fighters to the ring!" he finally announced, stammering a little, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Yamcha and Hero, to the central stage!"
Yamcha walked in first, full of exaggerated confidence, waving to the crowd like he was sure this would be a walk in the park. Little did he know...
The other guy, Hero, climbed into the ring like he was lost, adjusting thick glasses on his face, his clothes hanging off him like they were two sizes too big. The crowd immediately started laughing, whispering to each other. "Poor old dude!" someone yelled from the bleachers.
I chuckled quietly too. But then that cold shiver ran down my spine, like my body was trying to warn me something was off. There was something seriously weird about that man.
"Begin!" the judge shouted, leaping to the corner of the ring like he was dodging an incoming explosion.
Yamcha took position, steady, eyes glowing with confidence. Hero was still fixing his glasses, distracted. "So, you're Yamcha? I heard you're pretty strong."
"You'll find out soon enough!" Yamcha snapped back, charging with a confident shout. "Take this!"
WHOOSH! He darted forward with speed, ready to land a solid hit. But to everyone's surprise, Hero just stepped to the side, dodging like someone avoiding a ball tossed by a child.
"Huh?" Yamcha stumbled, confused. "Beginner's luck!"
Hero gave a goofy little smile. "Oh, sorry. I think that was accidental."
Yamcha growled, irritated, lunging at his opponent with renewed fury. "Let's see you dodge this!"
SWISH! BAM! WHOOSH! Quick blows sliced through the air like thunder, but Hero kept dodging effortlessly. The crowd began to quiet down, realizing this wasn't luck—it was something else.
"How's that even possible?" I whispered, stunned.
Gina appeared beside me, eyes locked on the fight, arms crossed like she always did when focused.
"This Hero guy isn't just some regular human," she said, seriously. "Look at the way he moves. It's not just agility—he seems to predict every single move Yamcha makes."
THUD! CRASH! Yamcha went for a flying kick, but Hero gently tapped his leg, and Yamcha was launched to the other side of the ring like he'd been hit by a freight train. He skidded to the edge, panting, shocked.
"Impossible! He didn't even really hit me!"
Hero smiled softly, like a teacher giving a valuable lesson to a naughty student.
"Strength isn't just in muscles, my boy."
Yamcha turned red, both embarrassed and furious. He got up with effort and attacked again, roaring like a cornered animal. "I won't lose this easily!"
But he had already lost—he just didn't know it yet. Hero closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then moved so fast he was almost invisible. ZZZUM!
CRACK! One clean hit to the chest sent Yamcha flying, bouncing on the ground like a stone skipping across water. Silence fell over the crowd again, like everyone was holding their breath.
"No way…" I muttered, stunned.
"Hero wins!" the judge announced, stammering. The stadium erupted in applause and nervous laughter. Yamcha just lay there, trying to understand what kind of truck had just run him over.
Hero walked out of the ring just as calmly as he'd entered, adjusting his glasses, smiling like the whole thing had been nothing more than a morning workout.
Gina clenched her fist tightly. "Don't underestimate him. There's a lot more power in that guy than he lets on."
I swallowed hard. First Piccolo Jr., now this so-called Hero. The tournament was getting stranger and more dangerous with each match.
Suddenly, Hero looked straight at me. His gentle smile had a hint of irony, like he knew exactly who I was—and what I was capable of.
"Stay sharp, Ethan," he said softly, like he was whispering in my ear, even from far away. "Things are only going to get worse."
A sharp chill ran down my spine. How did he know my name?
The sky darkened, casting sudden shadows over the stadium, as if even the weather was afraid of what was coming. Thunder rumbled in the distance, warning that the real storm was still on its way.
I looked around, feeling the atmosphere shift from light to heavy in seconds. Piccolo Jr. was watching Hero too, his narrow eyes gleaming with curiosity and a trace of worry—something rare for someone usually so confident.
"What's going on here?" I muttered, barely audible, trying to contain my excitement for more fights. Everything pointed to the idea that the battles so far had been child's play compared to what was really ahead.
Hero vanished into the crowd, leaving behind only questions and that unsettling smile floating in the air.
"We need to be ready," Gina said, breaking the silence, solid as stone. "Whoever Hero really is, he's not here to play."
I nodded, slowly. One thing was clear: the easy games were over. But that Hero guy reminded me of someone I hadn't seen in a long time. The way he moved was eerily similar to Master Popo's—almost like whoever was in that body had trained under him.
As heavy clouds gathered above us, I felt something strange in the air—like a silent promise that more challenges, betrayals, and revelations were coming before this tournament reached its end.
I'd already fought Mai and dealt with painful emotions, but now this was something different. It wasn't just about fighting people I knew anymore—it was about something deeper, darker, and way more complicated.
"Hero," I whispered the name, staring at the horizon that was darkening way too fast. Who are you, really? And why does it feel like our fight already started long ago?
In the end, this tournament wasn't just about physical strength or who had the strongest move—it was about who could survive the truth hiding behind the masks.
And now, staring at the dark sky and hearing the first raindrops fall, I could only wonder:
What other secrets will this strange tournament reveal before the end?