Disclaimer: the idea and characters of Dragon Ball are owned by Akira Toriyama. This is a simple non-profit fan parody.

Chapter 20 - Semifinal fantasy

"Quick, stop the bleeding!"

"Someone help me carry him! Bring a stretcher!"

"No need, I can lift him."

"Ok, but be careful. Don't make his body move too much, the bullets must stay in place!"

It happened all incredibly fast. Bulma had immediately went to warn one of the monks when she heard gunshots, and then ran with Goku to the shower room. Here they had only caught a glimps of someone jumping out of the window, and had found Giran laying down on the floor, bleeding out of two holes in his gut. His claws were clutching the wrist of a contraption that Bulma realised was a prosthetic arm - the most advanced she'd ever seen.

If there were any doubt on the identity of the attacker, on the arm, scrubbed away but still recognizable, was a symbol made of two red triangles, with the letters RR on top. The logo of the Red Ribbon.

In a few minutes, Giran had been transported to the infirmary, and everyone else was waiting in the small antechamber that separated it from the rest of the complex. The tension was palpable. No one knew the ptero personally before that day, but having been nearly witnesses of a murder, and aware that the culprit was still at large, would still put most people on edge. The monks, in particular, were positively outraged. To everyone else, these events were unsettling and highly unusual - to them, they were outright sacrilegous. Their temple was not supposed to be a place of violence. Or at least, not the kind without rules and a referee.

The door to the infirmary opened. "He should be out of danger." said the doctor who came out, taking off his surgical mask. "We removed the bullets and stopped the bleeding. Fortunately his physiology means no organs or arteries were severed. He'll recover."

There was a general sigh of relief, and as the tension relaxed, people started chatting up each other excitedly about the events.

"Will he be able to fight again?" asked Bulma.

The doctor thought about it for a moment. "Hard to say, but I think so. The bullet wounds are not the problem there, but his ankle was messed up pretty badly. Ptero bones are lighter than human ones, and that makes them both more fragile and harder to repair."

The girl nodded gravely. Behind her, an argument had exploded.

"You can't do that!" shouted Krillin, obviously very passionate about the topic. "I'm here to win this thing, you know!"

"We have to." replied Brother Wei, inflexible. "Nothing like this had happened on the tournament grounds since the beginning of this event. It is unthinkable to continue the Tournament."

"Wait, what?" shouted Bulma, suddenly alert to the argument.

"They want to end it now! Lady, tell them that they can't!" pleaded the kid.

The monk shook his head. "We most certainly can."

"But that doesn't mean you should." intervened Bulma. Wei looked at her scandalised, while Krillin was suddenly beaming with gratitude.

"Miss Bulma, do not be led to believe that your financial contributions give you the right to-"

"That is not what I'm saying." she cut him short. "Think about it. Right now the culprit - Mai, obviously - is out there. We don't know where exactly, but probably still inside the perimeter of the temple. Out of that window you don't go anywhere special, and there's a tall, smooth wall all around the complex. She's probably wounded, exhausted, and without an arm. I don't expect she'll be climbing walls right away, she's not that strong."

Wei frowned. "We should still send people to patrol."

"Agreed. Even if she's trying to lay low for now, it's probably wise, she will try to escape at some point. But if you stop the Tournament now, well, then people are going to start to leave. And then all she would need to do to disappear is mix with the crowd and walk out of the main doors."

"She has a point." said Jackie Chun, caressing his beard.

The monk was about to mount an objection, but desisted. "So what do you suggest we do?" he concluded, defeated.

"Let's continue as normal, pretend this small delay was just due to some trivial accident - say, that Mai has felt sick and that's why she's missed her match. And while the four remaining competitors fight it out, we'll look for that criminal and seize her."

Brother Wei seemed torn. "Fine," he snapped, finally. "Let's do it this way. I'll go tell Max to announce the next match. Goku, Krillin, come with me. It's your turn next."

"I don't mind too much," said the Ox King, who was still massaging his chin where Goku's punch had left a visible bruise, "because that wench has it comin'. But why are ya so sure that we're gonna help?"

Bulma smiled innocently. "Because, remember at the beginning of the tournament? For circumstances like these, you swore you would."

"We apologize for the delay - there was a minor accident and one of the contestants required medical assistance. But don't worry, he's going to be okay! Now let's move on to the next event - the two youngest participants in the Tournament, finally face to face! For the first semifinal it's KRILLIN vs. GOKU!"

Brother Max did his job properly, whipping the stadium back into a frenzy after the long wait had caused a lot of murmuring and discontent. The problem was, Mai couldn't be fooled - she knew they'd have figured out very well what had happened to Giran. Bulma was worried that she might decide that if they had not evacuated the stadium, she could as well force their hand by sparking another incident that would send everyone into panic. But doing that would have exposed her as well, and from there to capturing her it would have been a chinch. For good measure, though, Yamcha was visibly sitting on top of the commenter's tower, with a nice bird's eye view of the entire event. If something happened he could intervene in fractions of a second, and hopefully the deterrent alone would be enough to prevent the possibility. Everyone else of course was wondering what kind of eccentricity caused one of the eliminated participants to just hang out on the floor of a building, but there would be a spectacle to hold their attention soon enough.

Krillin and Goku walked up to each other and bowed in greeting.

"Sorry, but I'm going to beat you." said Krillin, with a smug grin. "I promised my master I would win this tournament."

Goku gave him a rather blank stare and shrugged. "Well, you can try." he replied.

For some reason, this seemed to irk his opponent far more than he intended to.

"Ready? FIGHT!"

Krillin immediately went to the offensive, running towards Goku while jumping left and right like he had done with Yamcha. Goku didn't wait for his attack to land, but instead instantly sprinted to the side, swinging his hand around as if tossing sand. One moment later, a hail of tiny ki blasts invested Krillin, throwing off his balance.

"Those things again!" he shouted, swiftly changing directions.

Goku kept the blasts coming, but now warned, Krillin started dodging them, as aptly as he had Yamcha's attacks earlier. And even if one or two hit, alone, they were way too weak to cause any damage or even disrupt his rhythm, now that he was prepared for them. He managed to run right up to Goku, within range of his fists, and pivoted on one foot to charge a punch straight to his gut. Goku managed to partially deflect it with his left hand and accompanied it by spinning on his right foot, lessening the damage and gaining momentum for a kick with his other leg, that Krillin managed to barely parry. The bald kid went in for another attack, this time kicking upwards, but Goku reacted by emitting a burst of energy from his chest. It was weak and unfocused, but it was sufficient to confuse and push Krillin backwards, wildly swinging his arms to keep his balance.

At the end of the exchange, both managed to recover without falling.

There was a cheer from the bleachers as their clash replayed on a maxi screen in slow motion - it had been far too fast for anyone to follow in real time.

"You are good." admitted Krillin, a bit short on breath. "Who is your actual master?"

Goku shook his head. "I have none, as I said. I used to study with my grandpa, but he died years ago." He thought about it for a moment. "But you know, his master was Muten Roshi, the same as you."

"That can't be!" Krillin's eyes widened. "Then who taught you to use those... energy things?"

"No one did. I came up with them myself."

"What?" the kid shouted in disbelief. "How would you even do that?"

"I experimented." said Goku. "Bulma's equipment helped. It's quite easy, really, once you get the hang of it. But anything that could do real damage is too slow and too tiresome to produce during a fight, so I just thought about using them this way."

"You just fired them from your hands first!" protested Krillin. "What was that last one?"

"Your spiritual energy fills your whole body, so you can emit it from anywhere, in theory." explained the other, shrugging. "It's just easier to focus and direct if you use your hands. They have more nerve terminations and finer control."

Krillin grabbed his head between his hands. "That's just - it's basically unfair! It's like having weapons!"

"The rules allow it." observed Goku.

"Yeah, because no one could predict that something like that would exist!" shrieked the other. "Not even my master talked to me about anything like this! It doesn't count as martial arts!"

Observing the whole scene from the edge of the field, Jackie Chun caressed his beard and looked away from the ring.

Goku thought long about it. "Fine," he said, finally. "you have a point. I will not use them any more against you then."

The other did a double take. "Are you saying you think you're so strong you can win easily even without those tricks?".

"Not really. It will lower my chances of victory significantly."

"So what? Don't you care about winning?"

His opponent was somehow getting angrier at any turn, no matter what he said, realised Goku. There's no making some people happy. "Bulma would be happy if I did, I guess." he said, shrugging. "But me? Not much. I was just looking for a chance to train."

"That's absurd! And someone like you stands on this ring, in the semifinals? When I had to bust my ass training for months just to get to enter?" shouted Krillin, completely outraged. "You can not be allowed to win!"

"Wait, what did I...?"

Krillin jumped forward again. The previous bout had left him with the feeling that even without energy blasts Goku was physically stronger than him. However, his technique was highly unusual. Just like he had done with the Ox King, Krillin realised - even now, this kid was trying to just push him out of the ring without hurting him too much. And if that was his approach to this fight, well, it would be also his downfall. After all, Krillin had no shortage of experience fighting dirty.

"Hey, it's shorty! Still haven't dropped out of the Temple?"

Goku went for a grab on Krillin's right arm, which was exactly what he had expected when he had left that opening on purpose. His left fist hit Goku right next to the ear, causing him to shout in pain and leaving him stunned for a moment.

"Maybe we should give you some incentive. A bit of sparring between friends."

The next feint didn't work, but that was alright. After all, this one had two layers - and when Goku went to parry the fist that would have been the most obvious follow-up, it was a kick to the shins that took away his ground instead.

"Let's make this three on one. I'm sure you can take it, yeah?"

The feints got deeper and deeper. They didn't all work, but still, Goku was being pushed back. Sure, he was strong, but he was taking more blows than he was dishing out. That had to take a toll on him. And he was with his back to the edge of the ring now. It would end with the next exchange.

"I CAN'T LOSE HERE!" shouted Krillin, charging for the final attack. "I HAVE TO WIN!"

There was a smell of dust and sweat mixed together in the small storage room where old gym equipment was stuffed. Mai was still catching her breath, tired out by her fight with Giran. Her right shoulder in particular, where the cybernetic socket from which she had detached her prosthetic arm was installed, was burning with pain. The effort alone had been notable, and Giran's pull must have torn some of her muscles there.

But more than all of that, defeat was what caused Mai more pain.

Sure, she had grabbed the Dragon Ball. But that was a meagre consolation prize. She had exposed herself and left Giran alive, and he had been retrieved by Bulma and the others. And Giran knew a lot about the Instruments - way more than they were comfortable with the world at large knowing, at this stage of their plans. It didn't matter if he talked of his own will, now that the facade of neutrality of the ptero tribe had been dropped, or if the info was otherwise dragged out of him. This could be a lethal blow to their organization.

She had sent the report back through the transmitter she had in her shoulder socket. All she had to do was thinking it in a certain form of hand sign language, and her motor nerves would do the rest. She still waited for further orders, whether they would be to go finish Giran off or to turn herself in to an officer for execution as punishment for her failure.

The small engine inside the socket started vibrating, relaying the answer back in code.

"So you failed."

"Yes, Piano. I will accept any-"

"Shut up. This isn't Piano. I'm Clarinet, I'm field commander for this operation at the Tournament. Since Commander Red had to insist to come here, we mixed up with the guard. Good thing we did too, since obviously you can't be trusted with shit."

"..."

"Now listen. If it was for me, I'd have you shot, but unfortunately I can't. You're Piano's pet, he gets to make that call. But thanks to your blunder now we have to accelerate our plans. We're coming out in the open."

"Already?"

"Yes, since you forced our hand. We need to make use of the advantage of surprise while it lasts. Now listen. The plan requires us to take over as much of the assets of the Red Ribbon as possible. That didn't change, but since we were planning to do four months from now, it's going to be less than we expected. However this day gives us also a priceless chance to get an unexpected prize."

"Commander Red's life."

"So you're not as incompetent as your mission record seems to indicate. Yes, obviously. Him and his aide as a bonus, if possible. Unfortunately, Black is careful, as always. We're here to escort them but he's the only one who gets to stay next to the Commander. We can easily kill the other Ribbon soldiers, but in the confusion, Red might manage to get away."

"Then what are your orders?"

"I thought it would be obvious. Do you still carry that capsule sniper rifle of yours?"

"I CAN'T LOSE HERE!" shouted Krillin, charging for the final attack. "I HAVE TO WIN!"

Goku knew there and then that if he didn't put his all into stopping him and counterattacking now, he'd be defeated.

This shouldn't have bothered him too much. Winning a sports event was certainly not important enough to risk injuring someone, even if they had put themselves in harm's way of their own will. He had gotten his fill of fighting and could spar more later with his fellow test subjects at Capsule Corporation, there was no danger whatsoever to his life or health, nor for any of his friends'. Bulma had already gotten what she needed out of this tournament. For all practical purposes, he could go down now and nothing bad would happen. It didn't matter.

And yet.

The last bouts had left him feeling a slight sense of annoyance. Like hearing something so obviously wrong and knowing you could rectify the mistake quite easily but somehow never getting the chance to say it out loud. He could answer Krillin's tactics so much better if he just let go and went all out. And if he did, what would Krillin answer then? Would he just crumble, or could he develop even more, come up with even more creative feints, maybe ones that even he couldn't see coming for once? The possibility fascinated Goku - he couldn't help but feel his blood pulsating, his brain thinking faster and faster in the rush of the moment, projecting all possible scenarios, all attacks and counters and counters to those counters. Maybe he could fight without caring much about victory, but even if they fought again, would Krillin be able to reach this stage if he did not? If all his passions and hopes didn't push him to do the very best that he could do, to achieve a level of physical and mental performance he may never again be able to match?

The realisation of how ephemeral this single moment was for both of them hit Goku.

And with it he finally understood how he'd been hurting his opponent far harder than any fists could.

"I'm sorry", he said, "but neither can I."

He dodged Krillin's attack, ignoring all the openings that could be traps of all sorts. He went for a straight hit from an angle his opponent could easily guard. And when he did, Goku's fist simply smacked his arm with enough violence to send him tumbling back on the ring. Defence was of no consequence if he could smash through it with sheer strength.

Krillin jumped back up, pretty much unfazed. "So you got serious?" he said, with a smirk.

Their clash renewed. It had gotten twice as hard for Krillin, because now Goku's movements were far harder to exploit. He kept going not for the safest hit, but for the most efficient and painful, and when it connected, it hurt like hell. Krillin parried less and dodged more, as otherwise the damage he would take would still be significant. But he still could read Goku's movements quite well - he may have changed objectives, but his style was not that different, just faster. And for every blow, there was an idea on how to give it back. Even when he noticed blood dripping down his brow, he didn't give it a second thought besides making sure it wouldn't go in his eye.

He had thought back to his bullies back in Korin Temple earlier, but now he could realise how nothing he'd experienced had ever been further than that. As he kept surprising himself at the things he could come up with, the things his own body seemed to do of its own accord, as years of training for each individual movement and muscle clicked together like a puzzle, he realised his greatest wish right now wasn't to win the Tournament - it was for this match to never end.

The sky sure is pretty, thought Krillin. Wait, why was he thinking about the sky? In fact, why was he looking straight at it? Had he not been doing something rather different until a moment ago? It was almost as if time had skipped a beat there.

"...and ten! The winner is Goku!"

Krillin chuckled. Stupid announcer. We're still fighting. I only need to get up and go back to the battle.

"Are you okay?" Goku's round face appeared right above his eyes. "I hit your head and you just went out cold."

"I'm fine." replied Krillin, annoyed. "Just get out of the way and let me look at the sky."

The other seemed puzzled, but in the end did as told. Krillin got back his view.

It took him a while for reality to finally sink in. By that time the crowd was cheering and chanting, and he was being helped back to his feet.

I lost.

Suddenly, he started crying. Not even discreetly, he was bawling messily and without restraint. He was sad and angry, full of this feeling of having grasped something and have it slip out of his fingers right when he thought he could grab it and claim it as his. But when Goku came to him for the customary salute, he wiped his eyes and returned his bow. He didn't feel angry at him; he felt grateful. Even what he had lost, without him, he would never have had in the first place.

From the edge of the ring, for some reason, Jackie Chun looked at him, beaming with pride.

"Hi dad."

"Hi dear! How is your Tournament going? I've been watching it on TV. Goku and that other boy gave quite the spectacle."

"Oh, yes, it's going swimmingly. I have collected all the data I needed, and the matches are fun. I'm a bit disappointed at Yamcha and the others' performance, but well, nothing's perfect. Too bad you and mom couldn't come in person."

"I would have, but you know how she is with blood after that whole experience with-"

"I understand. Anyway, it's all going smoothly here! No need to worry whatsoever!"

"All smoothly, hm?"

"..."

"What happened after the fourth fight? You know, the forfeit. It took a lot of time to start the next match."

"Oh, that. As Max said, just a minor accident."

"Bulma..."

"...one of the contestants was shot."

"..."

"By the same person who killed me back then."

"..."

"The attacker is still at large."

"Bulma-"

"I know, okay? It's not like I actively look for trouble! Most of the time. Definitely not this one! Listen, we're on top of this. There's an oath the contestants have to uphold, to enforce the rules and punish any wrongdoers. We have some of the strongest martial artists of the world here backing us up, looking for her. And it's not like she has a reason to come after me any more. I'll be fine."

"I hope you can say the same of everyone there. Why did you not evacuate the place?"

"Because it'd help her escape."

"Then call the police!"

"We have. But on this island there's only two cops, and the most dangerous criminal they've ever confronted was a serial chicken thief who in the end turned out to be a particularly cunning weasel. They've called reinforcements from the mainland, and it will take a while for them to arrive. By the way, how did you suspect there was trouble to begin with? Don't tell me that you know when I'm hiding something or anything like that."

"I had some suspicions. Your old, ahem, friend was from the Red Ribbon, right?"

"Yes. So I hear."

"Right. At one point the camera took a shot of the public, and just slightly at the edge of the field of vision, leaning from his seat to buy popcorn, there was someone I think I've seen in the news in the past. I think it was Commander Red."

"The Commander of the Red Ribbon army, one of the most guarded men on the planet, coming to a freaking sports event, buying popcorn? Come on, no way!"

"That's what I thought. But if trouble is brewing, who knows, it may be really him. You should check the public to make sure."

"...I guess it won't cost us much to look. Ok, will do. Thanks, dad."

"No problem. Stay safe, dear."

"Of course. When do I not?"

"...you know, Bulma, I'm not even going to try answering that."

"And after a fight of blooming youth comes one of wizened experience! Both are a mystery - we have never seen the face of the first, while the second did not have to show any of his tricks yet thanks to a convenient forfeit! Walking in for the second semifinal, it's INARI-SAN vs. JACKIE CHUN!"

The two old men walked out of the antechamber and slowly stepped to the ring. Jackie Chun, or rather, Muten, was rather intrigued by the question of who could this person he was about to fight possibly be. Having seen him defeat Giran, he had no doubt about his skill - this was no novice. Yet he was also confident that he would have been aware of all martial artists alive of that age and level of skill. Of course, given his sister's abilities, there was no guarantee this person needed to be someone alive at all; in fact, even though the light of the day made it hard to see, he thought he could distinguish a faint halo hovering above his head if he focused his eyes. For all he knew, Inari-san could be a fighter from aeons ago whose memory in the present day was all but lost. Yet if that was the case, he was also remarkably stoic and able to keep his wits in front of modern wonders such as the maxi screen that was showing their faces to the stadium right behind them.

"Are you curious about my identity?," asked Inari-san, his voice muffled and slightly distorted by the mask, and yet somehow familiar. "Here's a proposal. I'll tell you who I am if you forfeit."

Jackie raised an eyebrow. "What a strange request. What makes you think I would do something like that?"

"Worth a shot." replied the other, with a light chuckle. "Given the outcome of the previous fight, I thought your job here might be done. But I guess you're still too much of a proud old man for that."

"Quite. Seeing those youths fight has made my blood boil a bit."

"Well then. Best of luck, my friend. I'll have to do this the hard way."

They took their respective positions and stances, across the ring. That exchange had only made Muten's suspicions grow, but he quieted it all for now, in preparation for the fight. After all, to hide one's face may be easy, but to hide one's style is much harder. If he pushed his opponent hard enough, the truth would have to come out.

"Ready? FIGHT!"

They didn't jump to the offensive immediately. Rather, they started circling around, slowly, observing each other while keeping a safe distance. How did the other move, how did he breathe and pace himself; Muten would soak all of that in, together with the terrain under his own feet, any irregularities or flaws that might come useful later. And he was sure that the other was doing the same. He's been taught well, he thought.

Then they moved together towards one another, and while to the crowd the exchange must have seemed thrilling, Muten knew very well this was just them barely probing each other's defences. Each move was followed by its most natural counter, and even after several blows and parries, nothing had happened that he couldn't predict from the very beginning, like in a choreographed dance. With one last fluid movement and a small jump, he withdrew from the clash as soon as the flow seemed close to being disrupted, and so did his opponent, with neither being a single step closer to gaining an advantage. The stadium erupted in cheers.

"You belong to this era." said Jackie Chun. "You seem to know far too well the style of the Turtle school."

"So do you." commented the other, bemused. "I wonder why that is?"

Jackie Chun didn't answer, and simply attacked again. It went similarly to the previous exchange for a while, but then he thought it was time to enact his plan. He kicked upwards towards his opponent's chin, but did so from a purposefully miscalculated distance. The most natural reaction would have been to ignore the kick, that would miss, and exploit the resulting opening. That is, it would have been the most natural reaction from a man who's not used to wearing a mask in a fight.

Inari-san almost fell for it. He did not care to parry and was readying a counter blow until right before Jackie's foot was about to connect. But then he must have realised - that even without hitting his face, the kick would crack or remove the mask - and did something Muten did not expect. He jumped and threw himself forward, taking the full brunt of the kick in his chest. He was sent straight to the ground, but his face was still a secret.

"Ouch!" shouted Max. "That looks painful! Let's see if he can get back on his feet."

Jackie Chun scoffed at the commenter's inexperience. Indeed, before the referee could even begin to count, Inari-san was already dusting off his clothes. Still, it seemed like he was willing to go to unexpected lengths to protect his identity.

"That was not very nice of you." commented the masked man. "Would you like me to rip your wig in front of your pupil?"

Jackie frowned. His eyes darted quickly to the edge of the field, where indeed, a now recovered Krillin was avidly taking in the whole scene.

"What is your objective?" he asked, brusquely. "You seem an excellent, honourable fighter. Yet you keep trying to get to me in these petty ways. What could it be that you're going after that matters more than fighting a fair battle?"

"In any other circumstance, I would love having this battle last as much as necessary." replied the other. "But today, I have little time, and something more important to do. As I said before, your job here is done. But mine is not, Master."

Jackie's voices trembled slightly. "There are only a few who would call me that." he said.

"Indeed."

"And only one I can think of who would know who I am under this disguise."

"Took me a few years, that one."

"So, for you, it's the other boy?"

Inari-san nodded. "It is, indeed. Will you let me fight him?"

The old master thought about it for a few moments. "No." he finally said. "I will be selfish, maybe, but as a master, I can not pass on this chance to put you to a last test. Pass, and I will let you have your way."

"Always like that with you, isn't it?" the masked man laughed. "Very well. I am ready."

With a single movement, Jackie Chun ripped off his upper body's clothes. Then, slowly, his chest and arm muscles started accumulating energy, glowing, and swelling up. The air became charged, and those closest to the ring could feel their hair standing up for the static electricity. Bulma, who was in the commenter's cabin looking over security camera close-ups of the public, dropped everything and simply gaped at the ring. There were a few remote scanners that she had pointed on it, that weren't very sensitive and could only pick up the strongest signs of spiritual energy. Their readings were almost off scale.

"That looks dangerous," commented Inari-san.

"Only if you can't stop it. If you think it's too much, you can give up now." Jackie Chun brought his hands together in a cup shape, then drew them to his side.

"No, that's about right." replied the other, and repeated the same gesture.

The readings on the scanners increased yet again.

The viewers had been enthusiastic, but now were falling again into either awestruck silence, or actual fear. The ground was slightly shaking as Jackie Chun's hands started glowing.

"Kame..." he recited, in a raspy, strained voice.

For once that day, Commander Red and Staff Officer Black had the same reaction to something they were seeing on the ring. Both were staring, transfixed, unable to speak.

"Hame..." continued Jackie Chun.

From the borderlines, few understood what was going on. Goku watched fascinated, observing carefully every movement and gesture. Krillin was shouting in outrage and disbelief at how none of that could possibly be allowed.

"HAAAA!"

With a last scream, Jackie Chun propelled his hands forward, emitting a bright stream of energy from them. Meanwhile, Inari-san had gone through the same motions, and did the same. The two beams met midway through, pushing each other and coalescing into a single, blindingly bright globe. Bulma watched as terrified as she'd been that one time with Goku on the roof of Capsule Corporation, when she'd realised how much destructive potential was contained in his little body. That in front of them was enough energy to blow up the entire stadium and everyone in it, probably. Worse, it was proof that these powers she was exploring were nothing new to the world of the most experienced martial artists. They just were usually very good at keeping their secrets, apparently.

The energy sphere stayed in perfect equilibrium for a moment, the two pushes on either side matching each other with unerring precision. Then, simultaneously, both its controllers turned their hands upwards, redirecting the streams. The glowing ball was tossed up in the sky, and eventually disappeared from sight. In the stadium, calm came back, as the two contenders breathed heavily to recover from the effort while most of the public simply gaped wondering what the hell had they just witnessed.

Then, finally, Jackie Chun's voice rung through the stadium. "I surrender!" he shouted.

The spell now broken, cheers, claps and clamouring resuming across the public, all while Brother Max incoherently rambled about everything that had just happened and how nothing of it made sense but it was also surely the most awesome thing he'd ever seen in his entire career. Amidst the chaos, Jackie Chun walked out of the ring, passing next to his opponent on the way.

"Go fight the boy, Son Gohan." he said, smiling. "I hope he's as good a pupil as you were for me."

The masked man bowed. "Thank you, Master Muten. For this, and everything else."

Behind the ring, on top of the building that hosted the contestants before their turn to fight came, was a thatched roof, a large sign, and a demon mask. From there it was possible to get a clear view of the whole extent of the new, enlarged bleachers from which the public watched the fights. There was a small crawl space under the roof, but it was not used regularly, and the only way into it was a small service hatch used by workers who needed to carry out repairs. Inside this small space, hunched under the slanted roof where it was so low standing was impossible, was Mai.

Leaving her previous hiding place had not been easy, and in fact she was worried someone would eventually find her. But she had been lucky as during the last fight at a certain point something had happened so spectacular and noisy that it had drawn everyone's attention for a few, precious seconds - and then she had managed to dart out of the closet and climb into the roof. Now she was in a more secure position, and one in which she hoped no one would look for her for a while. Most importantly, one perfectly suited for her new task.

With a click, she made the capsule she was carrying pop open, and it revealed a metal case packing a sniper rifle of the same model of the one she had used against Goku months ago. Assembling it with only one working hand wasn't easy, and more than once she had to help herself with her mouth to clamp on one on another piece while she slid or screwed it into place. But at the end, it was complete and standing on its own tripod, and carefully, she pushed the muzzle through the straw, right behind the thin wooden sign.

Next came the aiming. She couldn't rely on just her sight because of the sign being in the way, and she couldn't aim properly with only one hand, but it wouldn't be necessary. The target was static and close. She knew what his seat number was, and a few observations through the straw could give her the bearings of where that was supposed to be. All she needed to do was run the numbers, take into account wind, air resistance and all the smaller effects, point the gun in the right direction, and fire, without even looking.

Slowly, methodically, she begun arranging her assassination of Commander Red.

Sorry for the long delay, it's been some stressful times. I hope I can get the next chapter out in a more reasonable time, and then maybe take a break before the next arc. Thank you all for reading!

ThatOneGuyUpstairs: not sure if you've gotten to this point, but if you have, well, I guess the answer is that it's magic? I've tried to make Oolong and Puar's abilities a bit more consistent - in this story, the bit where Oolong turns into a rocket could not happen, as it would require using up mass (fuel) from his own body. But ultimately, this is still magic; its limitations work less based on physical laws and more on fuzzy, verbal rules and the imagination of the users. If the Universe had a DM, these are the kind of things that would get allowed case by case by such an intelligence deciding whether it fits the description or not. Spirit/magic energy is like the raw stuff of which souls are made; it is, to some degree, sentient, or at least it can be programmed and make simple decisions.