The Total Jumbo Jet descended through a sea of neon lights and towering skyscrapers as it made its final approach into Tokyo. After the freezing heights of the Alps and the tense departure of Owen, the humidity and electric energy of Japan felt like a shock to the system. But as the cargo door hissed open in the heart of Akihabara, the sprawling "Electric Town," the contestants weren't met with the usual life-threatening obstacle course.
Instead, they stepped out into a massive, cordoned-off plaza. And there, standing thirty feet tall in the center of the square, was a magnificent, sun-drenched statue of Son Goku. The legendary Saiyan was captured in a dynamic pose, one hand reaching toward the sky as if gathering energy for a Spirit Bomb, his golden hair shimmering under the stadium lights Chris had installed for the shoot.
The Otaku's Pilgrimage
For most of the contestants, it was just a big statue. But for Harold, it was a religious experience.
His eyes dilated behind his glasses until they were nearly all pupil. His jaw dropped so low it looked like it might unhinge. "Gosh..." he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and pure, unadulterated fanboyism. "The legendary Super Saiyan... in the middle of Tokyo... it's... it's beautiful."
Without a second's delay, Harold whipped out his high-tech digital camera. He didn't just take a photo; he began a full-scale tactical reconnaissance of the monument. He scrambled across the pavement, sliding into a kneeling position to get a low-angle shot.
"Kame... Hame..." Harold grunted, adjusting his lens focus. He jumped up, mimicking the iconic stance, his lanky arms thrust forward with surprising precision. "HAAAA!"
Click. Click. Click.
"Harold, baby, you're gonna pop a blood vessel if you keep that up," Leshawna laughed, leaning against a nearby vending machine. She watched him with a wide, genuine grin. Usually, she found his "mad skills" talk a bit exhausting, but seeing him like this—completely unashamed, his face lighting up with pure joy at a fictional hero—made something soften in her chest.
"Look at him," she chuckled to Bridgette. "He's a giant dork, but he's my giant dork. Most guys try to act all tough and mysterious, but Harold? He just loves what he loves. It's actually kind of adorable."
Harold, meanwhile, was busy explaining the power levels of the Frieza Saga to a confused-looking DJ. "You see, DJ, if the producers tried to put Goku in a challenge, he'd destroy the plane with a single KI attack! It's the ultimate expression of internal chi!"
The "Anime & Kaiju" Showdown
Chris McLean stepped onto a small stage in front of the statue, holding a handheld gaming console. He looked remarkably relaxed. He wasn't checking his watch for the network's demands; he was watching Harold's enthusiasm with a nostalgic glint in his eyes.
"Alright, listen up, Myrmidons, Amazons, and Team Victory!" Chris shouted into his megaphone. "The producers wanted me to make you eat live giant squids while strapped to a spinning centrifuge. I told them that sounded like a Tuesday in my twenties, and frankly, I'm over it. Today, we're honoring the birthplace of the greatest animation on Earth!"
Chris gestured to three massive green-screen tents set up around the plaza.
"The challenge: The Anime Epic. Each team has two hours to write, voice-act, and 'choreograph' a three-minute anime sequence. One person directs, the rest act. We've got motion-capture suits, soundboards, and enough special effects to make a blockbuster. The theme? A battle against a giant Kaiju—played by a very grumpy Chef Hatchet in a rubber lizard suit."
"Wait," Courtney barked, her hand raised. "How are we supposed to be graded on 'creativity'? That's subjective! I demand a rubric!"
"The rubric is me, Courtney!" Chris snapped back, though with less venom than usual. "And I've seen every episode of Dragon Ball Z twice. If your frame rates suck or your dialogue is clunky, you lose. Team Victory, since you won the last round, you get first pick of the prop closet."
The Sabotage and the Saint
Team Victory was a well-oiled machine. With Harold as the director, he was in his element. He had Ezekiel and DJ in motion-capture suits, acting out a high-speed aerial battle, while Bridgette and Leshawna provided the "dramatic gasps" and power-up screams.
"Ezekiel, more emotion! You're not just a farm boy, you're the Last Guardian of the Yukon!" Harold commanded, waving a rolled-up script.
"I'm tryin', eh! These spandex suits are real tight!" Ezekiel grunted, doing a mid-air flip.
But across the plaza, Alejandro was sweating. Team Myrmidon was falling apart. Noah was refusing to do the "ridiculous" poses, and Tyler kept tripping over the motion-capture wires. Alejandro knew that if Team Victory won again, his neck was on the chopping block. He needed a distraction. He needed to destroy Harold's masterpiece.
Alejandro slipped away from his team, slinking toward the back of Team Victory's tent. He held a small, high-powered magnet in his hand—enough to wipe the hard drives and ruin hours of work. He reached for the server rack, a predatory smirk on his face.
"Hey, uh... Al-man? What ya doin' back here, eh?"
Alejandro froze. He turned to see Ezekiel standing there, holding a box of prop swords. Zeke wasn't being suspicious; he was just genuinely curious.
"I was just... checking the ventilation, Ezekiel," Alejandro said smoothly, hiding the magnet behind his back. "It seems quite hot in your tent. I wouldn't want your equipment to overheat."
Ezekiel tilted his head, his eyes landing on the hand Alejandro was hiding. "Is that a magnet? My pa says magnets and computers don't mix like oil and water. Are you tryin' to break Harold's movie?"
"Don't be ridiculous, you simple—" Alejandro started, but he was interrupted by a shadow looming over him.
Leshawna had followed Zeke to see what was taking him so long. She had heard every word. Her eyes moved from the magnet in Alejandro's hand to the panicked look in his eyes.
"Zeke," Leshawna said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low hum. "Did you just say this snake was tryin' to mess with my man's hard work?"
"Looks like it, eh," Ezekiel nodded firmly. "He's got a big ol' magnet right there."
Alejandro tried to flash his winning smile. "Leshawna, surely we can discuss this like civilized—"
POW.
Leshawna didn't wait for him to finish. With a roar of protectiveness, she wound up a punch that would have made Son Goku proud. Her fist connected squarely with Alejandro's jaw. The "charming" strategist was lifted off his feet, spinning once in the air before landing face-first in a pile of prop boxes, completely unconscious.
"Nobody," Leshawna huffed, dusting off her hands, "messes with Harold when he's in the zone. Ezekiel, grab that magnet. We're goin' back to finish the movie."
"You bet, Leshawna! That was a 9001 power level hit, eh!" Ezekiel cheered, pocketing the magnet.
The Final Screening
When it came time to show the films, the difference was clear. Team Myrmidon's entry was a mess of Noah's sarcasm and Tyler's accidental falls. Team Amazon's was technically perfect but lacked soul, as Courtney and Gwen argued over the lighting the whole time.
Then came Team Victory.
The screen lit up with a high-octane, neon-soaked battle. Harold had edited it with "mad skills," adding speed lines, dramatic close-ups, and a soundtrack that sounded like a heavy metal orchestra. When the "Goku" cameo appeared (a silhouette Harold had painstakingly rotoscoped in), even Chris stood up and cheered.
"Winner: Team Victory!" Chris announced, clapping enthusiastically. "That was the most 'plus ultra' thing I've ever seen on this show! Harold, you're a genius. Team Victory gets to spend the night in a five-star gaming suite in Shinjuku!"
Harold beamed, adjusting his glasses. "It was nothing, Chris. Just a matter of respecting the source material."
Leshawna walked over and planted a massive kiss on Harold's cheek. "You did good, sugar. And don't worry about Alejandro... he's currently 'resting' in the prop closet."
The Aftermath
Later that night, as Team Victory celebrated, Chris sat by the Son Goku statue. He took a sip of his tea and looked at his phone. The producers had sent forty-two texts demanding to know why Alejandro was unconscious and why the "death trap" challenge wasn't filmed.
Chris smiled and hit 'Select All' and then 'Delete.'
"Chef," Chris called out as the big man walked over, still wearing the tail of the Kaiju suit. "Check the ratings. I bet the 'Leshawna Punch' is already the top meme in Japan."
"It's trending worldwide, Chris," Chef grumbled, though he sounded impressed. "People are calling it the 'Justice Strike.' They love it."
"Good," Chris said, looking up at the golden statue. "Because if we're going to survive this tour, we're going to need a lot more justice and a lot less corporate interference. Next stop... the Yukon. Let's see if they can keep this fire going in the ice."