West City had never seen anything like it.
A full-sized arena had risen overnight in Capsule Corp's massive rear training lot — marble tiles, a polished stage, even proper bleachers (which sat mostly empty aside from Bulma, Tights, and a few curious workers). Kai had put the whole thing together in less than a day with a few capsule hacks and some shameless sweet-talking.
He called it "team-building."
Bulma called it "delusional."
But still, the sun was high, the air was warm, and Earth's strongest were all standing in a wide circle inside the ring, wearing smiles and battle stances in equal measure.
Kai stood at the center, arms folded, watching the group with exaggerated theatricality.
"Welcome," he said, "to the Unofficial Totally-Not-Endorsed World Martial Arts Tournament! Sponsored by... no one, approved by absolutely zero governments, and judged entirely by me!"
Krillin raised a hand. "Do we get a prize if we win?"
Kai shrugged. "You get the immense satisfaction of knowing you're slightly less pathetic than the others."
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "You're wasting our time."
"And yet you're still here," Kai said with a grin.
Goku leaned toward Gohan. "He's not wrong. This sounds fun."
Gohan smiled. "As long as nobody dies."
Chiaotzu nervously nodded. "Please."
Kai raised a hand. "Standard tournament rules: No killing, no weapons, no energy blasts aimed outside the ring, no weird tricks, no transformations that involve gold hair and screaming unless I specifically say so, and no crying if you lose."
He turned dramatically. "Let the matches begin!"
Yamcha Vs. Krillin
The two old friends stepped forward with mock-serious expressions.
Tien acted as the referee, standing tall between them.
"Alright," he said. "Let's keep this clean."
He raised his arm, then dropped it. "Begin!"
Yamcha charged in first, using his speed to try and overwhelm Krillin with a flurry of tight punches and spinning kicks. His footwork was sharp, crisp — years of desert fighting still in his bones.
Krillin ducked and weaved, planting his feet to counter with a powerful hook to Yamcha's ribs, followed by a low sweep. Yamcha leapt over it, flipped, and tried to land a downward elbow — but Krillin stepped to the side and sent a blast of wind from his palm that staggered Yamcha mid-air.
"You've gotten slower," Krillin said, smirking.
"Says the guy with no nose!" Yamcha retorted, landing hard and rushing in again.
They traded hits — a clash of close-combat skill — until Krillin finally got a grip on Yamcha's wrist, spun him with his momentum, and flipped him over the boundary.
Yamcha landed on his back with a grunt.
Tien called it. "Winner: Krillin!"
Krillin raised a fist. "Still got it!"
Yamcha groaned. "I hate your judo throws…"
Piccolo Vs. Tien
This was a different energy entirely.
No jokes. No banter. Just two warriors with mutual respect.
They bowed once — then closed the distance instantly.
Piccolo extended his arm like a whip, aiming for Tien's chest. Tien blocked with both arms, flipped backward, and fired a single sharp ki blast that Piccolo deflected with a growl.
They moved fast — trading precise, disciplined strikes. Tien ducked under a backhand and hit Piccolo with a palm strike to the jaw. Piccolo responded by using his stretchy limbs to trip Tien mid-air, slamming him into the tiles.
Tien wiped blood from his lip and rose again. "Tri-Beam!"
Piccolo narrowed his eyes. "Bold."
The attack was massive — a golden square of obliteration — but Piccolo dodged at the last second, reappearing behind Tien and landing a crushing elbow to his back that sent him stumbling out of bounds.
Piccolo caught him before he fell.
"Still got that fight in you," he said calmly.
Tien smiled through the pain. "You're not bad yourself."
Gohan Vs. Chiatozu
This was the lightest match of the day.
Gohan bowed politely, and Chiaotzu returned the gesture with a nervous smile.
Gohan started slow, testing the waters. But Chiaotzu surprised him with sudden bursts of telekinesis — yanking Gohan off balance, levitating rocks as distractions, and even feinting a full-body tackle.
Gohan adjusted quickly. His raw strength overwhelmed Chiaotzu, and eventually, he closed the distance and gently tapped him on the forehead.
"Good match," Gohan said softly.
Chiaotzu rubbed his head. "Thanks for not vaporizing me."
Goku Vs. Vegeta
The arena went silent.
Even Bulma set down her drink.
The two warriors stepped into the ring. Goku was grinning. Vegeta looked furious — but controlled.
"You're smiling too much," Vegeta growled.
"I'm excited," Goku said. "You?"
Vegeta cracked his knuckles. "I'm done being behind you."
Kai stepped in. "No Super Saiyan until I say. Try and keep the planet intact."
He stepped out. "Begin!"
Goku moved first — launching into a fast dash that ended in a low punch. Vegeta blocked it with his knee, pivoted, and drove his elbow into Goku's shoulder. Goku flipped backward, landed on his hands, and used them to spring into a flying kick.
Vegeta caught it mid-air, snarling. "Not this time!"
They clashed. Blow for blow. Each impact sent echoes through the courtyard. The arena cracked. The onlookers gasped.
Goku was faster. But Vegeta was fiercer.
Goku tried to trip him. Vegeta used the moment to land a punch to the solar plexus that left Goku gasping.
They broke apart.
Then—
"Enough games," Vegeta said.
His aura exploded. Gold fire erupted. His hair turned up, shining like a burning crown.
Super Saiyan.
Goku looked surprised… then thrilled. "Nice."
He transformed too — faster, smoother. His own golden aura flared high into the sky.
They were 'gods' now.
And they fought like it.
The sky turned dark from the pressure. The arena shattered underfoot. Every punch lit the air like thunder.
They weren't just fighting — they were testing everything they had.
When they finally clashed one last time, fists locking in a power struggle, both Saiyans fell to their knees — panting, sweaty, and smiling.
"Draw," Kai announced.
Vegeta scoffed. "No. I won."
Goku laughed. "Sure, buddy."
Later that evening, the courtyard had transformed again.
The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, charred vegetables, and sizzling sauces. The sunset cast a golden wash over the Capsule Corp courtyard, bathing everything in a warm, almost nostalgic light. Plates clattered, laughter echoed, and the Z-Fighters — warriors who had faced death more times than they could count — now sat around folding tables, arguing about sauce recipes and tournament results like it was just another lazy Saturday.
Gohan was busy manning the grill alongside Tien and Krillin, flipping skewers with surprising efficiency. "Mr. Popo taught me," Gohan said proudly as he evenly spaced a row of perfectly grilled fish. Tien nodded, offering a thumbs-up while Krillin blew on his fingers, having grabbed a hot plate too fast.
Further down the patio, Yamcha had taken a very specific interest in the refreshments table — or more precisely, the woman standing next to it.
Tights sipped a lemonade through a pink straw, one eyebrow raised as Yamcha launched into another exaggerated story involving desert bandits, motorcycle chases, and something about a radioactive dinosaur. He gestured wildly, his voice rising with every sentence.
"...And that's when I told him, 'Buddy, you can keep the gold, but I'm keeping your hovercycle!'"
Tights blinked slowly. "Uh-huh."
Yamcha leaned in, flashing his best roguish grin. "You know, I always did have a thing for brilliant women with great hair and questionable taste in company."
Before she could respond, a low growl interrupted them.
Vegeta.
He was standing a few steps away, arms crossed, scowling like the world owed him money.
Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "Flirting with my woman?"
Tights choked slightly on her drink, half-laughing.
Yamcha raised his hands. "Hey now, it was just small talk—"
Vegeta didn't wait. He stepped forward, grabbed Tights gently — but firmly — by the wrist, and pulled her away from the table without another word.
"We're leaving."
Tights protested half-heartedly, "But I haven't even tried the grilled mushrooms—"
"You'll try them at home."
Yamcha stood there, hands still half-raised in surrender. "Seriously? It was a joke!"
Goku popped up beside him, a plate in each hand. "You're lucky he didn't blast you into next week."
"I liked him better when he wanted to kill us and didn't talk," Yamcha muttered.
Across the yard, Piccolo leaned against a tree in the shade, arms folded. He stood in his usual silence, but the edge of his cloak swayed as Goku popped by, holding a plate.
"Grilled zucchini skewers," Goku said, grinning. "Bulma said it'd be good for your… whole, uh, Namekian… thing."
Piccolo gave them a skeptical glance, then plucked one off the plate with two fingers and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, face unreadable, then gave the tiniest of nods.
Goku grinned wider. "I'll take that as a win."
The night carried on with full bellies and full laughter — even if, here and there, some tempers still simmered hotter than the grill.
And Kai?
Kai just sat back in his apron that read "Kiss the Chef (or Try)" and smiled, arms behind his head, taking it all in.