The sun rose high over West City, gilding the towering buildings with gold. A festive rhythm pulsed through the streets. Stalls lined every corner—vendors selling skewers of sizzling meat, steaming bowls of noodles, and shiny festival trinkets. Children tugged at their parents' hands, begging for colorful balloons, while musicians played upbeat tunes on shamisen and drums.
For the people of West City, this was no ordinary day. Once every year, the city hosted its Grand Martial Arts Tournament, a spectacle that gathered fighters from every corner of the region. Unlike the legendary World Martial Arts Tournament that drew the strongest from the entire globe, this event was more local, more intimate. Yet it carried the same spirit—the pride of testing one's strength in the public eye.
Banners fluttered in the breeze, painted with kanji for "Power" and "Courage." The city square thrummed with chatter. Families filed toward the large coliseum at the heart of the festival grounds, a structure circular and massive, built with towering stone walls and a central fighting stage.
Rudra walked beside Jack Hills, towering slightly above him, while crowds swirled around them. His sharp eyes darted across the festival grounds. The atmosphere was alien to him—so much joy, so much anticipation. After the chaos of the previous night with guards and police, the cheerfulness almost felt unreal.
Jack Hills, dressed in a crisp white suit, walked with casual arrogance, like the world belonged to him. Rudra, in contrast, wore a simple outfit, blending in with the common folk. Yet, even here, he carried himself like a blade hidden in plain sight—his calm expression masking the storm inside.
"Not bad, right?" Jack smirked, looking around at the endless stalls. "Every year, the city goes all out for this. Food, music, performances—and of course, the fights. By the end of today, everyone will know my family had front-row seats."
Rudra gave a half-smile but didn't reply. His gaze lingered on the coliseum ahead. Something inside him stirred—not just excitement but an old instinct. Fights, challenges, rivals… This was his world, and it called to him.
---
The Coliseum
The coliseum gates loomed ahead, carved with dragon motifs. Beyond them, thousands of seats filled with cheering citizens surrounded the central stone ring. The ring itself was simple—no ropes, no cages, just an open square platform where warriors would clash until only one remained standing.
As Rudra and Jack entered, they were greeted by an explosion of cheers. The announcer's voice boomed through loudspeakers, energetic and dramatic.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Annual West City Martial Tournament! Fighters from every corner of the land have gathered to prove their might and claim glory! Today, strength, skill, and spirit will be tested!"
The crowd roared in response. Rudra's chest tightened—not out of fear, but from an undeniable thrill.
On the fighters' side of the arena, rows of martial artists lined up. Some were bulky musclemen, their bodies towering like mountains. Others were lean, sharp-eyed fighters radiating discipline. There were even oddities—a masked fighter in traditional armor, a woman wielding a spear, and a beastly man with tiger stripes tattooed across his skin.
But Rudra's eyes froze when he noticed three figures standing quietly among them.
---
The Arrival of the Z Fighters
First, a tall man with three eyes—Tien Shinhan. His very presence silenced the air around him. Calm, collected, his stance carried years of refined discipline. Every motion of his body was sharp, efficient. To the untrained eye, he looked almost relaxed. But Rudra sensed it—the quiet storm hidden beneath that calm.
Beside him stood a small, pale child floating slightly above the ground—Chiaotzu. His expression unreadable, his tiny frame gave no hint of weakness. Rudra could feel it; his aura was strange, almost supernatural, tinged with psychic energy.
And then, with his arms crossed and an easy smirk on his lips, was none other than Yamcha. His spiky hair swayed in the wind as he scanned the crowd with a confident gleam in his eyes. Unlike Tien, his posture was relaxed, almost cocky. Yet every muscle in his body told the truth—this was no street-level fighter.
Jack Hills leaned toward Rudra, whispering. "Those three… they stand out, don't they? I heard rumors. They've fought in the World Martial Arts Tournament itself. Imagine that—legends walking in a city tournament."
Rudra didn't answer. His heartbeat quickened. He had heard stories of the World Tournament, a place where the strongest gathered, where legends like Goku had risen. And now, here in this local arena, three warriors who had touched that world were standing.
---
The Opening Matches
The announcer raised his arms dramatically.
"Fighters! Today's matches will be divided into rounds until one champion remains. Remember—knockouts, ring-outs, or submissions decide victory. No weapons that can kill. May the strongest prevail!"
The crowd roared. The first set of matches began.
Two hulking wrestlers clashed, the stage trembling beneath their weight. The crowd cheered wildly as bodies slammed into stone. Another match featured a graceful spear-wielding woman, her movements fluid as she disarmed a brute twice her size and sent him crashing out of the ring.
Rudra watched intently, his eyes following every motion. Each fight revealed different styles—raw strength, speed, technique, unpredictability. The atmosphere wrapped around him like fire.
Jack yawned, unimpressed. "These are amateurs. I want to see something worth my time."
Rudra didn't respond. His attention was locked ahead, waiting. He wanted to see the true warriors.
---
Tien Steps Forward
Finally, the announcer's voice thundered across the coliseum.
"Next match! A mysterious warrior known across tournaments—Tien Shinhan! Versus… Kuroda, the Iron Wall!"
The crowd erupted, half-cheering Tien's name, half-shouting for the local favorite.
Tien stepped forward calmly, his three eyes scanning the ring. His opponent, a massive fighter with arms like steel pillars, raised his fists with a grin.
"Hope you're ready to be crushed, pretty boy," Kuroda spat.
Tien didn't answer. His stance lowered slightly—precise, balanced, unshakable.
The referee dropped his hand. "Begin!"
Kuroda charged, his fist swinging like a hammer. The air whistled. But before it even landed, Tien moved. One fluid motion—sidestep, strike, palm to the chest.
Thud!
The giant staggered, air bursting from his lungs. Kuroda swung again, furious. But Tien's movements were clean, efficient. Every attack met with a counter, every opening exploited.
And then—Tien leaped, spinning midair. His leg crashed into Kuroda's neck like an axe.
Boom!
The massive fighter collapsed, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
The arena went silent for a heartbeat… then exploded with cheers.
Rudra's eyes widened. That… was no ordinary strength. He dismantled him like nothing.
Beside him, Jack actually leaned forward, impressed for once. "Now that was worth watching."
---
Yamcha's Turn
Later, the announcer's voice boomed again.
"Next match! Yamcha, the Desert Wolf! Versus Shinobu, master of the Shadow Fist!"
Gasps rippled through the audience. The name Yamcha carried weight—even in city tournaments.
Yamcha cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Guess it's time to stretch a little."
His opponent, a lean fighter in dark robes, darted forward with blinding speed, fists striking in rapid succession. Shadows seemed to blur his movements.
But Yamcha only smirked. His body moved with natural flow, dodging effortlessly, weaving between strikes. And then—his fist flashed forward.
Wham!
Shinobu flew across the ring, landing hard on his back. The crowd gasped.
"Wolf Fang Fist!" Yamcha roared, charging with a flurry of strikes too fast for normal eyes to follow. Each punch cracked like thunder, forcing Shinobu to the edge before Yamcha's final blow sent him out of the ring.
The coliseum erupted in wild cheers. Children screamed Yamcha's name, while fighters whispered nervously.
Rudra stood frozen. So this is the power of those who have stood on the World Tournament stage. If these are side fighters… how terrifying must the true top warriors be?
---
The Anticipation
As the matches rolled on, the tournament atmosphere grew hotter, fiercer. Every victory lit the crowd with energy. Rudra's blood boiled with restless excitement.
Jack, lounging in his seat, smirked. "Well, Rudra, now you see why I wanted you here. Not just for guarding me—but for learning. Watch them. These men are on another level. If you want to survive in this world, you'll have to reach heights like that… maybe higher."
Rudra didn't answer. His fists clenched at his side. For the first time in years, something stirred deep within him—not anger, not survival instinct, but hunger.
A hunger to fight.
A hunger to grow.
A hunger to stand in the ring with men like Tien and Yamcha.
And as the festival night descended on West City, the stage was only beginning to burn.