"Now then—!"
The referee's voice thundered through the arena, magnified until it vibrated in the ribs of every spectator.
"Let us welcome our reigning World Champion… MR. SATAN!"
The stadium exploded.
Thousands of voices surged together into a single roar, raw and absolute. Flags waved. Signs were lifted high. Children shouted his name with reckless joy, adults clapped with unwavering certainty.
Behind the entrance curtain, Hercule Satan stopped breathing.
For half a second, his legs refused to move.
No. No, no, no—
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. He rolled his shoulders, forcing motion into his body before the panic could lock him completely.
This is bad. This is really bad.
A helper stood beside him, adjusting the edge of his cape. The man glanced toward the arena, then leaned in.
"That kid's no joke," the helper muttered. "You drew a tough one, Mr. Satan."
Satan's lips stretched into a grin before the thought even registered.
"Y-Yeah," he said, voice louder than necessary. "Guess I'll have to get serious this time."
The helper blinked. "…You're kidding, right?"
"Of course!" Satan barked out a laugh. "Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The sound echoed back at him, hollow and thin.
Inside, his thoughts were screaming.
I saw him fight.
I saw that boy.
I'm going to be slaughtered.
The chanting grew louder, closer.
"MR. SA-TAN! MR. SA-TAN!"
Satan swallowed hard.
Just get through this.
Think of something.
Anything.
On the far side of the arena, the referee turned toward the small boy waiting near the ring.
"Son Goten," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "you've already had matches today. Would you like some time to rest before facing Mr. Satan?"
Goten looked up at him, puzzled.
"Rest?" He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. I'm fine."
The referee raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Fighting the World Champion is the dream of many fighters. It's natural to feel nervous."
Goten tilted his head, genuinely confused.
"Nervous?"
He paused, searching himself.
"…No," he said simply. "Actually, I'm kind of excited."
The referee straightened, surprise flashing across his face.
"Oho!" he exclaimed, turning back to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, did you hear that? Son Goten says he's looking forward to this match!"
The crowd roared again, louder than before.
Up in the stands,
Goku laughed easily. "Haha! Goten's excited to fight Satan!"
Krillin chuckled beside him. "Man… he's gonna be disappointed."
That sentence hit like a spark.
Videl spun toward them instantly. "Hey!"
Krillin flinched. "Huh?"
"My dad is the World Champion," Videl said sharply. "Why would Goten be disappointed fighting him? My dad defeated Cell!"
An awkward pause followed.
Gohan shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… yeah. I mean—he is the champion, Dad."
His tone was careful, almost forced, like he was trying to smooth over something fragile.
Goku scratched his cheek. "Well… I guess…"
The conversation drifted on, uncertain and disjointed, no one quite looking at the others.
No one noticed that Vegeta had gone completely silent.
He stood a step apart, arms folded, eyes locked on the arena.
Not on Satan.
On Goten.
Vegeta's gaze sharpened.
The boy's posture was relaxed—but not careless. His excitement wasn't loud, wasn't reckless. It was contained.
Purposeful.
Vegeta felt it then.
Not power.
Intent.
"…Hmph."
The sound slipped out of him without permission.
Goku glanced over. "What is it, Vegeta?"
Vegeta didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly as Goten smiled faintly to himself, waiting.
A slow smirk tugged at Vegeta's lips.
"So," Vegeta said quietly, "that's how it is."
Krillin frowned. "How what is?"
Vegeta turned his head just enough for them to see his expression—sharp, knowing.
"That brat isn't excited because he thinks this will be fun."
Goku blinked. "Then why?"
Vegeta looked straight at him.
"Because he knows exactly what he's about to do."
Silence fell.
Goku laughed awkwardly. "You're overthinking it. He's just a kid."
Vegeta's smirk vanished.
"That," he said coldly, "is what makes you a fool, Kakarot."
Goku stiffened. "What?"
"Your son," Vegeta continued, "is not like you."
The words drew everyone's attention now.
"He understands something you've forgotten," Vegeta said. "Something you all forgot."
Krillin frowned. "Vegeta, what are you talking about?"
Vegeta's eyes hardened.
"Seven years ago," he said, "a man who did nothing stood in front of the world and claimed a victory bought with our blood."
The air shifted.
Piccolo's expression darkened.
"You mean—"
"Yes," Vegeta snapped. "That."
Gohan's jaw tightened.
"We didn't want attention," Krillin protested quickly. "Fame didn't matter to us."
Vegeta rounded on him.
"Then you should have stopped him."
The words struck like a slap.
"You let him trample something far more important than fame," Vegeta continued. "A warrior's pride."
His voice rose, not loud—but cutting.
"Saiyans have ego," he said. "Not arrogance. Ego. The refusal to let your battles be rewritten by cowards."
The stadium roared again as Satan waved to the crowd.
Vegeta gestured sharply toward the ring.
"That man insulted every warrior who stood against Cell. And you let it happen."
Goku stared at the arena now, something uneasy twisting in his chest.
Piccolo's eyes narrowed slowly. "…He's right."
Gohan froze.
Videl's breath caught.
Is he… right?
Her mind reeled. Images clashed—her father's fame, her father's fear now, Gohan's quiet life.
Did Dad really…?
Krillin shook his head weakly. "We didn't need the credit."
Vegeta's voice dropped, heavy with restrained fury.
"You bled. You sacrificed. You stood against annihilation."
He turned to Goku.
"And your son—your youngest—has more Saiyan pride than you ever did."
Goku flinched.
"That boy," Vegeta said, eyes returning to Goten, "is about to do what should have been done seven years ago."
Piccolo nodded once. "Restore what was taken."
Silence fell.
No one argued now.
Even Videl couldn't.
All eyes turned toward the arena again.
Toward Goten.
This time, their gaze wasn't casual.
It was respectful.
The noise of the stadium swelled again as attention fully returned to the arena.
The referee raised his arm.
"Now—let us welcome… our World Champion… MR. SATAN!"
The name detonated across the crowd.
"HERCULE! HERCULE!"
"WORLD CHAMPION!"
"MR. SATAN!"
From the tunnel, Mr. Satan stepped out.
On the surface, he looked exactly as he always did—broad chest thrust forward, chin high, grin stretched wide beneath his mustache. He raised both hands, flashing his familiar peace sign, soaking in the cheers like a man born for them.
Inside, his mind was already collapsing.
Why is it him…?
Why does it have to be that kid…?
The moment his eyes found Goten standing quietly at the center of the ring, something cold crawled up his spine.
The boy wasn't shaking.
Wasn't tense.
Wasn't even excited in the way children usually were.
He was just… looking at him.
Satan swallowed hard.
That stare… it's not normal.
He forced a laugh, loud and booming, and strutted forward, waving to the crowd as if nothing was wrong. With each step closer to the ring, his heartbeat grew louder in his ears.
At ringside, one of his helpers leaned in, clapping him on the shoulder.
"He's just a kid, Mr. Satan. You've handled tougher opponents."
Satan laughed again, a little too sharply. "Ha! Of course! I might have to get serious for once!"
The helper grinned. "You're kidding, right?"
"Of course!" Satan replied, throwing his head back. "Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The laughter echoed.
Inside, panic screamed.
I'm going to die.
He hopped up onto the ring, landing heavier than he meant to.
The crowd cheered even louder, mistaking the stiffness in his movements for dramatic flair.
Satan rolled his shoulders and began an exaggerated warm-up—wide arm swings, deep squats, shadowboxing with loud grunts. Each movement was bigger than necessary, showier than usual.
Part of him hoped—desperately—that if he looked confident enough, the boy would hesitate.
That he would step back.
That this nightmare would somehow end.
"LOOK AT THAT CONFIDENCE!"
"HE'S NOT EVEN WORRIED!"
In the stands, Chi-Chi was already yelling.
"GOTEN! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" she shouted, cupping her hands. "HIT HIM! PUNCH HIM RIGHT IN THE FACE!"
Bulma sighed beside her, eyes still on the ring. "You really think that's necessary?"
"Yes!" Chi-Chi snapped. "He's wasting time!"
Bulma said nothing more, but her gaze sharpened. She wasn't watching Goten.
She was watching Satan.
Back above the arena, the Z-fighters stood in silence.
Vegeta's arms were crossed. His smirk was faint, satisfied—but his eyes were cold.
Piccolo watched without blinking.
Krillin swallowed.
Videl stood stiffly beside Gohan, her eyes fixed on her father.
Why does he look so nervous…?
On the ring, Satan finally stopped warming up. Sweat clung to his brow.
His breathing was heavier than it should've been.
He pointed at Goten, forcing a grin.
"Well, kid? Ready to lose to the world champion?"
Goten didn't answer.
He didn't move.
The referee glanced between them, confused, then raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Nothing happened.
Goten stood still.
Satan took one step forward—
And stopped.
His legs locked in place.
It was back.
That pressure.
Not power.
Not killing intent.
Something quieter.
Something deeper.
It pressed against his chest, his thoughts, his instincts, whispering a truth he had spent seven years running from.
You don't belong here.
Satan's breath hitched.
"What… what is this…?" he muttered.
Goten tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving Satan's face.
"Aren't you the one who defeated Cell?"
The name slammed into Satan's mind.
Images burst free—green skies, cities screaming, a monster's laughter echoing through the air.
And beneath that… another memory.
Standing far away.
Watching from behind cameras.
Watching others fight what he never dared to face.
"O-of course I did!" Satan snapped, voice cracking despite himself.
"Oh," Goten said calmly.
"Then why aren't you fighting me?"
The crowd began to murmur.
"Why isn't he attacking?"
"Is this part of the act?"
Videl's heart pounded.
Dad… move… please…
Satan's hands began to shake.
I can't… I can't get closer…
Panic surged.
"HEY!" he shouted suddenly, pointing past Goten. "LOOK OVER THERE!"
Goten turned his face.
Just his face.
Enough.
Satan lunged forward, driving his fist straight into Goten's chest with everything he had.
The impact echoed across the stadium.
Goten didn't move.
Didn't slide.
Didn't flinch.
It felt like punching solid stone.
Pain exploded through Satan's arm. He cried out and stumbled backward, falling hard onto the ring.
The stadium fell silent.
No cheers.
No gasps.
Just shock.
Videl's breath caught in her throat.
"Dad…?"
Goten looked down at his chest, then back at Satan.
"…That didn't work."
The pressure closed in.
Satan scrambled backward on his hands, eyes wide, heart hammering.
I hit him… I really hit him…
And It didn't do anything.
The fear twisted into something unbearable.
Memories flooded him.
The monster.
The fighters.
The lie.
Seven years of standing on something he never earned.
"STOP!" Satan screamed, clutching his head. "DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!"
The words tore out of him, uncontrolled, desperate.
"I DIDN'T DEFEAT CELL!" he shouted.
The world froze.
"I NEVER FOUGHT HIM!" Satan screamed, voice breaking. "THEY DID! THOSE FIGHTERS DID! NOT ME!"
Pin-drop silence swallowed the stadium.
Videl felt her knees weaken.
All that fame… all that money…
While Gohan and the others lived simply.
While they saved every penny.
While they carried scars no one ever saw.
Satan collapsed forward, sobbing.
"Fight them…" he cried hoarsely. "They're the ones who defeated him… not me…"
The lie was finally out.
And the silence that followed was heavier than any roar.
The silence did not break.
It settled.
It pressed down on the arena like a physical weight, heavier than the cheers that once shook these stands, heavier than the lie that had carried one man to the top of the world. Mr. Satan remained kneeling on the cold stone floor, his confession hanging in the air, unanswered, unchallenged.
For the first time in his life, no one clapped.
No one shouted his name.
He lifted his head slowly, as if even the act of looking might shatter what little remained of him.
The faces staring back at him were not angry at first.
They were confused.
Then uncertain.
Then quietly horrified.
"No…" Satan rasped, shaking his head, his thick mustache trembling. "I never… I never thought it would become something like this."
His hands clenched against the tiles, fingers scraping uselessly as if he could claw his way back to a time before the truth had weight.
"I didn't want people to die," he said weakly. "I just wanted… to live."
Goten stood in front of him — small, still, and unbearably calm.
He hadn't moved since Satan's confession. He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't threatened him. He simply stood there, watching — and somehow, that was worse than any blow.
The pressure returned, not as fear this time, but as inevitability.
Goten spoke, his voice quiet enough that Satan almost missed it.
"Then let me ask you something."
Satan's shoulders tensed.
"If Cell came back," Goten continued, "and announced it to everyone — said he would destroy the city in one month…"
The images formed instantly in Satan's mind: buildings tearing apart, fire consuming streets, people screaming beneath a sky that offered no mercy.
"…people would have time," Goten said. "They could run. They could leave. They could save themselves."
Satan swallowed hard.
"But they wouldn't," Goten continued, looking directly at him now. "Because of you."
The words struck clean and sharp.
"You told them you defeated him," Goten said. "So they would believe you did it once so you could do it again."
The stadium seemed to shrink.
"They would stay," Goten said. "They would trust you."
He paused.
"And when Cell comes back," Goten continued, his voice steady, "everyone dies."
Satan's breath hitched.
"Everyone," Goten repeated, "except you."
Satan's eyes widened.
"Because you already know the truth," Goten said. "You know you can't defeat him."
The weight of it crushed him.
"You run," Goten finished. "You survive."
The silence screamed.
"So tell me," Goten asked quietly,
"Who killed them?"
Satan opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs, each beat echoing like a hammer striking a coffin. The answer clawed its way up from somewhere deep, dark, and undeniable.
"…Me," he whispered.
The word barely existed — but it was enough.
His shoulders collapsed forward as realization finally took hold. His lie hadn't just stolen credit.
It had stolen judgment.
It had stolen people's chance to live.
"I didn't think," he sobbed. "I didn't think it could become something like this…"
The crowd did not move.
Not a single sound broke the air.
Above the arena,
Goku stood frozen, staring down at the man he had allowed the world to worship.
We could've stopped this, he realized.
All those years ago.
He had told himself it didn't matter. That fame was pointless. That the world didn't need to know.
But now, for the first time, he understood the cost of silence.
If something really had come back…
They would have trusted the wrong person.
Piccolo's jaw tightened.
He had seen it too.
They had allowed the lie to become a shield — not for the world, but for themselves. They had chosen peace over truth, never once asking what would happen if the lie was tested.
Krillin's hands trembled at his sides.
He had laughed it off. Joked about it. Told himself it was harmless.
Now he imagined a city that didn't run.
A crowd that stayed.
And the thought made him feel sick.
Gohan stood rigid, eyes locked on the ring.
Father…
We let this happen.
They had fought Cell with everything they had.
They had bled.
They had nearly lost everything.
And then they had let someone else wear the victory — not realizing that victory carried responsibility.
Beside him, Videl stood silent, her thoughts unraveling one by one.
Her father's fame.
Their wealth.
The applause that followed them everywhere.
All of it built on something that was never his.
Built on sacrifices made by people who never asked for praise.
Her throat tightened.
Gohan…
Back in the ring, Satan bowed until his forehead touched the stone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again — not to the crowd, not for forgiveness, but because he finally understood. "I really am."
Goten exhaled softly.
The pressure vanished.
Satan collapsed forward, gasping, as though the world itself had finally released him. He coughed, hands shaking, no longer a champion — just a man forced to face the reach of his own lie.
Goten stepped back.
"I didn't come here to hurt you," he said. "I just wanted you to understand."
He turned away.
The referee stood frozen, unable to speak.
The match was not over.
But something far heavier than a tournament had already shifted.
And in the silence that followed, the world began to understand how close it had come — not because of a monster…
…but because of a lie left unchallenged.