"Coming," I said simply, stepping into the corridor with silent confidence.
The official flinched—not in fear, but in the way one unconsciously acknowledges overwhelming presence. My aura was still passive, but it pressed out around me like heat from a forge, subtle yet undeniable. Even untrained civilians could sense something was different.
The hallway echoed with my steps as we walked toward the arena. With each stride, I reviewed the moves encoded into my flesh—Netero's style was not Ki-based, but Nen had similarities. If I could just crack the shell of this world's energy system, I could bridge the gap.
For now, though, brute technique would suffice.
The arena blazed with sunlight and noise as I stepped onto the white stone platform. The crowd wasn't huge—this was still early Dragon Ball, before the spectacle truly exploded—but there was excitement in the air. Most eyes scanned for the boy wonder they'd heard about—Son Goku.
But some turned to me. I walked with the balance of a panther and the stillness of a mountain. This body had trained hard, even before I arrived. Now, it moved like water guided by will.
Across the ring, I saw him.
Goku.
Short, wild hair. Orange gi. Tail flicking in anticipation. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and I knew he felt it too—the difference.
"Wow!" he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You feel strong! Like real strong!"
I smiled. "You're not bad yourself, kid."
The announcer's voice echoed across the arena: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the second match of the quarterfinals—King Chappa versus Son Goku!"
Applause. Cheers. A bell.
And then, silence.
He moved first. A blur of motion too fast for most spectators to follow. But I saw it. Netero's speed training gave me the perception to match his rush.
I leaned aside with perfect timing, letting his punch sail past my shoulder. My counter came not from power, but precision—a palm strike to the chest that pushed him back ten paces.
Goku grinned.
"Cool! You're fast!"
Then he vanished.
Instantaneous movement—no, not true teleportation. Just raw, ridiculous speed. He reappeared to my left, fist raised.
But I'd already turned.
WHAM!
Our fists collided—mine open, palm aligned with the angle of his wrist. I absorbed the blow and twisted, flipping him off balance and launching a kick to his midsection. He tumbled backward, landing on all fours.
The crowd gasped.
This wasn't the one-sided domination from canon. Goku wasn't laughing anymore—he was focused. And I… I was in the flow.
Battle Meditation Activated.
Time slowed, just slightly. Not in reality, but in mind. Each heartbeat expanded into a canvas. I saw trajectories, tension in muscle, the shift of breath before a strike.
Goku was like a wild storm—powerful, instinctive, joyful in battle. I was a blade forged in discipline, refined in reincarnation.
He charged again, and I met him halfway.
Palm met fist. Elbow met knee. We danced across the arena, trading blows that cracked stone and defied logic. The audience fell silent, eyes wide as they tried to follow a fight beyond their comprehension.
I began introducing variations—Netero's Hundred-Type Guanyin Palm had not yet awakened, but its echo moved in me.
Two palms. Four. Six.
Rapid, controlled bursts of force. Goku adapted, matching my rhythm with his natural genius. He ducked, weaved, flipped—struck back with daring creativity.
I was impressed.
And that's when I made a mistake.
I overreached—aiming to sweep his legs mid-spin. Goku twisted in midair, using his tail to anchor around my forearm. With a yell, he threw himself into a spinning kick that clocked me right in the temple.
I stumbled. Only for a second. But it was enough.
Goku pressed the attack—blows rained in, and I went on the defensive, absorbing and redirecting with practiced form. Still, he had momentum.
I needed to reset.
With a sharp breath, I activated a move I'd been preparing.
"Flowing Hundred Step!"
My feet blurred as I circled around him in an instant. I wasn't teleporting—but I was applying Netero's footwork principles with the physicality of this world. Using precise balance and force redirection, I spiraled behind Goku and delivered three quick palm strikes to his back, each one timed with his exhale.
He coughed—spun—lashed out wildly.
I caught his wrist and held it.
For just a moment, we stood still.
"Yield?" I asked gently.
He grinned. "Nope!"
He dropped low and kicked my knee, breaking my grip.
I laughed.
So did he.
By the ten-minute mark, we were both bruised, sweating, and thrilled. Goku had never faced someone like this. Someone not stronger by sheer power—but by experience. Technique. Strategy. He was learning as we fought.
And I was learning, too.
How his Ki moved. How his body functioned. How this world's rules operated.
My Nen system was beginning to stir—no longer dormant. I could feel it, like a heartbeat out of sync with the world.
The moment this match ended, I would meditate. Awaken it.
But first, I had to finish this fight.
The final exchange was simple. We stood ten feet apart, breathing hard.
We bowed.
Then we sprinted.
Fists collided. My palms struck. His tail whipped. I caught it, used it to anchor my next spin.
He kicked.
I palmed.
BOOM.
We stopped mid-ring, back to back, frozen like statues.
A long silence.
Then—we both dropped to a knee, smiling.
The crowd erupted.
The announcer didn't know what to say. "I—I think—uh—this might be a draw?! We'll need the judges to confer!"
In the end, they ruled it a tie, citing the ten-minute limit and equal damage taken.
Goku looked up at me with awe and joy.
"That was amazing, mister!"
I smiled down at him. "Likewise. You're going to be unstoppable someday."
And I meant it.
But I wasn't done yet.
Because in the depths of my soul, something stirred.
A presence—sweet, curious, and quietly insane—was watching through the veil of dimensions.
Companion Link Stabilized.
Neferpitou Incoming.
My grin widened.
Things were about to get very interesting.