Ah, editing. So much fun fun fun. Hey I forgot how much I liked this fight scene. Read it! And then maybe review!

Chapter 7

"Very good, Pan. I really don't think you need to worry about not being able to fight in the tournament. Your skills far surpass those of most of the students here. Be careful not to violate any major rules, and I'm positive you have a secure position in the first round." The gnarled athletic trainer hobbled over to the side of the large room, clicking a few buttons and sagging tiredly into his seat. "I think it would be best for you to get some rest now."

"But Klak, I have to be as ready as possible for this thing. I know there's stiff competition, and I want to be at my best when I go for the win. Please allow me to continue training?" She clasped her hands together and grinned hopefully, ignoring the drops of sweat rolling down her aching back. She had been working hard lately, perhaps too hard; but she was determined to put up a good fight against this Trunks guy. She could beat him, she knew it.

"Pan, you could seriously hurt yourself, and then you wouldn't have any chance at all." He grumbled, aware that this argument was seriously cutting into his nap time.

"But I need the training. Couldn't I just try simple sparring? Then I could feel out the way some of the other guys fight and learn to avoid any injuries in the actual tournament. It makes sense, right?" She leaned forward in anticipation.

"Fine. I'll allow sparring. But not here. If you spar, I want you to do it in the athletic battle areas. And don't fight with anyone better than you! You can't…"

"Okay, thanks! See ya!" She ran off, having shut off her auditory nerves as soon as permission was given. Klak sighed, lowered his head, and fell asleep.

Pan sped down the cool hallways of the building, hearing clips of conversations and grunts of physical exertion in turn, focusing her eyes on her destination. She could see the door to the sparring courses easily, it having the advantage of both largeness and redness. She approached it with confidence. She was ready to take on anyone. Anyone but those who were unskilled.

She shoved open the heavy metal barrier and stepped into the compound. The dark hardwood floor beneath her sneakered feet supported a large, bulky magazine which contained within its steel mesh cages a variety of different weapons. Pan eyed the display, finally deliberating on a long, slightly curved broadsword with a black blade and a devilishly sharp tip. It was engraved along its side with a simple oblong dragon's eye superimposed over an intricate Celtic knot. The symbol was repeated on its dark leather-wrapped hilt, which was long enough for two hands to grip it simultaneously. Pan squeezed the hilt, admiring how comfortable it felt in the palms of her hands, and swung the sword slowly, testing the balance and weight carefully. It sliced the air as if it were butter. She smiled in satisfaction and ambled over to an opposing wall.

Sounds of victory and groans of defeat could be heard, pounding against their respective doors. The doors were square little openings which provided no hint of the great capacity of the rooms they guarded. The doors were crammed together and situated in two long rows, one above the other. Most of the combat rooms were occupied due to the impending tournament, but Pan found a vacant one that was to her liking. She walked up to its control panel.

Name? The computer queried. Pan smirked. She never gave her real name; she loved being an anonymous rogue. She tapped in her "code" name, followed by some further information. The readout that was given back to her was as follows:

NAME: Carina Vela

PREFERRED WEAPON: Broadsword

PREFERRED SPARRING PARTNER: Elite

MASKED/UNMASKED: Masked

TIME CONSTRAINTS: One hour

INVITATION: Hey, all you elitists who think you can shove all your disdain in my face, come in here and take me on. We'll see who the REAL fighter is!

The 'invitation' was a required field. The message she gave would be scrolled across the top of her room's door, acting as incentive for whoever was hungering for a fight. Since she had claimed the room, all of her requirements would bind her sparring partner fully. It was good to be punctual.

Pan pressed a few commands into the panel again, causing the small door to slide open with a strained WHOOSH. She ducked in and began to warm up.

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A disgruntled Trunks stalked behind Keebler and Nabisco as the two stupid orcs led him through the athletic complex. He was seriously considering attacking from behind and wringing their necks, but he restrained himself…barely.

"Come on, Trunks. You're lagging. We wanna get there soon, or we'll lose all the good rooms to the lower classes." Nabisco nodded emphatically, stupidly supporting his leader's statement. Trunks rolled his eyes. They wanted fast? He'd show them fast.

Trunks gave the backs of their heads one final glare before taking off like a shot through the halls. He could hear their shouts of surprise and anger for a mere moment, and then silence. Air whipped his smooth, lavender hair into a frenzy behind his head and crashed through his ears like a raging waterfall. He grinned sardonically and dove through the large, red door that marked the sparring area.

Pausing for a few seconds to gather his breathing into a normal rate, he leaned his hands on his knees, hunched forward, and gazed around the room, shaking slightly. He hadn't done something that spontaneous in a long time. He enjoyed it. A few people in the corner were looking at him strangely, but he was used to such gawking, and ignored them. He wandered over to the cage, eyes roving over the admirable display of weapons. He was searching for his prized piece…but it was gone. His eyes narrowed in anger. Someone was using his sword!

"Ityrko, my sword is gone! Who is using it?" A young, dark-haired man looked up from his observation of the sparring rooms with a questioning glance.

"For one thing, it isn't yours, Trunks. And anyway, you've hardly used it in the past few weeks. You've been working on hand-to-hand techniques." Trunks sighed. He had wanted to increase his abilities by working with his hands as well as a multitude of different weapons. He knew the broadsword as well as any expert, so there had been no reason to continue working with his favorite weapon. However, he still liked to fight with it from time to time.

"Well who, may I ask, is currently using the sword?" Ityrko gestured towards an Inviting door, its telltale scrolling marquee blaring bright green above its frame.

"An anonymous warrior is in there, waiting for an elite challenger, using your sword. Are you up to a fight?" Ityrko smiled knowingly. Trunks would never back down from a challenge.

"This soldier had better hope he can live up to the reputation of that sword." Trunks grabbed a long, silver broadsword, slid the expected spherical mesh mask over his head, checked his saiyan armor, and hopped into the room.

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YOUR CHALLENGE HAS BEEN ACCEPTED

Pan smiled. She had already had this pleasure twice today, both concerning haughty little boys, both ending in her winning absolutely. She wondered how pitiful this one would be. Apparently the broadsword was not a well-taught weapon at the Academy. Slipping on her fiery mask, the decorative flames hiding her coal-black hair, she took up an indifferent, subservient stance and waited. Better that her opponent underestimated her at first. Her back remained straight, though. She would not entirely humble herself.

A pair of tall white boots appeared in the doorway she was facing, followed by some well-turned thighs, a durable looking armor covering a solid torso, and a silver mesh mask that resembled such that were used in fencing. The newcomer lowered himself from the vertical chute, using his arms to slow his descent. He had very strong arms; that was noticeable at least. He moved forward warily, his footfalls echoing loudly in the dead silence of the room. Twisting his arms over his head, he grabbed the long hilt of a sword that was held between his shoulder blades and slid it out slowly. The grating sound of metal against leather made Pan cringe, but she hid her weakness behind her devilish mask. This guy looked indestructible.

That was what she wanted, though. Exactly what she wanted. Now she was to be challenged. Now she could experience what it was like to fight a good fight. She was ready. She drew her broadsword, feeling it grind against the sheath that hung loosely against her hip, realizing the heaviness of her armor that threatened to topple her if she wasn't careful. Drawing on her knowledge, she widened her stance, crouched, and spun the sword expertly and fluidly around her left side. It moved behind her back and then before her, sending bursts of air against her skin with its proximity. She let it come to a jolting halt immediately above her head in her right hand, its point aiming directly at her adversary's head. Her left hand was held out below the sword with a single finger protruding, serving to calm her and hold her right arm steady.

Her opponent, who had observed her warily and…patiently during her display now took her immobility as a signal to commence his small opening 'dance.' He lowered his sword gently, and then with one single motion drove the point towards the ground, stopping shortly when the point was just about to pierce the surface. For some reason, Pan had a sudden frightening image flash through her mind of the point of that sword hovering just so above her throat. She almost gulped, but suppressed the urge and concentrated on her left finger. It stopped wavering nervously and stilled, bringing calmness to Pan as it did so. Kugo's methods were working like a charm.

She took a quick second to notice the vast difference between hers and her fellow fighter's armor. Pan hadn't bothered with much, simply wearing a leather jerkin and some padding around her shoulders. Those she had fought previously hadn't had any chances at hitting her, much less deliver a serious blow to her abdomen. Her tattered sneakers looked ridiculous compared to the shiny, tough leather boots this man wore. She chuckled at the strange sight, calming her nerves and putting her opponent off guard all at once. He leaned back, confused for a moment, and Pan took her opening.

She heaved herself forward, using all the power in her legs to propel her ready sword towards its victim. The man was not so easily tricked, though. He recovered quickly and stepped aside efficiently. If he was at all surprised at her vivacity, he did not show it. He followed his defense with a quick forward kick into her stomach. Maybe she should have worn some armor…

Pan was not so easily crossed, though; she dismissed the jolt of pain the kick had caused, and as she was still falling forward she used her momentum to she twist her body around and brought her left elbow up sharp, landing a heavy blow to the back of the man's head. She finished by breaking her fall with her right arm and rolling up until she was on her feet.

The man was standing already, the infamous creature! His arms rested lightly on his sword before him, and he stood as if he was about to go to sleep. Pan knew differently, though. "Good try, 'Carina.' But perhaps you should try employing some strategy before you charge into me, leaving yourself completely open."

Pan smirked. She knew what she was doing. She paused, though, and was about to speak, but decided against it. Let the man think she was male. It would eat all the more into him when she unveiled herself at the end, victorious.

"Nothing to say? Alright then. A pity you won't be able to have any meaningful last words."

--Whatever, buddy,-- Pan thought, readying herself for his imminent attack. --Watch out, ego, 'cause you're going down.--

Ego (for Pan decided to call him this to avoid confusion amongst the readers) lifted his sword slowly and paused, waiting for the right moment. Pan was going to drive that disdainful posture out of him if it took everything she had. He was mocking her! Pan twirled her sword magnificently and attacked, not allowing the man to gather his wits fully. She slashed a few times in his general direction, feeling out his reaction time and recognizing that he was attempting the same.

The two parried that way for a while, clanging their blades slowly yet firmly, revealing to each other more and more of their fighting prowess every time they clashed. Sweat from concentration as well as physical exertion popped out on Pan's brow, but she ignored it. She wondered if Ego was feeling any of this.

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Trunks gritted his teeth, meeting the boy's attacks blow for blow. So far, it seemed that he himself was on top, but he knew his opponent was holding back. A very good thing that he was, too.

The kid had not bothered to wear any armor, which meant that he was either foolhardy or rightfully confident. He was rather skinny, though. His strength came more from an ability to keep going, it appeared, than from brute muscle. Mind over matter. Possibly.

Trunks was mystified by his opponent; Carina was an unusual name. It had to be an alias for fighting. He wondered that this obviously high-class fighter would want to keep his true identity undisclosed. However, Carina didn't seem to want to chat about his name, so Trunks moved his mind back to the battle.

He swung his sword mechanically, paying less attention to attacking than to determining Carina's battle consistencies. Knowledge of these could greatly aid him later on. He had a tendency to swing through towards Trunks' middle, leaving his side somewhat open. However, this was so obvious, it was probably a tactic to get Trunks to go for the open side, allowing for another attack. Trunks' mind continued whirring with probabilities and counterattacks until he was only half-concentrating on the actual fighting. He was getting sluggish.

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Ego was slowing down. Pan felt it with every half-hearted parry and the slack he gave her when she attacked. She wished she could see his eyes; reading his next moves would have been much easier. However, she had to work with what was in front of her.

She knew that a well-placed attack would land on him; he wasn't paying enough attention. She had to strike well, though, and soon. She tried not to betray her intentions, fighting on through her thoughts, but she wasn't really paying attention to the battle itself. She was getting sluggish.

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At long last, the two fighters came to realize that neither of them was paying much mind to the battle at hand. They both withdrew quickly at the exact same moment, and began a quiet and curious study of each other. The two were waiting for the other to speak first. Interested observers outside began gathering in front of the video screen, eager to see what would happen next.

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Trunks finally broke the silence. "Look, we both know neither one of us is fighting at the height of his expertise. Why don't we cut the crap and get down to the real deal?" Pan nodded, the light from an overhead beam glinting across her phoenix-like helmet as she did so. "Let's go, then," Trunks said, and raised his sword once more, brandishing the strong metal with firm confidence. Pan reiterated previous sentiments by nodding yet again, and stood deathly still, waiting for Trunks' (well, to her, Ego's) attack. It came like lightning.

He jumped directly into her personal space, crouching low and slicing through her legs. Pan avoided the swipe, though, leaning on his shoulders and leaping over him, feet over head, landing perfectly behind him. He slashed neatly around his back then, missing, but turning easily and slicing again. Pan blocked this third cut powerfully with her own weapon, using the force his blow gave her to spin around and swing across his abdomen. She had anticipated that he would go for her head, seeing as how she had left it wide open, but he hadn't, recognizing her well-laid trap for what it was. Instead, he jumped back and kicked the blunt side of her moving blade, sending her sword flying through the air. He then pointed his own sword straight at her, ready for the kill.

Pan was not so easily defeated, though. She kept herself low, watching Trunks' weapon warily, waiting for the right moment…

It came. Trunks advanced towards her, thrusting his sword at her left shoulder. She turned, letting the blade sing past her skin, and grabbed the blade in both hands, twisting hard. She pulled back and kicked out, freeing the sword from Trunks' grasp and felling him all at once.

Trunks had no intention of letting her have the advantage. He sprung right back up and used the same trick he had before, kicking his stolen blade out of Pan's hands. The two were left weaponless.

"Well done. But don't be too sure you've won just yet. Remember, I am undefeated." Trunks gave a quick bow to accompany his little speech, and Pan went for the opening, spinning around in midair and roundhousing the side of the poor chap's head. He was hit slightly, but grabbed her foot as it came across his face, causing Pan to crash to the floor. She lay silently, her breath coming in gasps.

"As you can see, I have defeated you. A pity. I thought I would get a good fight, but I guess that's too much to ask for." Trunks was having A LOT of fun imitating his father. He almost burst out laughing. Pan did the unexpected and jolted her leg down, tumbling the unaware Saiyan. They were both recumbent now, breathing heavily and sweating like pigs.

"Then again, maybe not." Trunks said, and snickered. Pan looked at him quizzically. He was slowly developing into a hyena; he was laughing softly at first, and then he burst into all-out hysteria. His laughter echoed through the halls outside. Pan stifled a grin. She tried, oh, how she tried, but she couldn't hold back any longer. Her body was soon racked with chuckles and giggles and…whatever other words for laughter there are. She pushed herself up and held out a hand for Trunks. He took it.

They stood for a while, facing each other and laughing their hearts out. The humor died away, though, leaving an air of general happiness. Soon all that could be heard was an occasional snicker.

"That was a good fight. You have skills, I have to admit." Trunks held out a hand for Pan to shake. She obliged him.

"Thanks. You too." Trunks raised an eyebrow. This guy didn't sound like a…He sounded like a…

Pan took off her helmet slowly, letting her matted braid flop against her back. Crap. Helmet hair. She pulled the braid out hastily and ran her fingers through it, sighing as she did so. She rubbed sweat from her brow, not yet realizing that the man before her had become the personification of an ice cube.

"Well, are you going to take off your helmet? It's customary, you know." Pan grinned. She couldn't wait for his expression at having been nearly beaten by a girl.

He slid off his helmet and she gasped. "Hey! You're the idiot who shoved cake in my face!" He remained expressionless. Pan glared at him narrowly. He stared back, unperturbed. Pan cracked a smile.

"You're sorry? Oh that's okay. I forgive you. But don't do it again, right?" Trunks smiled in spite of his resolve not to. This girl was…different…from anyone he had met before.

He stood there for a while, grinning like an idiot, while Pan grinned back uncomfortably. She coughed after the situation became a little too awkward, and Trunks looked away. "What's your name, soldier?" Pan asked.

"I..uh..my name..is…uh…" He had lost all coherent thought.

"Your name is…" Pan prompted.

"Uh…Trunks! Trunks Briefs." Pan started.

"What? You? You're Trunks Briefs?" She gaped a little, and then, realizing how much the man probably got of that during the day, clamped her mouth shut and attempted to look unsurprised. "I mean…of course. You're Trunks Briefs. Everyone knows that, right? Right. I'm not surprised." Trunks looked at her strangely and she coughed again.

"Um. Yeah."

"Yeah."

"………"

"Yup."

Pan smiled foolishly. This Trunks guy was cute. Why had Bra warned her to stay away from him? His hair looked so soft and his eyes…Pan mentally kicked herself and broke away from her happy reverie. "Well, I gotta go now. Great fighting with you. See you in the tournament." She made a motion to go but Trunks blocked her exit.

"Wait. I…I mean…would you…uh…like to…um…go have some hot chocolate?" Pan laughed out loud. That was what his sister had asked her at their first meeting. She agreed wholeheartedly, pushing Bra's warning to the back of her head. This guy didn't look so dangerous. He was nice. Why had Bra said that he wasn't? Strange.

Trunks smiled in gratitude and motioned for her to lead the way out of the room.

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And now, on to chapter 8! Review, it's so easy!