The skies above West City shimmered with the golden glow of the late afternoon sun as the capsule jet descended gently toward the Capsule Corporation compound. After three days of intense observation and recovery, the boy had stabilized, and Dr. Briefs—curious as ever—had finally cleared him for limited activity.
Now dressed in a Capsule Corp-provided training gi—simple navy blue with reinforced seams—the boy stood in the middle of a reinforced testing chamber beneath the main lab. Thick walls of reinforced steel surrounded the room. Cameras recorded from every angle. High-speed sensors monitored everything from movement to power output.
"Alright, son," Dr. Briefs said over the intercom. "Just give us a light demonstration. You've been cooped up long enough. Let's see what you can do."
The boy nodded once. He still didn't know his name. Still didn't know where he came from. But something inside him knew how to move—how to fight. It was like breathing.
He took a deep breath… then vanished.
The cameras jerked violently to keep up as he dashed across the chamber at blinding speed, leaping from wall to wall. He punched the air, sending out shockwaves that cracked the reinforced floor. A spinning kick tore a crater into the ground.
Outside the chamber, Dr. Briefs blinked at the readings. "Well… he's stronger than any baseline human by a factor of ten. Maybe more. That wasn't even ki-based. That's just raw strength."
Bulma, leaning on the console, whistled. "Okay, muscles. Not bad."
Inside the chamber, the boy stopped moving. Sweat barely dotted his brow. He wasn't even winded.
"Are you sure he's not some lost Beast Man warrior?" one of the researchers whispered.
Dr. Briefs shook his head. "No claws, no fur, no tail. Whatever he is… he's something else."
He tapped the side of the monitor thoughtfully. "At first, I thought he might be channeling ki instinctively. But I've seen ki-users before. This… this is different. This is pure physical might. Like his body is a biological weapon built for survival."
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Later that day, after a quick shower and change of clothes, Bulma dragged him out into the city.
"You need a tour," she said. "If you're going to be sticking around Earth, you should probably know how things work."
He followed, curious, but quiet. West City was alive with activity—people laughing, cars flying through the sky, stores filled with color and life. He looked at it all with quiet awe… and an odd sense of familiarity.
He paused outside a café, eyes narrowing slightly.
Bulma turned. "Hey, you okay?"
He nodded slowly. "I… feel like I've been here before. Not this exact place, but this city. The world. It feels… familiar."
"Déjà vu?" she asked.
"Maybe," he replied. But it felt deeper. Like an echo of something lost.
They kept walking. She showed him the shopping districts, the arcade, and paused in front of a clothing shop where he caught his reflection in the window. He stared at himself for a long moment.
"You really don't remember anything, huh?" Bulma asked, watching him.
He shook his head slowly. "Nothing that makes sense."
"Well, you can't just keep going around being called 'Hey you.' We need to give you a name."
Dr. Briefs had suggested a few scientific code names earlier—Project Iceborn, Subject Zero, Capsule Subject A—but Bulma had waved them off.
She studied him thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers. "What about Onigiri?"
He blinked. "Onigiri?"
"Yeah. It's the name of a rice ball. You're kind of plain at first glance, but deceptively powerful and packed with energy." She smirked. "Plus, I was eating one when I thought of it."
"…Onigiri," he repeated, letting the word sit on his tongue. Oddly… it felt right. Like something familiar in an unfamiliar world.
"Alright, Onigiri it is."
"Okay, so this is ice cream," she said, handing him a cone. "And yes, it's supposed to be cold."
He stared at it, then took a bite. His eyes widened instantly.
"…This is amazing."
Bulma grinned. "See? You're already fitting in."
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As the sun began to set, they passed a billboard in the town square. A colorful poster showed martial artists mid-fight, the bold letters reading:
"21st World Martial Arts Tournament – 1 Year Away!"
The boy stopped, staring up at it.
Bulma followed his gaze. "Oh yeah. That's a big deal. Fighters from all over the world come to compete. It's kind of the proving ground for martial artists. Anyone who's serious about fighting enters it."
The boy's eyes didn't leave the poster.
Fighting. Competition. A chance to test himself.
"…I think I should enter."
Bulma raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You only woke up a few days ago."
He nodded slowly. "I need to understand what I can do. I need to grow stronger. Maybe if I fight… I'll remember."
And in his chest, deep beneath the surface, something stirred.
A memory? A feeling?
No.
A calling.
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Bulma's Perspective
The next morning, Onigiri stood in a Capsule Corp testing field with Dr. Briefs and Bulma, ready for a more structured training session. This time, weighted objects had been arranged around him—steel pillars, dense gravity plates, and a dummy rigged with resistance sensors.
From her seat on the upper platform, Bulma watched Onigiri closely—not just scientifically, but with curiosity that bordered on fascination. He was powerful, yes, but there was something different about the way he moved. Focused. Controlled. Like someone who was born to carry weight and bear it without complaint.
She tapped her pen against her clipboard, then caught herself smiling. He really is kind of cool, she thought. Mysterious, quiet, polite... and definitely not hard to look at.
Of course, she'd never admit that out loud.
Dr. Briefs scribbled notes while Onigiri practiced lifting and maneuvering the training equipment with ease. Even the gravity plates, calibrated for peak martial artist limits, barely seemed to strain him.
"He's just getting stronger by the day," Dr. Briefs said. "We'll need something more specialized."
"I've been working on that," Bulma replied, trying to keep her tone steady. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and took a breath. "Actually… I have something to show you."
She pulled a small case from behind the workbench and opened it to reveal two sleek metallic rings, faintly glowing with blue etchings. They were clearly made for his wrists—compact, durable, and dense.
"Inhibitor rings," she explained proudly. "They bind to your body's energy signature and generate a low-level pressure field that restricts output. Kinda like weights, but smarter. They'll make everything harder—walking, punching, breathing. Good for training. Plus, I might've added a few aesthetic tweaks. I made them from what was remaining from your Pod."
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Onigiri's Perspective
Onigiri picked one up and turned it in his hand. "You made these… from my pod?"
Bulma nodded. "Yeah. Most of the pod was junk after my father was done with it, but I salvaged some of the alloy. Figured it could be useful. Besides…" She looked away briefly. "You needed something only you could use."
Raen studied her for a moment. Then smiled. "Thank you."
Bulma coughed, cheeks coloring. "Don't get weird about it. I just didn't want you breaking more walls."
He slid the rings onto his wrists. The moment they locked in place, a surge of invisible pressure clamped down on his arms. His knees buckled slightly, and the ground cracked beneath his feet as the rings activated.
Onigiri exhaled slowly. "Heavy."
"Good," Dr. Briefs said, adjusting his glasses. "Then they're working."
Onigiri looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. Every movement now had weight, resistance. But it wasn't painful—it was a challenge. A path forward.
Onigiri smiled again, faint but sincere.
"I'll get stronger."
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The rings did more than just weigh him down—they reshaped his entire existence. Every movement, no matter how minor, now came with resistance. Simple tasks became trials. Sitting up in bed made his arms tremble. Walking from one end of the room to the other left his legs sore. Breathing required focus, as if he were constantly being pulled down by unseen gravity.
Eating was awkward. The weight on his wrists made lifting utensils a chore, and he nearly dropped his bowl of rice three times before Bulma quietly slid closer to help—pretending not to notice his frustration.
"You'll get used to it," she said with a soft smile, placing a fresh pair of chopsticks in front of him.
Even chores around the Capsule Corp complex became exercises in endurance. Helping carry supplies made his joints ache. Fixing a broken vent had him sweating through his shirt by the time he was done. More than once, he had to stop and steady himself, resisting the instinct to tear the rings off.
But he didn't.
Because every time he struggled, every time he gritted his teeth and powered through, that same quiet voice inside whispered: Stronger.
He wore the rings even while sleeping. Even then, his dreams came in fragmented flashes—white skies, endless battlefields, screams muffled by space. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, muscles stiff, but something deeper inside him felt… clearer.
This was only the beginning.