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

Chapter 18 - Turtle Master? I hardly know her!

On an average day, the population of Papaya Island was a couple thousand people and two dozen monks. For more than one century now, once every five years, the Tenkaichi Tournament was held, and that population rose to something like four thousand, between fighters and spectators, for a couple of days. The island's main town, adjacent to the temple, got somewhat crowded, but it was liveable. The residents went along with it, as it was a pretty rare and short term inconvenience. The local tavern's owner would rub his hands, hire a few extra helpers, and make some money to put on the side.

On May 6, 750, the day before the 21st Tenkaichi Tournament, and first to be sponsored by Capsule Corporation, the island's population amounted to 9,562 people. Every single hostel, inn and hotel in the island was fully booked. The town's surrounding countryside had turned into a makeshift camp, with impromptu tents pitched up all over the place, chemical toilets, and cooking fires. Luckily for everyone staying in such precarious conditions, the weather was some of the finest the world could offer, with mild, dry nights when only the gentlest of breezes would blow from the south. The residents were at their wits' end. Many had just locked themselves into their houses, with water and food stocks, waiting for the madness to be over. The local tavern's owner had tripled his personnel and was already planning how to scale up his little business into a worldwide franchise. Streets were brimming with grumpy, overexcited martial artists and were ready to turn into free-for-all brawls at the first provocation, or random glance somehow interpreted as one. Unsurprisingly, the drunken fist seemed to be the most popular fighting style in such brawls - even among those who did not usually practice it.

Then the night ended, the sun rose, and among many sighs of relief and many splitting headaches the eliminatory rounds of the 21st Tenkaichi Tournament finally begun.

"Please, get on the platform, stand still, and when you hear the acoustic signal, hit the cushion in front of you with your best punch."

Ranfan was a bit taken aback by these instructions, but she followed them and stood in the centre of the machine, in front of the cushion, surrounded by cables and sensors whose purpose she didn't understand. She had already attended one tournament, five years ago, and that she could remember, it had been nothing like this. A quick glance at the side of this machine revealed a Capsule Corporation logo, which made things clear enough. She huffed, a bit annoyed - a machine wouldn't be vulnerable to her usual tactics. But then again, maybe the operator was.

"What does this machine do?" she asked, taking care to sound sufficiently clueless, and batting her long eyelashes. She looked straight at the monk that was handling the machine's console. He raised his eyes and gulped. Ranfan was a young woman, with an athletic body that wasn't buff enough to hide her natural curves, and her battle outfit was the skimpiest of bikinis that public decency laws would allow.

"I'm not sure." stuttered the monk, blushing. "It measures your strength, I guess. I don't really get how all of it works, but you need to pass a certain score to enter the next phase."

"Oh?" Ranfan made a cute, worried pout. "But couldn't you give me a little help?"

"Well, I..."

"No," said another voice, in a final tone, "he can't."

The fighter clicked her tongue, annoyed. Here was the most fatal weak point for her tactics - another (probably straight) woman.

Bulma walked to the console. "It's simple, really." she explained. "This machine measures the spiritual energy that your body emits when fighting. If you have more than the threshold you need to survive anything resembling a serious fight, you pass."

"Spiritual energy? Survive?" asked Ranfan, horrified. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

Suddenly, the machine emitted a loud ring, and the woman reacted by hitting the cushion with a right punch, as instructed.

On the screens, a tiny bump barely registered amidst a baseline of noise.

"And that's a no." concluded Bulma, with a smile. "Please leave and let someone who can actually fight try."

Ranfan stepped down and did as told, all while loudly proclaiming her outrage at just how low the tournament had sunk now that corporate interests were involved in it.

"She made it to quarter finals last time." pointed out Brother Wei, who had observed the scene from the side. "We agreed that a first selection would be useful with the increased participation, but don't you think maybe these criteria are too strict? We're still not sure how these machines of yours work."

Bulma shook her head. "We're better off without these nobodies, trust me. Have you seen her? It looked like she planned to win most of her fights by showing off her pretty body and confusing male opponents."

Brother Wei thought back at the last edition of the tournament, and all of Ranfan's fights that he had seen. "You know, you may be right about that." he concluded.

"Yeah, well, that won't fly. Being sexy won't save her from getting her bones pulverised by a single real punch. Not to mention, these people are a disgrace. There was another returning participant whose main strategy apparently is stunning his opponents with his stench. Lack of personal hygiene isn't a martial art! How did you ever let these freaks enter the tournament?"

"The tradition is that there are no limits to how a battle can be won, as long as it's won, and it doesn't involve weapons." explained Wei. "But admittedly, that definition may have been stretched a bit by some people in the past. Don't worry, though, none of them ever managed to claim first place."

"That's something, I guess." said Bulma. "But they still would offer a pretty poor show."

They walked through the gym, along one of the main free corridors. Half the space was taken by machines like the one Ranfan had just been eliminated by. They were arranged in a grid, with room in between for people to walk to them, and numbered. As the participants, who were waiting outside, were called, they came in, received a number, and submitted themselves to the test. This efficient process was quickly milling through the vast number of people who registered, a lot of which were frauds or clueless newbies drawn by the hefty prizes and the prospect of a free holiday on Papaya Island. This was also the phase Bulma cared the most about. At the moment of registration, all participants had to sign a waiver in which they allowed for the acquisition, storage and use of their biometric data for research purposes. And every participant who stepped in a machine got their ki emissions measured, in a similar way as Bulma's original scanner did, albeit in lower resolution. A quick glance at the information on her tablet showed Bulma that the data was mounting up, and just as she hoped, it covered all ranges of possible strengths. Everyone who scored above a certain cut-off passed to the next stage. The exact value had been a rough estimate, but it turned out it was a pretty good one, as almost one quarter of all the participants cleared it. Of course, it was still low enough that anyone who only barely passed it would be utterly crushed by someone on Goku's level.

The other half of the gym was occupied by small fighting rings. Here the more traditional elimination rounds were held, with successive direct matches between participants. Bulma wasn't exactly pleased with this approach. Direct elimination meant the brackets were wildly unbalanced due to the unpredictable numbers of participants, and the random nature of match-ups could mean losing strong fighters along the way or letting weak ones get to the finals by sheer luck. But tradition was tradition, and Bulma didn't want to upset it too much by suggesting round-robin brackets (not to mention, those would take days, with this many people). The compromise had been that brackets were structured based on the scores in the previous phase, so that should at least mitigate the risk of losing potential champions this early on.

Which made it all the more surprising when Spike, of all people, joined them with an extremely disappointed look on his face. He still wore his usual devil getup, but for the occasion, he had a Capsule Corporation logo patch sewn to his chest.

"Spike?" asked Bulma, confused. "Have you been eliminated?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, miss Bulma." he grumbled, with a low stare. "I have encountered overwhelming force the likes of which I did not expect could exist."

"Wait, weren't you matched up with Goku, or someone else we know?"

The other shook his head. "None of the sort. It was an old man with blue hair, similar colour as yours. Someone I had never met, but he managed to throw me off the ring with ease."

That was new. Bulma didn't expect someone stronger than her own hired fighters to show up. Spike seemed pretty down, though, so she wondered if he hadn't just lost because of some mistake on his part.

"Well, you can't win them all." she said, finally, shrugging. "Don't let it get to you too much. You'll see, I'm sure at least Bandages will-"

"Spike, you're here too? Damn it!"

The massive mummy joined the group as well. He didn't seem in his best mood either; he was frowning and occasionally mumbling various profanities.

"Don't tell me." said Bulma. "Old man with blue hair?"

"What? No, what are you talking about?" snapped back the man, puzzled. "It was an old man, sure. I think at least. But no blue hair. He wore a mask, like a white fox or something. Punched me out of the ring in one hit. I swear, if I can put my hands on him, next time, he'll be sorry."

"I do not remember either of these fighters." said Brother Wei after a moment of thinking. "Though for the masked one it's impossible to tell. Do you think they're impressive?"

"Beating Spike and Bandages? That's damn impressive." muttered Bulma, biting her thumb nervously. Spike tried to minimise the compliment, while Bandages was too busy plotting revenge to even hear her. "I just hope it's not the result of bad match-ups."

She checked the brackets, that on her tablet were updated live. New fighters kept being added as they trickled through the first phase, and Goku still had to get his turn there. But even so, she could tell that the way the brackets were organised made sense, and the scores were equilibrated. Better still, neither Spike nor Bandages had been the highest scores in their respective brackets. That honour went to the two mysterious fighters who beat them. Those victories had not been flukes.

Bulma felt torn. On one hand, this was a great opportunity. If such strong fighters could be convinced to work for her, she'd get even more subjects to study. On the other, however, she considered her father's remarks about the possibility of traditional martial artists resenting her research. Whoever these people were, they must be real masters.

But there wasn't much else to do until she got to see these people in action. If they really were that strong, they'd make the finals for sure.

"Jackie Chun," she said, reading the names returned by her tablet, "and Inari-san. Let's see what they can do."

"I'm sorry, do you mind, please, thanks!"

Pushing through the crowd on the bleachers was a real pain. Two hours before the tournament's public phase started, they were already full - not just of people looking for their seats, but of vendors walking back and forth with their trays of hot food and cold drinks as well.

"Dim sun? A hot dog? Yakitori?" offered one of them, waving a meat skewer in the face of a short, red haired man. His arm was grabbed by the tight grip of a much taller man with dark skin.

"Thanks, but we're not buying anything." said Staff Officer Black, gravely. "Now let us go through."

Intimidated, the vendor nodded and scuttered away. Commander Red made a displeased face.

"We could have had something." he complained. "I'm getting hungry here."

"We can't have you eat unchecked food, commander. Besides, with this heat, salty food will only make you thirstier."

"Will you relax? We're here dressed as civilians! No one will be after us."

"I would hope as much." said Black, shifting his eyes to the side. "But this is basic safety protocol."

They were indeed in plainclothes. Specifically, Black was wearing a sharp, tight-fitted white suit with a Panama hat, while Red was wearing trunks and a hawaiaan shirt. They had to go down a few rows before they found their seats. Black gave a quick look around at the nearby viewers, memorising their faces, then allowed the commander to sit down.

"These seats are atrocious." grumbled Red. "We're so far away."

"It's safer that way. Considering we don't know the level of power that will be displayed by the fighters, the first rows are irresponsibly close." commented his aide. "Besides, here we're out of the way of any TV cameras."

"Hmph. You do think of everything, don't you?"

"It is part of my job."

"What about the security detail?"

"They are here." Black glanced inconspicuously at a few seats all around. In each seat, the occupant gave a small nod or some other sign to acknowledge him. "In plainclothes and positioned as planned. They're seating in pairs, eight men total."

In his pocket, a cellphone ringed. The staff officer answered and listened for a while, but the call was over without a need for him to say anything.

"Our man in the eliminatory rounds." he explained. "It's a pity that we couldn't see those for ourselves, but he's managed to go a few matches before getting kicked out."

"Oh, that's too bad." commented Red.

"Better this way, less attention drawn. The way he described the eliminations, this Bulma person is taking full advantage of the situation to push her research. I suspect the actual tournament will just be dressing on top for that."

"So here's to hope it'll be fun dressing!" the commander laughed. "Come on, ease up already. Drop the work attitude and let's enjoy the show."

Black cracked a smile, but his eyes remained vigilant, shuffling back and forth between faces in the crowd surrounding them.

"Yes," he said, dryly, "let's."

Having finished showing her the eliminations, Brother Wei led Bulma and the two fighters who had just dropped out into a smaller room adjacent to the large gym. Here were some seats, tables and a few bottles of water, as well as a small altar.

"Here we'll wait for the participants who passed to the quarter finals." explained the monk. "The area is allowed only to organisers, finalists, and their coaches."

"Should we leave?" asked Spike, but Wei made sign that it was ok. He and Bandages sat on the edge of the room and started chatting about their fights.

There were still sounds of fighting and the occasional shout from the adjacent gym, but no one walked through the door. There really were a lot of fighters, thought Bulma. Even with direct eliminations, it was taking hours to sift through them all.

"Miss Bulma, may I introduce you to Brother Max?"

She turned around. Next to Brother Wei, with his long traditional robe and his shaved head, was a completely incongruous figure - a man wearing sunglasses and a snappy suit, with a bushy head of bleached hair and possibly an artificial tan.

"Ok," she said, "and where is he?"

The man laughed and extended his hand. "Miss Bulma, I am Brother Max. Nice to meet you."

"Brother Max is going to comment the Tournament." explained Wei. "I realise his appearance might look less in line with our usual subdued style, but he's extremely committed to looking the part."

"I can see that." muttered Bulma, shaking the hand of what definitely looked to her more like a gaudy TV host than a monk.

"So, do we have our first bold aspiring champions?" asked Max, cheerfully.

As to answer his question, the door opened, and someone stepped in. Bulma looked at the new arrival - the first surprise was that it wasn't one of theirs. The second, that he looked like a miniature version of one of the regular monks of this place.

"What, I'm first? Oh, man, master won't believe it when I tell him!" shouted the kid, grabbing one of the water bottles and guzzling down the content in one go.

"Your name and school, participant?" asked Brother Wei.

"I'm Krillin," said the kid, standing proudly, "of the Turtle School. I am the only pupil of Muten Roshi."

To that, everyone in the room except for Bulma looked awestruck.

"Wait, who?" she asked. "The name rings a bell. Is it someone I should know?"

Brother Wei at this looked downright scandalised. Krillin limited himself to scoffing and sneering with superiority.

"Miss, I believe you are lost." he said. "Otherwise I don't think you could be around this temple of the martial arts without being aware of who Muten Roshi is."

"Excuse me? I pay for most of this thing! I..." Bulma's angry rant got interrupted when a sudden jolt of recognition hit her. "Of course! The turtle pervert from back then! You mean that old fart is a martial arts master? Now that I think about it, Goku might have mentioned something..."

The kid's face became purple. "That old fart is the greatest living martial arts master! And only a pervert second to that!"

"So you don't even deny he's a pervert." said the girl, unfazed.

"The greatest living martial arts master!" repeated Krillin. "Miss, you are lucky that as a woman, I am not bound to defend his honour with you, or I-"

"That isn't a very nice way to talk to a lady, young man."

The second one to walk in the room was an old man with blue hair. From his appearance and Spike's reaction, Bulma immediately tagged him as Jackie Chun. He indeed proceeded to give his name as such to Brother Wei - but did not disclose his school.

"Mister, I don't know who you are." said Krillin to the newcomer. "But she was insulting Muten Roshi."

"Well now, was she?" asked the old man, amused, eyeing the girl.

Bulma scoffed. "I called him a pervert. Which he is."

Chun nodded. "Fair's fair."

"But mister," intervened Krillin, "she didn't even know him besides that! The greatest-"

"The greatest, the greatest, is he really now?" blurted out Jackie Chun, annoyed. "We'll see to that I guess. Too bad he couldn't be bothered showing himself at this Tournament to prove it. But I suppose," and his sharp eyes darted to the boy, "his pupil will do just fine to begin with."

"You? Fat chance!" Krillin laughed. "You're just some old nobody. I will beat you like I beat all those chumps in the eliminations."

Jackie Chun sighed in exasperation. But he didn't answer - instead he just muttered something and excused himself, scuttling to the bathroom.

One minute later, out he walked, but this time without his hair and with a pair of sunglasses.

"Master!" said Krillin, his eyes shining.

"Muten Roshi! That face did seem familiar to me." exclaimed Bulma. Then, with a grin, she turned to Krillin. "Looks like you've been insulting your master too."

The boy frowned. "What are you talking about? That was Jackie Chun. This is Muten Roshi."

"What? But haven't you seen just now? Jackie Chun," said Bulma, slowly, "is Muten Roshi."

"That is absurd!" Krillin scoffed. "Jackie Chun has hair. Muten Roshi is bald."

"He's wearing a-ooof!" Bulma was suddenly pulled by Muten, who put a finger to his lips. Around her, she realised, everyone else seemed to have taken the hint, despite having come to her same realisation. She bent next to him and whispered while being close enough that only he would hear her.

"What is this pantomime about?" she asked.

"Just an educational experience for the kid. He needs to learn some humility." explained Muten. "Would you mind not ruining my cover?"

Bulma looked at Krillin for a moment. "I guess I won't. He looks like he could use being taken down a peg." she finally concluded, after some thought. "He's not very bright to not realise it himself, though."

"He's just very trusting of me." said the old master. "Let's try not to change that."

Bulma smirked. "Ok. So I hope you won't mind if I do this. To not make this chat look suspicious, you understand."

And said this, Bulma hit Muten with the mightiest slap she could muster.

"Pervert!" she shouted, taking care that everyone would hear. "How dare you ask something like that of me!"

The old man chuckled apologetically and scurried to Krillin, who in turn just rolled his eyes. The master didn't look like he'd been hurt much, or at all. Bulma couldn't say the same - her hand felt as if she had just slammed it on a block of concrete. After all, this was someone stronger than Spike.

Muten was in the middle of giving Krillin a stern talking-to about showing some more respect to his elders when the third finalist walked through. This time, it was someone Bulma knew all too well.

"Goku!" she exclaimed. "You took your time."

"I didn't want to risk hurting anyone, so I just picked most competitors and walked to drop them out of the borders." explained the kid. Bulma laughed at the image and decided she really ought to check the footage of those fights. Goku was wearing a flaming new gi that had been made for the occasion - bright blue, with an orange sash, and the Capsule Corporation logo on his heart and his back.

"Name and school?" asked Brother Wei.

"Goku," he answered, "and self-taught."

To that, Krillin sneered, and Muten immediately switched to another talking-to about not underestimating any opponents. Not that Goku was making this any easier. He looked mostly spaced out, and would for some reason keep scratching his butt. Bulma actually called him out on that, but he simply replied candidly that he'd been itching all day for whatever reason. When he finished with his own pupil, leaving him behind a bit disgruntled, Muten walked to Goku.

"Nice to see you again, boy." he greeted him. "Did you find any use for the Kintoun in the end?"

"Oh, sure." said the boy. "It helped save Bulma's life once, and West City another. Thank you for giving it to me!"

Muten raised his eyebrows. Obviously, he decided, this kid would go places.

The next participant to pass the eliminations had to hunch down just to be able to get through the door.

"Ox King!" said Bulma and Muten in unison. The Ox King's face brightened and he ran to the old man.

"Master!" he cried out, clutching him in what looked more like a deadly bear hug than a sign of affection. "What are ya doin' here?"

"Just training the next generation." said the master, unperturbed. "What about you? I've heard things..."

The two started chatting away like old friends. There were shoulder pats and laughter and then suddenly Muten went back in teacher mode, as the much larger man seemed to shrink in shame and kept his head low, nodding along with his words. Bulma could only look in amazement as she realised how much respect this old man seemed to command from all who knew him.

"Look at who we have here." said a shrill voice behind her. "How nice to see you again."

She turned around. She had figured out he might have come along too, but she was hoping not. She wasn't sure her gratitude for his help during her temporary episode of death could make it easy to withstand his company for long. What with him being an absolute moron and all.

"Pilaf." she said. "How surprising. I didn't peg you down as a fighter."

"Very funny." the impish creature walked forward with a smug smile. "We are here in the role of coach to the Ox King, of course. We thought you might appreciate contributing to our little political campaign."

Bulma forced a smile. It didn't quite come out right. "Oh, sure. There's prizes for all finalists, though how much depends on how well your champion will do."

The other shrugged and chuckled. "Oh, we do not worry about that. Our peer is surely more than enough to-"

"Hey, Pilaf!" barged in the Ox King, still excited. "Sorry to tell ya this, but I don't think I can win this thing."

Bulma barely suppressed a laugh, while Pilaf's eyes seemed to pop out of their orbit.

"What do you mean?" he hissed. "You said-"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't know master was here." explained the other. "And he's got a pupil. Taught me all I know, this guy. I don't think I can beat him."

Muten didn't even bother pointing out that, supposedly, he was not participating.

"Shouldn't the pupil surpass the master?" pointed out Pilaf, annoyed.

"A good pupil, yeah." said the Ox King, shrugging. "But that was Gohan. Me, I was so and so."

Muten came closer and patted him on his back, chuckling. "Don't put yourself down too much. I'm just that strong." He then turned his eyes at Pilaf. "Wait, do I know you? You remind me of someone."

"Never seen you, old man." mumbled the imp, still frowning.

"Of course!" Muten slapped his forehead. "The old dynasty of kings. The Rice. I knew I'd seen that complexion before. I remember when King Basmati was crowned, when I was young. Good times."

"When you were young?" Pilaf sounded rather incredulous. Bulma raised her eyebrows as well. "Old man, that was more than three hundred years ago, before the Demon King War."

"Yeah, when I was young, as I said." said the master, candidly.

"So, if you don't mind me asking," intervened Bulma, tentatively, "how old are you?"

"Oh, I turn..." Muten stopped for a quick calculation, "three hundred and twenty this year."

"What?" asked Bulma, confused. "How?"

"I drank the Elixir of Immortality." said the old man, with a shrug.

One might have believed the island had just been hit by an earthquake, because Bulma's incoherent scream seemed to rattle the building itself.

"HOW IS THAT A THING?" she finally managed to say, after going through a bit of unintelligible rambling. "And more importantly, can I have it?"

"Nope, sorry." Muten shook his head. "I told you I drank it."

Bulma's face fell. She caught her head in her hands. "And you didn't think you should find a way to make more of it instead of chugging it all down the moment you got it?" she moaned.

"I don't think I could have. That was three hundred years ago, we didn't have all of these fancy hi-tech things you youngsters like these days." explained the old master. "Plus, it didn't preserve itself well. I had to climb the Peak of Eternity to find it, and when I brought down what was left over for my older sister, it started spoiling as soon as it got too warm. So my sister still kept aging quite a bit more than me, and it had other... side effects."

"Side effects?" asked Bulma, but before she could get any answer, another voice, raspy and rather annoyed, chimed in.

"That was all because you're a dumbass who couldn't be bothered to keep it in ice as I told you to."

In the doorway now stood the most incredible granny that Bulma had ever seen. She was short, shorter than Pilaf; barely as tall as a toddler. But her head was quite a bit higher than that, because she stood on a crystal ball almost as big as herself, and the crystal ball stood on, well, nothing. It just sort of floated around.

Bulma sighed. By now, she was just sort of getting jaded to the impossible and was beginning to wish that life around her just went back to good old making sense. Especially considering the old woman most likely would not sell her the magic floating crystal ball for further study, so she would just have to live with the questions.

Muten raised his eyebrows. "Nice to see you too, sister."

"Stopped you right there before you could say more than you're supposed to." spat the old woman, casually floating in front of him, and rising a bit so she could stare him down. "You shouldn't reveal my business secrets."

"And I imagine business is what leads you here?" asked the other, unfazed.

"What else? I'm here in the role of coach, and I plan to win the first prize. Inari-san, come in!"

Another man, with a similar body build and apparently age as Muten, walked in. He wore a fox like white mask. This, obviously, was the guy who had beaten Bandages, thought Bulma. But besides that, she also noticed that a lot seemed to be going on in the room. It was like there was suddenly a surge in tension. Bandages and Spike looked at the old woman; the old woman purposefully avoided eye contact with them, with affectations of spite, while she kept exchanging cutting remarks with her brother; occasionally, she seemed to even look at Bulma herself with a marked antipathy; and as for Inari-san, his gaze seemed to move between Muten, the Ox King, and Goku, on whom he seemed to focus especially, though it was hard to say for sure with his mask. Bulma felt like there were a lot of unsaid connections there that she was unaware of and that made her feel left out. She approached Spike and sat next to him.

"Who's the woman?" she asked, whispering.

"Baba, the world famous Sybil." explained the man. "Our previous employer."

Oh, that explained a lot. Obviously not a relationship that had ended on the best of terms.

"Sybil?"

"She is a renowned fortune teller." continued Spike. "She can find anything or anyone and even get some idea of the future with that crystal sphere, but her tariffs are very high. However, she also enjoys combat sports, and so she occasionally gives away her services for free to those who can beat her teams of hired fighters and give her a good show."

"That was you." said Bulma.

"Used to be." pitched in Bandages. "Honestly, it was damn boring, and the pay was a joke. Stingy old woman. Now she just makes do with the spirits of the dead, apparently."

The girl blinked. "Is she a medium too?"

"Not what I meant. Look at that dude who beat me up. I should have noticed when I faced him on the ring. Over his head."

Bulma did as told, and at first she didn't notice anything - but then, focusing her eyes a bit, and looking hard enough, she wondered how could she have missed it. Above Inari-san's head was a circlet of light, a golden, bright halo, hovering in mid-air.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, in awe.

"He's been brought back to this world from the afterlife." explained Spike. "Baba exists somewhere in between the world of the living and that of the dead. Now and then she goes and fetches some warrior of the past to fight for her."

Bulma wondered if this was one of the 'side effects' of the spoiled elixir Muten had mentioned. If instead of making her immortal, it only had let her die in part, so she had one foot into the afterlife at all times. Whatever that meant, it was all frankly pretty freaky.

"Do you know who he is?" she asked.

Bandages shook his head. "Not a chance. She said she had an ace up her sleeve even back when we were working for her, someone who was really strong, but she'd get him down only for a special occasion. The gods only allow 'em to stay for one day."

"So, to sum this up," said Bulma, pinching her nose, "immortality is granted by drinking an elixir that has now ran out. Magic allowing clairvoyance and fortune telling is performed by looking into a crystal sphere. And you can just go to the afterlife, waltz in, and summon the dead back on Earth as long as it's for a limited time. Are there any other unlikely miracles I should be made aware of?"

"I did it!" announced Yamcha, waltzing in from the gym, wearing a Capsule Corporation gi identical to Goku's.

"You just got lucky with your bracket." grumbled Bandages.

He flashed back a smile. "Yeah, well, luck's a skill too."

"It really isn't." said Bulma. Then, "That I know of," she added.

No point feeling so sure about anything, at this point.

As Brother Wei stepped in to take Yamcha's data, that made six fighters out of eight that would battle in the quarter finals. She noticed another monk bringing in a big box and a white board, and the names of the fighters who had arrived were written on lots and tossed in. Clearly there would be a drawing for the match-ups.

Muten had also disappeared. After one minute, he popped out of the bathroom again in his Jackie Chun persona. Ox King stared and squinted at him, and Bulma wondered if he'd pulled that ruse with his previous pupils too. Inari-san also chuckled softly under his mask. What was up with him? He looked like he definitely had a connection going there too. Or perhaps he was simply amused by the old man's disguise, and most of all, by Krillin's total obliviousness at it. The kid might need some humility, true, but his naiveté wasn't going to do him any favours either.

The seventh fighter was, finally, someone neither Bulma nor anyone else in the room had any relation to. A large, blue pterodactyl who introduced himself as Giran, and after that merely went to sulk in a corner, lost in his own thoughts or meditating. Checking his performance data revealed that he didn't appear to be too strong compared to some of the other fighters in the room; he just had ended up in a relatively easy bracket. For all his massive size, Bulma suspected, he would easily go down as soon as he'd have to face the really big shots.

That only left one. Bulma checked what was going on with the eight bracket and saw it was at the last fight now. The number of wounds and broken bones reported, she noticed, was worryingly high. This could mean anything from a particular vicious fighter to battles that were too close to resolve easily. However, seeing the names of the two finalists gave her a shiver.

"Nah," she said, chuckling, "that can't be."

The finals ended, and one name blinked out. A small note was added mentioning the opponent was to be given medical assistance. Bulma frowned at seeing that name going forward. Surely, it must be a coincidence. Someone who just happened to be called the same.

"What's going on?" asked Pilaf, coming close, trying to perch up on his heels to see the tablet.

"The last finalist." said Bulma. "It can't be her, but her name is-"

"Mai."

They both turned around. In front of Brother Wei, declaring her name, stood Pilaf's old companion turned traitor. Her black hair had been cut short, she wore baggy pants, a tank top and a jacket over it, and her right hand was covered by a leather glove, but she was still impossible to miss, down to her signature red eyeshadow.

"And your school?" continued the monk.

"Military training. I would rather not say more." she replied.

"You!" shouted Pilaf, suddenly, running to the woman. "You traitorous! Ungrateful! Murderous!"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" said Mai, flatly, turning around on her heels. Brother Wei appeared confused, but eventually turned to Pilaf.

"Sir, I must ask you not to bother..."

"Let's bother her instead!" intervened Bulma. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Mai smiled. The bitch. "I don't know what you're going on about. I don't believe we have met."

Bulma and Pilaf exploded in a flurry of questions, accusations and downright insults, while the Ox King and Goku came closer to observe while still being wary to intervene. The rest too came close, curious about the confusion, except Giran, who just didn't seem to care. Finally, it was Brother Wei who broke the fight.

"Enough! Whatever has gone on between you outside of here, it stays outside." he said, firmly. "The Temple is a sacred ground for martial arts and all that we demand is that the contestants keep to the rules while inside. All rivalries and personal enmities are to be left outside."

"She won't keep the rules!" hissed Bulma. "She's a fucking snake. If she's here, it has to be because she's up to no good."

"Miss Bulma, do you have anything to substantiate these accusations?" asked Wei.

"She killed me!" replied the girl, passionately.

Weird, puzzled looks were exchanged around her. "Killed you?" asked Muten, raising his eyebrows.

Bulma lowered her eyes. "I got better." she mumbled.

"Even if she was an actual murderer," explained Wei, "she would still get protection while inside the temple. Our rules are absolute. While we may not personally approve of some life choices, we seek to be welcoming to every one, and foster the personal growth that comes with unity of body and mind. We believe it may even be of some help."

"That is very wise." said Mai, smiling and bowing slightly. Bulma was sure she had winked in her direction maliciously. She turned around and walked away, just to restrain herself from punching her.

Brother Wei stepped to the altar at the back of the room, having the other monks carry the box with the drawing lots and the whiteboard next to him.

"It is now customary," he started, "for the participants to take an oath. Please come in front of this altar, bow slightly, and answer: do you promise that you will uphold the rules of the tournament; that you will not do anything to infringe them, and hurt any participants outside of the ring, nor any of the organizers; and that if one or more of you were to break these rules, the others will help in stopping them and bringing them to justice?"

"Has any of this ever been necessary?," asked Yamcha, worried.

"Not really," the monk reassured him, "it's just a tradition."

The eight participants swore as requested. Bulma kept an eye out for Mai - she almost expected her to cross her fingers behind her back or such. No such luck; in fact, she seemed to be more enthusiasthic than others, maybe not to raise any suspicions. Next thing, names were drawn to fill in the slots on the whiteboard, and the match-ups were established.

Match 1: Krillin vs. Yamcha

Match 2: Goku vs. Ox King

Match 3: Inari-san vs. Giran

Match 4: Jackie Chun vs. Mai

Bulma frowned. Yamcha and Goku being in the first two matches was bad - at best, they would still have to fight each other in the semifinals, which meant she couldn't get the all-Capsule Corporation final she dreamed of, which would have made wonders for publicity. Why did Bandages and Spike have to go and get beaten? On the other hand, though, a similar situation was found in the other bracket with Jackie Chun and Inari-san. It was only good that at least one of them had to go. Mai was up against Jackie Chun first thing, and that too was good. Bulma couldn't imagine her winning a direct fight, without weapons, in close quarters against the old master. If anything she'd come here to do depended on her going forward in the Tournament, she was out of luck.

Not to mention that, however wrong that was, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of devious pleasure of knowing that Mai, the sole woman participant, was going in physical combat against the most perverted old man on Earth.

The Tournament grounds had looked approximately the same for most of the event's history. When Bulma stormed in, money in one hand and high technology in the other, to both fund and revolutionize the whole thing, she knew better than trying to mess with such an iconic aspect of it. After all, it was important that the event keep up the same front as ever - in this case, both metaphorically and literally. The stage thus was pretty much unchanged, a square of marble tiles slightly elevated on top of a plaza covered in grass. Behind it, on one side, was a massive wall separating it from the rest of the temple complex, a white building with straw roofs and three large horned stone masks representing demons or warrior gods on both sides and on top.

However, some changes had been made where common sense demanded them. To begin with, the bleachers had been pulled farther away from the ring, and transparent protective barriers had been put up before the front rows. Bulma wasn't sure of the efficacy of such protections in case of direct attacks - Goku could easily punch through a panel of resin a few centimetres thick - but at least they should shield the spectators from rubble or shockwaves. It was understood that attending personally the tournament came at one's own risk; to make this more explicit and avoid any legal consequences, she had included a waiver to sign when buying tickets, but this didn't mean she wouldn't bother trying to minimize danger anyway. In addition to all that, cameras and microphones were put up all around the ring, and while referees would still stay near it, the announcer would not. There was a new position for him, in a small cabin with transparent walls perched on top of a newly built pylon. Here the announcer could talk from multiple speakers as well as look at the action on screens that received the feed from all cameras. The cameras all had the highest framerate that technology allowed, and actions could if necessary be replayed and slowed down for the commenter's benefit. Bulma had a slight feeling this would end up being necessary.

And now, the cabin was where she was sitting, next to Brother Max, ready for the opening announcement of the 21st Tenkaichi Tournament.

Max tapped the microphone and cleared his voice. "Hello everyone, and welcome to the twenty-first edition of the Tenkaichi Tournament, the competition among the strongest martial artists of the world to establish who is the absolute best! We have here with us the young and genial Bulma Briefs, heiress to the Capsule Corporation empire, that has so generously sponsored this year's edition. Do you want to say a few words, miss Bulma?"

The girl blinked, caught by surprised, but immediately got on board and grabbed the microphone. "Thanks, Max. All I want to say is that you guys have been really great at setting up all of this and... uhm... I'm happy to have gotten this chance to work with you! As you all know, Capsule Corporation is now at the forefront of research in human potential, and we care a great deal about the kind of extreme performance the best fighters can get out of their bodies. This is the perfect event for us, and I'm glad to say that two combatants who have been trained with our new, advanced facilities have made it to the quarter finals! Look forward to their matches."

Hearing those words, Staff Officer Black frowned and pulled out a pair of binoculars to get a better look at the stage. Next to him, Commander Red was wolfing down on a bag of pop-corn.

"Thank you, miss Bulma! Let's not waste any time, then. More than five hundred fighters travelled to Papaya Island to try their mettle at the Tournament this year, an unprecedented number! But don't worry, because only the strongest are deemed worthy of standing on this stage, in front of you, and duking it out for the title of Greatest Under the Heavens! Out of more than five hundred people, only eight remain - and they will now fight tooth and nail until one prevails!"

In the room in which the fighters waited for their turn nervousness seemed to be the prevailing mood. Most participants sat isolated from the rest, concentrated, or unleashed some tension with simple warm-up exercises and katas. Goku, Jackie Chun and Inari-san were exceptions to this trend, as they all seemed rather imperturbable.

In a corner, Mai felt a vibration within her robotic arm. It was a simple method of secret communication - all she needed to do was interpret the code made of trains of little, short pulses. The message repeated itself twice to avoid any misunderstandings. Commander Red is among the public. Avoid detection.

"Without further ado, then, let the twenty-first Tenkaichi Tournament begin!"

Sorry if this took longer than anticipated. I've hit a bit of a slump recently and tried distracting myself with writing different stuff. Also, real life will probably be messy in the upcoming months. I will still try to keep up the pace - I can assure you the plot exists clearly already, it's just a matter of me feeling inspired to actually write it down. Anyway, thanks for your support and reviews!

Quantum Tesseract: some of your guesses are right, others aren't. Of course I won't tell you which ones are which though. Let's just say these answers will matter long-term. It'll be a while before it all becomes clear.