"There's a whole lotta people in the world, huh."

Goku marveled at the crowd as we stepped out of the cab. The grounds were partitioned into two sections; the first, nearest the street, had grass on either side of the path leading toward the arena. The die-hard fans and last-minute applicants were all milling around the area. Further in, beyond a wall that an adult could easily see over, was the spectator's space, with another wall surrounding the tile ring where the eight contestants who made it into the tournament proper would fight.

Past the ring, two buildings loomed, the first smaller than the second; one for the finalists to rest and prepare for their matches, and the other for hosting the preliminary rounds.

"The deadline for registration is midnight tonight!"

One of the staff on site said into a megaphone.

Even late at night, the atmosphere teemed with anticipation.

"I–I'm starting to get a little nervous." Kuririn admitted, hand over his stomach.

"You two wait here and get registered," I said, unable to contain myself. "I'm gonna take a closer look."

"No, no, you're not listening," Roshi said to another staff member as I walked farther in. "These two are participants, not spectators."

"Wha–those children?"

I propped my elbows on the wall around the arena, staring at the tilework.

Legends would take shape on this stage; the kind that defined an era in history. Rivalries, redemption, stakes far beyond attaining a title… All of that would eventually take place inside the ring.

My anticipation probably rivaled Goku's.

"Yo, Mirin!"

A familiar voice brought me back to the present; I grinned, stepping back to meet a desert bandit who'd turned a new leaf.

"Hey, Yamcha," I said, waving. "What happened to all your hair?"

Yamcha touched his head, looking a little self-conscious; the wild mane that'd been his trademark was gone in favor of a neater, much shorter cut.

"Bulma likes guys with short hair," he said by way of explanation. He quickly turned attention away from his haircut. "What're you doing in a suit?"

I shrugged, tugging at my tie to loosen it a bit.

"T'was a gift," I said. "Couldn't be rude about it, even if it's not my style. You should see Goku."

"Ha!" Yamcha barked a laugh, amused at the idea of my wild nature boy brother in civilian garb. He glanced around. "Where is he?"

"Still registering," I said. I put a hand on his shoulder, sidling closer. "Listen, before that, I've got some advice about the tournament."

Yamcha blinked a couple times before realization washed over his face.

"Okay?"

"I'll be honest," I said. "You fall in comfortably among the top contenders this year."

Yamcha's eyebrows rose and his chest puffed; I almost hated to continue.

"That said–don't take this the wrong way–don't go in there expecting to win. If you find yourself getting frustrated, take a deep breath and think of it as an opportunity to learn."

I realized I'd essentially edited and paraphrased Roshi's words for the boys; somehow, that felt embarrassing. I clapped Yamcha on the back.

"It's not like this is your only chance to participate."

"Heh," Yamcha huffed, looking oddly at me. "Yeah, okay. Have I asked before, how it is you know things?"

"Nope," I said, leading the way back to Goku and Kuririn. "I wouldn't have answered even if you had."

"Figures."

"Oh, and uh," I said, throwing in an afterthought. "If you start making deductions about an old man, you're probably right. Just don't badger him about it."

"What?"

"Hey kiddo," I said, calling for Goku's attention; and more importantly, not giving Yamcha time to question my last point. "Look who I found."

Goku glanced behind me; he looked back at me, as if to confirm who I was referring to.

"Do I know you?"

Yamcha shifted into a familiar stance.

Rogafufuken!

"Yamcha!"

Goku jumped toward the former bandit with a wide grin.

"Heh," Yamcha huffed, running a hand through his hair again. "Maybe the haircut was a little drastic."

"Dude," I said. "You went from beast of the field to boy band member."

"Well…" Yamcha stammered, red-eared.

"Who's that?" Kuririn asked.

"He's our friend we met before we found Old-timer!" Goku, of his own volition, took it on himself to introduce Kuririn; clearly, Roshi had managed to drill a few things into his head. "This is Kuririn, he did the Kame Sen'nin's training with me!"

"Nice to meet you." Yamcha nodded.

"Y-yeah," Kuririn said, bowing slightly. "Nice to meet you."

"Anyway," Yamcha said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "The others should be"

"Boys," Roshi said, walking our way with a pair of forms in hand. "They need your signatures."

"Huh?"

All at once, our little group nearly doubled in size; an impromptu reunion with the gang.

"Son-kun?!"

"Bulma!"

"Mirin!"

"Oolong!"

"I'm Puar!" The cat cut in, not one to be left out.

Oolong raced up to my brother and swapped hugs, grinning at both of us.

"It's been a long time!" Goku said.

"Great to see you," Bulma said, sounding like she meant it. "Where"

"Hello~!" Roshi interrupted.

"Egh!" Bulma balked. "Sen'nin-san…" She frowned and glared at him. "Hey, where did you move to? We tried to visit Mirin and Son-kun, but your island was empty!"

"My little getaway is hardly suited for training," Roshi said. His mouth stretched into a lecherous grin. "But never mind that. Would you mind a little puff-puff? For old time's sake?"

Roshi raised both his hands, palms facing each other and making a squeezing motion.

THWAM.

Bulma gave him a warranted rejection.

"Nice to see he hasn't changed." Oolong deadpanned.

Roshi collected himself, grumbling about how no one appreciated a good gag. Ignoring him, I waved a hand at the Kame students and Yamcha.

"Guess we know why these three are here, huh?"

Yamcha smirked, raising a clenched fist.

"I look forward to a rematch, Goku."

"Me too!"

"Man," Oolong said, hands behind his head. "Tomorrow's gonna be exciting!"

Goku blinked.

"Tomorrow?" He asked, glancing back at me.

"The Budokai doesn't start till early tomorrow morning, kiddo."

"Aw… okay." Goku said, obviously disappointed.


Sweet Rice Wine


"Hey, runt."

Kuririn glanced up, halfway through changing into his pajamas. Mirin stood just at the entrance of their room; they'd parted ways with Goku and Mirin's friends for their accommodations to get some rest before the tournament.

"C'mon out here a second."

"Uh," Kuririn glanced back at Roshi; the venerable master had already put on his eye mask and nodded off in bed. "Okay."

"Aniki?" Goku asked, poking his head out of the bathroom.

"Just wanna word with Kuririn, kiddo," Mirin said. "We'll be back in a minute."

As with most things that came out of Mirin's mouth, Goku accepted this with a nod and ducked back into the bathroom. Kuririn wandered out into the hall with Mirin; the older Son brother shut the door to their room behind him.

"Um," Kuririn said, glancing around the hall. He fingered the hem of his sleep shirt. "What're we doing?"

"How do you feel?" Mirin asked abruptly. "Still nervous?"

Kuririn pinched his lips together and ducked his head.

"My stomach…"

"You've probably heard me say," Mirin said. "That I know things. I know, for instance, that the guys you're going to fight tomorrow will be older than you, and most of them much bigger than you." He folded his arms. "Your old bullies will be among them."

Kuririn startled; no matter how many times he did it, Mirin's trick of pulling out facts he had no right knowing didn't lose novelty.

"Ugh." Kuririn groaned, holding his stomach.

Mirin knelt in front of him.

"None of that matters," he said, putting weight into his words. "Because they're not stronger than you. You and Goku have already earned your place in the tournament. All you gotta do tomorrow is prove it."

Kuririn looked up and met Mirin's eyes; he saw no doubt there, only certainty and assurance.

He took heart from it.

Mirin nodded once and stood, reaching for the door.

"Chin up. Let's get some sleep, okay?"

"R-right!"


Sweet Rice Wine


The crowds from the previous night paled in comparison to what met us the next morning; the preliminaries weren't even open to spectators, and still the number of people had at least doubled, with more still trickling in.

"You think everybody's here to fight?" Goku wondered aloud.

"Most of them, probably." Kuririn murmured, looking just as awed as my brother.

"Don't dawdle," Roshi said, leading the way forward. "Let's head to the preliminary hall."

The same megaphone attendant directed participants into the competition hall. Goku and Kuririn stood in line to give their names so they could be checked in.

"You two," the man behind the desk said with obvious disbelief. "You're planning to participate?"

"Oss–I mean, that's right!"

"Y-yes!"

The boys received incredulous stares from more than just the staff; Yamcha, in line behind them, coughed loudly into his fist, urging him to move things along.

"Well," Roshi said once all three of them were squared away. "This is as far as we can accompany you. Ah," he said, setting down his briefcase. "There's one more thing; those suits aren't designed for fighting, after all."

Roshi's present–matching, blood orange gi with the Kame kanji proudly displayed on the back–got more of a reaction from Goku and Kuririn than Lunch's handmade suits did.

They didn't waste any time changing.

"Whoa," Goku exclaimed, swinging his arms up and grinning. "Cool!"

"Heh," I grinned, appraising them both. "That's more like it."

"It feels a lot more real," Kuririn said, touching the smaller Kame kanji on the front below the right shoulder. "Wearing these. We better not lose."

"Looking good, Goku!" Oolong said.

"I can take you seriously, now." Yamcha said, nodding his approval.

Roshi stepped forward, and the boys snapped to attention.

"The eight contestants who make it through the prelims," he said. "Will be allowed to fight in the ring out front. We'll be cheering in the audience as well, of course."

He straightened his back.

"I hope to see you both out there."

"Ossu!"

"Yes sir!"

"Fight hard, and have fun, boys." I said.

"Thanks, aniki!"

Kuririn nodded, trying to make himself a little taller.

"Do your best, Yamcha." Bulma said, tapping his chest.

"Of course," he said, no less eager than my brother. "I trained hard for this. I'll be looking for you guys out front."

"We'll be there, Yamcha-sama!" Puar assured him.

With nothing else to say, we could only wave them off as they filed into the competition hall and out of sight. Not long afterwards, the last of the contestants passed through and the doors were closed.

Finally, the tournament was about to begin.p