Disclaimer: In no way do I own any part of Dragonball Z or Dragonball. These animes and all characters thereof are the exclusive property of Toei Animation, Funimation, and Akira Toryama. However, Rolo Yeung, Fein, Scott, Hard Copper, and Rat the Iron Bullet are mine so hands off!

Chapter 14: Intrigue of the Calm

North City:

It has been around eight months since Tien left Yeung under Mercenary Toas' tutelage, and the opening act of the Natioanl Tenkaichi is only hours away. Fighters from not just the Northern Kingdom, but from around the globe have converged upon the Northern Capitals' prestige's arena, promising this to be a competition to remember for ages to come.

"Welcome to the Nationals," greeted one monk. "The sign-in booths are just inside sir. Follow the arrows to find the locker rooms."

"Excellent!" said a certain ex-assassin, "I believe this is where we go our separate ways."

"Master?"

"Just be careful that you don't kill anyone," assured Toa, "I'm going to go pay the cab driver and then I and the boys will be taking our seats! You might even see us in the stands. Good luck!"

"Thanks!" said Yeung. "I'll need it."

Just then, a voice, most likely one of a tournament official, blared over the intercom. "WILL ALL REGISTERED PARTICIPANTS PLEASE MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE SIGN-IN STATION!"

"AHHH! Time to get this party started!" said Yeung enthusiastically. Just as Yeung was about to enter the arena, he was stopped by a voice he hadn't heard in a while.

"Yeung? Is that really you?!"

"Scott!" exclaimed the young fighter. Yeung ran up to the raggedy mountain man and delivered a firm handshake. "How long has it been?!"

"Too long!" replied the red head. "What have you been up to all this time? Look at how you've grown! We saw you getting butchered by Cell and we feared the worst!"

"Yeaahh! About that," began Yeung, his voice dripping with embarrassment, "Things didn't go half as well as I had planned."

"Apparently," Scott said sarcastically. "We even called the town undertaker and offered to pay for your funeral."

"Where's the old-timer?" asked Yeung in a petty attempt to change subjects.

"My great uncles' passed on, " Scott answered ruefully. "He died in a cave-in. We tried to set up shop illegally under the radar of the company town charter. You could say we traded our buckskins for miners' picks. We were hoping to strike it rich! One day, a support brace came undone and my uncle was crushed to death. There was no saving him."

"That's awful!"

Scott continued, "Because of that, the local sheriff caught wind of the incident and I was hauled in for questioning. I got stiffed with a fine and community service!"

"I wish I could have heard," said Yeung. "The least I could have done is posted bail."

"Don't sweat it!" replied Scott. "Are you competing?"

"Yes."

"Then I won't hold you up." Scott then turned to leave. "If anyone can kick Hard Coppers' ass, you can!"

Without even saying goodbye, Yeung jogged through the front door, into the front lobby of the stadium.

Once inside, Yeung was confronted with a line of participates that seemed to stretch around the corner. On the other side of the room, there was an even longer line that extended right out the entrance. He assumed those were eager spectators vying for good seats. The North City Stadium had an upwards capacity of over thirty thousand. Yeung had attended a sporting event here before with his old girlfriend.

"Man, this is gonna take forever!" whined the boy warrior.

"Hey bro!"

Just then, Yeung whipped around to see someone he imagined he would never see again.

"Fein!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out!" joked the older teen. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Oh my God!" shouted Yeung. "Come here ya Congoloid bastard!" It was then that Yeung pulled his old friend in for a strong bear-hug.

"Whoa boy! I don't swing that way!" said Fein pushing Yeung away. "Look at you man! What happened? Look how you've grown!"

"I've been training for a long time," explained the younger teen. "Joined a new school!"

"So I see," said Fein. "The emblem on your fighting garb says a lot. You look good in a Chinese fighting uniform you Asian midget!"

"EX-midget!" Yeung corrected warningly. "I wouldn't be talking if I were you. Like most black guys, you seem to have a thing for flamboyant digs."

"Ohhh, Snap! Uppercut!" chided Fein humorously. "Ha,ha,haaa! You still a little smart ass, but at least you still keepin it real!"

"Speaking of which, why are you wearing that particular gi?" asked Yeung. "Last I checked, orange wasn't exactly your favorite color."

"I also joined a new school!" Fein explained proudly. "You're looking at this generations' only student in the Turtle Style!"

Upon hearing this, Yeungs' whole body went numb and his expression became so blank that one would think somebody died. Thinking something was amiss, Fein simply stared at Yeung with curiosity.

"What is it Yeung? What's a matter?"

Finally, the shorter adolescent shook himself out of it. "Nothing man. It's nothing!"

"It sure as hell doesn't seem like nothing!" pressed the dark-skinned fighter. "You can tell me."

"It's not all that important."

Before Fein could press Yeung any further, there erupted a boisterous cheer from outside. As if on cue, half the stadium lobby emptied into the parking lot.

"What was that all about?"

"I don't know," said Fein. "Let's go find out!"

The two youths darted outside right behind what could only be described as a mob. Pulling into the crowded parking lot was a police motorcade followed by an all too familiar black limousine with the word 'SATAN' emblazoned in big bold white letters on the side. Shouts of "Satan!" "Satan!" ringed long and loud from the enthusiastic crowd as their man of the hour rolled in. Members of the press corp. who had been strangely absent up to that point pulled into the lot right behind the protected motorcade.

Almost immediately, the police detail assembled a crowd control barrier on the right side of the limousine. Law enforcement officers and tournament officials worked frantically to get the riot of crazed fans under control.

Just then, the driver hoped out of the front seat and shuffled quickly to the other side of the vehicle. Standing to one side, the limo driver opened the rear passenger door and out stepped the one and only Mr. Satan, A.K.A World Savior.

"ALRIGHT! YEAH!" hollered the large man, "DO YOU PEOPLE WANNA SEE SOME ACTION?!"

As if to answer his question, the crowd began whipping itself into an even greater frenzy, assuming that such a thing were even possible.

As the 'champ' stepped away, a small girl stepped out of the limousine. She had raven black hair and looked to be about ten or so years old. She wore a tomboyish looking gym getup and had the muscles of a teenaged boy.

It wasn't long before the press began to haggle the big, kinky-haired fighter with questions.

"Mr. Satan! The current national champs' manager has thrown numerous allegations at you regarding your victory over Cell eight months ago. Do you care to comment?"

"Are you competent that your training will be enough for you to go toe-to-toe with Hard Copper? Some experts say that you have absolutely no chance of victory!"

"Mr. Satan, please! Are the accusations of Videls' steroid use true?"

At this last question, the Champ flew off the handle and barreled into the hapless journalist who'd asked it.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!" Before the police could do anything, Mr. Satan was on top of the guy, beating his head in. In all, it took more than a dozen members of the security detail to get Mr. Satan off the man.

During the commotion caused by Mr. Satan, Yeung and Fein slipped in behind everyone present and signed in. Before heading back to the locker rooms however, the two doubled back towards the parking lot to watch the ensuing riot.

"Ten zeni says he assaults a cop," offered Fein.

"He's looking out for his daughter," Yeung explained. "He's a pretty good guy. Cut him some slack."

"This is coming from a guy who practically eviscerated Mr. Satans' franchise in West City," said Fein sarcastically.

"That's before I met him personally," replied Yeung. "He's alright. I had a beer with the man."

"Always thinking with your liver, aren't you?!" asked Fein.

"You know me! Distilled spirits all around!"

"Wanna go scan some chicks after the competition?" Fein offered with a sly grin.

"Maybe…"

"Hey Fein!"

The two boys whipped around to see a peculiar gaggle of folks walking up to them. One was an old man with a bald head and a snow white goatee. A second was a beautiful blonde women who was holding hands with a midget male bearing a crew cut. The fourth of the group was an Asian looking man with deep scars etched into the left side of his face. One his shoulder was a roundish blue cat. Yeung immediately recognized two of the strange newcomers from the Cell Games.

"You!!" stated Yamach pointing at Yeung. "You're that kid from back then!"

"So…," began Roshi, "I see that Tien actually allowed Toa Pai-Pai to train you. Or was it his brother Shin?"

Yeung calmly walked up to Master Roshi and began to stare the old man down "You seem to know a lot about my teacher, but I don't know a thing about you old man."

At this, the old Turtle Hermit could only smirk. "Considering my age, most people don't even know I'm still alive so I shouldn't be surprised that you don't know me."

"Master…," whispered Fein. Whether he meant for Yeung to hear this utterance or not is beside the point.

"Master!?" exclaimed Yeung aloud. "You're him! Kamesinnin Muten Roshi!"

"So you know about me," laughed Roshi, "I see Toa has said great things regarding my exploits!"

"Hardly…," muttered Yeung. "My seifu has tasked me with the job of defeating your school. He told me that this tournament is but one battle in a long war! Just know that beating your school is not on the top of my priority list for this competition."

"Hmm.., that's strange," spoke the Turtle Hermit, "Usually when the Crane Dojo enters a tournament, my boys wind up having to protect their nuts."

"Master! What's going on?!" demanded Fein.

"It's a long story!" said Roshi. "I might tell it to you one day."

"I'm personally not all that concerned with the bad blood between the schools," explained Yeung. "I have prior engagements!"

"Prior engagements?"

"You really haven't seen a nine foot Apache Indian tromping about?!" asked Yeung before turning and walking away. The turtle school was left to dwell on what the teen fighter had said.

"Nine foot Indian?!" repeated Yamacha. "Master, do you have any idea what that kid was rambling about?"

"Not a freakin clue!" answered Roshi shaking his head.

"Tien said that Toa had Rolo on drugs," said Fein. "Maybe the drugs and alcohol have finally burned up his brain cells?"

Yeung arrived in the locker room and began to survey the competition. Upon entering, several of the fighters took notice of him and stepped forward, one of them offering a handshake. This particular man was a huge Mongolian Wrestler with a Manchurian ponytail.

"You're Rolo Yeung," said one of the participants. "I was there the day you fought Hard Copper. That bastard murdered my fellow student in a fight some years back."

Yeung accepted the handshake. "From what I've heard, he's butchered a lot of martial artists over the years."

"If anyone can beat him, it's you," continued the wrestler. "I fought the bastard myself seven months ago! He left this scar on my face right below my eye! Depth perceptions' been shitty ever since!"

"I too have faced Hard Copper," spoke yet another fighter. "It was in this very tournament last Spring. I had to run away or get put away! I saw your fight with Cell. The way you wrenched that stone spire out of the ground like that is now an urban legend. I don't care what Mr. Satan says. No one could call that fake!"

"If anyone can beat Hard Copper, it has to be you," declared a third. "A lot of people believe Mr. Satan is the strongest man alive. At one time that may have been true but not anymore. There are some among us who believe that Mr. Satans' victory over Cell only happened because you and the other fighters wore Cell down. You, Caroni, Paroski, and those other guys put your hearts and souls into that fight! You guys were the real heroes."

"I'll try my damndest to beat the Mountain King but I can't make any promises," said Yeung. "I can only imagine how strong he's gotten since our fight! Anyway, I'm gonna scope out my competition some more."

"Right!" said the large wrestler. "We'll see each other in the ring."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

Yeung walked over to an empty locker and inserted his assigned key. Inside the locker was an envelop and a white paper with a number printed on it in big, bold, black letters. Opening the letter, he began to read it.

Honorable Participant,

Before you is a slip with a number on it. This is your registration #. Show it to the tournament officials before the start of the preliminary bouts. It will be used to determine your position in the roster. Give it your all and best of luck!

Wong Fei Hong

President of the Martial Arts Society

Tossing the letter aside, Yeung reached down and stuffed the registration number into his sock. Because he was already dressed for the prelims, there was no need to dab up before the first match. He did however have a watch and a chain of keys that he wanted to leave aside.

Before long, Yeung found himself venturing around the locker room. Clustered around the facility were fighters of all types. Many of them looked fierce at first glance but Yeung knew there were few warriors among them.

'Some of these guys have seen too many winters,' thought the boy, 'Some, too few!'

Just then, he was brought around by a thin-looking bald fighter. The man wore brown Sholin robes and carried a chain of prayer beads in one hand. The other hand was brought up in a Budda-stylesk purification gesture, fingers and palm stretched out.

"You must be Yeung," stated the man with a gentle drawl. "I have been waiting a long time to meet you. I have traveled many miles to do battle with you. Do not disappoint me!"

Just as quickly as the man was finished, he turned on a heel and walked away, leaving Yeung befuddled over what just happened.

The mysterious fellow harkened back to something that occurred months ago between him and ne'er-do-wells.

It was nighttime in West City. A deep fog had settled over the burg, casting an eerie twilight over everything. Unbeknownst to the citizens of this fair city, the criminal element, the Yakuza, were preparing to address a long-postponed loose end.

The Yakuza, long Japan's and the Pacific Rim's most sinister gang organization, had been coordinating for months with the Chinese Ax Gang in an attempt to find a person, or more correctly a boy named Rolo Yeung. Nine months prior, Yeung had killed their Ginger Town branch, butchering the men and piling the bodies on his front lawn as a warning to the Yakuza and their associates. This had enraged the organization and prison bosses, prompting them to action. They trailed the small fighter to the outskirts of West City where they had decided to make their move.

Hoping to blindside the boy warrior, the Yakuza bosses roped a pair of crooked cops into a hit job. These cops were deployed to kill their quarry under threat that the public be informed of police corruption in West City. Two days later, the mutilated bodies of the said officers were found lying in a ditch on an out of the way roadside.

By this time, the Yakuza were finished fooling around. They scoured the country for word on the street regarding the recent location of Rolo Yeung. They even went so far as to use a front operation disguised as an Interpol investigation to gather forensics intel, hoping that Yeung had been killed by Cell. During this time, they had found a green carapace arm which presumably belonged to Cell. Believing they could have use for the arm, they stashed the disembodied limb away and returned to the task of finding Yeung.

Two weeks passed and still no word on Yeungs' location. Finally, sources revealed that Yeung had been registered for the North Kingdoms' National Budokai. Not wanting to botch another attempt on the boy's life, the leaders decided on a more subtle approach.

"Rat the Iron Bullet! You are the greatest assassin this country has to offer!" railed an obese middle-aged man, cigar wedged between his teeth. "It is for this reason that my associates want you to do a job for us."

"I am honored sir!" said the bald killer. "I'll do whatever job you so pay me to."

Just then, the obese mobster slid a picture across his desk to the hired hand. "This boy! He's entering the upcoming tournament. We want you to kill him!"

"Would you like me to do it alone or will I have assistance?"

"No," said the fat man flatly, "That would be too inconspicuous! They would probably be killed anyway. You're the only man who can pull this off!"

"Where does he live?" asked Rat.

"Whoa there my friend!" warned the bloated gangster, "Play this smart! The kid is under the protection of Mercenary Toa! It would do you no good to go against both of them!"

"When and where then?"

A sick blubbery smile graced the gangster's lips. "At the tournament! You'll get disqualified at the competition but at least it will be legal. If you can, make it look like an accident! If you kill this kid, you can become a very rich man."

"Done!" declared Rat. "My Tizanchi Fist of the Yellow River has yet to know defeat!"

After having lunch in the stadium mess hall, Yeung made his way onto the field where the prelims were to be held. Assembled in a square were four circular rings and in the center of these four rings was an even larger concrete ring. Overlooking the arena were two large statues depicting a battle that was supposed to have occurred hundreds of years past.

Around the outer parameter of the field, the contestants had clustered in groups. Some were simply talking while still others were busy showing out with their colleagues. Scattered among the fighters were tournament officials who scampered to and fro, quelling disputes and inspecting the participants for weapons or other illegal contraband. Some fighters, depending on their style, were checked for licensing.

It was then that Yeung finally saw him. Hard Copper! The monster native was propped against an archway, all the while shooting looks at passersby that could burn through lead.

"Alright folks! Can you lend me your ears?!"

In the center ring was a blond haired man who wore a snazzy outfit complete with sunglasses. This was Mr. Akira who had worked for years as the announcer at the Tenkaichi Budokai. Beside him was Mr. Satan's own announcer sidekick from the Cell Games, Jody Firecracker.

"We are proud to welcome each and every one of you, spectator and participant alike, to the National Budokai!" Instantaneously, there was a great roar from the crowds as shouts of "Mr. Satan!" "Mr. Satan!" were hurled liberally with reckless abandon.

"In spite of the recent riot in the parking lot, we are please to inform everyone that the tournament will proceed as planned! Only two people were killed and only one was gunned down by the police!"

"Looks like Mr. Satan didn't do as much damage as I thought," said Yeung.

"However, we regret to inform you all that Mr. Satan will be allotted a fine for disturbing the peace!"

Speak of the devil and he appears. It was then that Yeung heard the loud slogging laughter of yet another someone he knew…

"Hah! A fine!? I'm practically made of money!"

A few feet away stood the afroed grease ball himself in all his hairy glory. Needless to say, when Mr. Satan noticed Yeung he paled a few shades. Yeung strolled over to where Mr. Satan was now trying to make himself scarce.

"I see you got what you wanted," observed the boy fighter.

"Mmm.., yeah," replied the older man, "Listen! You can't say you wouldn't have done the same!"

"For the booze yes," agreed Yeung. "You bet your mommas' sweet ass I would have!"

"Alright!" continued Mister Satan, "Then you have no ethical bones to pick with me?"

Yeung shook his head in affirmation. "Great!"

"Besides," began Yeung, "Getting my ass handed to me by Grasshopper Man was a blessing in disguise."

"How so?" prodded Satan.

"You'll see…"

The two participants then turned their attentions back to the introductions put forward by the announcer. By this time however, the President of the Martial Arts Society had made his way onto the stage. The elderly looking man was wheelchair bound and required assistance from Jody Firecracker just so he could reach the microphone.

"Greetings fighters young and old alike! We welcome you to the Northern Kingdoms' 15th annual National Tenkaichi Budokai! This promises to be a very special event for not only do we have the pleasure of seeing our current National Champion Hard Copper defend his title yet again, this tournament will also be showcasing two past World Champions. In a moment, we will have the pleasure of hearing from both the current Champ, Mr. Satan from the 24th World Tournament, King Choppoa from the 18th World Tournament, and the returning 22nd World Tournament Champion Tien Shenhan!

Upon hearing this, the mood of the crowd went from livid to blazing. Cheers and jeers sprung up from the entire seated population, as if a hive of bees had been struck with a stick. They soon quieted down however, when the president resumed his speech.

"In addition to this, we have two very special veterans who have graced us with our presence! Both have done it all and seen it all! Give it up for past World Champions Muten Roshi and Toa Pai-Pai!"

Just then, Master Roshi and Mercenary Toa made there way onto the field. Both men glared daggers at one another as they made their way up the steps. It was Toa however, who was allotted use of the mic first.

"Good day warriors! Your adulation warms this old killers' metallic heart! As we stand on the edge of tomorrow, the only thing I can say to the participants is that I am glad that I am not you! There are a handful of lions among you! Baptism by fire will burn away the rocks from the gemstones and reveal those among you who are truly products of the way of the warrior! Today, we are not mercenaries, celebrities, or whatever! Today, we are men! Men who reach for that which every boy dreams he could be: The strongest! Take delight in this single ray of light that many of you now have. Someday, all of you will, like me, grow old and then you will try to reach for things only to have them slip through your hands as if they were sand!"

It was then that Muten Roshi hobbled up to the microphone.

"I didn't really write a speech for this occasion but I'll shoot!" blared the old hermit, "Before I do however, I think it wise that we all share a moment of silence for the two people that died in the riot out front!"

As if on cue, half the stadium went quiet and bowed their heads. When it was all over, the old Turtle Hermit resumed his speech:

"I'm not going to say much except for this: There are some of you who fight for fame and wealth, or to prove that you are somehow more manly than others. This is folly! Martial artists are supposed to affirm their traditional roles as the vanguards of the ancient ways! They are supposed to provide a moral pillar for the rest of society to stand on! To set an example! That is what a real man does! Don't spend the rest of your lives reaching for that which you can never have because let me tell you, there will come a time when any record you set will be broken! It happened to me! It can and will happen to you! Strive for what you can while you can, but never loose sight of what is in front of you! Never forget your obligations to family, friends, and community!"

Half the audience applauded the old master while the half that agreed with Mercenay Toa remained stoic. It was then that the announcer grabbed the mike.

"Next we will hear a few words from our current National Champion, Hard Copper, The Mountain King!"

The reception that the Mountain king received from the spectators was a mixed bag. Some believed him to be the greatest thing to ever grace the ring floor. Others saw him as a sadistic monster whose blood lust was insatiable. Behind him was what looked like a short white house cat with a cane.

Master Roshi noticed the white cat and started towards him. However, he was soon stopped in his tracks by a vicious glare sent his way by Hard Copper.

Upon reaching the center ring, Hard Copper raised both of his hands towards the massive statues. Clueless as to what was going on, Mr. Akira and Mr. Firecracker stood there perplexed. Master Roshi and Toa-Pai-Pai sama however, quickly realized that something was up and grabbed both the president and the two announcers before darting off the ring in a mad rush.

Just as they had left the ring, a strange, glowing, forlorn fog erupted from the outstretched palms of The Mountain King. Like the rush of a raging torrent, the two waves crashed through the enormous statues, creating fissure lines were the sinister white torrents passed though them. Finally, save for the heads, the whole of the statues were reduced to powdered slag which crashed to a heap on either side of the main ring.

The heads of the said statues fell to the Earth and just as they were about to hit the ground, the massive native caught one in each hand. Bringing the severed heads close to his body, the giant Korin Indian began to squeeze. Muscles bulges and blood vessels popped as the heads of solid granite simply crumbled as though they were paper mashie.

"How?!" asked Roshi, "How did we miss this one?!"

"I knew he would be strong but still…," began Toa.

Sounds of aw emanated from the crowd of participants. Never in their life had any of them seen such a physics defying display of iron-hard, blunt-force, ability. Unable to move, Mr. Akira and Mr. Firecracker lay cringing in fear.

The eight foot red man strode slowly towards the microphone, his feet producing thunderous booms with each step. Reaching down, he grasped the mike with such pressure that the device produced a loud squeal that pieced the ears of many an observer. The mouthpiece, being more than three feet away, still carried his raspy breath.

Many of those who had faced HC in recent years, found themselves cringing internally and not so internally from being this close to what for many of them, became the thing that brought them close to retirement. Some of those who were present shuffled nervously away from the central ring as if they were afraid that the wily tribesman could snap any moment. Others were fixated on the short, strange humanoid looking white cat that had arrived with Hard Copper.

The mountain king fixated his stare on all those present, a small twinkle in his eye being the only hint giving away his intentions regarding events to come.

"Morsels!" stated the giant flatly, "All of you! Appetizers! You shall all know, spectator and contestant alike that nothing short of an act of the Great Spirit could ever save you from me! I was destined to battle all that exists on this Earth! When I'm finished here, the heavens are next, for only when I am through proving that nothing on Earth can stop me will the Gods themselves deem me worthy! The life of a true warrior is like a moth dancing around a swaying flame! Know that both Roshi and Toa are badly mistaken in their assumptions of warriorhood! Only once in a generation is a man born who can claim the mantle of Heaven. Only by living a life fraught with struggle can a man truly find himself. The only true conflict is a life without conflict! It is of the natural laws! You shall all know this soon enough!"

With that, the massive behemoth left the ring and headed for the edge of the field. The parting crowd gave the man a wide breath lest they be his next target. With every footfall, massive dredges were dug into the tight-packed earth. Finally, the muscle-bound gargantuan sat cross-legged at the base of a pillar along the outer perimeter of the grass.

The next to go up was Tien Shinhan. Initially, Toa and the others were taken off guard to learn that the three-eyed warrior had also entered. He simply had nothing to gain and nothing to prove by doing so.

"Hello everyone!" began the triclops. "I have to say that after all these years, it's good to be back in the ring! Never once since the 22nd tournament have I stopped training. Being back in this environment gives me intense feelings of panorama that I can't describe in the time I've been allotted. I've been through a lot over the years, both by myself and with my friends! For a while, I thought that I would retire, but something happened that inspired me!

"Inspiration!" stated Tien. "Inspiration is what drives us! Without it, we'd all be like everyone else. Just settling for mediocrity! Never stop experimenting. Never stop trying new things! Some people say that we've reached the end of history, that fighting theory is complete. Bullshit I say! As long as there is a context, there will be experimentations. As long as there exists experimentations, there will be a continuation of development! Fight theory cannot and will not die. I personally know several people who are living proof of this! Don't listen to the so-called experts and don't stop trying."

Of all the speeches given thus far, Tiens' stirred the crowd in a way that garnered real consensus. It wasn't about school of thought! It wasn't about fighting ideology or way of life. It got to the core of answering a question: Why?

Next to last was King Choppoa, the winner of the 18th World Tournament. The aged man hobbled slowly into the center ring. One of the few people Rolo Yeung respected, despite his frail appearance, like Master Roshi and Mercenary Toa, the man was an accomplished fighter and warrior. As he began to speak, his Hindu accent exentuated his delivery.

"Hello good children of the soil! I am only here to say that for those of you who are thinking about following the path of the warrior, forget it! Unless if you are trained from a young age, you will never grasp the essence of the fighting principles! Not all men can be warriors but a true warrior can come from anywhere! I believe that is what Mercenary Toa meant earlier. Anyhow, fight hard and fall in honor! Sometimes, the greatest victory can be found in the ashes of ones' defeat!"

The last was Mr. Satan. The hairy man strode into the ring, not hiding the fact that his strut was for aesthetics only. With a load bellow, the man began whipping the crowds in the stands into yet another fevered frenzy. It almost seemed as if another riot were going to break out right in the fifth row.

"ARE YOU READY FOR SOME ACTIOOON?!!!! Well, you've come to the right place! Dr. Satans' here to administer the cure to this snoozefest!"

At some point, the security detail just flat gave up trying to quell another riot. There really was no point in damage control at this juncture. Off to the side, the mayor of North City and the chamber of commerce looked on with concern at the level of civil disorder that the so-called World Savior was promoting.

Seeing this as his chance, Master Roshi approached the white cat, Korin, the God of Martial Arts.

"Mind telling me what this is all about?" asked Roshi.

"I made a promise to the people of the Land of Korin many generations ago," explained the divine feline. "I told their ancestors that in the event one of their own climbed my tower, I would complete that persons' training. When Goku climbed my tower, he only got the initial training because he was not born of the Korin Tribe. The problem is after all these generations the only one among them who managed to climb the tower was Hard Copper."

"Are you crazy?!" yelled the Turtle Hermit, "You can read minds just as I can! That guy is cold-hearted!"

"His brother Boora once had to be brought back with the dragon balls. He gave his life to protect my tower from invasion. Boora's son Uumpa suffered a severe head concussion because of the Red Ribbon Armys' actions! What was it that I was supposed to do?! Hard Copper is the only member of the Tribe of Korin that knows enough about martial arts to make use of my fighting style! I'm sorry, but I had to do it! It was my burden!"

Kamesinnins' brow furrowed in anger. He gripped his palms so hard his knuckles lost their color. "Err…Well now he's our burden!"

The old hermit took a few moments to cool off before continuing.

"What was the full extent of his training?" prodded the old master.

"Far more than Goku or you ever got. I'll say that much old friend."

"If that's the case, then we should warn Fein," said Roshi.

"Wait!" commanded the cat. "This could work out to our advantage after all!"

"How?! How could this possibly be a good thing?"

"Call me crazy but I have a hunch," explained Korin-sama. "Just let things in this tournament play out!"

Meanwhile, the contestants began to line up in front of a white bulletin board. On the board was a table displaying the entire roster for the competition. In all, there were over two hundred and fifty contestants present. The table also detailed the presumed order in which the fighters present would compete.

"Hmm…," wondered Fein aloud, "Who will I be fighting in my first match? I'm number 54 so…."

"So who are you fighting first?" asked Yeung.

"Some nobody," said Fein. "Speaking of which, who's your first opponent?"

Yeung squinted at the board, trying to make out the gibberish Japanese characters.

"Don't know!" Yeung finally answered. "I can't read their writing! I'm Hun Guar, not Japanese!"

"It probably doesn't matter," said Fein, "They're probably gonna call our names in the lingua alba anyway so don't fret!"

"Hey Mr. Satan!" shouted Yeung, "Who are you fighting in your first match?"

"Some run of the mill guy!" answered the champ. "Not worth mention!"

Power Levels:

Average Human: 5

Rolo Yeung: 281

Fein: 175

Hard Copper: 302

Master Roshi: 130

Mercenary Toa: 190

Korin: 145

Rat the Iron Bullet: 65

Mr. Satan: 32