Alright, so in retrospect the Diablo Desert shouldn't have been Yamcha's choice of a home. A series of unrelated struggles and otherwise unfortunate events had driven him there, away from the tropical Tlaxcala Town in the west. Not that it mattered now. He told himself he was more comfortable here.

He had never gotten over the way people looked at him because he only had a mother and no father... It was hard. People made living hard. You had to struggle to fit in with society, you had to fight, everyday, fight their perceptions of you, their prejudice and disdain.

At the end of the day, you were still a pariah.

Lady Puar had the right of it: you shouldn't have to convince people to like you; if they were the right people, they wouldn't need convincing.

Solitude wasn't so bad. The natural caves protected them from the worst of the heat. And the number of idiots that came crossing the desert, unaware of its dangers, was as high as he could have hoped for.

Yamcha wasn't all by himself either. Since he had run away from home, Yamcha had faced many dangers and gone through the weirdest parts of the Earth. No wonder he had found a friend in the foul-mouthed old woman from Espelette. Lady Gentili Puar was a tiny woman, and so old Yamcha had never had enough courage to ask her age. Her hair was white as snow and her entire skin was marked with deep wrinkles and other age marks. But the golden lady often proved to possess more stamina than Yamcha and she always had funny remarks to make—even when— well, especially when—he wished she would shut the hell up.

Right now she was perked at the window, dressed in a pink sweater she had knit herself, polishing a frying pan, which was her weapon of choice. That reminded Yamcha of the day they had met. The flood, the burnt barbecue, the piñata, the naked people, and of course, the bulls. He couldn't forget the bulls.

Life had its moments. All of his bad experiences helped him recognize the good things when they came.

Lady Puar let out a gasp. Yamcha dropped his fork and got up. The food was dry anyway. He stopped beside her and glanced out the window.

"There's two of them," she said in that wicked tone she saved for when addressing men. She had made it clear since day one that she particularly despised men. For some secret reason, she had decided to make an exception for Yamcha. On some rare occasions, she even seemed to like him.

Yamcha saw nothing down there. Lady Puar rolled her eyes and pointed a bony finger. Was it possible her sight was better than his? He might have to get his eyes checked soon.

"Well, it's about time," he said, pretending he could see whatever she was pointing to. "I was beginning to wonder if word had finally got out of the business we run around here. So they're...?" He let the words die out and Lady Puar gave him one of her dirtiest looks.

"A scrawny brat and a fat man," she said and then mumbled something that sounded like blind oaf.

Yamcha felt his lips twitch into a smile.

"They might've capsules," Puar pointed out.

Yamcha nodded. He was aching for some fun. Things were getting boring around here, the food was getting stale. Lady Puar had too much free time to think of new insults.

He unsheathed his katana and stared at his own reflection. "Prepare our jet, Lady Puar," he ordered, feeling confident. This was his moment to shine.

"Prepare your own jet, you dope," she retorted and proceeded to watch their foes through the window.

The guy in the jet was maybe two years older than Goku, tall and broad, with visible muscles, and scars Goku didn't want to know about. His hair was a tangled mane that went down to his waist. He had a mischievous smile that told Goku right away he could not be trusted. He carried a katana sword on his back.

His companion was unexpected. An old woman, small and frail looking, with a sweet, grandmother type of smile. She moved slowly, perhaps due to her age, and her face was framed by white curls of hair. She carried a shiny frying pan on her hand – Goku hoped her intention was to cook everyone breakfast.

"Good day, fellas. What brings you to my desert?"

"Your desert?" Goku repeated. "Who are you?"

Oolong stood up, but stayed a few feet behind Goku, using him as a shield.

"I am the Lord of Diablo Desert," the guy introduced himself. The old lady cracked up. He glared at her. "We've talked about this," he whispered to her. "Don't laugh in front of our victims!"

"Don't blame me," she said. "Glorious. It gets funnier the more you say it."

"You–" Yamcha shook his head. "Name's Yamcha Salvador Ernesto González. Pleased to meet you. And this is Lady Gentili Puar; looks sweet, will kick your ass."

She smiled as if that was a given.

"Puar?" Oolong shrieked, coming out from behind Goku. "As in Lady Frying Pan?"

The old woman focused on him, eyes like slits. "Oooh. Cry-baby Oolong, is it?" she said. "Fancy seeing you here, pork chops."

Yamcha looked from one to the other. "You... know him?"

"An old student from Shapeshifting Academy. He used to cry a lot every time other boys picked on him. Ironically, he was expelled for being a bully. I was part of the voting board. One of my fondest memories."

"You haven't changed at all, have you, you old hag?" Oolong growled at her.

"Yes, well," Yamcha said, trying to get back control of the situation, "We're not here to judge. We're here to steal your belongings."

"Go ahead, Goku," Oolong said. "Deal with this moron. Show him what you got."

Goku had every intention to, just wasn't sure he could. His legs were a little shaky and he was starting to see black spots before his eyes. "Maybe… Maybe we can talk about this?"

"Haven't you been listening?" Oolong said. "He's going to rob and kill us!"

"We don't have anything for them to steal anyway."

"Then they're just gonna kill us!"

"Hold up. Nobody said anything about killing anybody," Lady Puar said. "Always with the drama, eh? We're just after a little something something." She made a sign with her hand that meant money.

Goku was still unsure about it, but when Yamcha drew his katana and charged the choice was made for him. Unfortunately, he was seeing two of him. Goku somehow managed to dodge Yamcha's first two swings, then intercepted the sword with his baton.

Yamcha's eyes widened. "The Nyoibo!" he exclaimed, stepping back. He gaped at Goku with renewed interest. "Where did you get that?"

"My grandfather gave it to me." It was true. The Nyoibo had been Goku's eight birthday gift. Grandpa Gohan had taught him how to use it.

"What's so special about his stick?" Puar demanded.

"Don't be vulgar, it's not a stick," Yamcha replied. "The Power Pole is stuff of legend. A length-changing staff created by the God Karin. It's main purpose was to allow its wielder to reach the home of the all powerful Kamisama. Stories say the pole got lost centuries ago. Every now and then, people would go on quests to find it. The man who did…" Yamcha's eyes turned misty. "It's not possible. Hey, kid, what was the name of your grandfather?"

None of your business, Goku thought but he could barely speak at this point. His arms were getting heavier. He had to end this fight before he fell apart.

Yamcha wouldn't let it go. "It was him, wasn't it? Son Gohan, the lone wolf. The best martial artist of all times. With the exception, of course, of his own master. Was that your grandfather, kid? Tell me!"

Goku couldn't bring himself to answer. Time seemed to have slowed down. He lunged forward to strike, but Yamcha was ready for him. He shouted,"Rougahuhuken!", and something really weird happened.

Goku thought he was losing his mind. One minute he was seeing Yamcha, very clearly, then his vision darkened and he thought he saw a wolf coming toward him. Goku stumbled trying to avoid the wolf's fangs and then Yamcha was again before him and his fist collided with Goku's cheekbone. Goku's vision blurred, his head exploded in pain, and before he could blink Yamcha kicked him in the chest and Goku was down for the count.

"That's one of Gohan's techniques. I studied it when I was at school. They kept passing on his teachings even after he disappeared. Nobody knows why he left."

Lady Puar was shaking her head. "You're such a geek with this martial arts stuff. Look around you. Nobody cares. Now grab the fat man."

Oolong gasped and tried to make a run for it, but Lady Puar hit him in the head with her frying pan. He landed belly-first on the sand. Lady Puar sat on top of him, crossing her legs as if about to meditate.

"I thought we were friends..." he pleaded, mouth full of sand.

"What gave you that impression?"

Yamcha was about to approach when he caught sight of movement to his left. The kid was back on his feet. That shouldn't be possible. The Wolf Slice Fist was supposed to have knocked him out for hours.

Goku charged. He hit Yamcha on the ribs with the Nyoibo. Yamcha let out a moan and jumped backwards, slamming his blade against the baton. The boy came at him again with a swipe to the head. Yamcha parried and returned with a thrust.

And then–

"STOP WITH THAT NOISE! THE LOT OF YOU! I AM TRYING TO REST! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO—to—" Bulma had come marching out from under the shade. She found herself face to face with someone… new. The dark handsome stranger.

He stood, sword in hand, and gaped. Bulma believed she was doing the same.

Yamcha opened and closed his mouth several times unable to form words. His hands shook and he forgot what the hell he had been doing there in the first place. Was there something he needed? He couldn't remember. He certainly wasn't in need of anything else.

Not anymore.

He knew that face. He'd seen it before. In the TV. Outdoors. Everywhere. Amazing face. He never thought he would get to see it in person.

He was a fan, he wouldn't deny. Maybe a little more than that. Whatever the case, one thing was for sure – he couldn't rob her. That would be a crime!

Quickly, he gathered himself and stumbled backwards. He gestured to Puar, their secret sign of retreat, and she immediately followed suit. The climbed the jet and within seconds, they were gone.

"What. Was. That." Oolong said, struggling to sit up.

"No," Bulma said. "Who was that?"

Puar stretched at the window, this time watching Yamcha as he paced around the room. She was gravitating between judgment and pity. "Are you going to explain to me what the hell happened out there?"

Yamcha didn't answer right away. His thoughts were going too fast. He couldn't quite focus on any of them. "I'm not... I don't know what happened."

"Who was that?"

"Just… some girl."

"Pah!" was the sound Lady Puar made. "Just some girl. Yeah, right."

He didn't know how to make Puar understand. He had been obsessed far too long. Secretly, of course. Wouldn't ever admit to it. But he knew the details of her face like it was his own. Deep green eyes like the forests of Iltrahir. Silky hair, golden when caught in sunlight. Red lips, juicy, begging to be kiss–

"What are you thinking, you dolt?" Lady Puar cut him off. "What are you going to do?"

Yamcha glared at his friend. "I'm never going to see her again," he said. That was it. That was as close to the sun as he was allowed to get. A glimpse of heaven. A door shut forever.

The old woman stared at him.

"You think I'm a coward," he guessed.

Lady Puar lowered her eyes and, for the first time in a long while, she looked brittle, haunted by memories. "I think you're human, kid," she said.

The way she said that… it was oddly touching.

"Can I say something?"

She had never asked that before. "You usually just do," he pointed out.

"Fair enough. Well, I taught you many things in our years together, kid. I taught you to run away when things got hard. I didn't teach you to stand your ground. Perhaps it wasn't my place to do so. I never really went out there after the things I wanted. Family. Children. Now look at me. Too little too late. Don't make the same mistake, kid. You want something, you go after it."

As far as Lady Puar's concil went, that wasn't the worst of it. He still remembered when she told him he couldn't go wrong with sideburns.

It might have a good message there, but it didn't instill him with confidence.