High above in the commentator's booth, Dimcha gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white, staring down into the pit with a look of genuine horror.
He had stopped broadcasting, the microphone lay forgotten on the desk behind him.
This… this ain't possible. Yamcha… that boy spent his whole damn childhood trainin' for this. Crawled his way up from nothin' in the desert. He's… he's a damn monster.
Dimcha looked at Goku, who was barely tall enough to ride a roller coaster.
Where the hell does a brat like that get this kinda power? Monsters like him… they ain't supposed to exist!
Yamcha fell to his knees.
His fist smashed into the sand.
"DAMN IT!" Yamcha screamed with raw emotion.
He punched the ground again, and again.
"Damn it all to hell!"
He glared up at Goku.
He looked like a man whose entire worldview had just been shattered.
"A scum like you… shouldn't even exist! None of you should! The world's wrong, not me!"
Seeing that the fight was effectively over, Bulma and Oolong finally felt safe enough to approach. They walked over and stopped near Goku.
Bulma looked down at the Yamcha.
She crossed her arms, wearing an expression of pity.
"Just stop it, Yamcha, look at yourself. You're done. You've seen what Goku can do with your own eyes. He's not just a kid, and you can't beat him."
...
Yamcha stared at the floor, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be. You lost. Hand over the dragon ball."
"The dragon ball, yes..."
Yamcha slumped forward, a bitter laugh erupted from his chest.
A sound of a man who had lost everything and found the irony in the ruins.
He looked up at Oolong.
"Heh... heheha... Hahaha!" Yamcha cackled, shaking his head.
"Congratulations, you little parasite. You won! Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?"
He coughed, spitting more blood.
"You stole my brother's future when you ran, and now you've stripped me of my glory in front of my own people. Well, go on! Why don't you just kill me? Finish what you started and put me out of my misery!"
The smug look on Oolong's face vanished.
Seeing the proud terrifying bandit leader reduced to a wreck on the ground struck a chord of guilt in his heart.
"Yamcha..."
Oolong whispered. He took a hesitant step forward.
"Just... shut up and listen to me for once in your life."
"Oolong, wait." Bulma reached out to grab his shoulder.
"Don't get too close, he's still dangerous..."
Goku remained silent, his arms crossed over his chest.
He didn't move to stop him, his keen eyes watching Yamcha's hands for any sign of a hidden blade, but his expression was one of quiet observation.
Oolong ignored Bulma.
He walked right up to the kneeling warrior until they were eye-to-eye.
The small pig stood his ground against the broken bandit.
The arena was thick with silence, like the crowd itself was holding its breath, watching predator and prey finally face each other as equals.
"I know you called me a liar when I told you this before. You were too angry to hear me. You wanted a villain, so you chose me. But look at where your anger brought you, Yamcha."
Yamcha didn't look up.
"Mugicha never wanted the money. He couldn't stomach the miracles of Empire City if they were bought with other people's grief. He told me… he said he looked at you and saw a stranger. He saw you becoming a monster just to keep his heart beating. And he said the weight of that… it was too heavy for a dying kid to carry."
"Shut up..." Yamcha whispered, but there was no bite in it.
Only exhaustion.
"You think he did this to spite you? No... he did it to save you. He just wanted the version of you that existed before all this. The one who taught him how to play the game."
As Oolong spoke, the roar of the arena turned into white noise. The harsh stadium blurred, dissolving into the background, until all Yamcha could see was a memory he had spent years trying to forget—a moment of peace he had buried beneath all the fighting.
The Memory
In his mind, Yamcha wasn't wearing the scrappers uniform.
He was younger, thinner, his face free of the scars that now defined him.
The desert vanished.
The arid heat was gone, replaced by the breeze of a small town and endless green.
And there was Mugicha.
Not the shadow of a kid trapped in a sickbed, but the boy he used to be.
He was standing on his own feet, frail and shaking.
But standing.
His thin hands gripped a splintered wooden bat that looked far too heavy for him to lift.
"Come on, big bro! Throw it! I bet I can hit a home run this time!"
Yamcha stood a few yards away, holding a worn-out baseball.
He was just a teenager with a kind smile.
He tossed the ball into the air and caught it, looking at his little brother with nothing but pure, uncomplicated love.
"Alright, slugger. Keep your eye on the ball. Don't swing too early. Hit this one, and I'll throw you the good stuff… the Blastitos."
"Deal!" Mugicha shouted, bracing himself.
Yamcha threw a slow, easy pitch, watching as Mugicha swung with all his might.
Mugicha swung… and missed.
The bat clattered to the ground.
"Argh!".
Yamcha crouched down beside him, resting a hand on his little brother's shoulder.
"Hey, don't get down on yourself. You'll hit it one of these days. I know you will."
Mugicha scowled, stubborn as ever, but Yamcha reached into his pocket and pulled out a crinkly package of Blastitos.
He handed it to him.
"Here." Yamcha said with a grin.
Mugicha shook his head.
"I didn't even hit it."
Yamcha shrugged, still smiling.
"Doesn't matter. The important thing is you tried… that's what counts."
Mugicha blinked, then, after a moment, his frown softened.
He took the snack.
"…Thanks, big bro."
"Anytime, slugger..."
...
....
That Yamcha didn't care about power or territory.
He just wanted to see his brother smile.
Back to Reality
The memory shattered as a drop of Yamcha's own blood hit the sand between his knees.
He looked up at Oolong, and for the first time, the murderous rage was gone.
His eyes were reflecting a crushing realization of how far he had strayed from the man Mugicha loved.
"He... he really said that? He wanted me to be... that person again?"
Oolong nodded slowly.
Yamcha closed his eyes and stood up slowly.
His movements were heavy and drained of all aggression.
He gave no acknowledgment to Oolong, nor to the crowd that had fed his ego for so long.
He simply turned around.
Leaving the noise of the pit behind, he walked toward the arena tunnels, his figure fading into the quiet of the corridor."
Bulma, Goku, and Oolong watched him go in absolute silence.
The weight of the moment hung in the air until Goku finally broke it.
"So... should we go look for the dragon ball now?" Goku asked, looking at Bulma.
Bulma watched the tunnels for a moment longer before a smirk played on her lips.
"We don't even need to go through the trouble. I know exactly who is going to go fetch it and bring it right to us."
The audience began to filter out, leaving a wake of angry murmurs and discarded tickets.
Dimcha stood back in the shadows of the booth.
He smoothed his jacket and leaned against the wall, attempting a detached swagger, but the nervous energy radiated off him.
It was a flimsy act, the posture of a gambler who had just bet the house and lost.
"This is a real pickle, Grizzlo. A real hairy situation... we need to secure that dragon ball and make our exit post haste. This ship is sinkin', and I ain't keen on drownin' today."
Grizzlo rubbed the back of his neck, looking confused.
"Uh, hey Boss... what about the rest of the guys? You know, the crew? We just gonna leave 'em?"
"To hell with 'em. Every man for himself in the desert. Survival of the fittest is the law of the land, and right now, we're the ones lookin' to fit through the exit. All that matters is saving that sphere for the client so we don't end up on a milk carton."
As they turned to make their break for it, they stopped dead in their tracks.
Standing directly in their path, blocking the exit, were Bulma, Goku, and Oolong.
Dimcha and Grizzlo froze.
Dimcha immediately forced a charming, yet incredibly tense smile, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
"Well now, look at this. A regular family reunion... we were just, uh... headin' to the powder room. Nature calls, you understand? Very urgent business in the porcelain department."
Bulma took a step forward.
Her eyes were sharp and unforgiving.
"Cut the crap, Dimcha. I heard every word you just said. Despite everything you've put us through, I'm willing to let you walk out of here in one piece if you hand over that dragon ball right now."
She narrowed her eyes, her smile turning predatory.
"Otherwise..."
Goku stepped out from behind her.
He didn't say anything, but his expression was cold and serious, his tail twitching behind him like a whip.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" Grizzlo and Dimcha yelped, jumping back and nearly tripping over their own feet.
"Okay, okay! Take it easy, kid! We're just a couple of old timers tryin' to get by! No need for the rough stuff!"
Dimcha threw his hands up, nodding frantically.
"Alright, alright! You win! We're handin' it over! No sense in dyin' for a piece of glass, right? Consider the merchandise yours!"
///////////////////////////////////////////////
Deep in Dimcha's office, the noise of the crowd was muffled, replaced by the smell of dust.
Dimcha's hand shook as he withdrew the artifact from his desk.
The orange glow of the two star dragon ball illuminated the sweat on his face as he passed it over, a hot coal he was desperate to drop.
Bulma took it coolly, lifting the glass sphere to inspect it, a triumphant smirk cutting across her face.
"Finally, i'd say it's been a pleasure, but I'd be lying. It's been an absolute nightmare getting to know you and this disgusting pit. Goku, Oolong, let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
As the trio began to walk away, Grizzlo stood there, scratching his massive head, looking like a lost puppy in a leather vest.
He turned his gaze toward his boss.
"Gee, Boss... that's it? We're just gonna let 'em walk? What are we supposed to do now? We're broke, the arena's a mess, and everyone saw Yamcha get his ass kicked. My retirement fund ain't lookin' too good."
Dimcha tried to summon back even a shred of his former bravado.
"Well, Grizzlo, I reckon we do the only thing men in our position can do. We take what's left of our tattered dignity and we try to rebuild this house of cards from the ground up. It's a long road, but—"
"Actually..." Bulma's voice cut through the air like a whip.
She stopped in her tracks and spun around, her heels clicking sharply on the metal floor.
She marched back toward them.
Dimcha and Grizzlo both froze, turning stone cold with terror.
"I'm not finished with you. From now on, you're clean. No extortion, raiding or games. If I catch you slipping back to your old habits... well, my family has eyes in the sky you can't even see. Step out of line, and I won't just send Goku to break your bones. I'll ruin you completely."
Dimcha swallowed hard, he nodded so fast his head almost blurred.
"Message received loud and clear, ma'am! We're strictly in the legitimate business of... uh... recycling! Purely legal! Not even a parking ticket from here on out!"
//////////////////////////////////////////////
Launch's eyes fluttered open, squinting against the soft yellow light of a bedside lamp.
She was tucked into a clean white bed in a quiet clinic in Fungus Town, miles away from the chaos of the Arena.
Goku was sitting on a chair nearby, munching on an apple, while Bulma and Oolong stood at the foot of the bed.
"Oh..." Launch moaned softly, shifting her weight.
She touched her bandaged ribs tentatively.
"The pain... it isn't throbbing like before. Did you guys make it stop?"
"You've been out for a few hours, we got you to a doctor in the next town over as soon as we could."
Launch looked around, her blue eyes wide and misty with gratitude.
"Thank you. You've all been so kind to me, and I don't even know why. The last thing I remember... I was just walking along the road. I saw some men and asked them if there was a bus stop nearby. I was trying to get to the farmer's market."
Bulma tapped her chin, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
"The farmers market... if I recall correctly, that's right on the border between Wontonka and Tacopolis, isn't it?"
"That's right." Launch nodded.
"And where exactly do you live?" Bulma asked.
"In the capital, Salsaville."
"Salsaville..." Bulma repeated.
"That's over three hundred miles west of here. If you were heading to the Farmers Market on the border, you overshot it by a massive margin."
"I... I did?"
"You didn't just overshoot it... you went off the map. Why would you go down there?"
"I don't know, i... I remember leaving my apartment. I was in my car. I have a little courier coupe, blue with white stripes. I remember putting the basket in the passenger seat..."
She trailed off, her eyes losing focus as she stared at the floor tiles.
"And then?"
"Then... nothing." Launch admitted, looking up with a helpless expression.
"It's like someone turned off the lights. The next thing I knew, I was walking on that dirt road, the sun was high, and my head felt like it was splitting open. I saw those men and thought maybe they could help me with directions. I didn't know I was so far from home."
Bulma studied her face.
There wasn't a trace of deception there.
The aggression, the swagger, it was all completely gone.
It's not an act. It's two pilots fighting for the same wheel, and they don't even share a flight log.
"Well, it sounds like you took the scenic route and ran out of gas. Don't worry about it for now. The important thing is that you're safe, and whatever happened in between Salsaville and Brown Town... well, we can figure that out later."
Bulma let out a breath. It was a long journey, but the girl had been through enough.
"I'm going to give you a car so you can get home safely.I've checked the local maps. With the scrappers high command... uh... restructuring their business model, the highways should be perfectly safe now. But just in case."
Bulma reached into her bag and pulled out a small, high tech communicator, placing it in Launch's hand.
"Take this. If anyone gives you trouble, or if you find yourself in a bind again, you use this to let me know. I have a lot of influence, and I won't let those thugs lay another finger on you."
Goku leaned forward.
"Yeah! And if they do, just call us! I'll come back and give them another kick!"
Launch gripped the communicator tight as a smile finally broke through her exhaustion.
"I don't know how to thank you all."
"Don't mention it."
As the group gathered their things to leave, Bulma looked back at Launch one last time.
"You know, all things considered, that other side of yours isn't so bad either."
Launch blinked, looking genuinely confused.
"Other side? What do you mean?"
A look passed between the three of them.
The awkward realization of who, exactly, they had been dealing with earlier.
Bulma quickly recovered, forcing a bright smile and waving the thought away.
"Oh, never mind! It's not important."
Not wanting to risk slipping up, they shuffled out of the room.
As they moved down the hospital wing, the absurdity of the situation caught up with them, and the silence was broken by the sound of their relieved laughter.
Hitting the cool night air felt like waking up.
As they walked away from the hospital entrance, Oolong slowed his pace and let out a sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath since they got out of the desert."
"Man... we actually did it. We really got them."
He started counting on his fingers.
"We've got the four star ball, the six star, and now the two star. That's three!"
"It's incredible progress." Bulma agreed.
"But I managed to snag something else while we were at the scrappers base. Something very interesting."
Oolong tilted his head.
"What? I didn't see you take anything else."
"While Dimcha was busy groveling and fetching the Dragon Ball, I borrowed their landline phone records."
"Their phone records? What for?" Oolong asked.
"I have more than enough technical know-how to trace the call logs on that line.I'm betting I can track down exactly who that client is. The big shot behind this whole mess."
Oolong went quiet.
"The client... the person Mugicha was so afraid of. The one pulling all the strings."
"Exactly, I'm not just after the dragon balls anymore, i want to understand them. I want to know why someone is so desperate to find them. This client might have the answers we're looking for."
"Wow, Bulma... you're scary smart to think of that." Oolong said, looking at her with newfound respect.
He then looked down at his feet, his voice softening.
"Anyway... thank you. Both of you. In the end, I was able to keep my promise to Mugicha. I couldn't have done that without you guys."
...
....
"Well, I guess I should start heading back."
"Forgive my curiosity, Oolong, but where exactly do you plan on going?"
"Back to Oinktown, I guess." Oolong replied with a shrug.
"Is that really what you want?"
Oolong looked confused.
"I don't get what you're suggesting. My usefulness to this group is over, right? I'm just a pig. I don't really have anything else to offer you guys."
Bulma smiled warmly and shook her head.
"You're completely wrong, Oolong. Your transformations are going to be incredibly useful for what's coming next. But more importantly..."
She stepped closer.
"You're our friend."
Oolong froze.
The word hit him like a physical weight.
Friend...
In that moment, Mugicha's dying words flooded back into his mind:
You'll find others out there... real friends who will care about you just like I do.
His vision began to blur.
He tried to sniffle and hold it back, but the dam broke.
Oolong burst into loud, ugly sobs, throwing his arms around Goku's waist and grabbing Bulma's leg in a massive group hug.
"WAAAAAAH! You guys are such IDIOTS! Stop saying stuff like that! You're making me cry, you jerks!"
Goku patted Oolong's head.
"Does this mean you're staying? Great! I was starting to get used to having a pig around!"
///////////////////////////////////////
EPILOGUE
The following morning, the sun rose over Brown Town, but it didn't bring a new beginning.
It illuminated a war zone.
Smoke rose from the outskirts where the scrapper factions, sensing weakness in their leaders, had ignited a violent revolt.
Inside the main office, Dimcha sat behind his desk, frantically flipping through static-filled TV channels.
He looked like a man drowning on dry land.
Grizzlo was busy hammering plywood over a shattered window.
"Stupid kids... think they can just break the windows of a respectable establishment. No respect for their elders, I tell ya." Grizzlo grumbled like a disgruntled janitor.
In the corner, Diesella sat motionless in a chair.
Her face and torso were a mummy-like mess of bandages.
She couldn't even speak; she just stared at the floor in a daze of pain and humiliation.
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
A terrified scrapper stood there.
"Boss! Boss, you gotta come out here!"
"What is it now?!" Dimcha barked, slamming the remote onto the desk.
"If this isn't about the riots, I'm gonna give you enough lumps on your head to make you look like a cluster of grapes!"
"The... the client is here." the soldier stammered.
Dimcha, Grizzlo, and even the broken Diesella went completely still.
A few moments later, the client stepped into the office.
She was a woman dressed in sharp, desert-colored military fatigues, a dark babushka scarf tied over her head, and large, opaque sunglasses.
Her long, straight black hair framed a cold, porcelain face with perfectly level bangs.
She wasn't alone. Behind her stood two men who radiated a predatory stillness.
The first was a lean, lithe man.
The second man was his polar opposite. He was tall, thin, and moved with the rigidity of a statue.
Dimcha scrambled to his feet, forcing a smile.
"Ah! Welcome! Welcome back! Can I... can I get you some coffee? Or maybe some tea? We have the good stuff!"
The woman didn't even look at the chair he offered.
"That won't be necessary. This meeting will be brief."
Dimcha's eyes flickered to the two men behind her.
"I see you brought company this time. I don't recall seeing these two fine gentlemen on our previous... business transactions."
The two men remained silent.
Not a muscle moved.
The woman ignored the comment.
"Let's get straight to the point. You promised to recover the dragon ball that your little traitor stolen. Furthermore, the Great Pilaf has expressed a desire for the other dragon ball, believing its location here to be secure. We are here to collect."
Dimcha broke into a cold sweat.
"Well, you see... there's been a slight, tiny, microscopic hitch in the plan. We were... uh... invaded yesterday."
The woman's sunglasses glinted.
"The red ribbon army?"
"No! No, nothing that professional!" Dimcha waved his hands dismissively.
"It was a group led by that traitor Oolong. They managed to snatch the spheres during the confusion, but I assure you, we are going to get both of them back! My men are already—"
"Save your breath." The woman interrupted, her voice like a razor.
She glanced around the room, seeing the boarded-up windows and the bandaged husk of Diesella.
"I expected you to fail at recovering the Dragon Ball. But losing the second one as well? That confirms it. I didn't come here for excuses, only to see how a gutter level criminal tries to dress incompetence up as a story."
Dimcha blinked, his mouth hanging open.
"I... I don't understand."
"Contacting you was a mistake. I mistook local influence for actual competence. A miscalculation, one I am here to correct."
The two men stepped forward, flanking her.
The red-haired youth bared his teeth, while the tall, angular man let a sadistic smirk curl the corner of his lip.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Dimcha shouted, backing against the wall.
"What are you doing? This wasn't part of the deal! We can still find them!"
Outside, the morning sun was high, but inside, a dark shadow stretched across the walls.
The shadows ceased to mimic men.
They warped, twisting into monstrous non human shapes.
On the illuminated wall, the creature's neck elongated, stretching with the unnatural flexibility of a snake.
The jaw dropped open, defying the hinge of a jawbone, and clamped shut over the shadow of Dimcha's head.
"GRIZZLO! HELP—!"
The scream died instantly.
Dimcha's headless form collapsed, and the shadow on the wall was erased by a crimson spray.
Beside him, Grizzlo's resistance ended with a gurgle and the loud, final crack of a broken spine.
The bodies settled on the floor.
Diesella convulsed in her chair.
A terrified sound caught in her throat, muffled by the gauze wrapping her face.
Her mind screamed to run, but her shattered limbs wouldn't move.
The noise settled.
The things in the dark turned their attention to her.
They washed over Diesella's feet.
Then, the screaming stopped.
End of Volume 1