The rising sun spilled golden light over the Tenkaichi Budokai grounds, casting long shadows across the arena as a booming voice echoed through the stadium. The Tournament Announcer stood front and center atop the main stage, mic in hand, his iconic sunglasses gleaming beneath his styled hair.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Warriors from every corner of the world! Welcome to the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai!"
A roar erupted from the crowd. Families, fans, and martial arts enthusiasts packed the massive stone bleachers. Flags waved, cameras hovered overhead, and concession vendors shouted through the chaos.
"Today, the final eight will battle for the title of the Strongest Under the Heavens! And now, allow me to introduce the competitors!"
The stadium's side gates opened one at a time, and the finalists entered in dramatic fashion as the announcer hyped them up:
"From the wilderness and trained by the legendary Master Roshi himself—it's the pint-sized powerhouse, Son Goku!"
Goku stepped out, waving excitedly to the crowd, his tail swaying behind him.
"Next up, his fellow student and bald brawler, Krillin!"
Krillin gave a nervous wave, trying to smile through the cheers.
"Representing the rough lands of the desert—Yamcha, the Wolf Fang Fist master!"
Yamcha strode forward confidently, his scars catching the light.
"The stoic warrior from the East, fighting for his people—Nam!"
Nam entered calmly, hands folded in prayer as he bowed to the crowd.
"The raging brute of the wild, a beast with fists like boulders—Giran!"
Giran roared as he stepped out, flexing for the crowd.
"The filthiest fighter around—literally!—Bacterian!"
A section of the audience recoiled visibly as Bacterian scratched his belly and burped.
"A mysterious martial artist whose strength defies his years—Jackie Chun!"
Jackie Chun walked slowly, hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.
"And finally… a newcomer with strength wrapped in silence, discipline, and mystery—Onigiri!"
As Onigiri stepped into the arena, the crowd murmured. His presence was quiet, but something about the way he moved—the weight of each step—captured attention. He offered no theatrics, only a single glance upward at the crowd and a firm nod.
From the sidelines, murmurs rippled through the spectators:
"Is that the guy with the rings?"
"I heard he crushed all his prelim matches in seconds."
"He looks calm… too calm."
In the stands, Bulma watched him with her arms crossed and a grin tugging at her lips.
"Show them who you are," she whispered.
Onigiri took his place alongside the others. The fighters stood in a line, the sunlight bathing them in gold.
The Tournament Announcer lifted his mic again.
"Let the matches begin!"
The crowd roared, and the world held its breath.
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The crowd barely had time to settle before the announcer's voice returned, more energized than ever.
"First match of the day—Yamcha versus Jackie Chun!"
Cheers erupted as Yamcha cracked his knuckles and stepped forward with confidence, walking to the center of the arena. Jackie Chun followed behind, arms folded calmly behind his back.
Yamcha offered a slight bow. "Don't go easy on me, old man."
Chun smirked. "I was about to say the same to you."
The gong rang.
What followed was a flurry of movement. Yamcha's blows were sharp, refined. His footwork showed training—purpose. He darted in and out, using Wolf Fang Fist strikes to keep Chun on the defensive. The crowd gasped as Yamcha nearly landed a spinning kick to the head.
Jackie Chun grunted in approval and countered with a fast elbow strike that Yamcha barely blocked. "You've grown," Chun muttered.
The two clashed again—blow for blow, a dance of technique and timing. But Yamcha's stamina waned, and Chun began to take control.
With a precise palm to the gut and a sweeping leg, Chun sent Yamcha flying just out of bounds.
"Jackie Chun wins!" the announcer called.
Yamcha stood, panting, then offered a tired grin. "Guess I've still got work to do."
Chun nodded. "You've come far. Be proud of that."
From the sidelines, Onigiri gave a small nod. Yamcha had changed. He had fought with heart.
The announcer allowed a beat to pass, letting the crowd simmer.
"Next up—Krillin versus Bacterian!"
The crowd groaned and laughed as Bacterian shuffled forward, scratching himself and exhaling a greenish burp. Krillin tried not to gag.
The fight began with Krillin doing everything he could to avoid touching his opponent. Bacterian swung wildly, his body odor nearly enough to knock Krillin out.
But with a shout from Goku in the crowd—"You don't have a nose, remember?!"—Krillin's eyes lit up.
He launched forward with renewed determination, evading Bacterian's stench and delivering a jumping kick to the chest that sent the brute flying.
"Krillin wins!"
The audience howled with laughter and applause. Even the announcer chuckled as he called the match.
As the ring was cleared, the tension shifted again.
"Up next—Son Goku versus Giran!"
Goku approached the stage with a smile, hopping lightly on his feet. Giran loomed large, snarling as he stomped into place.
The fight began with Giran tossing Goku like a ragdoll. He used his Merry-Go-Round Gum to trap the boy, holding him in place.
The crowd gasped—Goku looked stuck.
But with a sharp bite and a twist, Goku broke free, shredding the gum to the shock of the entire arena.
"He chewed through it?!" someone yelled.
Freed, Goku launched a powerful flying kick that struck Giran square in the jaw and sent him crashing to the arena floor.
"Goku wins!"
The crowd was on fire, some chanting Goku's name.
Onigiri watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, his gaze locked on Goku.
"So he's not just cheerful… he's clever too."
Three matches down.
"Final match of the first round—Onigiri versus Nam!"
The crowd leaned forward in anticipation. One was a mystery wrapped in silence and strength. The other, a warrior of purpose and principle. The tension buzzed across the stadium as both fighters stepped forward toward the stage.
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The stadium fell into a hushed anticipation as Nam and Onigiri stepped onto the ring. The sun hung directly overhead, casting sharp shadows beneath the fighters' feet.
Nam bowed low with his hands pressed together. "I do not seek glory, only victory for my people. May our match be honorable."
Onigiri returned the bow respectfully. "Then we understand each other. I'm not here for glory either."
The gong rang.
Nam moved first, launching forward with an extended palm strike. Onigiri sidestepped, reading the movement and countering with a swift low kick—one Nam leapt over with impressive agility.
They exchanged blows quickly, their strikes fast but restrained. Nam's movements were textbook martial arts—efficient, clean, and precise. Onigiri's were more fluid, molded by countless hours of training under Hachiro's style, blending instinct and grace.
A high kick from Nam forced Onigiri to duck, and a follow-up elbow nearly grazed his temple. Onigiri twisted inside Nam's guard and pushed him away with a palm to the chest, skidding the older warrior back.
But Nam didn't pause—he came right back, ducking low and sweeping at Onigiri's legs. Onigiri hopped, barely avoiding the sweep, but Nam pressed his advantage with a flying knee aimed at Onigiri's sternum.
It landed.
The impact knocked the wind out of him, sending Onigiri stumbling backward. The crowd gasped. He coughed, rolling his shoulder to loosen the tension and grinned.
"You hit hard," he admitted.
Nam advanced, launching a flurry of palm strikes. Onigiri blocked and weaved, but Nam's relentless precision made him realize something: he was on the defensive.
"I underestimated him," Onigiri thought, tightening his stance. "Even with the rings, I can't coast through this."
He shifted gears—slowing his breath, calming his thoughts. When Nam lunged again, Onigiri didn't dodge—he redirected. He caught Nam's wrist, twisted, and brought his elbow down. Nam yanked free, striking low, forcing Onigiri to hop again and counter with a spinning heel aimed at Nam's shoulder.
Nam caught the kick and hurled him.
Onigiri flipped mid-air, landing hard but upright. The crowd cheered at the exchange. Onigiri rolled his neck, lips curling into a faint smile.
Nam charged again, but Onigiri was ready. He let Nam close the gap, then redirected with a sweeping pivot of his torso. With precision and speed, he planted his foot and struck Nam in the chest with a heavy palm—just enough to knock him off-balance and send him tumbling out of the ring.
A collective gasp was followed by silence.
Then—
"Onigiri wins!" the announcer shouted.
The crowd erupted into applause.
Nam picked himself up and walked back toward the ring with dignity, offering Onigiri a respectful nod. "Your strength is impressive, but your restraint is what humbles me. Thank you for the match."
Onigiri nodded. "You fight for others. That's admirable." He turned toward the crowd. "Bulma!"
In the stands, Bulma blinked in surprise. "Huh? What?"
He called up to her. "Nam's village is suffering from drought. Think Capsule Corp can help?"
Bulma's eyes widened. The entire stadium now watched her.
She cleared her throat, then grinned confidently. "Water purification systems are easy! Consider it done!"
Nam's eyes shone. He pressed his hands together in gratitude. "You have my eternal thanks. If you ever need my aid, you have it."
From the sidelines, Yamcha gave a small chuckle. "Leave it to him to win a fight and make an ally."
Jackie Chun, watching from the shadows, stroked his beard. "That boy's heart might be even stronger than his fists."
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Backstage, the air was quieter, the crowd's thunder muffled by thick walls and the hum of tournament machinery. Onigiri sat on a bench with a towel draped over his shoulders, water bottle in hand, quietly rehydrating. The energy of the match had left his limbs tense, but not tired.
Yamcha sat beside him, nursing a bruise from his own earlier match. "You know," he said, glancing over, "for a guy who used to punch boulders into powder, that looked… elegant."
Onigiri smiled faintly. "He made me work for it."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Yamcha muttered, leaning back. "Honestly, I'm glad someone like Nam's out there. Shows what normal people can do when they push hard enough."
From across the hall, Goku bounced over, grinning ear to ear. "That was awesome! You and Nam were like—pow! pow! shwooosh!" He pantomimed several punches and flips, earning a laugh from Yamcha.
Onigiri chuckled. "Thanks, Goku. Your match wasn't bad either."
"Oh yeah? You saw that?" Goku puffed up proudly. "That gum stuff was gross, but I figured it out!"
Krillin joined them shortly after, still wiping sweat from his brow. "We're all in the semis now. One of us is gonna win this."
Onigiri looked at the three of them—friends forged through training, hardship, and challenge—and gave a quiet nod. "Let's make it a tournament worth remembering."
In the distance, Jackie Chun leaned against a pillar, arms folded as he watched them. His eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
"He's still growing," he murmured to himself. "Not just stronger… but steadier. If he keeps this up, even I might have trouble putting him down."
He turned toward the arena entrance.
"Time to see what the next round brings."
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Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped lower and the stadium buzzed with energy between matches, Onigiri stepped away from the noise and found a quiet corner of the temple grounds, beneath the shade of an old tree. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, breathing deep and slow, letting the tension drain from his muscles.
Footsteps crunched softly across the stone walkway.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders for someone so young," a familiar voice said.
Onigiri opened one eye and glanced up. Jackie Chun stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back.
"Just trying to clear my mind," Onigiri replied. "It gets loud in there."
Chun nodded. "It's wise to take moments like these. A quiet mind can mean the difference between victory and defeat."
They sat in silence for a moment. The breeze rustled the leaves above.
Onigiri's eyes remained closed, but his voice was soft and measured. "You know… I've seen a lot of fighters. Their stances, their flow, their instincts. Yours remind me of someone."
Jackie Chun raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You move like a master," Onigiri continued, cracking a small smile. "One of a certain turtle school, maybe?"
Chun's expression didn't change, but the air grew a touch more still.
"You're very observant," he said calmly.
"I try to be," Onigiri said. "But don't worry. I won't say anything. If you're wearing a different name, you must have a reason."
Chun gave a low chuckle. "You might just be the most perceptive fighter here."
Onigiri opened his eyes and met his gaze. "I'll prove myself in the ring. But I know now—I still have a long way to go."
Jackie Chun gave him a firm nod. "That kind of humility? It'll take you far. Don't forget it."
With that, Chun turned and walked away, his silhouette stretching long in the fading light.
Onigiri sat still for a moment longer, the wind brushing through his hair. Then he closed his eyes again and resumed his meditation—his heart calm, and his resolve sharper than ever.
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