Tamama fell forward onto his hands and knees. Tears gushed out of his wide eyes, his pupils small and fixed onto the puddle of salty water his tears had formed on the ground. "That can't be...! This can't be right...!"

"It's true," grunted the growly voice of Dragon Giroro, high up in the column of metal tubes. "You're a Dragon Warrior now. You'll transform soon enough."

"No… that's… that's impossible…!" Tamama choked out, closing his eyes tightly and punching the ground. His fist tingled with the force behind it, but he barely noticed. "I... failed... des-ka...? But I promised... I promised Gunsou-san I wouldn't... I promised him I'd turn everyone back to normal..."

Giroro scoffed. "Please." He swooped back down from where he'd nested himself in the metal tube column, landing on his feet in front of Tamama. "Cry somewhere I won't have to watch. It's pathetic. I don't know why Kururu wants such a crybaby like you joining our league of Dragon Warriors. But once you do, we'll finally be able to move on without any deterrents."

"Wait... Kururu... senpai...?"

"That's right." Giroro placed on clawed hand on one scaly hip – tough scales surrounded his stomach, arms, and around his face, as well as his wings and thick, swishing tail, but the rest of him looked rather normal. "While you were having fun touring around that rat maze of black halls, Kururu confronted me with a plan to capture you. He told me to wait in the right corner of the hall just out of sight, so when you went back into the hall to find the Kero Ball, I could sneak in behind you, and pounce when you were unsuspecting. I didn't think it would be that easy, but... I guess I was wrong. You're even stupider than I thought."

Still laden with his own tears, Tamama slowly looked up at Giroro, whose eyes slanted in fury. Giroro raised one arm, hand curved aggressively, claws pointed downward, and swung at full power. Tamama saw him coming but did nothing to stop him.

Tamama skidded back about ten paces, his sharp outcry piercing the air.

"Tch. Look at you. So caught up in your sorrow, you can't lift a finger against me." Giroro walked forward.

Cringing in pain, Tamama clutched the place where he'd been slashed across the shoulder. A strong clawed hand gripped him around the neck and lifted him high into the air. Tamama's legs kicked at nothing as he tried to pull Giroro's hands off of him. His shoulder ached with the deep wound given to him by Giroro.

"I might as well kill you now," Giroro snarled. "I'd be doing Kururu a favor. It's a wonder how you were accepted into the Keron Army at all."

Hearing Giroro's statement, Tamama snapped to immediately. His being pulsed again. How did I... get accepted... into the army... in the first place...?! From the concoction particles now running through his veins, Tamama's being pulsed even more violently than normal with the desire to succumb to his rage.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard such accusations about him being incompetent...


Tamama Presents: Tamama's family – de arimasu

Tamama's father sat at the futon in the living room that afternoon reading the newspaper. It's what he always did before the work day began – and as it ended. He skimmed through the "Biggest News" section of the front page, as it always rambled on about Keron Army dealings and invasion success, something he was wholeheartedly against. He didn't care to see which race had fallen victim to the Army's greatest invasion platoon this time – their methods were always the same: merciless, with the unfair element of surprise.

His wife, who'd brewed tea in the kitchen, came to sit with him, bringing two mugs of steaming liquid – coffee, and tea for herself, – that she set on the futon's wood surface for the both of them. She picked up the TV clicker and turned it on, flipping through the channels.

It'd been about 14 months since Tamama ran away from home. To his parents and younger brothers, the house was now much quieter and less chaotic, but also... empty. Without him and his shenanigans to make drama, it was so... peaceful. And boring. The days slipped by without much notice. There wasn't anything to worry about except the occasional dispute between the two younger brothers, over something dumb like who got to play with what toy. No more rage impacts. No more mood swings. No more... fun...

The parents heard about their eldest daughter a fair amount. If not from her, via phone call or email, in the paper or from one of her clients. Tamama, however... his mother hoped to catch a sign of him in the newspapers or on TV, and often tried to strike up conversation and ask her husband if he'd heard any news, but his father wouldn't hear it, and quickly changed the subject – as if he'd wiped all memory of their eldest son out of existence. Understanding of the animosity her husband felt, Tamama's mother did her best to ignore the regret inside her at casting Tamama out, but she just couldn't do it. She wanted to see him again, more than anything, – with the Keron Army or not...

That's what she was doing, flipping through the channels, searching for any signs of Tamama, her son. She was sure her husband knew what she was doing, though she did not care.

He sat calmly sipping his coffee, reading up on the latest activities of the newest celebrity pop star sensation – probably Sumomo or some such.

Setting the clicker on the futon's surface, Tamama's mother said, just remembering, "Oh yeah, isn't today the departure of the Keroro Platoon?" She waited for a response from her husband, but he merely grunted, continuing to sip his coffee.

"Dear?"

"Hm? What?" He looked up from his newspaper, slightly alarmed.

She exhaled a large breath. "The Keroro Platoon is departing for Pekopon on Grand Star today, aren't they?"

His focus drifted back down to the small-print words on the crinkly paper before him. "You mean the Demon Sergeant's prodigy kid? Yeah, I believe so."

"Doesn't it say in the paper?"

Slowly lifting his coffee mug to his lips, he kept reading the passage about Sumomo's latest musical hit. "Probably."

Tamama's mother let out another sigh. She turned to the news channel, which currently interviewed some invader's opinion of the Keroro Platoon's success before their glorious march down the aisle, surrounded by their comrades-in-arms who would assist them in their embarkment and invasion.

The voices of the interviewers and interviewee were loud enough to get a reaction out of Tamama's father. He folded his paper forward unnecessarily loudly to get the attention of his wife. "Honey, please. I'm reading the paper."

She avoided his dagger-filled glare. "If it's too loud, go in the other room."

"Darling, I know you're searching for some sign of him, but you won't find him here. He's still a rookie; even if he does manage to climb the ranks, I'm sure it'll take years until we ever hear any news about him. Now turn it off."

She said nothing. The camera now panned over to the huge crowd lining in the stands and the soldiers lined up before them.

"And now, the moment everyone's been waiting for. Keroro Gunsou, and his platoon of five, will make their way down the parade!" announced the main news reporter.

She sighed yet again. She didn't want to believe it, but her husband was probably right – if Tamama was still in the army, it would take longer than a little over a year before they heard anything about him. Climbing the ranks would be a long and grueling process, especially for someone with Tamama's Non-Keron background and tadpole outwardly looks and personality. Giving up, she was about to change the channel when Tamama's two little brothers stormed into the room from the hallway, crashing into their mother and father.

"H-hey! You ripped my newspaper!" called their dad.

"I don't care – he stole my last sour head!" one of them tattled, pointing. "I was saving that for the competition in school tomorrow so I could win fifty bucks!"

The other brother crossed his arms. "Those things aren't even that sour. I ate it with no problems! You couldn't have won with something so weak anyway. Now, if you wanna win that contest, why don't you just eat a lemon? Or are you afraid you wouldn't be able to handle it?"

The twin gritted his teeth. "Why, you –!"

The slightly older twin brother lunged across the futon for the other when the slightly younger twin stuck his tongue out at him. Both of them collided into their mother.

"H-hey! Stop that!" their father yelled across the futon.

"Boys, boys! Take this somewhere else! Your father and I are trying to rela –!"

Still with a fistful of each other in their hands, the boys froze in their fight, gawking at the TV. "Wait, is that Tamama?"

"What –?" Their mother turned around. So did their father.

Marching side by side with the members of the Keroro Platoon was Tamama.

His father stared, barely able to form a coherent word. "Wait a minute, is he...?"

"He's part of the Keroro Platoon!" the younger twin shouted, both of them off of each other. All of them ogled the TV with awe.

After a moment of watching Tamama march alongside his comrades, – who looked a little on the stiff and robotic side, – the shock set in.

"Our son is... a part of... the most popular platoon in Keron history..."

Finally able to rip his eyes from the TV screen, Tamama's father looked over at his wife. Her face was soaked with tears that she rubbed from her face – tears that would not stop.

The twins went over to their sobbing mother. "Okaa-san..."


That's right. Tamama became a part of the most popular platoon in Keron history – even more popular than the Garuru Platoon, with their leader who was the eldest son to the Demon Sergeant's closest comrade and best friend during his prime.

But Giroro, so set in his ways, couldn't possibly fathom how Tamama, the jealous, snack-loving, mood-swinging tadpole had been allowed into the army, now could he...? He knew nothing of the deception his commanding officers shunted upon him, nor the ridicule he'd endured all during his school and beginning training days.

So many underestimated Tamama, simply because he wasn't like the others. Simply because he was younger.

They were wrong.

"Die," Giroro grumbled with impatience, squeezing harder on Tamama's throat.

Saliva foamed out of his mouth, began to drip down his chin as Tamama thought how absolutely ridiculous Giroro's claim was. Shoulder still aching, Giroro's sharp claws dug into the nape of Tamama's neck. He gasped, something awakening within him.

Tamama's hands, which had clawed at Giroro's thick, scaly arm in attempt to release himself – with little effect – dropped to dangle at his sides. He stopped squirming.

Giroro raised an eyebrow. "Hm? Dead already?" He brought Tamama's limp body face-to-face with his. Taking into account his closed eyes, his head hanging loosely to the side, and the lack of resistance from his dangling limbs, Giroro didn't understand why he felt that Tamama wasn't yet dead... A certain aura of hostility rose around him.

Deliberately, Tamama's hands reached up to grasp Giroro's, still encircled around his neck. This time, his hands were stronger, and clamped down on Giroro's arm with a force Giroro struggled to ignore.

"Wh-what are you –?!"

Tamama's eyes snapped open, no longer trembling with fear, but burning with a desire. "Let me go," he commanded, clamping down harder on Giroro's arm – his fingers began to make dents in the thick scales.

Giroro staggered backward, one hand clamped down around the arm Tamama had had his hands clamped around. He looked at the dents Tamama had left in him. "Idiot! What did you do to me?!"

Tamama, bent over and kneeling on the ground, rubbed the back of his neck with the injured shoulder of his right arm. "Giroro-senpai," he muttered, face out of view as he stood up, "you should take back those words you said, desu." His right arm fell back to his side.

"What? That you're an incompetent soldier who should never have been allowed in the Keron Army? Why would I possibly take back such a true statement?"

Tamama showed his face to Giroro, then. His eyes glowed amber like the embers of a fire, wide open and fixated on Giroro. His fingers curled to mimic sharp claws. His expression was a blank sheet of nothing. Nothing but the fire in his eyes: the fire of a blood-curdling desire to take vengeance.

Giroro watched him with amazement. "What in the world...?"

Much like Dororo had, Tamama didn't give Giroro any time to react. His arms shook, becoming tougher as scales sprouted on his arms, his fingers elongating from the claws growing on is fingertips and, clenching his fists, he rushed at Giroro, who barely had enough time to block his attack.

Using his new claws, Tamama slashed at Giroro relentlessly, barely taking any mind to the wound across his shoulder.

"I-impossible! Even with Dragon Warrior blood in you, that wound should have incapacitated you! You can't be –!"

Tamama caught Giroro around the neck, and picking him up, clashed him headfirst into the ground. Dazed, Giroro flapped his wings to fly out of Tamama's reach, but Tamama smashed him headfirst into the ground again, clumps of stone flying everywhere. He did this repeatedly, stones from the ground of the endless long hallway spraying in all directions.

Coming back to his senses, Giroro grabbed for Tamama's neck again. Instead, Tamama threw Giroro into the air, then jump-kicked him into the wall, – which was over 40 meters away, mind you, – sending more clumps of stone everywhere from the wall. Giroro struggled to detach himself from where he was embedded in the wall, but Tamama, booking it at full speed, hopped sideways in midair, his feet pressing Giroro even farther into the wall.

Giroro coughed, his harsh red eyes, now empty and dimmed to the normal onyx hue. He grappled for a hold on the wall that would release him from the Dragon Giroro-shaped imprint in the stone wall, and somehow, caught that hold and pushed himself out onto the floor on all fours.

Panting, Giroro peered up at Tamama, who stood over him, clawed fists clenched and trembling as he glared down at Giroro. The flaps of his hat whipped across his face. "Don't ever say that again," Tamama threatened, his amber, ember eyes brimmed with rage.

Giroro tensed his wings, about to blast himself out of there and into the safety of one of his high nests of metal tubed columns, but before he could, Tamama hopped into the air and spun around, one foot connecting with Giroro's jaw, which pummeled him into the wall adjacent to the labyrinth of halls.

Giroro = down.

Tamama watched the unconscious body of Giroro for a while until another side of him – the other side that had been sedated during all of this – reawakened. His knees became like jelly, and he fell onto the ground – his eyes returned to their black color and adorable appearance.

"Guh! What... what happened... to me, des-ka...?" he questioned shakily. Eventually, Tamama felt the long, dagger-like claws on his fingers that trembled against the stone ground.

"I... I'm already turning into a Dragon Warrior...?" He saw Giroro, KOed beyond the point of being KOed, against the corner. "I better hurry."

Tamama stood up, grabbing the Kero Ball and heading back into the labyrinth of halls.


Well then... I'm sure Tamama's infection with the concoction could be viewed as either good or bad at the moment, but we'll have to see how he continues to control it – or not control it.

Next up, Dragon Kururu! ...Maybe?

As always, thank you so much for the read, and I hope you'll continue to like the story~!

(So many chapters with titles that start with the letter F...)