The Martial Arts Tournament's restaurant.
"Crunch, crunch."
"Chomp, chomp."
The dining table had become a different kind of battlefield. In reality, it was just Son Goku and Vegeta, two Saiyans, wolfing down food. Piles of plates and bowls, cleaner than freshly washed dishes, stacked up beside them.
Krillin and Android 18 had already eaten their fill and were now just sipping tea. As for Piccolo... Could a Namekian even stomach Earth food? He'd barely touched his.
"Hey, there you are."
Son Gohan and Videl came into the restaurant after watching the matches. Sure enough, everyone was here.
"Gohan, I already ordered yours. Come eat with us," Son Goku called out from behind the heaps of food, then plunged back into the fray.
"Oh, okay."
The two Saiyans became three, and the food disappeared even faster. Pity the Martial Arts Tournament's cooks, who were all scrambling to prepare more food. What a miserable job.
"Are Saiyans' stomachs... bottomless pits?" Krillin said calmly, watching Son Goku and the others eat.
You grew up with Son Goku. What do you think? But I'm curious how Son Goku's family managed to afford their meals. They couldn't possibly live off the pitiful prize money from the Martial Arts Tournament. With Saiyan appetites, even five hundred thousand wouldn't be enough.
After eating his fill, Son Goku slapped his slightly swollen belly with satisfaction. "Ah, that was delicious!"
Uh, you're dead. Can you even feel full?
"Why aren't you eating? Are you on a diet?" Son Gohan asked Videl innocently.
Videl: ...No thanks. Watching you all eat has already filled me up.
Piccolo, at the front of the group, raised an eyebrow and stopped walking. The others halted when they saw him.
Blocking their path—in the middle of their dramatic entrance... No, I mean, right in the way—stood two oddly dressed people.
The taller one had a red face and red skin, and wore a stern expression. With his hands behind his back, he looked like a bodyguard. The shorter one had gray-blue skin and a friendlier expression. His arms hung naturally at his sides, and unlike the taller man, he floated above the ground.
Son Goku: ...
Piccolo: ...
Videl furrowed her delicate brows. "That person can use the Flight Technique, too!"
"Hello. I presume you're Son Goku," the shorter man said calmly.
"You know me?" Son Goku asked, bewildered.
"I've heard about you and have been eager to spar with you. I passed the preliminaries, too. Hopefully, we'll get to fight each other," the shorter man said. "Of course, I can't guarantee I'll beat you, but I'm curious to find out just how strong you are. Come, let's shake hands first."
The shorter man held out his hand in a friendly gesture. Son Goku reached out and shook it. "It's a pleasure."
The moment their hands touched, Son Goku's cheerful expression changed.
A strange smile appeared on the shorter man's face. He let go and said with a laugh, "You really are as strong as the rumors say. Your power is unfathomable."
"Goodbye." The shorter man turned and left with the taller one, who hadn't said a word the entire time.
"Who... exactly was that, Goku?" Piccolo asked, watching the two walk away.
"I'm not sure..." Son Goku watched them, too. "But one thing's certain: winning this tournament won't be easy."
"Come on, surely not. He was just some weirdo," Krillin said, watching them go. He hadn't sensed anything unusual.
"They don't seem to be Earthlings," Piccolo said gravely.
Obviously. When have you ever seen Earthlings who look like that? You didn't even know you were a Namekian once, remember?
"Anyway, we should get going. The drawing ceremony is about to start," Krillin said, slipping his hands into his pockets.
The Martial Arts Tournament, backstage area.
"Everyone, all the contestants have arrived. We'll now draw lots to determine the order of the matches. When you hear your name, please come up and draw," the blond referee announced.
"Dear Kami, please make sure my first opponent isn't one of these guys," Krillin prayed devoutly with his eyes closed and hands clasped together.
"Isn't Dende Kami?" Piccolo asked seriously.
Looks like aside from those two, there aren't any other strong fighters. Son Goku glanced around and understood. But when his eyes passed over two bald men with a black "M" on their foreheads, he raised an eyebrow. Those two had terrifying eyes.
When he looked at a masked fighter, Son Goku was surprised. Was this guy really one of the contestants? His height was obviously all wrong.
The masked fighter was, of course, Son Goten and Trunks in disguise. Unlike in the original story, Son Goten was in charge of the upper body this time, while Trunks made up the lower half. But no matter how the two four-head-tall brats rearranged themselves, their short arms and legs couldn't be changed. Anyone could tell at a glance that their proportions were completely off.
"Now, we'll draw lots in order," the referee said, looking at the sheet in his hands.
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