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Mark rubbed his eyes repeatedly. How... just... how? He was mystified.
Yamcha had walked into their little camp with two deer slung carelessly over his shoulders. There was no sign of any fatigue or injury, and the deer didn't look smashed, either. What's more, there was absolutely no sign of a gun. How do you hunt without a gun?
He heard Sharpener whistle lowly in surprise. "You the man, Sensei!" he called out, clearly impressed. "You definitely gotta teach me how to do that."
Yamcha chuckled. "I believe that's the point of having you as my student, isn't it?"
"But that's just not possible…" Mark muttered. "What kind of trickery is this?"
"A 'trick' that I learned a long time ago," the former bandit replied, still ever so cheerful. "Now if you two don't mind, I believe we should start a fire and begin preparing these deer, unless you don't want to eat?"
"Ah, of course," Sharpener quickly replied and scurried over to the pile of wood they had collected earlier. "Where's the match, where's the match..."
Pompf!
Light flared up in Yamcha's palm, which he tossed swiftly towards the wood. They miraculously lit up and promptly began burning. This startled the poor blonde boy, as he was just about to bend down to light them with a match.
"Eek!" he squeaked, jumping backwards in shock.
Mark's trained eyes scanned the pile rapidly, not missing any detail. But there was no signs of any trap laid… No signs of a match, or anything that would burn by the disruption of the tiniest amount of friction added to. The man's hands were also bare, and his sleeves were short, so there wasn't any possibility of hiding anything, too.
Then, Yamcha tossed the deer high up in the air. The students' gaze followed upwards and watched as their mentor launched himself up as well, becoming mere dots.
"Uhhh…"
They heard sickening squelching sounds that could only be produced from chopping up flesh. Soon, large, perfectly cut meat was falling from the sky, along with deer pelt and bones. Blood also rained down.
"You two better scurry and catch the meat, or there will be nothin' for dinner!" The former bandit yelled from the sky. He was plummeting downwards, and then did a somersault before he hit the ground and effortlessly landed on his feet.
The two rushed back and forth, attempting to catch the food, but still missed several here and there. Yamcha shook his head while grinning, then zipped forward, getting every single piece before they narrowly hit the ground. His movements were so fast that they couldn't even see him until he stopped with his arms piled high.
"Whoa…" Mark breathed. Even his father probably wasn't able to do that. A final drop of blood landed on his cheek. "Eww."
"Enjoying the show, boys?" their sensei laughed. They nodded, still dumbstruck. "Well, don't worry, kids, I'll patch you up soon enough."
The three men dug heartily into the juicy and rich venison meat after a day of exertion. The sky had steadily darkened, and all that was in the sky were the glistening stars and half-crescent moon. There was not much noise other than the munching and the crackling of the warm fire. They ate in a companionable silence... or are they? Mark broke it.
"Sooooo... Sensei... would you bother telling us how your tricks are done? Don't worry, we won't say a thing," he said.
Yamcha snorted. "A good magician never reveals his tricks," he replied snidely.
Mark's eye twitched. "So you admit that they're all not real?" he demanded.
Sharpener, meanwhile, sat in his little corner with his eyes wide like doe in headlights.
The former bandit face palmed. "No… Mark, you blithering idiot, obviously they're real. I was just pulling your leg. Sheesh."
"..."
"Anyways, you two, would you be interested in listening to some of my old adventures when I was a kid?" he asked, eyes lighting up. That was something he could just go on and on and on.
Mark and Sharpener nodded eagerly. "Do tell!"
"Well, the story began a long time ago, when I just reached eighteen…"
Flashback
Yamcha grimaced as he felt more sand blowing into his eyes as a fierce wind passed. Night had fallen, and the cold air chilled him to the bone. Yet, he still stood straight and tall, guarding over his 'territory', watching like a hawk in case any prey comes across. His ever faithful companion floated by his shoulders, following his every move.
Life of a bandit was hard, but filled with fun. At least, that was what he had always believed. But this time in particular wasn't. The bandit was about to call in and trudge back to his tent through the sand when he spotted a small child on the border.
That kid had dark, spiky hair sticking out in all directions. He wore a simple blue Gi with a red, suspicious-looking pole strapped to his back by a piece of string. All in all, he didn't look that dangerous, but didn't seem to have much to loot from, other than that stick. Hmmm…
A little away from the boy was a young girl in her early teens, he guessed. She seemed to be yelling and him for something. Her bright blue hair was tied up in a ponytail, and it swayed by another breeze. Yamcha could tell clearly from her clothes and capsules that she was no doubt a rich girl. The perfect kind he was looking for. Imagine all the treasures she'd have! He'd be filthy rich. Just as long as he didn't talk to her, he'd be fine.
He tensed, and then leaped out, revealing himself. There was his usual display of arrogance and intimidation. Except...
It didn't work.
He found himself fighting against the boy (whose name, he learned later, was Son Goku.). The fierce battle ended quickly when Goku admitted defeat, saying he was too hungry.
And that encounter became the turning point of his life as in a few years, he found himself transformed into a new, better person than before.
Flashback End
"And there you go, boys. That's how I met Goku," Yamcha ended rather lamely. "I don't think I'm going to tell you other stuff that happened after, because I wasn't exactly a 'good guy' in the story."
Sharpener opened and closed his mouth wordlessly like a fish. "You... you... MET SON GOKU BEFORE!" he exclaimed. All martial arts junkie knew who that was. The legendary man who was said to defeat the dangerous Demon King Piccolo (obviously before his time), the one who single-handedly took down the Red Ribbon Army, the one who reached the semi-finals at a young age in the 21st Budokai, and all those other great accomplishments. He was trained in the hidden (or so the world thinks) arts of the Turtle School, led by Master Roshi, another heroic figure in history.
They also say that he married the feisty princess, daughter of Ox King, a terrifying tyrant who plundered the neighbouring kingdoms and ruled with an iron fist. He was also companions with other equally prominent figures in Martial Arts history, such as Tien Shinhan (who Sharpener had noted was also a sensei in the dojo).
All in all, Son Goku was a person you'd expect to be in a heroic story, not someone real. That was why he was so fascinating, because it was all real!
There were also conspiracies on the fact that he was in the Earth's Special Forces lead by the fat swordsman Yajirobe during the attack of the two aliens, from the warrior race of Saiyans far away in the galaxy. They say that the forces expertly fought off those two. They also say he was intimately involved with the killer androids and Cell from seven years back. It was heard that he was part of the mysterious group of people that appeared that day at the arena.
And obviously, Mr Satan, the great hero of Earth, waved everything off while laughing, saying their skills were merely tricks, and Son Goku was just a great coward. And since he was such a fantastic guy, everyone believed him, including Sharpener. But now, many of the opinions that were formatted by Hercules were slowly been shattered as he spent more time in the dojo.
Yamcha grinned. "Well, of course! He was a great guy, you know, always cheery."
Mark scoffed in the corner. "I can't believe you believe this load of tosh," he said snidely.
The blonde visibly wilted at the elder's words. "You might be right," he conceded.
Their sensei, however, slapped his forehead with his palm. "Wow, Mark. I know you're my student, but seriously. Can you PLEASE not be so narrow-minded?"
Mark smirked. "I'm not narrow-minded, I'm simply stating the truth," he retorted. "First off, if you really know Son Goku, then why can't we meet him? Why isn't he also at the dojo? And second, if those tricks are real, you gotta prove it to me."
Yamcha sighed. "To answer your first question, I don't know necromancy. Goku's dead. Also never said I couldn't prove it to you, did I?"
"Then do it!" he demanded.
Yamcha extended his palm. He concentrated, and then slowly, there was a tiny orb of light floating atop his hand, light yellow in colour like a lantern. "That is Ki, or light tricks, as your father so fondly calls them."
Mark sidled to his side and stared at the Ki ball, with Sharpener following suit. He could feel the heat emanating strongly from the energy. He reached toward the ball slowly, hesitating. Just before he touched it, Yamcha lifted it out of reach. "It would be wise to not try burn your hand," he said dryly. "It wouldn't be fun. Trust me."
"Whoa..." the blond haired boy gasped, "this stuff is legit! Cool!"
Mark frowned. "This makes me question my dad. Why would he ever hide this from us? But you have to promise me you'll teach me. Then I getta surpass him once and for all!"
Yamcha laughed, shaking his head. "Isn't that the point of having me here as your mentor?"
"Well then, teach it to me now! I bet I'll master it in a week," he said arrogantly, smirk on his face again.
"Oh no you won't," the former bandit swiftly shot back. "You'd be shocked to learn how long it'll take you to even properly produce a blast that would do minimal damage to a person without draining yourself."
"Yeah? Try me." Mark's eyes were filled with fire, not going to give up or back down.
"Go ahead. Do just one push up with only your index finger. Whichever hand, I don't care."
"That's impossible!"
"Says you. Now watch the master." Yamcha promptly got on to the ground and began to perform push ups, keeping his left hand behind his back. "One, two, three..." he counted.
Again, Mark and Sharpener could only watch with awe.
"Oh god."
…
Wiping some sweat from her eyebrow, Videl let out a sigh. She and Gohan had been training for a couple of hours, and she was certainly feeling the effects; especially at this high of an altitude.
Her whole body felt sore, and she was more out of breath than usual. She slowly looked up at Gohan.
"Do you think we could stop for today?" Her answer was a fist to her face.
She crashed back into the ground. "I'll take that as a no, then."
"The enemy never stops," Gohan repeated.
Videl sighed and charged towards the demi-Saiyan, her right fist drawn in preparation for a punch.
As she swung her fist forward, it connected with empty air as Gohan dodged. He managed to evade the three strikes that followed as well, before he swiftly retaliated with a punch of his own.
With two hands, the exhausted girl managed to stop the punch in its tracks. Unbeknownst to her however, the punch was pulled.
She flailed out her hands in an attempt to contact the other teen. Surprisingly she did manage to make contact… however much to her irritation; the blow seemed to hurt her hand more than it tickled Gohan.
Any further thoughts of irritation were forgotten, as Gohan drove the side of his hand into the back of her neck.
She collapsed instantly.
Luckily for her, she was caught in Gohan's waiting arms.
"… Not bad… I guess."
He lifted her over his shoulder and slowly began to take her back to the campsite, admiring the mountain's natural beauty.
He slowly set her down on the rough grass of their designated campsite. Walking into her tent, he grabbed her sleeping bag and tossed it over her collapsed for, like a blanket. He'd survived for months without one, so she really didn't need to be tucked in.
He walked towards the fire place, before hesitating for a brief second and looking back at her frail sleeping form. Just as quickly as he had turned his head, he turned it back and continued towards the fire place.
Getting down on his knees, he placed a single finger in front of him. Pushing himself up into a push-up position he began to do one-fingered push-ups.
"One… two… three… four…"
…
Mark sighed as he threw sticks into the fire. He still didn't understand how it'd happened. How did he lose? He was Mark Satan, he never lost. Not only that but he had lost to Sharpener; the dunce of the Satan dojo.
Well that name had probably been inaccurate for a long while, but nonetheless Sharpener wasn't meant to be anywhere near Mark's level of skill… and yet he lost. It didn't make sense…
"Hey bro," said blonde called. "Don't chuck the leaves on, or the smoke goes everywhere."
Mark gave an aloof nod. He just didn't understand, what was going on? There must have been some mysterious force at work which allowed Sharpener to win… Perhaps he had just been unlucky that day, or perhaps Sharpener had been extra lucky.
"Sure…" He said in an odd tone. "Smoke can be a pain."
Sharpener was almost sure that there was something wrong. He'd known Mark for… ages. Almost as long as he'd known Videl in fact, who he'd known since he was a little kid. Sure they weren't close, and Sharpener wasn't going to pretend they were, but even he could tell something was off.
He didn't quite understand what Mark's problem was, but he figured he may as well try and confront it. He was a head strong kind of person, after all.
"Something wrong?" Sharpener asked, with raised eyebrows.
"No… it's nothing." Mark replied, sullenly.
"You know, you don't have to lie. Something's bothering you; I've known you long enough to know that."
Mark chuckled. "I guess it's just… I don't get it."
"You don't get it?"
"Yeah… man… I don't understand how I lost the other day."
Sharpener stifled a laugh. "That's what's bothering you?"
"Yeah… Don't know if you've noticed, but I don't lose all too often," Mark said, somewhat serious and somewhat chuckling.
"Hey it's no big deal; we all lose at some point."
"It's just… I lost to you." Mark stuttered, "No offence."
"None taken, honestly I reckon it was a fluke. I never expected to win."
"Still though, I don't quite get how you got that good… and pretty damn quick as well."
"Honestly it's all because of the dojo and its Sensei's. They're all so freaking amazing, you wouldn't believe it. I reckon Sensei Gohan could even take your dad in a match."
Mark was baffled. He knew his father wasn't all that great; he'd definitely fallen slack in these times of peace. But for Sharpener, who knew Mr Satan… personally to say that this Gohan could take him in a match… It shocked Mark.
"These guys must be crazy strong if you reckon that Gohan could step in the ring with dad."
"Yeah they are. If they weren't, I doubt half the people… including me, perhaps, would be there. I only went there to check it out with a friend because of all the rumours."
"Rumours?" It was Mark's turn to raise his eyebrows.
"Yeah, you must've heard of them… The ones that the Son Dojo was going to declare an all-out war on the Satan one? There'd already been a bunch of rumours talking about how insanely strong their whole dojo was."
"So why'd you stay? What's so good about the place?"
"I'm not really sure, to be honest. But I reckon it's just the aura of the place, you feel like you're getting stronger just being there. Did you know that like half the staff a World Tourney vets? Krillin, Tien and all that lot."
Mark's eyes quickly snapped away from the fire and towards Sharpener.
"What did you say Gohan's last name was?"
"Son, Son Gohan, what's the big deal?" A confused Sharpener asked.
Mark snapped his fingers. "So that's it!"
"What's it?" Sharpener was now very confused.
Glancing back towards Sharpener, Mark replied. "Don't you see the connection? Son Gohan and Krillin? You know, like Son Goku and Krillin?"
The second the words left Mark's mouth, Sharpener's jaw dropped.
"So that's why… why they're all so strong."
…
Hercule looked down at the documents on his desk. On one side laid a sloppy stack of unpaid bills. On the other side, there was an attendance sheet. The figures of the sheet looked similar to those of the previous week, but now they were at an all-time low.
His face crumpled up in pure confusion. He had to be reading something wrong. This couldn't be accurate. Hercule squinted as he stared at the sheets once more, before finally confirming his thoughts. The attendance of Satan Dojo was increasingly down. It was even worse than the week before. He rubbed the temples of his head in frustration upon realization.
Hercule's knuckles turned white as his grasp tightened around the folder that contained the source of his aggravation and shame.
"What the hell does that other dojo have that I don't?"
He angrily flung the manila folder at a wall.
"I'm the freaking world champion, so what the hell's it got, that I dont?"
He meditated on the words of Mark.
He could not figure out what about that other dojo was better than his. What made the fighters over there so much stronger in a matter of days, than the training they had received in his own dojo for years? He was the best of the best. The world champion. People should want to join his dojo just to have a chance to meet him. But no, they had even managed to get people like Erasa, who were easily swooned by his greatness, to go to their dojo. Hell, Erasa even working at that very dojo now.
Hercule slumped in the chair that, prior to his outburst, sat in front of his desk. He mentally ran through who could possibly being working at the dojo that could train his students even better than he.
"Mr Satan, It seems you are enraged by the new numbers. Perhaps some new competition has come up."
"Pfft, competition... No one can compete with me," Hercule said as an uneasy bead of sweat dropped.
"Ah you're right. I was going to suggest finding out who teaches there and either bribing them with more money or finding better people." The servant stated. "But you're right, there's no point... for no one can compete with you sir."
As the servant's words left his mouth, a light bulb went off in Hercule' head. He snickered, "it's okay. But you know what I think?"
"No, Mr Satan, what is it?" They were eager to know what his greatness was thinking.
"Even though there's no competition, I should still check out the teachers of a certain dojo. I don't want anyone to suffer from lack of proper training. After all, people should have the chance to at least come close to my strength. Though we all know that's impossible, we still should give people hope." Hercule boasted.
"What a brilliant idea Mr Satan. You have such a big heart!" the servant praised greatly.
"I would've never have thought of that!" the other servant added.
Now that Hercule knew what to do, he leaned back into the comforts of his chair pondering on ways of getting the list of Senseis. He considered breaking in and stealing the list, outright demanding the list from Erasa, going to their new website to check the register of Senseis, or using a phony voice to call. After beginning with the easiest task, looking on the web, Hercule realized it wouldn't be as easy as it seemed. His servants told him there was no formal registration for Senseis and the school didn't have a list. He didn't want to risk shaming his own dojo by committing a crime, so he opted to avoid breaking and entering. He came to the ultimate conclusion, ask Erasa. This left him with yet another issues, how was he going to approach her.
"I could use Videl to approach her... or maybe I could pay Erasa for the information. She has to be in need of money… all high-schoolers are." Hercule aimlessly muttered strategies.
"Ah!" Thinking about this was a lot harder than he thought. He exclaimed, "I'm just going to ask Erasa directly." She should easily be swooned by his appearance and want to help him right away.
"I can't let the others see my worry. I have to pull it back together," Hercule thought to himself. Hercule repositioned his desk appropriately and ordered his servants to sort the papers on the floor back the way they originally were on his desk. He reorganized himself before heading out the door.
"I'll be back," he boomed, more to himself than to the other two people there.
Hercule rounded the corner to the dojo. Instead of driving, he had spent the entire walk hyping himself up.
As soon as he saw the sign, his cheeks turned red. His pride would not allow him to directly approach the dojo; instead, he stood patiently outside waiting. He didn't know what for and why he was waiting, or even if he should stand right here. What if Erasa wasn't working today? What if Videl saw him? What if one of his many fans would see him? That'd be tragic.
His worries were casted aside as he noticed Erasa exiting the dojo. What luck!
Erasa spotted Hercule as she came out with her car keys in hand, about to go on her lunch break. Nothing about him awkwardly standing outside seemed suspicious to her, so she was slightly taken back when he approached her as she was leaving.
"Erasa!" The world champ yelled.
Erasa turned around to greet Hercule.
"Oh... Mr Satan, how are you?" She asked in good spirits.
"Erasa, I didn't know you worked here!" Hercule pretended to be surprised at Erasa's presence.
"But I saw you earlier..." muttered.
"Never mind, is there something I can do for you, most of the Senseis are out for lunch. Only a few are meditating out back."
"Actually," Hercule paused for a moment to contemplate his initial decision. "I'm thinking about doing business with this dojo, but I wanted to know if the Sensei's here would be good enough. You know I'm the best of the best and only like to work with the best of the best," Hercule smiled to himself inside.
"I didn't hear anything from my boss about this," she tilted her head as if she were thinking about the event of her day.
"We talked a couple of weeks ago about this merger, but it just occurred to me today that I couldn't work with another dojo without considering what type of staff they had. I want to make sure the two will be compatible."
"But my boss never gave me the okay to give over such information. In fact, he told me it was private, and that I should never give it to anyone else without his permission," her voice drifted away. Erasa shifted her weight on the balls of her feet. Hercule could tell she was feeling guilty about something.
"Well you're new here, right? They can't just freely tell all their employees all their business. That's like me telling the world my secrets to fighting. And those should be taught, not told."
"I guess you're right." An unsure Erasa replied as she took his words into consideration. She hadn't been working there that long. And what if she was in the wrong for questioning Hercule? What if she was possibly messing up the dojos' negotiations and thus ruining their business?
Hercule could see how pensive her expression was and used this to his advantage as he asked.
"Would I lie to you? Come on, the world champion has more morals and pride than that. Or do you think that I don't?" Hercule feigned a pained expression as if he was hurt by her 'implications.'
"No, you wouldn't dare Mr Satan!" Erasa exclaimed. Hercule couldn't be lying! After all, why else would he, himself, come down here instead of getting one of his servants to?
"I'll go get a list." Erasa beamed. She reached into her purse to pull out a set of keys and place her car keys in. Hercule watched her, eagerly rubbing his hands together greedily as she walked back into the building.
"You stay here," she pointed to the spot Hercule was already standing at.
"I promise. I will stay right here." Hercule grinned at Erasa. It didn't take her long to find a copy of a list with all the Senseis that currently worked at the dojo.
"I hope everything goes well with your negotiations," Erasa beamed with such a childlike smile.
Hercule looked at the innocent looking blonde girl in front of him, "Oh it will."
Hercule tucked the list under his arm before heading back to his own dojo.
"Erasa… thanks."
He grinned and waved to her before jogging back to his office. As soon as he was safe, he pulled the paper out and read down the list. He saw Piccolo, Gohan, Krillin, Tien Shinhan, and Yamcha. With each sensei came a list of powers and special moves. Each one had their own individual strength and weaknesses, but they all were of an seemingly equal incredible caliber. Hercule had no idea how he could possible match such a strong group of men.
…
Videl awoke the next day, only to force her body onto its side to evade a punch aimed for her sleeping head.
"In that time, I could've killed you over 1000 times, in 1000 ways… It's unwise to let your guard down."
She sighed, as she forced her sleeping muscles to stand up. Quickly brushing herself off, she raised her arms in a defensive motion.
However she didn't expect a blindfold to be tossed her way, however.
"Wear that." She complied, and tied it around her head.
The next thing she knew, she was on the ground. Swearing, she managed to raise herself to her feet.
Anxiously she quieted down, as she heard a noise… Or more specifically footsteps.
'Shit.'
She threw her body to the left, sending herself sprawling towards the ground. But… she'd avoided the punch.
The moment was not long-lived as she soon found herself thrown into the air. Suspended in the air, she could hear footsteps.
Once again she swore. She could hear him, and she knew he was there… but she couldn't do anything about it.
After being swatted to the ground, Videl stood up once again.
"You know you don't really have to hit that hard?" She heard footsteps.
Cocking her fist back, she immediately punched in the direction of the sound. However she soon found it stuck in the vice known as Gohan's grip.
"A killer hits as hard as he can."
"Of course," Videl replied laced with sarcasm.
Unbeknownst to Videl, behind her blindfold Gohan was frowning deeply. This didn't seem to work right. He needed to change it up a little bit.
"Let's play a little game… If you land a single clean punch on me, I will go all of tonight without dinner." Killers liked to play games, and they didn't always play fair. But he needed to make Videl try and attack him, rather than just evade… there's no way she'd make any further progress without having to deal with the stress off constant counter-attacks. "But… If you don't manage to land a single hit, you will go without dinner."
"Are you giving me a choice?" Videl asked, curiously with a hint of sarcasm.
"Killers don't give choices." Videl could almost see his smirk through her blindfold.
…
Authors Notes: We apologise for the long lapse in updates. However they should begin to kick up again.
This chapter was brought to you by Son Goshen, SierraLarson, Kakarot Son and Freeloader1125… Hope you enjoyed the colossal chapter.
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