6 month later.
Mai and Lunch had gone their separate ways to search for him, each traveling the world along different paths. Mai combined her mercenary work with the investigation. Lunch carved her own trail of destruction.
Bulma had chosen a more direct, if expensive, approach. She'd took ten million zeni to consult Baba, desperate for any information. But the old mystic couldn't tell her where Goku was. Aionia's influence extended beyond her white room, clouding even supernatural sight from locating him.
The three women had become friends during their shared search. They'd made a pact, agreeing on one final rendezvous point, the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai. If Goku was going to appear anywhere in the world, it would be there.
So they'd scattered once more, Mai on her dangerous missions, Lunch following her chaotic instincts, and Bulma retreating to her lab to work on what she'd dubbed the "Rude Kid Detector," a device specifically calibrated to find Goku.
He'd made such a profound impact on their lives. Only in his absence, in the hollow space where he used to be, did they truly realize how much they missed him.
---
Three long years had passed since Goku vanished without a trace.
Pu'ar floated gently beside Bulma in her workshop, watching his friend slump over her desk in defeat. Oolong wasn't particularly affected by Goku's disappearance, but the little shapeshifter felt the loss, especially seeing how it had changed Bulma over the years.
"Cheer up, Bulma!" Pu'ar said with forced brightness, floating closer to her. "The tournament is in one week! We're going to see him there!"
Bulma lifted her head slightly from where it rested on her arms, turquoise hair falling across her face. "I guess... but this is so weird!" She sat up properly, rubbing her chin in that thoughtful way she did when something didn't add up. "When he left, he had plans to come back. Plus, he specifically asked me for a cell phone, it was obviously so he could stay in contact!"
"Master Roshi said he was at Kami-sama's place," Pu'ar offered, trying to be helpful. "But when Master Roshi asked Korin about it, he said Goku wasn't there anymore."
Bulma leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. Her hand moved to press against her chest, right over her heart, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper, soft, hurt, and carrying three years of disappointment: "You promised... baka..."
---
High above the clouds where mortal eyes couldn't reach, Mr. Popo moved through his daily routine. He was outside the palace, tending to the plants in the Lookout, when movement caught his attention.
He turned his head toward the palace entrance and saw a silhouette emerging from the shadows, the little girl he'd once tested had transformed entirely. Where a child once stood, now walked a striking young woman, her growth a testament to three years of relentless training under divine tutelage.
She was taller than him now, her frame powerfully built with lean, defined muscle that spoke of countless hours pushing her body beyond human limits. Her white gi remained her uniform of choice, pristine and traditional, with that mysterious belt at her waist. A traveling cape with a hood draped over her shoulders, marking her as someone about to journey into the world.
"You're still hiding it?" Mr. Popo asked, setting down his watering can.
"Yeah!" she replied with that same infectious enthusiasm she'd possessed as a child. "Grandma said I have to keep it concealed until it's fully trained!"
Mr. Popo studied her with quiet pride. "So today's your last day here. You're returning to Baba before going to the tournament?"
"Yes! Grandma said we're going together." Her excitement was palpable, radiating from her like heat from the sun.
Mr. Popo allowed himself a rare, warm smile. "You've become stronger than we could have ever imagined. You might even be stronger than Kami-sama now."
She beamed at the compliment, her innocent joy undiminished by years of harsh training. "See you soon, Mr. Popo!" She waved with genuine affection before turning and sprinting toward the edge of the sanctuary.
Without a moment's hesitation, she leaped off into the void, her cape billowing behind her like wings.
Mr. Popo watched her disappear into the sea of clouds below, a gentle smile still on his face. "She's so full of energy and purity..." he murmured to himself, already missing her presence on the Lookout.
Far below, plummeting through layers of cloud, she felt the wind whipping her cape and hair wildly around her. As the clouds began to thin, she called out with perfect timing:
"Kinto'un!"
A golden cloud streaked through the sky like a comet, appearing from seemingly nowhere to catch her with precision. She landed on the magical nimbus with the ease of long familiarity, settling into a comfortable position as it adjusted to her weight.
"Kami-sama was so nice to give me the exact same cloud as Goku!" she said aloud to herself, running her hand along the fluffy surface.
She fell silent for a moment, her expression shifting from joy to something more wistful, more longing. The wind carried her words away as she whispered to the empty sky:
"Goku... I can't wait to see you again!"
The nimbus carried her swiftly toward the desert horizon, toward Baba's palace.
---
Deep within the sacred palace, in a room sealed from all but the most trusted, Kami stood before a gray jar marked with faded red seals. His eyes staring at the container that held his greatest mistake, or perhaps his greatest necessity. Three years of doubt had carved themselves into his expression.
Soft footsteps announced Mr. Popo's approach. The loyal servant entered silently, but his presence was a question all its own.
"Are you thinking of freeing him?" Mr. Popo asked, his voice carrying genuine concern.
The silence stretched long and heavy between them, filled with the weight of impossible choices. Finally, Kami spoke, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.
"Not until the threat of Piccolo Jr. is eliminated. I must go prepare for the tournament."
Mr. Popo's perpetually calm expression flickered with surprise. "You're going to participate yourself? Don't you trust her to defeat Piccolo Jr.?"
Kami turned away from the jar, unable to look at it any longer. His voice was quiet but certain: "I don't trust her resolve to kill him."
He walked toward the exit, his staff tapping against the floor with each step, the sound echoing in the chamber like a funeral drum. Mr. Popo watched his master leave, seeing the burden that bowed those ancient shoulders, then turned back to stare at the sealed jar.
His whisper was barely audible, meant for no one's ears but his own: "Goku would never hesitate to kill him..."
The truth of that statement hung in the air like an accusation.
---
Hours of travel passed before the young woman descended through the desert sky on her golden cloud. Baba's palace rose from the barren landscape.
Fortuneteller Baba had already seen her approach in her crystal ball, few things escaped her sight. She floated outside on her sphere, scanning the horizon with growing impatience, looking left and right, muttering to herself about punctuality.
"GRANDMAAAAAA!"
Baba heard the shout and looked up just in time to be tackle-hugged from above. Her granddaughter crashed into her with enough force to nearly knock them both from the floating ball.
"Why are you always so rough!" Baba complained, though her little hands came up to return the embrace with gentleness, her complaints undermined by the warmth in her touch.
"You've gotten so big!" Baba marveled as they separated, studying the powerful young woman before her. Where had that little girl gone?
Her granddaughter stepped back with a radiant smile and flexed her biceps proudly, showing off muscles that would make professional fighters weep with envy. The innocent pride in her face was almost comical.
But Baba's expression shifted to something more serious, more concerned. "Did you see Goku at the Lookout?"
The girl's bright expression dimmed slightly. "No, he wasn't there... But Mr. Popo knows him! He says Goku's incredibly strong, that he defeated Piccolo Daimao all by himself!"
Baba's concern only deepened at those words, her mind racing through implications and possibilities. But before she could dwell on her dark thoughts, her granddaughter grabbed her hand with renewed energy.
"Let's go, Grandma! Papaya Island isn't close!"
"Alright, alright!" Baba relented with a sigh that was half exasperation, half affection.
They set off together, traveling toward the tournament.
---
Across the world, others were also making their way toward Papaya Island.
Mai packed her mercenary gear alongside more feminine clothes she'd bought specifically for this reunion, hope and pragmatism warring in her heart.
Lunch, currently in her blue-haired form, carefully planned her route, knowing the blonde might emerge at any moment and cause chaos, but determined to make it to the tournament regardless.
Bulma stood in her workshop one last time before leaving, looking at her half-finished "Rude Kid Detector," then powered it down with a sigh.
"Come on, Bulma," Oolong called from the doorway. "We're gonna be late!"
"I'm coming," she said quietly.
Pu'ar floated beside her, offering silent comfort as they headed toward the airport. Capsule Corp's private jet was already fueled and ready.
All paths were converging on Papaya Island. The 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai was about to begin.
The rain pelted Papaya Island like, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and salt. At precisely 9 a.m., Roshi arrived alone, his orange-tinted shades fogging slightly under the downpour. He paced the registration tent's edge, grumbling about the weather while waiting for his old students to show. The tournament grounds were eerily quiet, save for the distant rumble of thunder and the slap of waves against the shore.
A taxi splashed to a halt nearby. From the rear door emerged a long, elegant leg, clad in a practical yet form-fitting boot. Roshi's gaze followed it upward, lingering on toned thighs beneath a flowing blue robe that hugged curves he'd only dreamed of in his magazines. Higher still, and his breath caught, a stunning face framed by turquoise hair cascading to her shoulders, lips painted a bold red lipstick. It was Bulma, now 22 and radiating the confidence. Flanking her were Oolong in his usual suit, and Puar, the floating blue cat, shaking droplets from his fur.
Roshi's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of beet red. "Oh, Bulma... you've gotten sexier!" he blurted.
A sharp *crack* echoed as a hand connected with the back of his bald head. Bulma's face lit up like a firework, the storm forgotten. "Lunch! Mai!" she squealed, leaping forward to envelop them in a group hug. It had been two years since their last chaotic adventure, and the reunion buzzed with laughter and back-pats. But as Bulma pulled back, her sharp eyes narrowed. Lunch, with her wild blonde locks and a mischievous glint, sported glossy pink lipstick and a slinky red dress that clung like a second skin, far from her usual tomboyish overalls. Mai, cool and composed as ever, had traded her spy leathers for a sleek black number with a daring slit up the thigh, her lips a sultry berry stain.
Bulma crossed her arms, a smirk tugging at her mouth. "You two got all dolled up... for Goku?"
Lunch and Mai whipped their heads away in unison, attempting to whistle innocently. The result was more like deflating balloons, adorably transparent lies. Roshi, rubbing his scalp, hauled himself to his feet with a groan. "So, you haven't found him yet?"
They shook their heads, shoulders slumping as the rain mirrored their disappointment. "Cheer up," Roshi said, clapping them on the backs with surprising gentleness. "It's Goku we're talking about. Nothing on this Earth can hurt him. It's only 9 a.m registrations don't close till 11 a.m. Plenty of time."
A cheerful shout cut through the drizzle like a sunbeam. "What's up, guys?!"
They turned as a group turned toward them. Krillin, his bald head gleaming wet but his grin wider than ever, Yamcha, sporting a rugged new scar across his cheek and his wild hair tamed into a low ponytail, Tien, stoic, with Chaozu perched loyally on his shoulder like a porcelain doll. All three looked sharper, stronger, honed by years of training.
Krillin bounded up to Roshi first, standing tall with exaggerated pride. "Look, Muten Roshi-sama! I'm taller than you now!"
Bulma and Lunch flanked him, ruffling his head. "It's true! You've shot up like a weed!" Bulma teased. Krillin beamed, cheeks puffing with laughter, before his eyes scanned the group. "So... where's Goku?"
"Still not here," Mai replied flatly, wringing water from her dark bangs.
Tien sidled up to Roshi discreetly, his three-eyed gaze intense. "Master, are you entering the tournament?"
Roshi leaned in, whispering. "Nah, kid. I can't keep up with you young bucks anymore. My fighting days are dustier than my magazine collection."
Yamcha drifted toward Bulma, his desert-bandit swagger softened by a genuine smile. The years had weathered him into something dangerously handsome, scar and all. "Long time no see, Bulma."
Mai and Lunch exchanged sly glances, nudging elbows. Bulma met his eyes, arms folding tighter. "Long time no see? Long time? We've barely crossed paths since we started to date each other, Yamcha!"
He backpedaled a step, hands raised in surrender, that nervous grin flashing. "Whoa, easy! Tell you what, I'll make it up to you. The best date we've ever had. My treat, no holds barred."
The word date hung in the air, sparking an flicker in Bulma's mind: Goku's cocky smile, his claim about the date. She tilted her chin, a scheming glint in her eye. "Fine. But I pick the date for the date."
Yamcha blinked, caught off-guard by her sudden acceptance. "Uh... deal. Why the easy yes?"
Before she could retort, Krillin's finger shot out, pointing through the rain. "Hey! Isn't that—?"
An elderly woman perched atop a glowing crystal ball bobbed into view, parting the crowd. "Baba!" the group screamed.
The Fortuneteller spun toward them. She floated closer. "Big sis, what are you doing here?" Asked Roshi.
She start slapping him left and right, her tiny fists packing the punch. "I go where I want, you perverted turtle hermit!"
From behind her emerged her granddaughter, a vision that made Roshi's sunglasses crack under the pressure of his bulging eyes. She was no longer the scrawny kid who'd scrapped with Goku years ago, now, her body was a masterpiece of athletic grace, toned muscles rippling beneath sun-kissed skin, curves amplified by the subtle power in her limbs. A hooded cloak draped her shoulders, framing a face of heartbreaking innocence, wide eyes, a button nose, and a smile that could melt glaciers. Roshi lurched forward, ogling shamelessly, until Bulma and Lunch shoved him aside.
"Y-You're that little girl who fought Goku!" Bulma stammered, Lunch nodding in disbelief at the transformation.
The girl beamed, her voice a melody of warmth. "Ah! I remember you !"
Baba wheeled on Roshi, who was scrambling up with a fresh pair of shades. "Is Goku here yet?"
"Nope," he said, dusting off his suit. "But we've got two solid hours before cutoff."
Baba's eyes narrowed. Her granddaughter's head tilted. "Grandma!"
"I know!" They both looked toward a distant figure, a lanky middle-aged man, his presence radiating an otherworldly calm. "That ki... It's Kami-sama," they murmured in sync.
Krillin and Yamcha bolted toward the girl, undeterred by the downpour. "You entering the tournament?" Krillin panted. "C'mon, let's register together!"
Her smile lit up like dawn breaking. "Okay!" The sheer brightness of it sent Krillin and Yamcha into twin blushes, stammering like schoolboys.
"B-By the way," Krillin ventured, scratching his neck, "what's your name?"
"K—" Baba's crystal ball zipped forward, shielding her like a bumper car. "Her name's Sanzang!" she barked, swinging wild haymakers at the duo. They leaped back like startled frogs. "And quit hitting on her, you horn dogs! She's already promised to Goku!"
Jaws hit the ground except for the girl, who cocked her head innocently, index finger to her lips. "Hitting on...?"
Mai's eyes rolled heavenward in theatrical despair. "Another one?"
"Lucky bastard," Roshi muttered, adjusting his shades with a jealous sigh.
Bulma and blonde Lunch stormed forward, fists clenched like tiny warheads. "What do you mean, 'promised,' you old hag?!" they roared, seizing Baba by her collar and shaking her like a maraca.
In the background, the girl giggled, utterly oblivious, as Baba wheezed through the assault. "My granddaughter and Goku? Husband and wife! Mark my words!"
A new voice sliced through the chaos, a young woman in a flowing purple robe slit high on the sides, revealing crimson pants that hugged her athletic build. Her black hair was bound in a low, swaying ponytail, and her dark eyes sparkled with urgency. "Goku?! I heard his name! Where is he?"
The women, Bulma, Lunch, Mai, and Baba, pivoted as one, glaring. "And you are?"
She faltered under the scrutiny, cheeks tinting pink. "M-My name's Chi-Chi... Goku promised to take me as his bride." Her smile was cute, nervous, a porcelain doll cracking under pressure.
Mai's knees buckled, she crumpled, only for Lunch to catch her in a frantic dip. "Mai! Stay with me, girl!"
Baba and Bulma rounded on Chi-Chi like prosecutors. "What?! Prove it! How do you even know Goku?"
"Bulma, don't you remember me?" Chi-Chi pleaded.
"No! Quit making stuff up!" Bulma snapped.
Mai, teetering on the edge of consciousness, lifted a trembling finger. "She... she's from Frypan Village. I remember her..." Her arm flopped limp. "Mai!" Lunch wailed, cradling her like a fallen comrade.
Oolong's piggy eyes widened in sudden recollection. "Oh yeah! That's right! she's Gyumao's daughter! Back then, she was rockin' that bikini armor!" His gaze slithered over Chi-Chi's now-voluptuous figure, drool pooling at his tusks. "Where's that armor now—?"
*Smack!* An invisible force cracked across his skull, sending him sprawling. Bulma's memory clicked. "Ah! Now I remember you! But that bride story? Total fabrication!"
Oolong, rubbing his throbbing head from the ground, piped up. "I think it's legit. I was drivin' the car that day, I heard them—"
He didn't finish. Bulma, Mai (miraculously revived), and Lunch piled on, stomping him into the muck. "We don't need your useless eyewitness testimony!"
Baba jabbed a bony finger at her granddaughter, who was still adrift in confusion. "Doesn't matter! My girl's locked in with Goku, two of the strongest warriors on Earth! Their kids'll be unstoppable legends!"
Chi-Chi's composure shattered, she dropped the demure facade, eyes blazing. "What are you saying?!"
"You heard me! Goku and my granddaughter, perfect match. Babies stronger than anyone!"
"Babies?!" Chi-Chi and Mai echoed, faces erupting in twin blushes that outshone the storm clouds.
The debate exploded into a whirlwind of shouts. In the rear, the men exchanged weary glances. Tien, ever the zen master, sighed. "Let's... just go register."
Krillin nodded vigorously, "he collected fiancées like scattered Dragon Balls."
As they trudged toward the tent, Oolong limped along, muttering under his breath. "I hate Goku..."
As the hours crawled by, everyone connected to Goku grew increasingly anxious. The tournament staff made periodic announcements about registration time remaining, each one feeling like a countdown to disappointment.
Two hours left. One hour. Thirty minutes.
Still no Goku.
Bulma checked her watch obsessively. Mai scanned every approaching figure with desperate hope. Lunch, taping her foot nervously. Chi-Chi stood apart from the group, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the entrance as if she could will him into existence through sheer determination.
Finally, Master Roshi made the decision for them.
"Guys, go inside and get dressed," he said. "Don't worry about Goku for now. If he shows up, we'll make sure he knows where to find us."
The participants, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, and Chaozu, exchanged uncertain glances before nodding and heading toward the tournament grounds entrance.
"You too, Chi-Chi, Sanzang," Roshi added, gesturing for the young women to follow.
"Atchaaa!" Sanzang exclaimed, rubbing the back of her hooded head in frustration. "I wanted to fight him again after six years!"
"Six years?!" Chi-Chi whipped around, competitive fire flashing in her eyes. "It's been seven years for me!"
The two women followed the others inside, already bickering about who had missed Goku longer.
Before Sanzang could get too far, Baba's voice cut through the noise: "Wait!"
The old fortuneteller grabbed her granddaughter's arm and pulled her aside, away from the others. Her voice dropped to a whisper, urgent and serious.
"Remember, when you give your name to the announcer, use your other name."
Sanzang blinked in confusion. "Other? Which one?"
But Baba had already released her and was floating back toward the main group, leaving her granddaughter puzzled but obedient.
Bulma stood and stretched, trying to dispel the tension that had built up over hours of waiting. "Well, let's go find a café table inside. At least we can wait in comfort."
Lunch and Mai followed, along with Oolong and Pu'ar, all of them throwing one last hopeful glance at the entrance before disappearing into the tournament complex.
---
Only Baba and Roshi remained outside, the space between them heavy with unspoken concerns. The tournament grounds had grown quiet, most spectators already inside claiming their seats.
Roshi's jovial demeanor had completely vanished, replaced by the serious expression.
"Something happened to him at Kami-sama's place, didn't it?" he asked, his voice low and grave.
Baba was silent for a long moment, her ancient eyes troubled. "I don't have all the details, but I can't sense his ki anywhere in the world. It's as if he simply ceased to exist."
Roshi's grip tightened on his staff. "Can you explain what you mean by that? You're one of the few people who can detect ki across such distances."
"It's true," Baba confirmed. "Kami, Mr. Popo, and now my granddaughter can sense ki as well, though my ability is different, more mystical. But this boy..." She paused, struggling with the implications. "Goku is strange in ways I've never encountered. I can't see his future, his present, or even his past. It's as if he exists outside the normal flow of fate."
"That would certainly frighten Kami," Roshi said quietly.
"Frighten him enough to..." Baba trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
"Kill him?" Roshi finished for her, his voice hard.
"Don't be a fool," Baba snapped, though her tone lacked real heat. "Kami couldn't kill him that easily even if he wanted to. You know as well as I do that Goku was nearly as strong as Kami himself. If there had been a battle, if Kami had actually killed him, we would have noticed some aftermath."
She shook her head, her expression growing darker. "No, I think Kami might have sealed him."
Roshi's eyes widened behind his sunglasses. "The Mafuba?!"
Baba nodded slowly, gravely.
The blood drained from Roshi's face. His grip on his staff became white-knuckled, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple despite the cooling evening air.
"That's a terrifying technique," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The person who is trapped... they feel as though they're dead. They can't move, can't see, can't even perceive time passing. Just darkness. Eternal, absolute darkness." His voice cracked slightly. "If Goku has been in there for three years, but time didn't pass for him... he's been experiencing an eternity of nothingness. Conscious but unable to do anything, be anything, feel anything..."
Baba studied him with new interest. "You know an awful lot about that technique."
"It was Master Mutaito's technique, after all," Roshi said quietly. "He taught it to his students before using it himself to seal King Piccolo the first time. I know what it costs.
The two old siblings stood in silence, contemplating the implications.
---
An hour later, the tournament staff's voice crackled over the loudspeakers: "Final call for registration! All participants must register within the next five minutes, or they will be disqualified!"
Baba and Roshi exchanged one last look, hope dying in both their eyes, then sighed simultaneously.
"I just hope he's okay," Roshi said as they walked toward the entrance together. "Whatever Kami did, whatever his reasons... I hope Goku is still himself when, if he gets out."
---
Inside the tournament facility, the changing rooms buzzed with nervous energy. Krillin and Yamcha pulled on their classic orange gi, the familiar weight of the fabric helping center their focus. Tien and Chaozu wore their green Crane School outfits with quiet pride. Chi-Chi adjusted her purple kung fu uniform, checking her movements to ensure nothing would restrict her in combat.
Sanzang dropped her traveling cape with a flourish, revealing her toned, powerful body wrapped in a pristine white gi. The belt at her waist.
Krillin glanced over and did a double-take. "Hey, I never noticed before, but your hair, it's really spiky! Are you trying to imitate Goku or something?" He laughed.
Sanzang looked up at her own hair, as if she'd forgotten what it looked like. "No, I didn't try. It just grows this way."
"Your hair wasn't like that six years ago when you fought him," Krillin continued, warming to his observation. "Oh! You had a bandana covering it back then! Hahaha, you might actually be related to Goku somehow! Hey, where's your tail? Do you have one hidden away?"
He was joking, but Sanzang's response died on her lips. "Grandma d—"
She stopped mid-word, her entire body going rigid. Slowly, she turned to look behind her, her senses screaming a warning.
There, standing across the preparation area, was a tall man in a purple gi with shoulder pads and a white cape. His green skin marked him as distinctly non-human. His arms were crossed over his chest, Aura farming, his eyes swept across the other fighters with barely concealed disdain, as if measuring them.
"Piccolo," Sanzang whispered, the name carrying weight and recognition.
"What's wrong, Sanzang?" Krillin asked, noticing her sudden tension.
She forced her expression to relax, though a small smirk played at her lips. "Nothing. That guy just seems really strong."
The others followed her gaze. Yamcha studied the green figure with professional assessment. "He's scanning the area, like he's searching for someone specific."
Krillin's expression grew troubled. "I don't want to sound crazy, but... doesn't he look like Piccolo Daimao?"
"You think so?" Tien asked, his third eye focusing intently on the stranger.
"Well, it's hard to tell for sure," Krillin admitted. "When Goku fought Piccolo Daimao, he had blood all over his face, but the skin color..."
"That's racist," Tien said flatly.
"That's racist," Chaozu echoed.
"That's racist," Yamcha added.
"What?! I'm not being racist!" Krillin protested. "I'm just saying he literally looks like... you know what, forget it."
Across the room, the man called Shen, the unremarkable middle-aged body that Kami had possessed, also watched Piccolo Jr. from a distance.
---
A staff member's voice cut through the preparation area: "Please gather for bracket assignment!"
"Chaozu," Tien whispered, leaning close to his small companion. "Make sure we all fight in different brackets. Including that green guy Sanzang was staring at. I want to see how strong everyone is before any of us face each other."
"Yes, Tien!" Chaozu's eyes gleamed as his psychic powers subtly influenced the bracket arrangement.
---
The preliminary rounds passed in a blur of effortless victories. Each of the eight finalists dispatched their opponents with such ease.
Yamcha looked around with satisfaction. "We all made it."
"Yeah!" Krillin agreed, then paused. "Hey, isn't it weird that none of us had to face each other in the preliminaries? What are the odds?"
In the background, Chaozu and Tien exchanged subtle thumbs up.
The blonde announcer, a tournament fixture whose enthusiasm never waned, gathered the finalists with practiced efficiency. He looked down his list, recognizing familiar faces.
"In the finals again! Chaozu, Tien, Krillin, Yamcha, Son Go—" He stopped, squinting at the next fighter in line, then looked up with embarrassment. "Oh! I'm very sorry, ma'am. Could you please write your name for me?"
Sanzang approached with the pen, tapping it against her mouth thoughtfully, trying to remember her grandmother's cryptic instruction.
"Sanzang! What are you waiting for?" Krillin called out impatiently.
Then the memory clicked into place, Baba pulling her aside, whispering urgently: *Use your other name.*
"Ah! I know now!" She wrote quickly, handing the paper back to the announcer with a satisfied smile.
The blonde man with his perpetual sunglasses studied what she'd written. "Curious name," he muttered, but shrugged. "Anyway, please pick a number from this box!"
One by one, the fighters drew their numbers. The brackets fell into place with mechanical finality:
Tien vs Chaozu
Chi-Chi vs Sanzang
Krillin vs Piccolo Jr.
Yamcha vs Shen
Krillin stared at his bracket assignment, his face pale. "I have to fight the green guy?"
Piccolo Jr. glanced at the bracket, then at Krillin, his expression utterly dismissive. The message was clear, this wouldn't even be a challenge.
Shen looked at his own assignment, Yamcha, and nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself.
Chi-Chi studied her bracket, then looked at Sanzang with renewed competitive fire. "I won't lose. Goku will see that I'm the strongest, and he'll choose me."
Sanzang just smiled her innocent smile, not understanding the implications but excited by the prospect of a good fight.
--
The moment the arena doors opened to the public, chaos erupted. Hundreds of spectators surged forward like a tidal wave, each person desperate to claim the best viewing position. The crowd was a living thing, pushing, shoving, flowing toward the front rows with single-minded determination.
Lunch assessed the situation without hesitation, she pulled out a gun.
"MAKE WAY!" she shouted, firing a shot into the air.
The crowd parted. People scrambled over each other to get out of the path of the armed woman, creating a pristine corridor straight to the front row.
Bulma, Mai, Roshi, Baba, Pu'ar, and Oolong followed in Lunch's wake, moving through the self-created passage.
They secured the absolute best places, front row, center position, with an unobstructed view of the entire arena.
As they settled in, Bulma's forced optimism finally cracked. "So Goku didn't make it?" Her voice was small, defeated.
"Nope," Roshi confirmed quietly, adjusting his sunglasses to hide eyes that might have been more expressive than he wanted.
The disappointment settled over their group like a heavy blanket. Three years of searching, three years of hope, and he still hadn't appeared.
---
The blonde announcer burst onto the stage with his trademark enthusiasm, his voice amplified to reach every corner of the packed stadium. The crowd's energy immediately shifted from disappointed murmuring to electric anticipation.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" His voice boomed across the grounds. "WELCOME TO THE TWENTY-THIRD TENKAICHI BUDOKAI!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"As always, we have EPIC matches in store for you today! Old contestants who have marked the history of this tournament with their incredible skill!" He swept his arm dramatically. "And new contestants who will carve their own legends into these hallowed grounds!"
The cheering intensified.
"Without further delay, let us begin with our first match! Two fighters from the same school, who three years ago gave us some of the most spectacular displays of martial arts prowess this tournament has ever witnessed!" He paused for effect. "TENSHINHAN VERSUS CHAOZU!"
The arena floor opened, and platforms rose to deliver the two fighters into view. Tien stood tall and imposing, his three eyes scanning the crowd with quiet confidence. Chaozu floated beside him, small but radiating his own unique power.
The crowd went wild, but those who knew the fighters personally exchanged knowing looks. Bulma leaned toward Roshi. "They're going to throw the match, aren't they?"
"Most likely," Roshi confirmed. "Tien wants to face the strongest opponents. Chaozu knows he can't beat him."
And indeed, the moment the announcer signaled the start of the match, Tien moved with blinding speed. He rushed Chaozu, pulling his punch at the last second but providing just enough force to send his small friend flying gently out of the arena.
It was over in seconds.
"INCREDIBLE SPEED!" the announcer shouted, trying to make something exciting out of what was clearly a predetermined outcome. "TENSHINHAN ADVANCES TO THE SEMIFINALS!"
Roshi shook his head slowly. "We didn't even get to see Tien's full potential yet."
Then, so quietly that only those immediately next to him could hear, he muttered: "Goku will fall behind, trapped in that timeless prison..."
---
"NOW!" The announcer's voice cut through the somber mood. "For our second fight of the day, we have two NEW fighters who have never before appeared in the Tenkaichi Budokai! Please give a thunderous round of applause for... CHI-CHI!"
The crowd obliged, whistling and applauding as Chi-Chi emerged onto the arena floor. Her purple kung fu outfit was pristine, her posture perfect, and her expression carried fierce determination.
In the prep area, Krillin called out to her: "Good luck, Chi-Chi!"
She flashed him a confident thumbs-up before striding into the arena, her ponytail swaying with each purposeful step.
Back in the waiting area, Sanzang bounced on her toes, warming up with light jumps. Krillin approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Sanzang, do your best out there."
No response. She continued her warm-up routine as if he hadn't spoken.
"Sanzang?" He tried again, louder. "Sanzang!"
She twitched, startled, and turned to him with a blank expression. "You said something?"
Krillin pulled his hand back, laughing nervously. "Nothing! She must be nervous," he said to Yamcha and Tien, though even he didn't sound convinced.
The announcer's voice boomed again: "And now! For her opponent, also a new face to the tournament! Please give a round of applause for... KAKAROT!"
In the waiting area, Krillin, Yamcha, and Tien all looked at each other in confusion.
"Huh? Who's that?" Krillin asked.
Outside in the crowd, Baba's jaw literally dropped open. "This idiot!"
Roshi turned to her immediately. "What's wrong?"
But Baba could only stare as the situation unfolded.
Back in the prep area, the fighter they all knew as Sanzang began walking toward the arena entrance. Krillin and the others watched her go, their confusion only growing.
Bulma, Mai, Roshi, Launch, and the others in the front row saw her clearly.
"What is Sanzang doing here?" Bulma asked, genuinely puzzled. "It's not her turn yet."
They all turned to look at Baba, who had both hands covering her face.
---
In the arena, Chi-Chi faced her opponent with increasing confusion. "Isn't your name supposed to be Sanzang?!"
The girl looked equally confused, then her eyes widened with sudden realization. She turned toward the crowd, specifically toward where her grandmother sat, and rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.
"Atchaaa, sorry Grandma! I think I messed up!"
Bulma, Roshi, Mai, and Lunch all swiveled to face Baba with demands for explanation written on their faces.
"Can you explain this to us?" Bulma asked, hands on her hips.
"Her name is Kakarot," Baba said reluctantly, still looking away.
"Why did you give us a fake name?!" Bulma's voice rose in pitch. "I know Kakarot is a ridiculous name, but you didn't need to lie about it!"
"I have my reasons," Baba muttered, studying the arena floor with intense interest.
"THIS IS NOT AN EXPLANATION!" Bulma shouted.
"WILL YOU DROP IT ALREADY?!" Baba shouted back, her small frame somehow projecting immense authority.
Their argument was cut short by the announcer's voice, "Now let the match BEGIN!"
---
Chi-Chi pointed dramatically at Kakarot, her voice carrying across the entire arena: "Whoever wins this match wins the right to be Goku's bride!"
Kakarot tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "Bride?"
Before she could get an answer, Chi-Chi dashed forward with respectable speed, her fist aimed directly at Kakarot's face.
Kakarot simply leaned to the side, and the punch sailed past her ear.
Chi-Chi spun with a roundhouse kick. Kakarot ducked beneath it with minimal movement, her hands clasped behind her back.
What followed was a display of pure defensive mastery. Chi-Chi launched a combination, left jab, right cross, spinning backfist, low sweep, high kick, each technique executed with proper form and genuine power. But Kakarot flowed around every attack like water, her movements minimal and effortless. She swayed left, right, backward, forward, making Chi-Chi's strikes miss by millimeters without ever breaking her casual stance.
It was beautiful in its way, classical martial arts choreography performed at speeds that made the crowd gasp. Chi-Chi was a tornado of motion. Kakarot was a leaf in the wind, untouchable.
After dozens of strikes hitting nothing but air, Chi-Chi backed away, breathing hard. "C-come on—don't you—want to—fight for being—Goku's bride?!"
In the crowd, Mai and Lunch exchanged jealous glances. Bulma's eye twitched. Krillin and Yamcha looked at each other with pure envy written on their faces.
"Lucky bastard," Yamcha whispered.
"I know..." Krillin agreed.
Kakarot, still looking confused, turned toward the crowd and called out: "Hey Bulma! What is a bride?"
The entire stadium fell silent. Thousands of eyes turned to the turquoise-haired woman in the front row.
Bulma's face went bright red. "It's—it's—!" She stammered, trying to find words that were both accurate and appropriate for public announcement. "It's like spending all your time with someone! All the time! Together!"
Mai's face also flushed deep crimson.
Roshi and the others turned to stare at Baba with accusatory expressions.
"What exactly did you teach her?" Roshi asked flatly.
"SHUT UP!" Baba's voice cracked with embarrassment. "She's only ever been interested in fighting and eating! How was I supposed to do?!"
In the arena, understanding dawned on Kakarot's face. She smacked her palm against her fist with a sound like a gunshot.
"YEAH!" she shouted with innocent enthusiasm. "I'll spend all my time training and fighting with him! I want to be Goku's bride!"
The declaration echoed across the now-silent stadium. Everyone, spectators, announcers, fighters, vendors, stared in shock.
Chi-Chi's teeth clenched so hard they were audible. With a cry of fury and embarrassment, she charged forward one last time, putting everything she had into a desperate assault.
Kakarot's hand moved, so fast it was nearly invisible to the naked eye. She threw a casual punch at the empty air between them.
The compressed wind from her strike hit Chi-Chi like a freight train. The girl's eyes went wide with shock before the invisible force launched her completely out of the arena, over the boundary line, and into the grass beyond.
Silence reigned for three full seconds.
Then the crowd erupted. The noise was deafening, cheers, gasps, shouts of amazement blending into a wall of sound.
"INCREDIBLE!" The announcer's voice somehow cut through the chaos. "I DIDN'T SEE A THING! THAT SPEED! THAT POWER! KAKAROT ADVANCES TO THE SEMIFINALS!"
---
Chi-Chi sat in the grass where she'd landed, the reality of her loss sinking in. She began pounding the ground with her fists, throwing a full tantrum complete with frustrated yells and tears.
Kakarot appeared at the edge of the arena, looking down at her defeated opponent with genuine concern. She extended her hand to help Chi-Chi up.
"Don't be sad!" Kakarot said, her face radiating pure innocence. "We can both be brides with Goku!"
Chi-Chi stared at the offered hand for a moment, then grabbed it with a smile that was equal parts grateful and competitive. "Doesn't matter! When Goku sees how much I've improved, he'll choose me anyway!"
Kakarot helped her up with easy strength, and the two young women walked off together, already chatting animatedly.
In the front row, Bulma had gone completely still, her face pressed against the arena wall, staring at nothing.
"Why are those girls okay with polygamy..." she muttered, her voice hollow.
Mai leaned over, patting her friend's shoulder. "I don't think Kakarot understood the real meaning."
"Our third match! KRILLIN versus PICCOLO JR !" the announcer boomed.
Krillin bounced on his feet in his orange gi, facing the towering green demon across the arena. Piccolo crossed his arms, smirking. "Small fry."
Krillin's eyes narrowed. "What'd you say?"
Instead of answering, he planted his feet and thrust both palms forward. Twin energy blasts rocketed toward Piccolo, who leaped skyward to dodge, but the blasts curved upward, homing in on him like missiles.
"What?!" Piccolo fired eye beams to intercept them mid-air, the explosion lighting up the sky.
Using the cover, Krillin launched himself upward and drove his fist into Piccolo's face with a thunderous crack. Piccolo shot backward, miles from the arena.
In the stands, Bulma cheered wildly. "Yeah! Get him!"
But Piccolo halted his flight and rocketed back, landing hard. Krillin charged again, landing a solid gut punch before Piccolo blocked and kicked him skyward. As Krillin fell toward the out-of-bounds grass, he stopped mid-air, hovering.
"Surprise! I can fly now !"
Piccolo's aura flared dark purple. "Clever tricks. But now I'll show you real power."
His arm stretched impossibly across the arena, grabbing Krillin's ankle and reeling him in. A devastating punch sent Krillin flying. Piccolo kicked him high into the clouds and followed.
Krillin cupped his hands. "Ka...me...ha...me...HAAA!" The blue beam erupted, but it hit only an afterimage, Piccolo had used Zanzoken to appear behind him.
"Behind you!" Kakarot shouted from below.
Piccolo's hammer-fist strike sent Krillin crashing into the arena floor, cratering the stone. Slowly, impossibly, Krillin pushed himself up, wobbling but standing.
Piccolo's eyes widened. "Impossible..."
Krillin collapsed face-first, chuckling weakly. "Okay... I give up. You win."
"Contestant Krillin concedes! Piccolo advances!" The crowd erupted in applause, not for the winner, but for Krillin's courage.
Kakarot rushed to help him up. "That was amazing, Krillin."
"Heh... gave it everything," he managed through the pain.
---
"Our final quarterfinal! YAMCHA versus SHEN!"
Yamcha strode confidently into the arena in his orange gi, scar across his cheek. Across from him shuffled Shen, a lanky, harmless-looking old man.
"Begin!"
Yamcha charged with a fierce punch. Shen seemed to trip, stumbling forward,nhis head ramming into Yamcha's stomach like a battering ram.
"OOMPH!" Yamcha doubled over.
"Oh my! So clumsy!" Shen exclaimed.
In the stands, Bulma went red. "GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, YAMCHA!"
Krillin and Tien facepalmed.
The fight continued in absurd fashion, every attack Yamcha threw somehow resulted in Shen's "clumsy" movements perfectly countering it. Stumbles became devastating strikes. Trips became perfectly-timed sweeps.
Finally, Shen "lost his balance" completely, windmilling his arms. One elbow caught Yamcha's jaw, the other his head, and his leg swept Yamcha's feet out completely.
Yamcha flew out of the arena, landing in the grass.
"S-Shen wins by ring-out!"
The crowd's applause was confused. Yamcha trudged away, head hung low in complete humiliation.
In the stands, Baba and Roshi exchanged knowing looks. "That wasn't an old man," Roshi whispered. "That was Kami-sama, hiding his power."
---
The brackets were clear:
Tien vs Kakarot
Piccolo Jr. vs Shen
"Now that we have our four winners, let the semifinals begin!" the announcer's voice boomed across the packed arena, the crowd roaring in response.
Kakarot and Tien walked side by side toward the arena entrance, the physical contrast between them striking. Tien towered over her by two full heads, his massive, muscular frame built like a warrior carved from stone. Next to him, Kakarot looked almost small, though her toned physique spoke of hidden power.
Krillin, still nursing his injuries from the Piccolo fight, gave them both an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Let's go! May the best fighter win!"
Chi-Chi rushed up and tapped Kakarot's shoulder urgently. "Don't lose! You beat me, so you better not lose to him!"
Kakarot looked at her, processing the words. Then her face lit up with sudden, innocent understanding. A big smile spread across her features. "Ah! Got it! I have to win so Tien doesn't become Goku's bride!" She nodded seriously, as if this logic made perfect sense.
"WHAT?! NO!" Chi-Chi grabbed her by the shoulders. "That's not—just do your best, okay?!"
"Okay!" Kakarot replied cheerfully, completely missing the exasperation in Chi-Chi's voice.
Both fighters stepped through the entrance and emerged into the arena, walking to opposite sides and turning to face each other. The contrast was even more pronounced in the open space Kakarot, athletic and toned but relatively compact, and Tien, built like a fortress of muscle and discipline.
In the stands, Bulma leaned forward with interest. "This year really does have incredibly strong people. I can't believe Krillin and Yamcha both got eliminated in the quarterfinals already."
Inside the preparation area, Piccolo Jr. watched from the shadows, arms crossed. Initially, only one fighter had interested him, Goku. But Krillin's display of heart and technique had intrigued him, and now he found himself curious about these other warriors. What could they show him? How would they measure up?
The announcer raised both hands high. "FIRST MATCH OF THE SEMIFINALS! TIEN VERSUS KAKAROT! BEGIN!"
---
The word "begin" hadn't even finished echoing before both fighters exploded into motion.
They met at the arena's exact center with a thunderous collision, the shockwave from their clash rippling outward across the broken tiles. Fists became blurs as they exchanged strikes, Tien's powerful straight punches meeting Kakarot's swift counters. Block, dodge, parry, strike. The speed was breathtaking, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next.
Tien threw a heavy right cross. Kakarot leaned back, the fist passing millimeters from her nose, and used the momentum to flip backwards through the air, creating distance between them in one graceful motion.
The instant her feet touched the ground, Tien's hand was already moving. Ki gathered in his palm, condensing into a glowing sphere that he hurled forward like a fastball.
With a swift, almost casual backhand, Kakarot deflected the energy sphere skyward. It sailed high above the arena before dissipating harmlessly in the clouds. Her usual innocent, cheerful expression had vanished, replaced by focused intensity. Her eyes tracked every movement with laser precision.
Then both fighters vanished simultaneously.
"They disappeared!" Roshi shouted, leaning so far forward.
The crowd murmured in confusion, eyes scanning the empty arena. But those with trained senses could hear it, the rapid *thud-thud-thud-thud* of impacts, the whoosh of air being displaced, the crack of energy colliding mid-flight. Invisible forces clashed at speeds beyond normal human perception.
"This is amazing! They're fighting so fast we can't even see them!" Krillin exclaimed, his trained eyes managing to track movements that appeared as nothing but afterimages to most observers.
"Yeah!" Yamcha agreed, squinting with effort. "I can barely keep up myself!"
"Y-you guys can see something?!" Chi-Chi asked in disbelief, her eyes darting around the apparently empty arena.
"Yeah!" Krillin replied without taking his eyes off the battle. "They're moving almost as fast as Goku was when I fought him in the 22nd tournament! Maybe even faster!"
In the arena's center, both fighters suddenly reappeared, their hands locked together in a test of pure strength. Muscles strained, feet dug into cracked tiles. Tien's towering physique pressed down, using his size and weight advantage. But Kakarot held firm, neither giving nor gaining ground.
"They're amazing! Perfectly equal!" Bulma said, gripping the railing.
"No," Roshi said quietly, his experienced eyes seeing what others missed. "They're not equal."
"How can you tell?!" Bulma demanded, looking at what appeared to be an even match.
"Look at their faces," Baba added, her ancient voice carrying certainty.
Everyone in their group focused on the fighters' expressions. The difference was stark.
Tien's face was a mask of exertion, sweat beading on his forehead, teeth clenched tight, breathing hard through his nose. Every muscle in his body strained with maximum effort. His third eye was wide open, desperately analyzing for any advantage.
But Kakarot? She wore a casual, almost playful smile. Her breathing was perfectly normal, steady and controlled. She looked like someone engaged in a friendly sparring session, not a desperate contest of strength.
*She's incredibly strong,* Tien thought, his mind racing even as he pushed against her grip. *Almost stronger than Son Goku was back then! I was so disappointed when Goku didn't show up for this tournament, but meeting fighters like her... maybe it won't be a waste after all.*
"Kakarot, right?" Tien asked through gritted teeth.
"Huh? Yeah!" she responded, her tone bright and friendly despite the struggle.
Tien's eyes narrowed with determination. "You're strong! Really strong! But there's one thing you lack..."
He released her hands and vanished before the word left his lips: "Speed!"
---
Kakarot's eyes immediately began scanning, her head whipping left and right. She caught a glimpse of movement, there! She spun and threw a punch behind her, but her fist hit only empty air.
Tien had already moved.
His foot connected with her back in a solid kick that sent her stumbling forward. She caught herself, spun again, but he was gone.
"I can't see Tien anymore!" Krillin said, his voice carrying genuine shock. "He's moving too fast even for me to track!"
"Me neither!" Yamcha added, his scarred face showing amazement. "When did he get this fast?!"
Another hit caught Kakarot from a different angle. Then another from above. Each strike came from an impossible direction, Tien's mastery of high-speed movement on full display.
But Kakarot's eyes never stopped moving. She was following him, her vision could track his afterimages, could see the blur of his movements. Her body just couldn't react fast enough to defend or counter.
Tien reappeared a few feet away, grinning with satisfaction. "You have really excellent vision! I can tell you're tracking me. But you lack the speed to match what you're seeing!" He bounced lightly on his toes, energy crackling around him. "Vision without speed is useless!"
Kakarot dropped her defensive stance entirely, her expression shifting back to that innocent, cheerful smile. "Woah! You really are super fast! That's so cool!"
Then, completely casually, as if asking about the weather: "Can I remove my clothes?"
The question hung in the air like a dropped bomb.
"WHAT DOES SHE MEAN REMOVE HER CLOTHES?!" Krillin's voice cracked, his face turning bright red.
Tien blinked, completely thrown off his combat focus. "Uh... o-of course you can...?" He sounded more confused than he'd been the entire match.
Kakarot smiled brightly and tucked her arms into her sleeveless gi, wriggling a bit before letting the top portion drop, leaving it hanging from her pants by the belt. Underneath was just a simple, form-fitting training shirt.
Master Roshi's nose immediately began bleeding. His sunglasses nearly fell off as he craned forward for a better view.
Oolong perked up with sudden interest, his pig face split in a wide grin.
"What is she doing?!" Bulma demanded, though she couldn't look away from the bizarre scene.
"NOT THERE, YOU IDIOT!" Baba's voice exploded across the arena.
Kakarot heard her grandmother and turned her head, the movement causing her shirt to ride up and expose her toned stomach. "Why not, Grandma?" Pure innocence radiated from her face.
Before Baba could respond, Chi-Chi stormed onto the arena floor, her face a mixture of horror and determination.
"IDIOT!" Chi-Chi grabbed Kakarot's arm and dragged her toward the arena's edge. "You shouldn't show your body like that to everyone!" From somewhere, she produced a large towel and held it up as a privacy screen, shielding Kakarot from the crowd's view.
"Oh! Thank you, Chi-Chi!" Kakarot said genuinely, starting to pull off her training shirt without a second thought.
"Geh!" Chi-Chi's face went from red to crimson. "You're not wearing a bra?!"
"A what?" Kakarot asked, confused.
Roshi began moving along the stands at different angles, trying desperately to get a glimpse around Chi-Chi's towel-shield. Bulma grabbed the back of his suit and yanked him back into his seat with prejudice.
Kakarot pulled off the shirt and casually tossed it toward the arena floor.
*THUD.*
The shirt hit the tiles with a heavy, metallic sound that made everyone nearby stop and stare. The impact cracked the stone beneath it.
Tien's attention snapped to the discarded garment. *That sound... that's not normal fabric.*
Chi-Chi held the towel higher as Kakarot pulled her gi back on properly, the sleeveless top settling back into place. Once covered, Chi-Chi lowered the barrier and tried to pick up the discarded shirt.
She grabbed the fabric and pulled. It didn't move.
She pulled harder, her face straining with effort. The shirt barely budged, sliding slightly across the cracked tile with a grinding sound.
"What the...?" Chi-Chi muttered.
Kakarot, now dressed again, reached down and removed both wrist bands. She let them drop.
*THUD. THUD.*
Tien and Krillin exchanged glances, then both moved toward the discarded items. Krillin grabbed one wrist band and tried to lift it. His arms trembled with effort.
"This is insane!" Krillin gasped. "How heavy is this thing?!"
Tien knelt and examined the pile of clothing and accessories. "This is almost 140 kilograms combined. She's been fighting this entire tournament while wearing this much weight?"
Kakarot sat down and began unlacing her shoes. When she removed them and set them aside, they too hit the ground with heavy thuds that cracked the tile.
Krillin, Yamcha, and Chi-Chi struggled together to gather all the weighted clothing and carry it back inside the preparation area. It took all three of them working together to manage what Kakarot had been wearing casually.
Now unweighted, Kakarot bounced on her toes experimentally, testing her lightness. She felt like she could float away. The difference was incredible.
Unfortunately for certain members of the audience, the removal of the heavy, restrictive clothing combined with the absence of certain undergarments meant that physics made itself known with each bounce. Certain anatomical realities became apparent.
Master Roshi and Oolong's eyes were glued to the scene, practically drooling.
Krillin glanced over as he set down the weighted clothes, his face immediately flushing red. He quickly looked away and caught Yamcha standing nearby, completely mesmerized.
"Those are so beautiful..." Yamcha whispered reverently. "Those feet are absolutely—"
"FEET?!" Said Krillin his voice cracking.
"Ah—uh—nothing! I said nothing!" Yamcha's face turned scarlet as he looked away quickly, suddenly very interested in the arena wall.
Kakarot, oblivious to all of this, turned back toward Tien with a bright smile. "Thank you for waiting, Tien! That's really nice of you!"
"It's... it's fine," Tien managed, trying to get his mind back into combat mode. "Are you ready now?"
"Yep!" Kakarot dropped into a ready stance, and even that simple movement revealed something different. She was lighter, faster, more fluid. The difference was visible in every tiny motion.
---
"Then let's resume!" Tien said, dropping into his own stance.
The announcer, having recovered from his shock, raised his hand. "The match continues!"
Kakarot leaned forward slightly, her body coiling like a spring about to release.
Then she vanished.
Not with a technique. Not with an afterimage trick. Just pure, overwhelming, impossible speed.
Tien's three eyes went wide. He spun, catching a glimpse of movement, there! He threw a punch with all his power.
And received one first.
The impact caught him on the side of his head, right at the temple. Stars exploded across his vision. The force was tremendous, but more shocking was the timing. She'd hit him before his own punch even traveled halfway to its target.
But she wasn't there anymore.
Another hit caught him in the ribs. Then his shoulder. Then his back. Each strike came from a different direction, delivered before he could even process where she'd gone.
What was most disturbing wasn't just the speed, it was the afterimages. Normally, when someone moved very fast, their afterimage faded quickly, a ghost of where they'd been. But Kakarot moved so fast that her afterimages remained perfectly clear and solid-looking even after she'd already moved to attack from a completely different angle.
To Tien's overwhelmed senses, it was like fighting multiple opponents at once.
*I can't... I can't keep up!* Tien's mind raced desperately. *She's not using any technique, this is just raw speed! How much was that weight holding her back?!*
He tried to defend, but his arms were always a fraction of a second too slow. He tried to counter, but she was never where his eyes told him she should be.
The combination built to a crescendo, rapid strikes from impossible angles, each one precise and powerful. Then came the final blow.
Kakarot reappeared directly in front of him, her fist already in motion. The punch caught him square in the stomach with the force of a freight train. Tien's eyes went wide, all air driven from his lungs. His feet left the ground.
He flew backward, tumbling through the air, completely unable to stop or right himself. The arena boundary rushed toward him. He tried to gather ki, tried to arrest his momentum, but the hit had been too clean, too powerful.
He crossed the out-of-bounds line and slammed into the grass beyond, tumbling several more feet before finally sliding to a stop.
Silence filled the arena.
Kakarot reappeared at the center of the fighting stage, perfectly still now, breathing normally as if she'd just finished a light warm-up exercise. Her expression was calm, almost serene.
The announcer blinked, looked at Tien lying in the grass, looked at Kakarot standing victorious, then seemed to remember his job.
"WIN—WINNER!" His voice cracked with excitement. "KAKAROT ADVANCES TO THE FINALS! WHAT AN INCREDIBLE DISPLAY OF PURE SPEED!"
The crowd erupted. The noise was deafening, cheers, gasps, applause blending into a wall of sound that shook the stands.
Tien pushed himself up slowly, his hand pressed against his stomach where that final punch had landed. He looked at Kakarot with a mixture of shock and respect. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Incredible," he said quietly, bowing his head in acknowledgment of her victory.
---
On the rooftop of the tournament facility, Piccolo Jr. stood with his arms crossed, his white cape billowing in the wind. He'd watched the entire match with growing interest.
"She's really strong," he murmured to himself, his eyes still fixed on Kakarot as she helped Tien back to his feet with that innocent smile. "Stronger than I expected any of them to be."
His expression shifted, becoming more predatory. "She'll make an excellent appetizer... before the main course arrives."
Because despite everything he'd seen,Krillin's ingenuity, Tien's speed, Kakarot's overwhelming power, Piccolo Jr. knew there was still one fighter he truly wanted to face. One person whose presence haunted his thoughts and drove him forward.
Son Goku.
---
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena once more, cutting through the celebrating crowd. "And now! For our second semifinal match! It's time to determine who will face Kakarot in the finals!"
The energy shifted. Where the previous match had been exciting and impressive, this felt different. Heavier. More dangerous.
"Our next fighters! The mysterious... SHEN!"
The lanky, harmless-looking middle-aged man shuffled out onto the arena floor, his thick glasses catching the light.
"And his opponent! The powerful warrior who has dominated every match with overwhelming force... PICCOLO JR!"
Piccolo Jr. stepped onto the arena with predatory grace, his movements economical and precise. His purple gi and white cape marked him as something dangerous. As he walked, his eyes never left the old man across from him.
They took their positions on opposite sides of the arena.
Shen maintained his harmless facade, slightly hunched, uncertain posture, one hand adjusting his glasses.
Piccolo stood tall and confident, arms already crossing over his chest in his pose of arrogant superiority.
In the stands, Baba and Roshi exchanged worried glances.
The announcer raised his hand high, holding it there for a dramatic pause that stretched into seconds.
"BEGIN!"
--
High above the clouds, Mr. Popo moved through the sacred corridors of Kami's Lookout. his feet carried him once again to that particular door. The one he'd visited countless times over three years.
Driven by guilt, Mr. Popo pushed open the door and entered.
The room was dark, unlit. In its center, a pedestal rose from the floor, and upon it sat the gray jar.
He approached slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty chamber. When he reached the pedestal, he stopped and stared at the jar, his reflection distorted across its curved surface.
"Just hold on, Goku," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the oppressive silence. "After Piccolo Jr. is sealed, we're going to free you. I promise. Kami-sama was afraid."
The words felt hollow even as he spoke them. Three years of making this same promise. Three years of Goku trapped in timeless darkness.
Mr. Popo turned to leave, eager to escape the suffocating guilt that filled this room.
The bristles of his broom caught the edge of the jar as he pivoted.
Time seemed to slow. Mr. Popo's eyes widened in horror as the container tipped, wobbled, and then fell from its pedestal.
"NO!"
He spun back with desperate speed, his hands reaching out. His fingers closed around the jar just inches before it would have shattered against the stone floor.
"Phew!" Relief flooded through him, so intense it made him dizzy. His heart hammered against his ribs. That had been close.
Then something struck his hand.
Not physically, it was more like a shock, an invisible lance of energy that made every nerve in his body scream. His grip spasmed involuntarily.
The jar fell from his trembling fingers.
It hit the stone floor with a hollow *thunk* that echoed through the empty chamber.
Panic seized Mr. Popo completely. He dropped to his knees and snatched up the jar with shaking hands, turning it over and over, examining every inch of its surface with desperate intensity. His eyes scanned for cracks, chips, fractures, any sign of damage.
Nothing.
The seals were intact. The clay showed no marks. It was as if nothing had happened.
Mr. Popo let out a long, sigh of relief.
With careful reverence, he placed the jar back on its pedestal, ensuring it was perfectly centered, stable, safe. Then he turned and walked toward the door, eager to leave this cursed room behind.
He was three steps from the exit when he heard it.
*Crack.*
The sound was soft, almost gentle. Like ice beginning to fracture on a frozen pond. But in the deafening silence of the sealed chamber, it might as well have been thunder.
Mr. Popo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going rigid. Sweat immediately beaded on his forehead as fear gripped him, not from the sound, but from what he could suddenly feel.
---
At Papaya Island, three people suddenly stiffened simultaneously.
Piccolo Jr., standing in the arena across from Shen, went rigid. His eyes widened to an impossible degree, pupils dilating as a bead of sweat rolled down his green temple.
Shen, Kami in disguise experienced the same reaction. His facade cracked completely as terror flickered across his face. His mouth opened slightly, and for a moment, kami looked profoundly afraid.
In the preparation area, Kakarot's head snapped up, her eyes going wide. She turned in the same direction as Kami and Piccolo, her entire body tensing as if preparing for an attack.
"What's wrong?" Yamcha asked, noticing her sudden change.
"Kami-sama..." Kakarot whispered, her voice carrying an edge of disbelief.
In the stands, Baba gasped audibly, her ancient hands gripping her crystal ball. She too stared in the same direction, northeast, toward something far beyond the horizon.
"Baba! What's wrong?!" Roshi demanded, grabbing her arm.
Baba couldn't respond. She was too shocked to speak.
In the arena, three voices spoke in perfect unison, their words overlapping with eerie synchronization:
"This ki...!"
Kakarot looked at Kami desperately, her voice cracking with confusion. "Kami-sama, what is this crushing ki?! I've never felt anything like it!"
Kami didn't respond. Couldn't respond. His mind was racing, trying to comprehend what he was sensing. *Mr. Popo... what happened?!*
Piccolo Jr.'s shocked expression slowly transformed. The surprise melted away, replaced by something far more disturbing, a smile. A genuine, excited smile.
"Finally," he murmured, his voice carrying dark anticipation.
The announcer, oblivious to the sudden tension among certain fighters, raised his hands in frustration. "What's wrong? Let the match begin!"
But neither fighter moved. They couldn't. They were too consumed by the overwhelming presence they felt stirring in the world.
---
Back at the Lookout, Mr. Popo was on the ground, sitting against the wall, his entire body trembling. The ki washing over him was like being submerged in deep ocean, crushing, suffocating, inescapable.
In the center of the room, the jar trembled.
From the hairline crack at its top, golden light began to leak, thin at first, like sunlight through a keyhole. Then brighter. The light pulsed with a rhythm like a heartbeat.
*Crack.*
A second fracture appeared, branching from the first. The trembling intensified, the jar rattling against the pedestal with increasing violence.
*Crack. Crack. CRACK.*
More fractures spread like lightning across the clay surface, each one glowing with that same golden radiance. The light grew brighter, more intense, until Mr. Popo had to shield his eyes.
But he couldn't look away. Terror and duty warred within him. He had to stop this. He had to—
Mr. Popo pushed himself up, fighting against the crushing ki that tried to drive him back down. His legs trembled, barely supporting his weight. "What a monstrous ki!" he gasped, forcing his body forward one agonizing step at a time. "If I can—if I can throw it in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber before—"
*BOOM.*
The explosion blasted outward like a bomb detonating. The concussive force caught Mr. Popo and hurled him backward through the air. He slammed into the wall near the door, the air driven from his lungs.
Debris rained down around him. Stone fragments clattered against the floor. The pedestal was simply gone, obliterated. A massive cloud of dust filled the chamber, obscuring everything from view.
Rubble continued to fall, smaller pieces now, pebbles and powder. Then, finally, silence.
Mr. Popo lay against the wall, gasping for air, his body aching from the impact. His eyes stared into the settling dust cloud where the jar had been, trying to pierce the obscuring haze.
Then, in that profound silence, he heard it.
*Pad.*
A footstep. Skin against stone.
*Pad.*
Another step. Slow.
The dust began to dissipate, carried away by air. A silhouette emerged, tall, much taller than Mr. Popo.
*Pad.*
Another step brought the figure closer, into clearer view.
Mr. Popo's eyes widened.
Bare feet touched the cold stone floor, pale against the dark tiles. They were connected to powerful legs, long and heavily muscled, wrapped in tight denim jeans that were torn and ripped, as if the fabric couldn't contain their size. The tears revealed glimpses of defined muscle beneath.
Above the legs, a wide torso, impossibly broad and chiseled, wrapped in what had once been a white t-shirt but was now torn and clinging desperately to a physique too small. Every muscle was defined, visible even through the damaged fabric.
But none of that was what truly shocked Mr. Popo. None of that was what made his breath catch in his throat and his heart hammer in his chest.
It was the head. The hair.
Hair that stood on end, defying gravity itself, but golden. Brilliant, radiant gold like captured sunlight. Eyebrows to match, framing eyes that burned with emerald fire. The gaze was intense, focused, carrying weight that made Mr. Popo feel like an insect under a magnifying glass.
Behind the figure, visible in silhouette, a long fury tail swayed slowly back and forth. It too glowed with golden color.
The ki radiating from this figure was crushing Mr. Popo, driving him down, making it impossible to move or speak or even think clearly. It was too much. Too overwhelming.
"Goku...?" Mr. Popo's voice was barely a whisper, more question than statement.
The figure, Goku, began to walk. Slowly. Each footstep echoed in the chamber with perfect clarity. *Pad. Pad. Pad.* The only sound in the deafening silence.
He was walking toward Mr. Popo.
Terror seized the loyal servant completely. This ki was crushing him, driving him down against the wall until he could barely breathe. His mind screamed at him to move, to run, to do something, but his body wouldn't respond. Couldn't respond.
*I'm going to die,* Mr. Popo thought. *He's going to kill me for what we did. For sealing him away.*
The footsteps grew closer. Closer.
Mr. Popo squeezed his eyes shut, unable to face his end. His entire body shook with fear as he waited for death, for a hand around his throat.
The footsteps continued.
Right next to him. Close enough to touch.
Mr. Popo's breath caught in his throat. This was it. This was—
The footsteps resumed, passing by him. Moving toward the door.
Mr. Popo's eyes snapped open in disbelief. He turned his head, watching as Goku simply walked past him without pause, heading toward the palace exit. Not a word. Not a glance. Not even acknowledgment of his presence.
Goku reached the doorway and paused. Just for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than before, resonant with barely contained power. It wasn't loud, but it filled the entire chamber.
"Where is Kami?"
Three words. A simple question that carried the weight of a declaration of war.
"P-Papaya Island," Mr. Popo managed to choke out, his voice cracking. "The tournament..."
Goku stepped through the doorway, his footsteps echoing as he walked down the corridor. The sound grew fainter, more distant.
Mr. Popo remained on the floor, trembling uncontrollably. The overwhelming pressure of Goku's ki finally began to fade from the immediate area, but he could still sense it, still feel it radiating outward, washing over the world like a tsunami.
"Kami-sama..." Mr. Popo whispered. "What have we done...?"
---
Goku emerged from the palace into the open air of the Lookout. The moment he stepped outside, the sky responded to his presence.
Thick black clouds formed beneath the floating sanctuary with impossible speed, roiling and churning like a living thing. Lightning crackled through them, not natural lightning, but energy drawn by the overwhelming power radiating from Goku's form.
Wind whipped across the Lookout, powerful enough to tear at his clothing and send his golden hair streaming backward. But he walked forward steadily, unmoved by the tempest his mere presence had created.
He reached the edge of the sanctuary and stopped, looking out at the sea of black clouds below, at the lightning that arced between them. Slowly, he raised his hands before his face, studying them as if seeing them for the first time.
They were bigger than he remembered. Adult hands. Veiny and powerful, marked with calluses from endless combat. The hands of a warrior who had survived hell.
"How much time passed..." His voice was soft at first, almost conversational. "It felt so long... so impossibly long..."
His hands began to tremble. Not from fear or weakness, but from rising emotion.
"Non-stop surviving! Struggling against that crushing gravity!" His voice grew louder, the calm facade cracking. "Fighting! Again and again and AGAIN!"
His fists clenched, knuckles white with tension. The wind intensified around him, responding to his rising fury.
"KAAAAAMIII!"
The roar exploded from him with the force of a natural disaster. Pure power blasted outward in a visible shockwave, golden energy that tore through the Lookout itself, ripping up tiles and shattering stone. The wave continued outward, hitting the black clouds and simply erasing them, carving a perfect circular hole through the storm that revealed clear blue sky beyond.
For miles around, the shockwave was felt. Trees bent. Buildings shook. Those sensitive to ki felt it like a physical blow.
Then, as quickly as the rage had come, it passed. Goku closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, releasing his clenched fists. His fingers uncurled, trembling slightly as the tension drained away.
His nature had always been calm and collected, even in combat. Even when angry, he maintained control. That was who he was, who he'd always been.
But now... something was different. Something had changed him in ways he didn't fully understand yet. The endless battle, the constant survival, the crushing pressure, it had all left marks on his psyche.
He opened his eyes, and they were calm again. Focused. The emerald glow steady rather than blazing.
His feet lifted from the stone as he began to float, hovering over the edge of the Lookout. Below, the world spread out in all directions, vast and beautiful.
"Papaya Island," he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the rage from moments before.
Then he moved, not with explosive speed, but with measured purpose. He flew forward at moderate velocity, his golden aura trailing behind him like a comet's tail.
He was heading toward the tournament. Toward Kami.
Shen and Piccolo Jr. stood frozen in the arena, their match having never truly begun. Both stared in the same direction, northeast, toward something approaching. The crushing ki they'd felt moments ago was moving now, drawing closer with every passing second.
Piccolo Jr.'s expression had shifted from shock to something more complex. His lips curved into a smile, not his usual arrogant smirk, but something genuine, almost eager. His eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon, as if he could see through buildings and mountains to the source of that overwhelming presence.
*Son Goku,* Piccolo thought, his heart, racing with anticipation. *You're finally coming. After all this time... *
Kami, still disguised as Shen, recognized his opportunity immediately. Piccolo was distracted, his attention completely diverted by the approaching ki. This might be his only chance.
*I have to finish this quickly,* Kami thought urgently. *Before Goku arrives*
Moving with swiftness, Kami produced a small jar from within his shirt and placed it on the arena floor between them. His hands extended.
"MAAAFUUUBAAA!"
The shout echoed across the arena like a thunderclap.
---
Piccolo's head snapped around at the sound, his eyes going wide. The old man's hands were extended toward him, and from them erupted a spiraling vortex of green energy.
The vortex reached for him, pulling with irresistible force. For a split second, Piccolo felt genuine alarm.
His arm shot out, palm open, and he shouted with equal force: "COUNTER MAFUBA!"
Purple energy exploded from his palm, meeting the green vortex head-on. But this wasn't a clash, it was a redirection. Piccolo's technique caught the Mafuba like a mirror reflecting light, reversing its flow with devastating precision.
Kami's eyes widened in horror as his own attack turned back on him. The spiraling energy that should have trapped Piccolo instead wrapped around him. He felt himself being pulled toward the jar he'd placed, his consciousness separating from Shen's borrowed body.
"No!" Kami gasped, but it was too late.
The Mafuba dragged him inexorably into the container. At the last moment, as the technique completed, Kami released his hold on Shen's body. The old man collapsed to the arena floor, unconscious but free of possession.
Piccolo sealed the jar with a soft *pop*.
---
In the stands, Roshi, his face pale. "No... KAMI-SAMA!"
Baba eyes widen. "He... he reversed the Mafuba?!!"
Piccolo picked up the jar. He held it up to the light, examining it with a satisfied expression, then let out a triumphant laugh that sent chills through everyone who heard it.
"Ha ha ha! Did you see that? Your precious kami, sealed by his own desperation!"
In the preparation area, Kakarot, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, and Chi-Chi watched in confusion. They'd seen the green spiral, seen it somehow reverse, seen the old man collapse and Piccolo hold up a small container. But none of them understood what had actually occurred.
"What... what was that technique?" Krillin asked, his voice uncertain.
"I don't know," Yamcha admitted.
Kakarot's expression was troubled, her brow furrowed. "That ki from before... it's still approaching. Getting closer."
---
The announcer, microphone in hand. He looked at Shen's unconscious form sprawled on the tiles, then at Piccolo standing victorious with his strange jar.
"It... it appears that Mr. Shen is down!" He cleared his throat and began the official count. "One... Two... Three... Four... Five..."
Piccolo's laughter echoed across the arena, dark, victorious, mocking.
"Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten! SHEN IS DOWN! PICCOLO JR WINS BY KNOCKOUT AND ADVANCES TO THE FINALS!"
The crowd's reaction was muted, confused. This hadn't looked like a normal fight. Something strange had happened, something they couldn't quite understand.
Kakarot's eyes were wide. " Kami-sama... !"
---
The announcer tried to maintain his enthusiasm despite the bizarre circumstances. "What an incredible turn of events! The finals will now feature the newcomer Kakarot versus the mysterious Piccolo jr! After a ten-minute intermission, we'll witness what promises to be the most exciting match of the tournament!"
But Piccolo waved dismissively at the announcement. "I don't need a rest." His voice carried across the arena with absolute confidence.
He began walking toward the preparation area, his white cape billowing behind him. As he passed Kakarot, he deliberately shoved her aside with his shoulder.
"Out of the way, girl."
Kakarot's expression transformed from shock to fury. "What have you done?! Give me that bottle!"
Piccolo's smiles. "Your friend is taking a little nap..." He raised the jar to his lips. "But I'll make sure he's somewhere safe."
*Gulp.*
Piccolo swallowed the container whole, his throat working as it disappeared down his gullet. He chuckled darkly at Kakarot's horrified expression.
Leaning in close, his voice became a mocking whisper. "Now the only way to save him is to take my life. And if you do that..." His grin widened impossibly. "He'll die anyway. Quite the dilemma, isn't it?"
Kakarot's fists clenched. "Damn you...!"
Piccolo turned away, heading toward the waiting area. His parting words drifted back: "Get ready, You'll be trampled like an insect! Ha ha!"
---
As Piccolo disappeared into the facility, Kakarot's friends rushed to her side.
Krillin grabbed her shoulder. "Kakarot, what was that? What did he do?"
"I... I don't fully understand," she admitted, her voice shaking. "But Kami-sama is trapped inside him somehow. In that bottle he swallowed."
"Can you beat him?" Yamcha asked bluntly. "You're strong, but that guy... he's on a completely different level from anyone we've faced."
Tien crossed his arms, his three eyes studying Kakarot's face intently. "You defeated me easily in our match, but Piccolo's power feels even greater than yours. Are you confident you can win?"
Chi-Chi touched Kakarot's arm gently. "Please be careful. If only Goku was here... "
Kakarot attention drifted northeast. That overwhelming ki was still approaching, growing stronger with each passing moment. Compared to that presence, even Piccolo's power seemed... Inexistent.
*What is that ki?* she wondered, anxiety gnawing at her.
---
In the preparation area, Piccolo Jr. stood alone in a shadowed corner, his arms crossed, his expression contemplative. The cockiness had faded from his features, replaced by cold calculation.
*These fighters,* he thought, his mind running through each match he'd witnessed. *Krillin with his clever tricks. Tien with his incredible speed. That girl with her raw power. They're all strong in their own ways. Stronger than most beings on this planet.*
His fist clenched unconsciously.
*But none of them are strong enough. Not to truly challenge me. Not to give me the battle I crave.*
His head tilted slightly toward the northeast, sensing that approaching presence with perfect clarity.
*But you... Son Goku. That monstrous ki. That's what I've been waiting for.*
A smile crept across his face.
*When I was first born into this world, you appeared.*
His expression shifted to something more complex, confusion.
*But you saved me. You could have destroyed me when I was weak and confused. You knew I was Piccolo Daimao's offspring. You knew I would become your enemy. Anyone with sense would have eliminated the threat while it was still manageable.*
Piccolo's hands opened and closed, the question that had haunted him for years rising once again in his thoughts.
*So why? Why did you let me go? When you arrive, Son Goku, I'll have that answer. Either through words or through combat. Today, we settle everything.*
---
The ten-minute intermission passed quickly.
The announcer's voice boomed across the grounds: "Ladies and gentlemen! The moment we've all been waiting for has arrived! Our tournament finals!"
The crowd roared its approval.
"In one corner, we have the mysterious and powerful Piccolo jr, who has dominated every opponent with overwhelming force!"
Piccolo stepped onto the arena floor, his white cape billowing dramatically. The crowd's cheers were tinged with fear, they'd seen what he could do.
"And in the other corner, the incredible newcomer who's captured all our hearts with her amazing speed and strength, KAKAROT!"
Kakarot emerged to thunderous applause. the crowd loved her innocent enthusiasm and incredible skill.
The two fighters walked to opposite sides of the arena and turned to face each other.
The announcer continued his hype: "Both fighters are unparalleled martial arts experts! What we're about to witness may very well be the fight of the century! Separated by a generation gap, these two will—"
Kakarot dropped into a fighting stance, her muscles tensed, ready.
-------
Next in part 2