I was actually considering something along buying the whole country, except in the DB world there aren't any countries, per se. And he couldn't very well buy the whole continent.

And as to the slowness of my updating…the most I can do about that is apologize and say that I'm trying. I work without a beta, and DBZ is banned in my house – long story. So needless to say, it's very hard trying to get onto the Internet to update. But problems regardless, here's the next chapter.

Chapter Ten

Why is he still here? Yamcha cursed to himself. The Namek had been sitting there, holding his lotus position for the last hour without budging, and he gave no indication of doing so in the near future. I told him not to bother, didn't I? I should have brought Pu'ar. She would have thought of a way to get rid of him without toasting herself.

The ex-bandit stood up and stretched his legs. Well, if Piccolo refused to leave, then he would. No sense in sticking around if all the Namek was going to do was be bothersome. He didn't need the added aggravation. "Fine," he huffed softly, quietly enough that he almost could not hear himself. He cracked his neck and knuckles and hunched down, preparing to hurl himself into the air.

"Don't even think about it, Yamcha," came Piccolo's rough voice. "I'll track you down and knock you out if I have to."

Yamcha froze every muscle, except the ones necessary to turn his head around and stare incredulously at the other warrior. Piccolo hadn't even opened an eye, had he?

"I don't have to. Now give it up and sit back down until you're willing to speak."

Drat. That's right. He can read minds.

"Brilliant of you. Now sit."

"And what if I don't?" the man challenged, folding his arms across his chest and whirling back around. "Will it be one blow to the head? A few methodic taps to the spine? Or will you just pound on me until I black out?"

This time the disgruntled Namek did open one eye. Kami, your stakes are upped. If he keeps this up, he'll be the fuel for the next Capsule Corp. barbecue, he growled at the older Namek, knowing fully well the Guardian of Earth would hear him. "You're pushing it, Yamcha," he snapped. "Don't tempt me."

Yamcha humphed. "Then why haven't you done it already? It would be a lot less trouble if you did. You wouldn't have to sit out here…wait a minute. Kami put you up to this, didn't he?"

Piccolo felt a sarcastic laugh bubble up in the back of his throat and bit it back. "You're smarter than you look. Any other surprises today?"

When the other man's fist connected solidly with his jaw, the Namek was indeed surprised. He flung his arms and legs out, catching himself in the air before he went flying into any of the trees, and then rubbed the side of his face. Definitely bruised. "Didn't think you had it in you, human," Piccolo muttered briefly. He darted to one side as Yamcha nearly repeated the same move. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

The human snorted and charged in for another strike. "You're a real pain in the butt, you know that?" he said between blows.

"At least you're making this worthwhile," the Namek retorted. At least, he added in his thoughts. I would've started something myself if he didn't. Good. Kami can't complain about this now. He's pushing it out of his mind. A step in the right direction. Are you watching this, Kami? You owe me big for this.

Piccolo's smile was wiped off his face by a well-placed fist. He tumbled backwards, barely avoiding a particularly large tree, and growled. "Fine. If you're going to play rough, then I'm getting serious. Hope you're up for it. Not that it matters."

"Bring it, green man." Yamcha shifted his weight forward and brought both fists up before his face, a wicked grin gracing his lips.

The Namek mirrored his expression. Finally. A spar that's actually going to be worth something. And he darted forward, his own fist leading the way.

He'd gotten permission to participate in the Twenty-Third Tenka'ichi Budokai. It was pulling strings with the team owner and the manager both, but after playing for them for nearly two years he was able to work something out with them. If he had known how reminiscent of the last one this was to be, he might not have signed up for it. After the events at the Twenty-Second Budokai, Yamcha hadn't been sure if he even wanted to enter another tournament. Heck, he almost hadn't survived a week past that one!

That didn't mean he wasn't looking forward to fighting again.

All right, so he had made a few new friends – who had technically been members of a rival school. Tien and Chaozu weren't all that bad once you got to know them, even considering that the former had broken his leg during their match. Tien had been horribly misguided, and the other young man with him. They were both members of the Crane School, and the Crane Master had taught them to be assassins. As to whom they would be assassinating, he never did think much about. It was none of his business, and besides, it was in their past. They would not walk down that path again. Hopefully.

But the whole thing didn't start to get bad until after the tournament was over. Krillin had gone back inside to find something Goku had forgotten, and he had not come out alive. In fact, he hadn't come out at all, and when they came in looking for him they had been horrified. The young man was dead. Dead. And his murderer was a demon.

It is said that the souls of those killed by demons never reach the Afterlife but instead are doomed for all eternity to walk the earth. Yamcha never did get around to asking Krillin where he had gone when he died, and he probably never would. It was still a touchy subject with the monk.

That demon had been sent by the King of them all, Piccolo Daimao.

Currently Yamcha was sitting on the front porch of his apartment. He was saving his money for when he grew tired of such cramped space, but for now it was actually relaxing. It reminded him of his small rock hideout in the desert. He didn't live too far from the center of the city, and his preferred mode of transportation was his own two feet. It irked him that he still did not have a good handle on flying, but he kept telling himself not to worry about it. As far as he knew, only a handful of men and women had enough control over their ki to even begin learning, so he should have been proud of himself.

"Are you sure you want to go through this again, Yamcha?" Pu'ar asked, shifting uncomfortably on his shoulder. "That Piccolo-demon might still have some men around, and they'll want revenge on Goku. They might come after you again."

The ball-player groaned. This had been the only thing on the shapeshifter's mind ever since he had signed up for the tournament last week, and she would not let him forget about it. "Pu'ar," he sighed, "nothing is going to happen this year. The only people left alive from Piccolo's short-lived regime were Pilaf and his two lackeys. They aren't dangerous any more. The worst that could happen is that I face off against Goku right away and get tossed out of the ring."

"Or have to fight another Tien."

Yamcha resisted the urge to swat the shapeshifter off his shoulder. "Pu'ar," he said, gritting his teeth, "chances are that's not going to happen again. There aren't many people that strong out there any more. If anything, it would be an accident."

"If you say so, Yamcha," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "But you can't say I didn't warn you."

"It won't happen. I'm telling you, Pu'ar, nothing can possibly go wrong this time."

"No new demons?"

"No."

"Super-strong aliens?"

"No."

"Martial arts masters in disguise?"

The ball player spared his friend an incredulous glance. "Where are you getting all this from?"

Pu'ar shrugged again. "Nowhere in particular. I wish you'd worry more."

"And I wish you'd stop worrying so darn much." Yamcha stood up suddenly enough that the shapeshifter was nearly thrown from his shoulder. "I'm telling you, I'll be fine."

"You said that last time, too."

"Quit it. Now do you want to go to the store with me or not?"

Pu'ar regarded him quizzically. "Sure. But what for? You're going back to Master Roshi's again later, right? Isn't he feeding you?"

The man locked his door and stepped off the porch. "Yeah. But I'm out of tape."

He was rewarded with a wide-eyed stare and a squeak of surprise. "You're kidding. We couldn't have gone through that much duct tape already!"

Yamcha laughed. "Wrist tape. Support." He held up both hands in the afternoon sun, and Pu'ar could see the fading bruises trailing up his arms.

"Who did that?" she asked.

"Krillin did most of it, actually, but this," and here the man traced one discolored patch of skin, "was Tien's fault. I think what I have to do is start focusing more on agility and flexibility, because brute strength isn't going to win every battle. So if I can pull a Goku and throw myself around like a gymnast I'll be harder to hit. The problem is that I'm really not all that nimble to begin with, and more likely than not I'm going to pull something. The tape will help with that, at least until I build up some wrist strength."

The walk downtown took the man and the shapeshifter about ten minutes, and the pharmacy they sought was just off the main intersection. Its tan walls stood out in sharp relief against the grungy gray and white of the rest of the city, and its stark white interior made one think immediately of a hospital. When Yamcha entered the store he heaved a sigh of relief. No lines, no delays, and the shelves were fully stocked.

"Can I help you?" asked a perky young woman at the counter.

"Sure," he replied politely. "Tape, if you would."

The clerk pointed the way. "It's down Aisle Seven."

"Thank you." Yamcha inclined his head and walked briskly to the designated aisle. "Gauze, bandages, medical tape…ah, there it is." He snatched a box off the shelf and made his way back to the cash register.

"That was quick," Pu'ar commented. "I thought it would take longer."

"So did I."

But as he was paying for the tape, the door opened and a familiar figure – or rather, two familiar figures – walked through. Yamcha gave the clerk a parting smile and turned his attention to the young man and woman, the latter of whom began waving furiously to catch his attention. He sighed. At least Bulma wasn't around this time to start chatting it up with her.

"Hey, Yamcha!" the blue-haired woman greeted, embracing him and causing him to blush.

"Hi, Lunch, Tien," and he nodded to the triclops.

Tien noticed his plight and chuckled. "Tape for you too, eh?" he stated more than asked.

The ball player gently detached Lunch and grinned. "I take it you're here for the same thing, then?"

Tien waved one hand dismissively and shrugged. "Same thing, but not for the same reason. I don't intend to become an acrobat."

Yamcha's smile grew wider. "Then it's just for conditioning, huh? Means you're coming to the Budokai, too, or I miss my guess."

The triclops shrugged again, but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. He was as wound up about it as Yamcha himself was. "I figure I might as well round out my strengths. I have to bring Lunch back to Master Roshi's anyway, and if I'm going to be there already there's no sense in wasting the opportunity. At least I'll have someone my own size to spar with."

"Are you bringing Chaozu with you?"

Tien nodded. Then his face grew pensive. "Yamcha," he said with a frown, "how did you get out of baseball for that one? Considering the risk of serious injury, I would have thought they'd have made you stay home for it."

"That's what I keep trying to tell him!" Pu'ar exclaimed, startling Yamcha.

He shot the cat a dirty look. "It was nothing short of selling my soul, I'll have you know," he replied, his mockingly stern expression sending Lunch into a fit of giggles. "The manager heard about what happened last time, and if he had it his way I'd be tied down and blindfolded. I told him he could withhold my bonus if I got myself hurt."

"And would he?" Tien asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I guess it depends on how far I get. I don't think he'd penalize me for making it into the semi-finals and then busting something." Yamcha stepped around a magazine rack and headed for the door. "If you don't mind, though, I have to get back home and finish a few things up. Want me to bring the drinks this time?"

The other man smirked. "Keep it clean. A drunk Roshi is a terrible thing."

Yamcha chuckled and waved his goodbyes to the couple. "No problem. See you later."

Pu'ar added her voice to his when he called back a farewell. "Did you want Bulma to come and watch you practice?" she said after they had begun their walk home. She settled down on top of his head again and sighed. "Lunch is going to be there to watch Tien. They make such a cute couple."

"Yeah. Except Tien doesn't know they're an official couple." Yamcha stopped and looked around before continuing. "I really don't think fighting is Bulma's thing, you know? She's into science and all that. Fighting really isn't the right kind of activity, if you know what I mean. Maybe I'll ask her next time."

"You should say something to her anyway, Yamcha," Pu'ar admonished, tapping his skull with her paw as if to drive the point home. "Even if she doesn't want to go, you've still given her the option. And then she can't blame you if she decides to complain about you not spending time with her. This tournament is a very big deal to you, especially since you have a fair shot at placing, and I think she should know that."

Yamcha lifted both arms back behind his head and heaved a sigh. "I know, I know. Sometimes thinking of things to do with that woman is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. I wish I knew where to start."

Pu'ar wisely said nothing.

Thank you for sticking with this. I appreciate it. And since it is now four in the morning, I am off to bed. 'Til next chapter.

-Dreamwraith