Chapter 8: Ripples Across the Ring
The ring echoed.
Not with sound, but with the resonance of movement—each clash between Goku and I radiating out like a bell struck underwater. Controlled force. Precise balance. Every motion placed like a stone in a garden: deliberate, measured, and meant to be seen.
But only a few watching truly understood what they were seeing.
---
Krillin's POV
He wasn't breathing.
At least, not properly.
Krillin stood just behind the front barrier with his fingers white-knuckled around the railing. His eyes bounced from Chappa to Goku, trying to keep up—but the speed was only part of the problem.
"Do you see that?" he whispered to Yamcha, who stood just beside him. "Chappa's not aiming to hurt. He's… guiding."
Yamcha squinted. "He's what?"
Krillin didn't respond at first. He watched as Chappa parried another rapid strike from Goku—not by stopping it, but by redirecting it mid-flight, turning a punch into a pivot and spinning Goku into a defensive stance.
"He's not just fighting Goku," Krillin muttered. "He's teaching him while fighting him."
---
Tien's POV
That kind of control.
Tien's brow furrowed as he studied the footwork—Chappa's left foot always aligned at a forty-five-degree angle, never square, never flat. His arms didn't flail or overextend. Each palm strike was like a page being turned in a book that he was writing.
Goku was keeping up.
But just barely.
"He's forcing Goku into stillness between movements," Tien murmured. "For someone who fights by flow… that's brutal."
Chiaotzu, floating quietly beside him, added, "It's beautiful."
Tien didn't answer. His eyes narrowed as Chappa stepped back and offered Goku space—almost inviting him to overcommit.
Tien's heart beat faster.
So that's what he meant by 'early.'
---
Yamcha's POV
"Okay, I'll admit it," Yamcha said aloud, hand scratching at the back of his head. "I thought Chappa was just… y'know, a quiet tough guy. Stoic. Been through some wars or something."
He watched as Chappa sidestepped a flying knee, didn't even look phased, and struck Goku twice—one in the shoulder, one just under the ribs—and Goku grinned.
"But he's a monster," Yamcha added.
Krillin nodded absently.
Then Yamcha frowned. "Wait. Is Goku… getting better during the fight?"
"Yeah," Krillin said. "He's… learning as they go. Again."
"Crazy kid," Yamcha muttered.
Then, quietly: "Wish I was in there too."
---
Pitou's POV
She sat higher than the others, legs dangling from a banner pole, tail swaying as her sharp eyes gleamed like stars in moonlight.
To her, the fight wasn't impressive because it was fast or flashy.
It was impressive because he was slowing himself.
Her King—her wild, sharpened reed of a man—was fighting like he was drawing calligraphy. Each movement a brushstroke. Each brushstroke an act of mercy wrapped in violence.
And Goku…
"Ahh, little cub," she purred, licking a fingertip. "You'll be dangerous when you stop thinking and start trusting your instinct."
But she was proud.
Not of them as fighters.
But as humans. They were beautiful when they grew.
She cradled her chin on her palms and purred louder as they clashed again, the ring cracking subtly under the strain.
---
Bulma's POV
"GOKU!"
Bulma's scream broke the tension for a moment. She stood on a seat near the far edge of the stands, hands cupped around her mouth, blue hair bouncing with each shout.
"You better not lose to some guy who looks like he writes poetry in his sleep!"
Oolong winced beside her. "You're gonna give him a complex."
Puar hovered overhead, nervously chewing on a bit of popcorn. "But Chappa is kind of cool…"
Bulma folded her arms. "Cool's not the point. Goku's our Goku! He's supposed to win!"
Then she paused. Watched.
Her brows drew together.
"…But they're not really fighting like they want to beat each other," she murmured. "They're like… like they're unlocking something."
Oolong blinked. "Wait, you understand that?"
Bulma gave him a side-eye. "I'm smart, remember?"
---
Roshi's POV
He stood far from the front rows, cloak pulled up over his shoulders, hat low over his eyes. Few recognized him here, and that was fine.
He didn't want to be seen today.
He wanted to see.
His jaw was tight beneath the beard.
That style.
That restraint.
That spiritual pressure…
Not just King Chappa's power.
His discipline.
"Ho…" Roshi exhaled quietly.
He watched as Goku flung himself forward again, this time with a rising burst of Ki—half Kamehameha, half pure instinct.
Chappa didn't block.
He absorbed it, twisted with it, and brought his palm down onto the ring's floor—not on Goku.
The ground.
The force vibrated upward, grounding the blast like thunder into stone. Goku stumbled back, breath knocked out of him from his own energy rebounding.
The old master nodded once.
"That's a man who's trained beyond victory," he said under his breath. "Beyond ego."
He smiled.
"And Goku… is learning it now."
---
Back in the ring, I moved slowly, giving Goku time to breathe. He shook out his arms, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling like a bellows.
"You're holding back again," he said.
I tilted my head. "No. Just waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to stop looking at this like a tournament."
He blinked.
"Then what is it?"
"A lesson. For both of us."
His expression shifted—confusion giving way to that spark of curiosity, that innocent hunger that made him dangerous in the right way.
Goku dropped into a new stance. Not quite his usual one. Less open. More coiled.
"You mean… like training?" he asked.
"Not like training."
I dashed forward.
"It is training."
We clashed again—palm against fist, heel against shin. The world around us began to fall away.
No ring.
No crowd.
Just a boy on the verge of something great, and a man standing at the threshold of legacy.
I didn't hit him harder.
I hit him clearer.
Each motion now had intention behind it—not to win, not to show dominance, but to reflect what he wasn't seeing yet.
I struck low—Goku parried.
I came around high—he spun, too late.
I caught his back and brought him to the ground, palm to his spine.
He rolled away, panting. Laughing.
"You're not fighting me," he said. "You're… guiding me."
"Yes."
He stood.
"Then guide me better!"
And with that, he surged forward again—faster, sharper, brighter than before.
And I welcomed it.
All of it.
To be continued…