The memory faded, dissolving back into the harsh reality of the command center.
Oolong slumped in his chair, his head hanging low.
"He died later that night." Grizzlo whispered, his voice was hollow and broken.
Oolong then looked up, with a serious expression
"I didn't steal it for profit, Yamcha. Neither of us wanted to hurt you. I took it because he begged me to. He just wanted you to stop… he didn't want to be the reason you became… this."
Silence descended upon the room.
It was a thick, suffocating silence.
Even Dimcha had stopped pacing, the unlit cigar frozen in his hand.
Grizzlo looked down at his feet, shifting uncomfortably.
They all remembered Mugicha.
They all knew the boy's heart.
But Yamcha didn't look down.
He stood perfectly still, staring at the floor.
His breathing had stopped.
His shoulders were rigid.
Slowly, his hands curled into fists.
A vein popped out on his forehead, pulsing violently.
It wasn't just anger.
It was a rejection of reality.
It was the fury of a man who had sacrificed his soul for a cause, only to be told that the sacrifice was unwanted.
"You..." Yamcha's voice leaked out like steam from a cracking boiler.
He slowly raised his head.
His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a madness that made even Dimcha take a subtle step back.
"You think... you think you can lie to me? You think you can use his name... use his memory... to justify your betrayal?"
"I'm telling the truth!"
"SHUT UP!" Yamcha ripped his scimitar from its sheath in a flash, pointing the blade at Oolong's throat.
"Mugicha wanted to live! I-I did everything for him! He would never reject me... HE WOULD NEVER CALL ME A MONSTER!"
Yamcha's face twisted into a mask of unadulterated hatred.
"You poisoned his mind against me! You turned my only brother against me before he died. Y-You BASTARD!"
"HE DIDN'T WANT THIS, YAMCHA!"
Oolong screamed, staring up at the blade with sudden, desperate courage.
"He wanted his brother! He wanted you to hold his hand, not a sword! You used him! You used his sickness as an excuse to play king of the wasteland because you were too scared to just be there for him!"
Yamcha's expression shattered.
The denial broke, replaced by a blinding fury.
He pulled the blade away from Oolong's throat. But he didn't sheathe it.
WHAM.
Yamcha backhanded Oolong with the guard of the scimitar.
The blow was brutal.
It sent Oolong crashing face first into the metal grating.
"OOLONG!" Bulma screamed.
The room went deathly still.
Grizzlo took a step back.
Even Puar covered his eyes.
Dimcha stepped forward, his boots heavy on the floor.
He took the cigar out of his mouth, his expression hardening.
"Easy now, son! Back off. Don't let the pig get under your skin. He's just spoutin' nonsense to save his own ass. Don't lose your cool over a provocation."
Yamcha reached down and hauled Oolong up by the collar, lifting him until his feet dangled off the ground.
Oolong's face was bruised, blood dripping from his snout, but his eyes were still defiant.
"You think you knew him better than I did? You think you have the right to judge me?"
He shook Oolong violently.
"I found you in the gutter! You were starving! You were nothing! I brought you into this family. I gave you a bed to sleep in. I put food in your stomach and this is how you repay me? By betraying us and painting me as the monster?"
Oolong coughed, spitting a glob of blood onto Yamcha's boot.
He looked straight into the Wolf's eyes.
"I regret it, i regret every single day I spent here. I should have starved in that gutter rather than owe my life to a bandit like you."
His grip on Oolong's collar tightened, choking off the pig's air supply. He raised his fist, preparing to crush Oolong's skull.
"YAMCHA!" Dimcha roared. The laid-back demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by the commanding boom of a warlord.
"I SAID STAND DOWN! RIGHT NOW!"
Dimcha didn't flinch as his son's killing aura filled the room.
He walked right up to Yamcha, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, and looked him dead in the eye.
"Look at you... all shakin' and sweatin'. You're lettin' a pig dictate your feelings. That ain't the mark of a leader. That's the mark of a child throwing a tantrum."
Yamcha's grip on Oolong tightened for a fraction of a second before he hesitated.
"Don't do it. You kill him now, right here. It means he got to you. It means his words mattered."
He gestured toward the window, where the roar of the crowd was getting louder.
"You want justice? You want to honor your brother? Then you do it out there. You make an example of him. You strip him down in front of the whole damn world and show everyone what happens to traitors."
Yamcha stared at his father.
Slowly, painfully, he loosened his grip.
THUD.
Oolong crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat.
Yamcha stepped back.
"Fine, the arena."
"That's my boy... I'm just as pissed as you are. Believe me, I want to skin him alive myself. But we run a business here. And business comes first."
Launch glared at Dimcha, her face twisting with disgust.
"You don't give a shit about justice or honor. All you care about is selling tickets to a damn slaughter. You're just tryna cash in on a family fight!"
Dimcha turned to her.
He took a moment to light his cigar, puffing smoke into the air before answering.
"Well now, darlin', that ain't entirely fair. But you ain't entirely wrong, neither."
He walked over to the window, looking down at the packed stands.
"This pig brought chaos to my doorstep. He insulted my family. He disrupted my operations. That's a lot of debt he's racked up. It's only fair that he pays us back with a little entertainment. Consider it... restitution."
////////////////////////////////////////////////
Goku pushed a heavy sheet of metal off his chest and sat up in the crater, shaking a pile of debris out of his hair.
He patted his arms and legs, checking for damage. aside from a few scuff marks and a torn sleeve, he was perfectly fine.
"Man... That Yamcha guy is pretty strong. He really got me with that move."
He stood up, his stomach letting out a roar that rivaled the sound of the collapsing building.
"But I can't fight him again like this, i'm so hungry I can see stars."
He climbed out of the wreckage and wandered onto the main street of Browntown. ]
The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the scrap heaps.
Suddenly, his nose twitched.
Sniff. Sniff.
"Food!" Goku's eyes lit up.
He followed the scent floating on a cloud of aroma until he reached a makeshift food stall set up under a tarp.
Steam was rising from large bowls, carrying the savory smell of pork bone broth and soy sauce.
A group of scrappers were sitting on crates, laughing and clinking bottles of beer, their weapons leaning against the counter.
They looked tired but celebratory.
Goku walked right up to the biggest Scrapper, who was slurping noodles from a bowl.
"Hey, mister!" Goku asked, staring intensely at the bowl.
"What are you eating? It smells good."
The Scrapper stopped chewing, a noodle hanging from his lip.
He looked down at the spiky-haired kid, to him, Goku looked like just another urchin living in the slums.
"It's Ramen, kid." the scrapper grunted, swallowing.
"One of the guys from the East brought the recipe. Best thing in this dustbowl."
GRRRRRRRR.
Goku's stomach growled so loudly that the Scrapper actually jumped, nearly dropping his chopsticks.
"Whoa, sounds like you got a coyote in there, little guy."
He looked at his friends, then back at Goku. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills.
"You know what? I'll let you taste it… just for my own entertainment."
The scrapper tossed a coin to the cook.
"Hey, give the kid a bowl! On me!"
"Really? You're the best!"
"Don't mention it. We just got a fat bonus from the boss. We snagged two high profile targets in the city. Easy money."
Goku picked up the chopsticks the cook handed him.
"Really?" Goku asked.
"Yeah, boss Yamcha is gonna throw 'em in the Arena later. Gonna be a hell of a show."
"Oh..." Goku said, slurping the last noodle of his first bowl and slamming it down on the counter with a loud clack.
"You're right. I really should go back there."
The Scrapper laughed heartily, slapping Goku on the back hard enough to make a normal kid cough.
"That's the spirit! You got a little bloodlust in you, huh? I like that!"
The Scrapper took a swig of his beer.
"You keep that attitude, grow big and strong, and maybe one day you can join the crew. We always need guys who aren't afraid to watch a little carnage."
"Uh-huh." Goku mumbled, already digging into a second bowl that the cook had slid over.
Slurp.
Gulp.
Clack.
"Another one!" Goku chirped, holding out the empty bowl.
The Scrapper stalled with his bottle frozen in midair.
"Whoa, slow down there..."
"Another one, please!"
By the time the scrapper had finished half of his drink, a tower of empty ceramic bowls was wobbling next to Goku's elbow.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four...
Goku lifted the fifth bowl, tipped his head back, and poured the hot broth straight down his throat like a waterfall.
He slammed the bowl onto the top of the stack satisfied, patting his round, distended stomach.
"Phew! That hit the spot! I'm finally full."
The Scrapper stared at the stack of bowls, his jaw practically on the floor.
The other bandits nearby had stopped talking and were watching in stunned silence.
"Five... You ate... five giant servings? Where did you even put it?"
The cook leaned over the counter. He punched a few numbers into a dirty calculator, ripped off a receipt, and slapped it onto the wood in front of the Scrapper.
"That's five House Specials. Pay up."
"What?!" The Scrapper yelped, his eyes bulging out of his head.
"I said I was buying him a bowl! Not a banquet!"
"He ate 'em. You're paying for 'em, no refunds on consumed goods."
The Scrapper looked at the bill—which was significantly larger than he expected—then at the small boy who had just eaten all the portion of his capture bonus in under ten minutes.
Goku scratched the back of his head, looking genuinely apologetic as he hopped off the stool.
"Ehehe... sorry, mister, i was just super hungry. One bowl is usually just a snack for me. Grandpa always said I have a bottomless pit in my stomach!"
"Bottomless pit?!" The Scrapper shouted.
"Thanks for the food! You're a really nice guy!" Goku bowed politely.
"Just... just go." the Scrapper wept, handing over his crumpled bills to the cook.