The forest grove shook with every blow.
A lone figure moved like a streak of lightning between tall trees and jagged stones, every motion precise, every step thunderous. Onigiri's feet crushed the dirt beneath him as he drove a fist forward. The sound of impact echoed like a cannon shot as the boulder in front of him exploded into fragments.
Debris scattered across the clearing, slamming into nearby trunks with enough force to splinter bark. Birds took flight in a panicked swarm overhead. Wind pressure from a single swing rippled through the branches above like a passing storm.
Onigiri stood still, arm extended, dust clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. His inhibitor rings glowed brighter than usual—soft blue pulses throbbing like warning lights.
He exhaled, trying to slow his breathing. A faint hum filled the air, low and metallic. His wrists sparked, and the rings briefly flickered.
"Still holding..." he muttered, flexing his fingers. But even as he said it, he knew they were close to their limit.
Every movement felt heavier now, not because he was tired, but because he was trying to not go all out. He was trying to exist in a world that wasn't built to handle him.
He turned toward a massive tree on the edge of the clearing. It was ancient, easily three times the width of a man. A perfect target.
He took a stance. Focused.
Then, he stopped. Lowered his fists.
"What am I doing?" he whispered.
He sat down on the grass, head tilted toward the sky. The clouds drifted by—peaceful, slow, untouched by his chaos.
"If a punch can shatter stone, what happens if I ever stop holding back?"
In the silence, only his breathing and the hum of the overworked inhibitor rings filled the air.
He was a loaded weapon... in a world of glass.
And for the first time in days, Onigiri wondered if maybe the safest thing for the world—was for him to stop trying to be part of it.
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The sound of a hovercar approaching broke the silence.
Onigiri didn't look up at first. He recognized the whine of Capsule Corp's engines by now—smaller model, fast but stable. Bulma's favorite ride.
The vehicle descended through the trees and landed with a soft hiss on a flat stretch of earth. The door slid open, and Bulma stepped out, wearing her usual confident smirk and carrying a capsule case under one arm.
"There you are," she called. "I was starting to think you'd vanished into the mountains or blown up the countryside."
Onigiri managed a half-smile but said nothing.
Bulma stopped a few steps away from him, taking in the pulverized boulders, the broken trees, the scorch marks on the ground. Her smirk faded.
"You okay?"
He didn't answer. Not right away.
She softened. "I brought something for you."
She tossed a capsule into the air and clicked it. With a pop-hiss, a small metal case appeared. She opened it, revealing two polished bands—sleek, darker metal than before, lined with tiny vents and glowing etchings.
"Compression Bands 2.0," she said proudly. "Not just suppressors. These give feedback—real-time biometric monitoring, resistance pulse control, and even micro-shock reinforcement training. Basically, they'll adapt to you while you train."
Onigiri stared at them, then back at her.
"And I figured we might as well give you a place where you can actually cut loose."
She pulled out a second capsule, flipped it into the air, and grinned.
"Welcome to Capsule Corp's very own private training island."
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The trip to the island was quiet at first.
Bulma piloted the hovercar with one hand, the other resting casually on the controls as the vast ocean stretched out beneath them. The water sparkled under the late morning sun, reflecting sharp light across Onigiri's face as he stared out the window.
He hadn't spoken much since takeoff. Not because he didn't want to—but because he didn't know what to say.
Bulma glanced sideways at him. "You know, it's okay to feel like you don't belong sometimes. Doesn't mean you have to vanish off the grid."
Onigiri exhaled slowly. "It's not that. I just… I don't want to break something I can't fix."
Bulma's eyes softened. "Then it's a good thing I'm bringing all the spare parts."
He smirked faintly at that.
As the island came into view, the air changed. The landmass was a large, forested plateau with cliffs that dropped straight into deep blue water. No signs of civilization. No towers. No roads. Just green, stone, and silence.
"Secluded, private, and reinforced," Bulma said proudly. "We used to test jet propulsion systems here. Now it's all yours."
The hovercar set down gently on a wide clearing that had once been a helipad. Faded Capsule Corp logos still marked the ground beneath moss and grass.
Onigiri stepped out and looked around slowly. The wind was clean. The sky wide. The silence felt earned.
For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could breathe.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
Bulma shrugged. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen what I've got planned for training."
He glanced back at her. "Should I be worried?"
"Oh, definitely."
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Training began immediately.
Bulma set up a portable diagnostic hub—compact, but loaded with sensors, drones, and a reinforced testing area. She insisted on Onigiri wearing the new compression bands from the start, and they pulsed with a soft amber light as they synced to his vitals.
Onigiri ran laps around the island's perimeter, his feet kicking up sand and dirt in rhythmic bursts. Then came explosive jumps, push-ups against sheer cliff faces, and air resistance drills. The bands adjusted with each spike in exertion, doubling weight when his heartbeat surged and lightening just before failure.
Bulma watched carefully, logging results, occasionally calling out minor adjustments.
"Drop your stance a little lower! You're leaning too hard into your dominant foot!"
He grunted and obeyed.
After an hour, they broke for water near the beach. Bulma passed him a canister and dropped beside him, her cheeks flushed from the heat.
"You're adapting to the feedback faster than I expected," she said, brushing windblown hair from her face. "Your body's weirdly good at recalibrating."
Onigiri took a long sip. "Maybe that's what I was made for."
She frowned slightly. "You're not a machine, you know. Even if your genetics are next-level crazy."
He gave her a tired smirk. "Tell that to the boulder I sneezed on yesterday."
They both laughed, the tension briefly lifting.
Later, as the sun dipped below the treetops, Bulma set up a small fire pit and they sat beneath the stars.
The island was quiet. The ocean, even quieter.
For the first time, neither of them felt the need to fill the silence.
Until Onigiri spoke.
"Do you ever wonder what kind of person you'd be if you hadn't been born… into everything?"
Bulma raised an eyebrow. "You mean rich, brilliant, and stunning?"
He chuckled softly. "Yeah. That."
She glanced into the fire. "Honestly? All the time. People think having everything makes life easier. But sometimes, I wonder if they see me at all—or just the name. The tech. The perks."
Onigiri nodded slowly. "I get that. Except I don't even know who I'm supposed to be."
She looked over at him. "Then maybe that's what this year's about. Figuring it out. Piece by piece."
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The next morning started quietly. Onigiri was already training by the time Bulma finished breakfast prep. The ocean breeze was calm, and the sky had just started to warm with soft pinks and oranges.
Then the sound of a motorboat cut through the peace.
The sound of a motorboat cut through the peace.
Bulma stood up from her makeshift workstation, squinting toward the shoreline. A small vessel—civilian model, painted forest green—was approaching the island. Three figures stood aboard it: two younger men and one older, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Hunters.
"Uh-oh," Bulma muttered. "We might have company."
Onigiri jogged over, towel around his neck. "Friends of yours?"
"Not unless they're here to donate a generator."
The boat pulled up to the rocky edge of the island. The older man called out as he stepped ashore. "This is restricted land! What the hell are you two doing here?"
Bulma waved. "Capsule Corp property. Fully authorized for testing."
The man scowled. "Testing what, exactly? Heard explosions last night. Scared off every animal within ten kilometers."
The younger of the two men, tall with a sleeveless vest and gloves, stepped forward. "You can't just use this place like it's your personal playground. This is hunting territory."
Onigiri stayed calm. "We're not looking for trouble."
The older hunter crossed his arms. "Capsule Corp's ruined enough land already. Now they're bringing science projects to sacred ground?" He gestured toward Onigiri. "What is he, some new android?"
Bulma's jaw tightened. "He's a person, thank you very much."
But the second younger man, the smallest of the three, stepped forward and jabbed a finger at Onigiri. "He's got a power limiter, doesn't he? I've seen military tech like that. You're hiding something."
Onigiri held up his hands. "We're not here to hurt anyone."
The older man snorted. "Then maybe you should leave before you do."
One of the younger hunters, clearly the hothead of the group, stepped in close. "Big guy like you? All muscle and no manners. Let's see how tough you are without your fancy gadgets."
Before Bulma could stop him, the hunter swung a punch.
Onigiri instinctively raised an arm—just to block. But his hand caught the man's wrist—and there was a sickening crack.
The man screamed, collapsing to his knees.
The other two froze, eyes wide.
"I—I didn't mean to—" Onigiri backed away, horror in his voice.
"You broke his damn wrist!" the older hunter shouted, kneeling beside his companion.
"You think this is training? You think this is a game?!"
The younger hunter cradled his arm, gasping. "He didn't even try. He just touched me."
Bulma stepped between them. "We're done here. Get back on your boat and leave."
The older man glared at Onigiri one last time before hauling the wounded hunter up and motioning for the others to retreat. "This isn't over. You think power makes you untouchable? People will fear you. Just like we do now."
As their boat pulled away, silence returned.
But it felt colder now.
Onigiri stood rooted to the spot, staring at his hands.
"I didn't want to hurt him," he whispered.
Bulma approached quietly. "I know."
He sank to his knees.
"I barely touched him, Bulma. I didn't even try."
She knelt beside him. "That's why we're here. So you can learn how not to break the world by accident."
He looked down, fists clenched.
"Then I better start learning faster."
That night, the fire crackled softly between them. Onigiri sat in silence, his food untouched, the flames casting long shadows across his face. Bulma didn't press him. She simply sat nearby, legs pulled to her chest, eyes watching the stars.
"I wasn't angry," Onigiri finally said. "Not really. I was trying to de-escalate. I didn't even use any strength. It was just… instinct."
Bulma nodded slowly. "Instinct for someone like you is a bit different, huh?"
He sighed. "What if I can't ever fully control it?"
"Then we keep finding ways until you can," she said firmly. "No one masters who they are overnight."
The flames crackled louder for a moment, filling the silence between them. Eventually, Onigiri spoke again.
"I'm tired of being afraid of myself."
"Then let's give you something to work toward," Bulma replied. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small rolled-up flyer. "Picked this up the last time we were in town. Thought you might like it."
He took it and unrolled the paper. A bold title greeted him:
"21st Tenkaichi Budokai – Earth's Greatest Martial Arts Tournament – Spring, Age 750"
A list of qualifying cities and prize money followed beneath, along with a stylized image of the tournament arena.
Onigiri's eyes lingered on the words: Earth's Greatest Martial Arts Tournament.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
"About eleven months," Bulma said. "You've got time."
He folded the flyer gently, looking back at the fire. For the first time since the hunters left, a flicker of something returned to his expression.
Not guilt. Not fear.
Purpose.
"Then I guess it's time I stopped training to hold back," he said. "And started training to fight."