The medium-sized aircraft soared southward.
By the window, Gohan and Denim—with baby Tonapp crawling over them—admired the scenery outside.
Clear skies, azure seas.
Flying fish, seabirds, rolling waves.
...
Inside the plane, laughter and chatter filled the air as friends and family reunited for the tournament.
At the helm, Bulma piloted with a contented smile.
Beside her in the co-pilot seat, Yamiru chuckled into his phone while Tights fed him apple slices on toothpicks.
Further back, Krillin, Yamcha, and Master Roshi burst into raucous, slightly perverted laughter over some shared joke.
Gine and Chi-Chi conversed in low tones.
Bardock sat cross-legged on the floor, arms folded, deep in thought...
Piccolo, also arms crossed against the cabin wall, suddenly perked up. "Hm?" He glanced outside as a tiny figure flew toward them, waving energetically.
"It's Joey!" Bulma grinned, waving back before hitting the door release. Cold air rushed in, though none of these extraordinary passengers so much as flinched. As the door sealed shut, Joey fluttered inside.
"Sis Joey!" Gohan beamed. The pixie-like girl flitted about before plopping unsteadily onto Denim' head.
Denim: "..." 'She greeted YOU first.'
---
The plane descended over Papaya Island, landing in a clearing.
The group disembarked; Bulma tapped the hull—POOF—and pocketed the capsule.
Master Roshi, cane hooked behind his back, ogled beachgoers before remarking, "My, it's livelier than usual this year."
Krillin nodded. "Capsule Corp's sponsorship probably helped. Look at all the press."
Sure enough, reporters—like sharks scenting blood—spotted them immediately.
"Contestant Goku! Contestant Yamiru! Contestant Piccolo!..."
Microphones and cameras swarmed Yamiru and Goku's group. The commotion drew stares from other attendees.
"Wow, it's really Goku!"
"And Yamiru!"
"Is that Piccolo?..."
Piccolo's eyes glowed faintly as he cast a wide-area hypnosis spell—useless against warriors, but effortlessly diverting the mundane crowd's attention. (Unlike his original counterpart, this Piccolo actually served as Earth's God for years.)
As the crowd dispersed, Krillin exhaled. "Whew! You guys are way too famous."
Inevitable, really. Yamiru and Goku had won multiple championships here.
"Seems your dad's more popular," Denim teased Gohan.
Gohan shrugged. "Guess so."
Despite Yamiru's two titles to Goku's one, Goku's livestreams and magazine covers gave him broader appeal.
---
Soon, they reached the registration desk outside Martial Arts Temple.
A familiar scene unfolded ahead:
"Why's there a kids' division?!" Temada (hovering midair, palms on the table) glared at the registrar monk. "I wanna fight adults!"
The monk wiped sweat. "Little girl, be reasonable. How old are you?"
"I'm four!" She smacked the table proudly. "Four! Daddy said I'm stronger than he was at four!"
"I SAID NO SUCH THING!" Vegeta barked from nearby.
"Fine, fine." Temada waved magnanimously. "I'll spare your pride in public."
"YOU—" Vegeta's outrage cut off as a voice called:
"Vegeta. You came."
Father and daughter turned in unison, squinting up at a towering figure who blotted out the sun. Wild, unkempt hair cascaded like a straw cloak down his back, framing a face weathered by time. Though obscured by a scruffy beard, there was no mistaking him—Raditz, unseen for years.
Vegeta sneered, arms crossed. "Heh. Even you dare to compete?"
Raditz's face darkened with anger—until a delighted cry cut through:
"Raditz!"
He turned to see Goku's group approaching. Gine, cradling a baby boy, waved excitedly.
Raditz's response was glacial compared to his mother's joy—a curt nod. He didn't even glance at his own son in her arms.
Noticing this, Vegeta's lips curled in contempt. 'No wonder this fool never achieved Super Saiyan. Worthless trash...'
Yamiru barely spared the trio (Vegeta, Temada, and now-bearded Raditz) a glance, shepherding the others toward registration.
One by one, they signed up:
"Yamiru."
"Goku."
"Piccolo."
"Krillin."
"Tien."
"Yamcha."
"Chi-Chi."
"Bardock."
Then—
"Denim... Huh? Junior Division?"
"Gohan. What's this 'Junior Division'?"
The boys blinked in unison, dismayed at being segregated from the adults.
The monk explained: "Contestants under 15 compete separately in the Junior—"
Gohan pouted. Denim shrugged. Temada sidled over, griping: "So unfair!"
"Seems fine to me," Joey yawned from Denim' head. "Unless you want your dads to pummel you?"
Gohan opened his mouth—'It's not pummeling, it's training!'—when another figure squeezed forward, bouncing on her toes:
"Sign me up! Sign me up!"
"Name?" the monk asked.
"Videl!" The girl beamed.
"Age?"
"Seven!"
Gohan kindly informed her, "Seven-year-olds can only join the Junior Division."
She turned. "I know? Fighting adults would be weird."
"Not... that weird..." Gohan mumbled. Aside from sparring Denim, he'd never fought kids his age.
As the children chattered, the adults recognized an old face.
Yamiru studied the afro-sporting man beside Videl. "Mark? This your daughter?"
The man's eyes lit up. "I almost didn't recognize you! Yamiru! And Tights!"