24. Jekyll and Hyde
Jae
The night before the tournament, I barely got any sleep; the apprehension was getting to me all too easily. When morning came, I was actually relieved—relieved so I could get up out of bed, take a shower, and just move. I couldn't take the sitting still anymore.
There was a knock on my door as I finished packing. I invited Chichi in, and she held a box under one arm. "Almost ready?"
"Yep," I exhaled, stuffing all of the clothes I brought with me into the duffle bag. I had it all arranged; on the left were regular clothes, on the right were my training clothes and pajamas. My socks and underwear tucked in the outward pocket, toiletries in a bag in the opposite pocket; I normally wasn't this organized, but the nervous energy made me more of a neat freak than normal.
"I have something for you." Chichi handed me the box; it was flat and long, something I've seen clothes come in for many Christmases.
Taking it, I opened the lid, staring quizzically at the garments inside before I realized just what they were. Chichi, however, announced it.
"I figured, if you're going to be on the world's most renowned martial arts stage, you should look the part, in your own gi. I started it a few weeks ago, glad I finished it in time."
"You made this?"
She smiled proudly, her black eyes beaming with genuine kindness that rarely surfaced above her articulate obstinateness. Looking at the gi once again, I noticed an insignia stitched flawlessly over the left chest area. At first, it looked like a bunch of random intercrossing lines, but my eyes and mind began to divulge a pattern. In the circle, was a caricaturized "Z", with an elegant design of outlines crossing through its middle section. I ran my fingers over it, the risen pattern of the stitches soft.
"It's the crest of the Turtle Hermit, who Goku originally trained under when he was just a boy. Since some of that knowledge has been passed down to you through Gohan, I figure that makes you a member of the Turtle House as anything will. Wear it with pride, yes?"
"I will," I promised.
The box was just narrow enough to fit in the leftover space in my duffle bag, which I carefully nestled it above my clothes. I would take it out and try it on later.
Since there would be a great deal of festivities and casual mingling before any real business started, I changed into some green camouflage shorts and black tank top. The summer temperatures weren't skyrocketing hot, but it was still warm and humid. Despite living in it for months now, it was still unpleasant.
Goten was running on that fresh morning high, in spite of still looking tired; he would crash before the afternoon came, I was sure. And Gohan… He was thoughtfully quiet; he hid his excitement in his eyes, while his face, his body, and his movements were calculated and systematized.
I had to call my mother in advance to let her know I wouldn't be answering my phone a lot of the day because I was in a big show. As with everything else about this whole scheme, she bought it. Whether or not I'd keep up this lie after the tournament was done and over with, I was still unsure. Either way, I knew I'd be glad once I no longer had to keep up a charade every time I talked to her.
Capsule Corporation, a beige-colored dome building, was massive, and upon actually arriving on the property, it had outbuildings and extensions expanding over a thirty-acre parcel smack-dab in the middle of the city.
In spite of the large, green yard, it seemed everybody was waiting for us inside, for there wasn't a soul in sight outside the building. Inside, everything was very contemporary and clean; the tile floor just sparkled, and I could see my reflection.
I followed Gohan and his family as they navigated through the channel of halls and corridors, and after far too many turns, we closed in on a pair of sliding glass doors, which opened for us as soon as we'd gotten close enough. My eyes look beyond the small patio and drank in the indoor oasis that lay before me. It was impossible to guess the acreage, but hell, it was an enclosed valley! Grass, trees, and even a pond in the distance; the closest I'd ever been to a place like this was in my head. What made it even better—and possible for any of the vegetation to be thriving—was the domed ceiling, made of glass and solar panels.
A bundle of voices greeted us when we came through, and made their way to Chichi, Goten, Gohan, before all eyes fell on me. There were so many faces, I couldn't register them right off the bat, but the first to greet me was a woman with eye-popping electric blue-lavender hair. She smiled and pulled me in for a hug; the gesture caught me off guard, but I tried not to flinch away.
"Hi!" she beamed. "You must be Jae! I'm Bulma."
"Nice to meet you," I responded, forcing my voice to be strong when I wanted to be quiet.
Others gathered around us; most of them—if not all—were men, men of various heights, physique, hairstyles, and attitude. Two of them offered me a welcoming smile and handshake; a tan-skinned, black haired man named Yamcha, and a shorter man named Krillin, who had a downy short layer of black hair covering his head. He then introduced me to his wife, who had the peculiar name of Eighteen. She was strikingly beautiful, with bright blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and her voice was smooth, if not a tad sultry. I caught an underlying sense of sleeping ferocity in her icy eyes, and I knew she was a woman you did not want to see the bad side of.
The third man to greet me rendered me a little speechless, for he had a third eye, right in his forehead. When he gave me his name, Tien, I recognized him then; he was one of Goku's past rivals I saw on the tournament footage Gohan showed me. He was very collected and quiet, as was the chalky-white little boy who accompanied him, named Chiatzou. After them, came a woman, with long, deep blue hair, and with a voice that made me think of a field of daisies, for some odd reason. She introduced herself as Launch, and she "lived with" Tien. As to what that meant—if they were a couple, simple companions, or just roomies—I wasn't sure.
After all that, I met Bulma's parents, Dr. and Mrs. Brief, and Bulma's son, Trunks, who didn't linger long enough to do proper introductions; he and Goten bounded off for their favorite play-place.
"Isn't anybody going to introduce me to the new pupil?" an elderly voice called from the back. It didn't take long for me to spot the small old man as he walked closer. He dressed in a tropical shirt and shorts, carrying a wooden staff, although he seemed to walk perfectly fine. His beard was white and trimmed, while his head was shimmering bald; the sunglasses he wore prevented me from seeing his eyes.
"Master Roshi," Gohan greeted him, and there was an awkward shift in his voice. "This is Jae; Jae, this is Master Roshi. He was my father's master and tutor back in the day."
So this was the Turtle Hermit, Goku's master, and the person responsible for more or less responsible for the Son family being what it was today. "It's an honor," I said properly, nodding my head in a bow of respect.
Master Roshi chuckled. "Oh my, you sure know how to flatter an old man."
Bulma only rolled her eyes, and insisted Gohan take me on a short tour of Capsule Corporation's crowning amenities before we took off. I was thankful for the mindful distraction, especially since it allowed me to escape being the shiny new thing for people to crowd over.
Most of what we explored were utility rooms, and even an apartment, which Gohan then went to inform me was just one of the four, not including the main house the Brief family occupied.
Toward the end of the loop we were about to make on our way back, we passed a peculiar door at the end of a corridor off to the right. It was a full metal door, like one of the many used on ships and submarines.
"What's in that room?" I asked curiously. Gohan looked at it dismissively.
"It's the gravity room. Bulma made it for her husband."
"So, she found a way to create a controlled environment where you can alter gravity? How far can you go—I mean, how intense can the gravity be?"
"The highest I've ever gone is…six-hundred times earth's gravity."
I could barely utter the words, for I couldn't even comprehend them in my mind. Gohan just stood and watched with amused eyes as I tried to wrap my head around it. "S-she was able to do that?"
"Well, her and her father, but yes. Pretty wicked, isn't it?"
"Wicked and scary… I mean, if that technology ever fell into the wrong hands…" I looked at Gohan, dumbfounded, when he laughed.
"Don't worry. Bulma created a sensor cut-off switch for this thing; if someone tried to take the room's gravity dispenser, it would shut off if taken anywhere outside that room. Plus, any and all notes or blueprints of it were destroyed, because everything the Briefs need to make another should they need to is all in their heads."
"Ah. Good to know."
Something heavy shifted, metal on metal, and air hissed. The door to the gravity room opened, and from its threshold emerged a man with blatantly spiked hair. I thought Goten's hair was a crazy 'do; this guy's hair was straight upright in a spiked mountain of black locks, with a prominent hairline, and no bangs. He was shirtless, his torso covered in twice the scars that Gohan had; I didn't want to begin to imagine what battles he'd been in to earn those.
"Vegeta," Gohan greeted as the man walked closer to us. So this was the Saiyan Prince I'd heard about.
I shifted nervously on my feet, suddenly awkward over the idea of interacting with a royal individual
If Gohan hadn't said anything, I doubt he would have even acknowledged us. Then again, he only glanced at Gohan briefly, not saying a word, until his eyes fell on me. His walking slowed to a stop. This close to us, I was surprised to see he was shorter than Gohan, but still a few inches taller than me. The way his hard eyes studied me was unsettling. It wasn't in the typical way; no, he was sizing me up, like a lion observing an intruder in his territory.
"Added another one to your harem, have you?" His voice was gruff and deep, prominently unkind.
"This is a friend of mine; I've been training her for the martial arts tournament."
Vegeta's eyes returned to me, and he smirked mockingly. He then said to Gohan, "This must be the little female Saiyan you were speaking of."
I couldn't help the hitch in my brow, resisting the urge to look at Gohan quizzically. He'd mentioned me to this guy? How long ago?
"She is," Gohan responded, though his voice was a little taut.
When Vegeta looked at me again, the mockery fell away and alert skepticism took its place in his expression. "Where are your Saiyan parents?" he demanded.
I refused to show he could faze me. "The only Saiyan parent I had was my father, and he died shortly before I was born."
His eyes narrowed in further suspicion. "How convenient," he spat, cynical judgment thickening his tone. "So you're only half Saiyan, then?"
"Yes."
As if annoyed, Vegeta groaned. "So, your Saiyan father died before you were born, eh? How do you know you're a Saiyan, then?"
"My mother made sure it was known to me when I was old enough to understand it. And she isn't the woman who would tell me I'm part of an alien race if it weren't true." I made sure to keep a bite to my tone, to challenge Vegeta's cocky authority.
When his eyes moved to my hips, he angled his head as if to look at my ass. I was about to deck him for it when he asked, "And what of your tail?"
"Removed when I was an infant."
"Convenient."
"Vegeta," Gohan grumbled. "There's no need to interrogate her. What would she have to gain by lying to us about being a Saiyan? Lay off." Vegeta challenged Gohan's glare with his own. The contest of power and authority was so strong, I was prepared for them to break out in a fist-fight.
When Vegeta huffed, he walked onward, leaving Gohan and I alone in the hall. "Well…," I sighed. "A Prince Charming he is not."
"Mhm," Gohan agreed, putting his hands back in his pockets. "He's every unpleasant trait you could expect in royalty."
"And he's married to Bulma, right? How does she put up with him?"
Grinning, Gohan snickered in good nature. "They share a common personality trait, is all I can say."
We met up with the others outside, where they loaded a large cargo aircraft of sorts; I'd never seen the design before. I placed my luggage beside Gohan's in the cargo area, then moved to the cabin, which held an open pilot's cockpit and seats, and behind it were four rows of booths. Of course, Gohan and I shared one; I sat closest to the window.
Unlike my first experience flying in an aircraft, I no longer felt anxiety or panic being so high up in the air; there was no dreadful vertigo when I gazed out the window and saw the massive land, first covered by skyscrapers, then rolling hills, and then the endless expansion of the blue sea.
After hours of just looking out to blue water on blue sky, finally Bulma announced, "We're here!"
Through the expansive windshield, I could see the slopes of the island mountains, and, as we circled to find the airport, towns and skyscrapers were discernable. I even spotted a coastal amusement park.
The air traffic at the airport runway was insanely overcrowded; we had to circle the island three times before Bulma could fly into the air pattern and land on the runway. Once the craft was parked, we proceeded to grab our luggage and make for the outside. The moment fresh sea air flooded into my lungs, I felt rejuvenated already.
Large touring vans awaited us. I had squeeze in the backseat by Gohan to give the boys enough room to fit in with us. I was prepared for the entire ride to be awkward and stiff, but Gohan simply flung his arm up and around, laying it across the back of the seat—behind my shoulders. He was barely touching me, but I couldn't shake of the presence of his arm against my neck. When I looked at him, he wasn't as guarded as he'd been the entire morning; he glanced back at me and smiled one of those rare, beaming ear-to-ear smiles, then looked ahead as the van drove off. He was getting genuinely excited now. That made it easier for me to shrug off my timid discomfort and feed off from him, to the point I could barely stand sitting still in the vehicle anymore. I was relieved when we arrived at our destination.
The tournament grounds were in the heart of a community villa, filled with concession stands, outlet stores; the carnival and fairgrounds was right along the rocky coast, and the archway entrance to the tournament grounds already had a line wrapping around the block. A majority of what I could see were all male, ranging from lanky and lean to tall and burly.
For an hour, I stared at the old stone wall beside me, observing and analyzing each tactful, perfect etching and carving in its solid mass. Many of the images were of long, entwining dragons and gargoyle heads. It entertained my mind long enough until a delicate sound broke my concentration; someone sneezed. I didn't think much of it, until I felt Gohan's hand on my shoulder, drawing me closer to him with a precautionary, "Watch out."
"What the hell is the hold-up?!" a raucous female voice hollered. When I looked, I saw a wavy blonde-haired woman marching around the line; she rummaged through the bag she had strapped around her shoulders.
"Hey, bitch, no cutting in line!" a burly man objected, grabbing her by the arm.
My jaw dropped when the girl swung around and shoved a hefty-looking rifle in the man's face. "You wanna try that again, muscle-head?!"
The crowd scattered like alarmed sheep, especially once the girl started firing her rifle into the air.
"What is she doing? Hell, who is she?"
"That…is Launch," Gohan answered.
The sweet blue-haired lady who looked like she didn't have the heart to even pick a flower from a garden? "Wha…"
"She has this strange condition where every time she sneezes, she morphs into her alternate personality—both physically and mentally. No one really knows exactly how it works…"
"So…it's like a real extreme and literal case of multiple personality disorder?"
"Sort of," he chuckled, watching Launch do her thing; he didn't appear at all concerned for the well-being of the civilians. "Thankfully, Tien convinced her to start carrying hollow round ammunition for when she has her little episodes… I think just scaring the daylights out of people and getting her way is enough amusement for her."
"Get out of the way!" Launch barked, and she gestured for us. Her green eyes were stubborn, haughty, and downright indifferent toward the drama she'd just created. "C'mon, guys, this express lane ain't gonna be open all day!"
Heh, how about that… She thinned the crowd so we could get through registration quicker… It was so unfair and childishly immoral, but the way she did it was so awesome, I didn't have a lot of room to feel too bad about it.
"I like her," I said to Gohan, grinning. He nervously chuckled in return.
Gohan, myself, and those who were competing signed our names on the roster. Apparently, the others felt it was pointless entering a competition with Vegeta or Gohan, but they still came simply to support and indulge in the old tradition. Krillin and Piccolo, I suppose, just entered for shits and giggles.
Launch lingered by the front of the pack, brandishing her rifle, rested against her chest, as we strolled through the town walkway. Our own personal, gun-wielding bouncer to thin out the crowds…how convenient.
At first, I was all too content to give her space and not engage her if I could help it, but upon getting more than a few peeks at her rifle, my "quiet" switch flipped off. "Holy… Hey," I gently coaxed her attention toward me, and she raised a brow. "Is that an FG-Forty-Two?"
Launch grinned, adjusting her hold on the rare, antique rifle. I recognized it by its hefty, flaring stock, long barrel, rounded muzzle tip, and scope. It was clean and exquisite. I'd only ever seen this particular gun once before, in a display case that belonged to one of my uncle's friends, who was a collector of many antique rarities—including firearms.
Launch allowed me to get a closer look to see the fine details. "Those were used in World War Two, how did you get your hands on one of these?" I expressed in awe.
"I have my ways," was all she said with a proud grin.
We managed to get around without Launch needing to fire off another shot, thankfully. It was amusing the first time, but I couldn't help but feel our presence warranted enough attention as it was, without firing off a rifle.
The hotel for competitors' lodging rested atop the cliff-side ocean shore, while the tournament grounds themselves were just the opposite ways down the path. Given the volume of competitors that entered, space was limited, so Gohan and I heedlessly signed up to share a room.
Our room was practical, yet spacious; two queen-sized beds up against a wall, adjacent to a singularly large window that overlooked the ocean and smooth cliff that actually trailed down to the beach. A small flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall above the lounging corner, and a pair of bi-fold wooden doors was half-opened; I curiously investigated to find a surprisingly generous bathroom. Double sinks, private toilet and shower behind swinging doors that hung a few feet off the ground. A little window allowed natural light.
I hastily called dibs on the bed closest to the panoramic wall made of glass, granting a larger than life view of the ocean beyond the island.
My hands found the small box that Chichi had given me with the gi in it. I was actually thrilled to try it on. I opened the box and began to unravel the outfit, to find it wasn't quite what I expected. The top—if you could even call it that—wasn't a traditional, full-covered robe or sweatshirt; it was cropped and sleeveless. I simply hummed, taking to the bathroom and closing the door behind me.
When I slipped the top on, I didn't know whether to laugh or just gawk stupidly at myself in the mirror. It folded nicely at the chest like a robe would, but the elastic hem left half of my abdomen exposed; like a sports bra with a five-inch thick elastic band.
I groaned indecisively, looking at the exposed skin of my abs. Well, it could be a lot worse, I suppose.
The pants were a solid and thick fabric, but airy and comfortable at the same time. The thick-banded sash was a heavy silk, the color of metallic gray. It contrasted nicely with the black outfit. I decided to tie my hair up in a ponytail last minute before heading out the door.
At the entrance to the arena and prep areas was where we separated from the group. I followed Gohan and the other guys into the warm-up arena. Emerging from the long hallway, the warm-up arena was expansive, and yet, according to Gohan, was only a small fraction of the main arena's size. It was filled with countless martial artists; all men, from what I could see.
"Are all of these people competing?" I asked in amazement.
"Not all. They have an elimination process, from there are the preliminary bouts, and then the real competition will start, in the main arena," Gohan explained. "It's quite a lengthy event, that's why the whole festival around it lasts a few days."
"Ah."
"Hey!" A blond man wearing a blue-black dress-jacket and sunglasses was jogging up toward us; apparently happy, given he had a smile on his face. Krillin greeted him in the way old acquaintances do. "So good to see you, fellas! I was hoping you guys would be competing this year!" After glancing amongst the faces, he asked, "What about the man of the hour? Our past champion?"
"Oh, Goku, uh…he died a few years ago," Krillin answered. "The Cell Games."
That was all the elaboration this man needed. As if he just got news of a childhood idol passing away, his shoulders sagged, his upbeat face pinched with disappointment. "Aw, man… Damn." Then, he was facing Gohan. "Ah, I think I know who this is! Spitting image of your old man… You must be Son Gohan! I'm so sorry about your dad, kid. He was a great man, sorely missed." Finally, the blond man's focus shifted to me; his brows shot straight up. "And who is this?"
"This is Jae," Gohan answered, formal and reserved. "She's my…pupil."
My gut tickled with pride hearing him say that.
"No kidding! How about that? So, what is she like a distant relative oooorrr something?" There was a hook at the end of the man's question, and I could feel his gaze shift to Gohan behind his sunglasses.
"She's just a good friend," Gohan answered politely.
"Just a good friend, huh? So you two aren't like, an item, or anything?"
"No," Gohan and I both chimed together.
"Aw, that's too bad. We need another Goku-and-Chichi-type love story here in the world of martial arts!" the man chuckled, nudging Gohan with his elbow in an old, friendly sort of way. Gohan only chuckled stiffly, and I only kept smiling for the sake of being polite.
"Well, look, I'm glad you guys are here, can't wait to see you kick ass in the arena. Just…try not to destroy it this time, m'kay?" The man then directed his hidden gaze to Piccolo, who smirked.
"We'll try," he murmured softly, though I could tell he wouldn't be making any promises. I couldn't help but grin, recalling the footage Gohan showed me of that championship all those years ago when his father and Piccolo had gone head-to-head—and completely eradicated the entire stadium in the wake of their battle.
From this point, we amassed toward the east wall, lounging there away from the crowds. Piccolo stood and leaned against the wall, arms folded and head bowed in an attempt to meditate. As to how he could in the middle of all this madness, I couldn't fathom. His passive silence was something that made me uncomfortable, but in spending that week with him hovering over our camp site, his ever-aware taciturnity was rather comforting.
Vegeta was also silent, but not in any peaceful way whatsoever. I watched the way his eyes flicked over each and every face amongst us; the look in his face was so superior, as if every person here was beneath him. Obviously, he didn't come here for the festivities or for the fun; he just wanted to have an excuse to beat the shit out of people.
"Fighters, the preliminary selection will now begin," a man blared over the microphone, startling me from my deep thoughts. "We will call your name from the registration roster, and you will come forth to have your strength measured by the Counter." The short, stubby man gestured toward a strange-looking piece of machinery; it just looked like a cluster of gears and steel, with a large, circular pad as the main front. "If you receive a high counter score for the amount of force measured in the strength of a single punch, you will be entered into the preliminary rounds, in which there are forty-eight spots open. However, there are only twelve slots for the main competition itself, so just because you make it to the preliminary rounds, does not guarantee you a spot in the competition. Now, to set the general score for us to go by, the currently reigning champion, Hercule Satan."
Suddenly, it was as if I had teleported to another place, from where reserved fighters meditated and quietly warmed up, to a roaring crowd of apparent fans and admirers.
"Here we go," I heard Krillin grumble. I glanced at Gohan, who simply half-shrugged with an uncaring twitch of the brow. Returning to watch the threshold of the hallway, I waited for the notorious Hercule Satan to emerge.
He didn't make his entrance casually. As soon as he was in sight, he hoisted his champion's belt above his head with two hands, roaring a victorious battle cry to match the deafening cheers of his fans.
He was taller than I remembered from the video, and though his chiseled build and sharp mustache gave him an intimidating look, it pretty much ended with his outrageously outplaced afro. His gi was dark brown and white, with an overly dramatic, collared white cape fell from his shoulders.
"So that's 'the man who saved the world', huh?" I bantered with Gohan, throwing my voice into his mind. I loved this ploy we shared, the telepathy; it was even better than having a secret code or language. It was a strangely…intimate way of conversing. I was almost addicted to the closeness of his voice in my head, like someone cupping their hands around your ear as they whispered a secret for your ears only…
I saw the corner of his mouth tip up. "Yep, that's the savior of mankind. Is he everything you hoped he would be?"
I snuffed. "He looks like he belongs in the WWE…"
Gohan gargled a half-laugh, caught between his throat and nostrils.
Beside Hercule, I could see a much smaller figure; a young girl in a tank top and spandex shorts. She had the same blue eyes and black hair, up in pigtails.
"Is that his daughter?"
"Yes. That's Videl."
"She's really going to go to our school this next year?" I hadn't heard much of her, other than how she was definitely her father's daughter in the area of being a successful martial artist.
Gohan had a tentative look on his face. "That's what the rumors are, yes."
"Why? Why would the daughter of the most famous, revered, and richest man go to a public school?"
Gohan shrugged. "I'm not sure. Perhaps, for all her father's strutting and her pride in his success, she wants a taste of what it's like to be a normal teenager in any way she can."
If I had things my way, I would have chosen homeschooling just to get away from people, but to each their own, I suppose.
Hercule blabbered a few more boisterous remarks, then took his stance and delivered the first blow to the punching machine. His score came through as one-hundred-and-thirty-seven; Videl's was ninety-three. Everyone oohed and aahed over the numbers. I glanced at Gohan, who gave another shrug.
"When you go up there, though, try to use as gentle of force as possible. Only tap the surface of the pad with your knuckles."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Trust me," he insisted.
The wait was long and tedious. So far, the scores ranged in the eighty to one-hundred range. I wondered how high Gohan and the others would score…
When I became thirsty, I excused myself quickly to the nearest drinking fountain, which, thankfully, was just off to the side of the arena. I knew I should have brought a canteen along.
"You're new."
Videl Satan stood in front of me, watching me with demandingly curious eyes. I hadn't known what to expect if I ever came in close proximity to her. She was remarkably plain in her wardrobe and appearance, given her upbringing. Her blue eyes were chips of ice that scrutinized everything out of place or abnormal. If she didn't carry a skeptical, haughty frown on her face, she'd actually be quite beautiful.
Then again, I've heard people tell me the same thing, so I suppose I wasn't one to talk.
"This is my first time competing," I answered indifferently.
"I saw you were hanging out with Son Gohan and his gang," Videl mentioned, crossing her arms. "What relation are they to you?"
"Gohan is my trainer."
One of her sharply angled brows shot up in disbelief. "That's too bad. They're just a bunch of tricksters, you know. They don't take martial arts seriously or abide by the traditional code."
Outwardly, I kept up an interested appearance, while my ire was brewing beneath the mask.
"No up-and-coming martial artist should go putting their career in the hands of the wrong crowd. You should join my dad's dojo. It's one of the most awarded, successful dojos in the nation." Both brows raised, she waited for my answer. "What do you say?"
I took a deep breath to calm the profanities that wanted spew out of my mouth, and instead, replaced them with these, "I think I'm perfectly capable of telling on my own which crowd is 'wrong' for me, thanks." My tone was neutral, but my words were enough to get my "piss off" point across.
Glaring at me, Videl huffed. "Suit yourself." She strutted off, disappearing somewhere I didn't bother noticing, and I rejoined Gohan and my new group of buddies to wait for my turn.
The preliminary testing came soon enough. When it was my turn to step forward, I remembered what Gohan had said, to use as gentle of force as possible.
Doesn't he know by now he's talking about the wrong girl? I don't do 'gentle'.
Taking a deep breath, I stood before the machine, shifting into my proper stance, which still felt awkward given that I had to hold back. I gave my "gentle" punch, which was the equivalent of a half-hearted human jab. Amazingly, the thick-skinned pad still reacted, and the counter bleeped with calculating numbers.
My stomach dropped when the numbers stopped.
"Two-hundred-and-twenty-six?!" The overseer's face, as with all the others, gawped at the numbers in disbelief. I glanced back at Gohan worriedly, who was smiling empathetically.
"S-sorry, miss, but please try again," the man encouraged me. How could I lessen the force of my punches any more than that?
This time, I only let my knuckles touch the pad in a quick, feather-light jab. The machine still registered it. "One-hundred-and-seventy…?" I quietly groaned, watching the baffled man gawk at the number, and looking at his chart. "W-well…I suppose you're in, my dear."
Bowing my head, I kept my eyes to the ground as I walked back for Gohan, seeking shelter behind him from the shocked eyes of everyone around us.
My embarrassment didn't last long. Gohan's score was one-ninety-two, Krillin was one-oh-seven, and Piccolo's was one-eighty, which surprised me, but after looking at him, he didn't seem to express as great as concern in restraint.
When Vegeta's turn came, he looked at the machine as if it was a fly on the wall. He drew his arm back, and an alarm went off in my head. That doesn't look like he intends to be 'subtle'…
His fist bolted forward, hitting the machine with bone-crushing force and sending it careening in mangled pieces toward the wall across the arena. My hands flew to my open mouth to stifle a gasp.
"Oh, good grief," Gohan grumbled, rolling his eyes. The faces of the tournament staff were priceless.
As it would turn out, the staff announced they would bring out the spare machine so each fighter had their chance in qualifying. It took another hour to finish the entire process. As soon as the crowd was down to forty-eight, no time was wasted; we were all led through a threshold off of the arena and into an enclosed stadium, with three miniature fighting platforms.
The blond man that talked with us earlier had shown himself, from wherever he disappeared to during qualifying. He stood in front of an electric board that illustrated some sort of counter organization system.
"All right, everybody, now the preliminaries begin! You will be randomly paired with an opponent for two rounds, until only twelve of you remain for the competition." From there, he proceeded to lay out the rules: if you gave up or fell outside of the fighting platform, you lost; no killing allowed, and if you were to kill your opponent, you're automatically disqualified; any cheating, foul play, or weapons also resulted in immediate termination from the competition.
My name was the first drawn; I didn't hear my opponent's name. All I could hear was the thrumming pulse of my racing heart, echoing in my ear canals. Gohan gave me an optimistic thumbs-up as I walked toward the arena, hastily climbing the few steps. Being elevated a couple feet off the ground, I definitely felt on the spot.
My opponent took the stairs in one swift step; he was a huge behemoth, over seven feet tall, with greasy brown hair and bulging muscles. His green eyes picked me apart.
He snorted. "Really? You're letting little girls participate in the competition? No wonder the reputation of this tournament's going down the crap-shoot," he spat, unimpressed, his voice thick with some accent I couldn't identify.
I raised a brow, my timidity sinking away the more he opened his mouth.
"Why don't you just go home and play with your dolls, little lady?" he chuckled. "Well, go on." He waved a hand toward the exit, honestly expecting me to take this chance to forfeit. His amusement faded when I persisted to stand my ground and glare at him.
"Suit yourself." Lunging for me, his long arms reached out, but in a swift breath, I had ducked under him and sent my fist into the vulnerable flesh of his abdomen. I could hear the air leave his lungs in a sharp wheeze. I let myself fall back, using my hands to brace myself as my legs flung out and kicked at his ankles, knocking him off his weary foundation and sending him flying for the floor. He was too busy clutching his stomach and struggling to regulate his breathing to get back up.
As if it was the fastest prelim round any of them had ever seen, the tournament officials gawked at me and my fallen opponent. "U-uh, Jae, you go through!" the blond announcer declared. Without a word, I left the platform and returned to my place beside Gohan. One side of his mouth was pulled up in a perky smirk.
"How'd that feel?" he asked.
I exhaled, but unlike the air leaving my lungs, adrenaline only intensified in my veins. "It felt good," I answered, smiling.
As the preliminaries continued, I was actually disappointed. All of my new friends barreled through their opponents like it was all just a walk in the park; I wanted to see Gohan fight someone, to see him in action, though I should have known that on this platform, that wish would be unfulfilled.
The second round cycled quickly, and yet even with fighters who made it through the first round, it meant nothing when paired against Gohan or any of the others. Hopefully the actual competition would be more entertaining than this.
I was up last, and I was pumped to move on to the finals. Then I heard the name of my opponent. Videl Satan.
She glared at me from the other side of the platform, and I couldn't entirely say I wasn't giving her something of a similar look. When the gong sounded, I was surprised when she charged at me first. Her blows were sharp and precise, but none of them actually landed on me.
When I saw an opportunity, I took it, swinging my leg to hers; she hit my thigh with her knee in a block. Well, damn…she had a good eye.
Her strikes grew in aggression, and I was having troubles landing a punch on her. Her fist blindsided me and grazed my jaw before I had the time to react. As if a bomb had gone off, my willingness for restraint snapped and I repaid her blow with a bolting jab of my own, right to her chest. Rather than sending her to the floor, it tossed her backward, flying past the boundary of the platform. She landed on the grassy ground below with a harsh thud.
The whole room, which had been filled with the melodious buzz of chatter, fell dead silent. Every fighter stood wide-eyed and mouth ajar at the fact Hercule Satan's daughter had just been knocked out of bounds—and for the first time in her career, wouldn't be advancing past preliminaries.
When I heard her coughing a hoarse, dry heave, I walked closer to the edge of the ring; she was stiffly attempting to pull herself up, but her body was still too stunned from the force of my punch, and her landing. I could see it in just the furrowing of her brows that this loss was devastating to her. To my own amazement, I actually felt a twinge of sympathy.
I hopped off the platform and knelt down to her, offering my hand. When she noticed me, her eyes widened with indignation. In a blink, she forced herself up, deliberately hitting my hand with a brunt shove of her shoulder. She limped away, shunning away the offered aid of tournament staff. I wasn't appalled she refused my assistance; I really didn't expect her to take it to begin with.
I probably wouldn't have, if the situation was reversed.
What started out as forty-eight contestants wound down to twelve, and the sky had turned orange with the evening sun. It didn't feel as though the preliminaries took all afternoon. The competition wouldn't be resuming until tomorrow morning, so we were released to do whatever we desired for the remainder of the night.
After a satisfying meal filled with surprisingly enjoyable conversation, I was exhausted. Between the hustling action of the first leg of the competition and learning a new rhythm with Gohan's extended family, I was burned out for the day.
With our bedroom window opened, I could hear the drowning roar of the vast ocean waves. I'd forgotten how soothing that sound was, a sound that lulled my spirit and stitched up any discord in my mind. It was the perfect background noise as I read.
Gohan took up on the same idea, sitting beside me on my bed and indulging in a book himself.
Taking a break, we conversed over the plot to the book I was currently reading—another recommendation from Gohan—and during my gushing of the main character, a banished prince with a twisted sense of justice who had fought tooth and claw to survive living in a vicious city and rediscovering his humanity through a group of misfits that later become his friends, I somehow veered off on the subject of princes in general, which eventually led us to pondering about Vegeta.
"Bulma's rich, right? Why is Vegeta even competing in this tournament? Especially when he looks like he's been itching to murder someone all afternoon; that's not the look of someone who's participating in something because they enjoy it."
Vegeta carried that disdainful scowl on his face all day, pummeling his opponents with the slight flick of his wrist, all while looking like the most bored man on the planet.
"I think it's just an outlet for him—it gives him something to pulverize." I recalled what Gohan once told me about Saiyans needing to syphon out their power. "He's trained only recently since the Cell Games, but he's never been able to actually fight something or someone. And since my father died, I think Vegeta's sense of purpose as a warrior has been lost to him."
When I raised a brow, he elaborated further, "Well, remember I mentioned Vegeta used to be one of the bad guys? My father was the first to ever defeat him, and, well, let's just say that as a prince, Vegeta took to an obsession of surpassing my father. He may not be evil and go around killing people anymore, but one thing he's never been able to let go of is this competitive drive against my father. Being a prince, I suppose he always felt as if he was made of greatness and would achieve greatness; which he has, don't get me wrong, but my father was the one that always achieved that greatness first."
I thought back to when Gohan and I encountered Vegeta back in the halls of Capsule Corporation, how he scowled at Gohan with sharp distaste and loathing, as if Gohan had stolen something from him. "What about you?"
"Eh…he never saw me as much of anything; just a gnat on his windshield, not a threat. I don't know what got his motivation back to start training again the last couple of years… Maybe he finally found something to work toward after I'd set the bar even higher than my dad ever managed to do, when I ascended to the very level he'd worked his whole life to attain. I suppose one doesn't just lose that fire and drive for something they've focused on for most of their life."
True… No one with enough self-respect toward themselves would just give up on something that consumed their being to such a degree.
Perhaps there was some honor in this pompous Saiyan Prince, after all.
Setting his book aside, Gohan rearranged himself so that he was lying horizontally beside me, his arm brushing against my hip. To distract from the ping of warmth I felt at the contact, I revisited the topic of Gohan's power and asked, "What was it like?"
"What was what like?" So close beside me, I felt the soft reverberation of his voice along my skin, in the mattress.
"Ascending to a power no one else was able to reach." My mind ventured back to the footage I saw of the Cell Games, of Gohan losing himself in a scream loud enough for the camera's mic to pick up even through the open air and wind, blinded with light and dust, the mere energy he was releasing affecting the earth around him.
Gohan's eyes left mine and gazed up at the ceiling thoughtfully. I quietly watched the warm light from the bedside lamp played on the features of his face. "What did it feel like mentally or physically?"
"Either or."
When a few moments went by without him saying a word, I thought he perhaps wouldn't tell me.
"To this day, I still can't really wrap my head around it—the power I have, that it makes me the strongest person on this planet… I'd always been in the background during a battle, riding the coattails of my father's power. I knew I wanted to be strong, but the idea of me being even stronger than him? It was unfeasible to me. And as for the physical manifestation of the power itself…"
He made many attempts to speak, but he lost his words every time, before finally admitting, "There's no way to describe it, when I finally let that power out of its cage. I… I felt as if my whole body was going to combust. So much energy was coursing through me, it was painful—physically painful. But it's a maddening pain that is buried beneath your skin, in the depths of your core. As for the mental aspect of it…" He paused, and I caught a sad, critical furrow in his brow. "That kind of power…it takes over you. It gets into your head and clouds all reason, any rational, sane thought. Being an unprepared kid didn't help the whole situation." His jaw tensed.
"I thought your dad trained you for the Cell Games?" I asked gently.
"He did, but he never told me that I was his secret weapon. I thought saving the world was going to be his job, as it always had been; that I was just going to be a Pawn, not the King that seized the victory. That level of ascension he and Vegeta and Trunks had strived to reach—but couldn't—was inside me. At first, I don't think my dad had intentions of training me to be the conqueror of the Cell Games. But when I ascended while we were training, he had a whole plan cooked up—one that he kept hidden from me and everybody else."
"You ascended when you were training and didn't think you'd be able to fight Cell?"
"I don't remember it," he said. "I just remember being so mentally and physically exhausted; when my dad knocked me down, it was like my consciousness slipped away, and something else—something primal—took over. Next thing I remember, I woke up in bed, but my dad acted strange from that point on; he openly admitted that Cell was far stronger than him, and yet he was so confident that we'd be able to defeat him… It was a strange kind of confidence, even from him.
"You can imagine my shock when my father—the man who would just as soon die than forfeit any battle—gave up against Cell, only to announce there was someone even stronger for him to fight. Imagine my disbelief when he called my name.
"I went ahead and fought Cell because I wanted to make my father proud; he had faith in me, so I knew I had to have faith in myself, even though deep in my heart, I doubted I could actually finish the job. I figured it out soon enough, though, what my father was trying to do, pinning me against Cell when he was in fact stronger than me at that point in time. He knew Cell would push and shove me into a corner, and like a cornered dog, I would resort to instinct—my Saiyan instincts—and bite back. He knew—I knew—that if my hidden powers were provoked, there'd be no stopping them that time. There'd be no expiration, like in all the episodes I'd experienced in the past. I was scared; scared that if my powers were fully unleashed, they would change me, that they'd make me into a killer."
His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "And they did."
"I find that hard to believe," I whispered. I knew he did what he had to do, but I couldn't imagine him being turned into a thoughtless killer by something in his own mind.
"Believe it, because it did." A muscle in his jaw feathered, those black eyes cold and distant for once. "Every Saiyan impulse, every Saiyan instinct—to maim, to kill—every little savage trait that I'd kept mollified all my life just came flooding to the surface. All those traits became a permanent part of who I am, and I fight them every day."
For a few moments, I didn't know how to respond. I'd always seen him as a person of strict control; to imagine him out of his own control was incomprehensible.
"So…it's like a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing?"
Finally, he let his head tilt back in my direction. "Yeah, it's pretty much like that."
Perhaps it made me insensitive, but I asked anyways, "What is it about the Cell Games that you don't want to talk about with people?"
He closed his eyes, inhaling another breath. The lines of his face suddenly appeared tired. "Defeating Cell may have been my greatest accomplishment as a warrior, but I also had my fair share of low moments—moments I'd prefer to keep locked away." A certain expression must have shown in my eyes, because he then added, "They're my demons to worry about, not yours."
"Everybody needs a little help exorcizing their demons," I said.
He smiled. "Well, whenever I'm ready for an exorcizing, you'll be the one I call. Be sure to bring plenty of holy water."
Snickering, I shook my head. His sleepy grin was both hopeful and grim at the same time, but it nevertheless left me in a daze, especially as he drifted off into sleep.
I tried to make myself read a few more pages before succumbing to the drowsiness setting in, but I couldn't take my eyes off Gohan as he slipped into deeper slumber beside me—allowing myself to get lost in the somber lines of his brows, the straight angle of his nose, the soft shape of his lips, how his messy bangs fell over his closed eyes.
It hit me then, how I could watch him for hours on end, and I would never tire of it, never lose appreciation for the handsomeness of his face, the brave—if not a little wounded—heart beating beneath that chest as it rose and fell.
I didn't know when I decided to put the movement to action, but I brought my hand to his face, letting my fingers brush the spiked tufts of his hair. The silken feel of those ebony locks had me combing my fingers through his bangs, allowing my fingertips to graze his scalp and forehead.
It was…stirringly new and strange. I didn't touch people like this; it was more like an affectionate petting, really, which I only ever indulged in with animals, and I was barely affectionate with my own family, give or take a small handful of people.
But…I liked this.
For a second, I thought Gohan's breath had hitched—and I stilled, waiting for him to stir, but his chest resumed its rise-and-fall rhythm, if not a touch more shallow than before. Or was I imagining things?
I definitely didn't imagine the minute tilt of his head, falling to the side as if he'd succumbed to a deeper sleep. My heart fluttered at the thought that maybe it had been a beckoning, luxurious leaning into my touch.
Yet I couldn't bring myself to stop, and I fell into a cadence that was even putting me to sleep. But I didn't want to tear away from Gohan's face.
He was so stubborn, perhaps even just as scared at admitting his weaknesses as I was, but I would wait until he was ready, ready to share whatever memories and secrets that left him so raw and guilty inside.
And maybe, just maybe, I would be ready to open my soul completely to him, too.
Looking at him as he slept on, I smiled, my heart full.
A/N:
So...I lied when I said chapter 23 was the end of Part 1...oops :P
Working on Part 2 and going through my outline, I determined that Part 1 should end at Chapter 30, based off the pacing. So, I've got 7 new chappies for y'all! :)
FYI: I made a Facebook page for my fanfiction! Look up Fanfiction by FangSoul and go give it a like to follow along on my writing journey of Black Moon! There's artwork, exclusive updates, and other fun stuff!
Happy reading! Reviews and feedback are always welcome!
-JMA