The next morning dawned bright and peaceful over Tempest. After the grand reception, Rimuru had insisted everyone rest and explore at their leisure—no formal meetings, no pressure. Goku, Vegeta, and Whis had taken him up on it, wandering the bustling streets of the capital, while Zairis opted to observe from a rooftop somewhere.
Goku strolled with his hands behind his head, his orange gi bright against the white marble and floating gardens. The air smelled of fresh bread, grilled meats, and faint magical herbs. Citizens of every race laughed and chatted as they went about their day—kids chasing each other across sky-bridges, merchants haggling with cheerful energy, even a group of orcs helping elves carry heavy crates without a hint of tension.
"Man… look at all this," Goku said softly, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Everyone's so happy. No fighting over food, no fear in their eyes. They're just… living. I never thought something I did back on Earth could help make a whole world feel this peaceful. It's kinda nice knowing I inspired folks like that."
Vegeta walked a step behind, arms crossed, scowling at a passing street performer juggling fireballs with magic. "Hmph. Absurd. A children's story influencing an entire nation? This 'Dragon Ball Z' nonsense is ridiculous. As if our battles were some entertainment for weaklings on another planet."
Whis floated casually beside them, staff in hand, nibbling on a skewer of Tempest-style dango he'd acquired from a stall. "Well, the Cycle does have a way of blending things that should never touch. The Grand Presence kept metaphysical universes neatly separated for eons. Now that it's shifted… timelines and realities are starting to bleed together. The Time and Space Genesis stations in the 6th dimension have been rather finicky lately, but that's neither here nor there."
Vegeta stopped abruptly at a small book stall run by an enthusiastic hobgoblin. His eyes narrowed as he picked up a colorful manga volume—the Saiyan Saga arc, complete with dramatic cover art of himself and Goku powering up against Raditz and later Nappa.
"…What is this garbage?" Vegeta muttered, flipping through the pages. His scowl deepened at the exaggerated poses and speech bubbles. "They got my hair wrong. And this dialogue… I would never say something so—" He slammed it shut, his cheeks faintly red. "I don't know whether to destroy it or… hmph. It's beneath me."
Goku leaned over, grinning. "Hey, that's the part where you first show up! Looks pretty cool to me."
Vegeta tossed the manga back onto the stall with a scoff. "Cool? It's an insult."
Just after Vegeta retorted, a loud, excited voice cut through the crowd.
"W-wait… no way… NO WAY!!"
A small green hobgoblin—looking exactly like a goblin child in a simple loincloth and vest, with big ears and an even bigger grin—came barreling toward them on stubby legs, nearly tripping over his own feet. Gobta skidded to a halt right in front of Goku, his eyes sparkling like stars.
"It's really you! The legendary Son Goku! The one who fights aliens and shoots big energy beams and eats like a black hole! Lord Rimuru told us stories last night, but I thought it was just one of his jokes! You're actually here in Tempest!!"
Goku laughed warmly and crouched down to his level. "Haha, yeah, that's me! You know about me too? Nice to meet ya—I'm Goku. You've got some cool energy yourself. What's your name?"
"Gobta! Vice-captain—no, Captain of the Goblin Riders! I train with Hakurou-sensei and ride wolves and everything!" Gobta puffed out his chest, then immediately deflated into pure fanboy mode, hopping in place. "Can I get your autograph? Or better—can we spar?! Just a little one? I promise I won't cry if you hit me with a Kame… Kameha… whichever technique!"
Goku's eyes lit up. "A spar? Sure! You look like you've got some fight in you. Let's do it later, after lunch!"
Whis chuckled elegantly. "My, how enthusiastic. Lord Beerus would approve of the spirit, if not the timing."
Vegeta snorted. "Training with a pint-sized goblin? How far we've fallen, Kakarot."
Gobta looked over at Vegeta and smiled wide. "You're just like the comics! So angry, but so… cool!"
Vegeta's eyes widened at the blatant praise, his ears tinting red before he turned away with a scoff.
Just then, another commotion erupted from a side street. A tall, armored lizardman—Gabiru—strutted forward, with two loyal followers trailing behind him like ducklings. His cape fluttered dramatically as he struck a pose, one hand on his hip.
"Behold! The great Gabiru has arrived to grace these streets with his magnificent presence! After a long morning in the research lab perfecting new potions, I, Gabiru, shall now—" He froze mid-sentence as he spotted the group, particularly Goku and Vegeta. His eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion. "Eh? Who are these oddly dressed outsiders? They don't look like dignitaries. Surely not worthy of interrupting the great Gabiru's daily patrol!"
One of his followers whispered loudly, "Captain, that's the Saiyan guy Lord Rimuru mentioned…"
Gabiru waved him off. "Nonsense! If they were important, they'd have an entourage like mine! Now, green one—" he pointed at Gobta "—stop bothering these… tourists. We have important business. Like… eating lunch! Yes!"
Gobta whirled on him. "Gabiru! You dummy! This is Son Goku! The real one! From the stories! He can blow up planets and stuff!"
Gabiru blinked, then burst into loud laughter. "Hah! Planets? Preposterous! I, Gabiru, once fought an Orc Lord! These tales are clearly exaggerated by Lord Rimuru for entertainment. Watch—I shall demonstrate true power!" He struck another ridiculous pose, his cape swirling, while his two followers clapped enthusiastically despite the awkward silence.
Goku scratched his cheek, amused. "He seems… energetic."
Vegeta's vein twitched. "This is what passes for warriors here? A loud lizard and a hyperactive child? Pathetic. At least the food smells decent—though it reminds me too much of your son and his Saiyaman era."
Whis smiled serenely. "Different worlds, different customs. Though I must admit, the contrast is rather entertaining."
As the group continued walking—Gobta now glued to Goku's side, chattering nonstop about wolf-riding techniques; Gabiru loudly insisting he could beat any "Saiyan beam" with his superior lizardman spirit, his duo nodding along like yes-men—a new figure approached from the direction of the palace.
A haughty-looking visitor in elaborate noble robes, clearly a diplomat from one of the western human nations, strode forward with a small entourage of guards. He had been granted an audience with Rimuru's upper echelon later that evening and now wandered the streets with an air of superiority. His gaze swept dismissively over the common citizens before landing on the group.
He bowed shallowly toward Whis, mistaking the angelic attendant's refined aura for true importance, while completely ignoring Goku, Vegeta, and even Gobta and Gabiru.
"Ah, esteemed one," the diplomat said to Whis in a condescending tone, "you must be part of the federation's honored guests from the inner circle. I am Count Regulius of the Holy Empire, here on important trade negotiations with Lord Rimuru's true advisors—Benimaru, Diablo, and the like. These… others," he waved vaguely at Goku and Vegeta, "are no doubt mere attendants or entertainers. Do inform your masters that I expect proper protocol at dinner. Common riffraff should know their place."
Gobta's jaw dropped. Gabiru puffed up indignantly. "How dare you! These are guests of Lord Rimuru himself!"
Vegeta's aura flared dangerously for a split second before he reined it in, smirking coldly. "Attendant? This fool doesn't even recognize power when it's standing right in front of him."
Goku just laughed it off. "Hey, no big deal. We're just here to enjoy the day. Want some of this grilled meat? It's really good!"
The count sniffed and walked off, muttering about "barbarians in orange and short men with bad hairlines."
Gobta and Gabiru exchanged looks, then both burst into simultaneous complaints—Gobta flailing about how "even I know who Goku is!" while Gabiru declared he would challenge the count to a "duel of magnificence" later. The whole scene dissolved into pure Tempest-style chaos: loud declarations, exaggerated poses, and Goku happily munching on street food in the middle of it all.
Whis simply observed with a gentle smile. "Such lively company. This world truly does have its charms."
Vegeta turned away, hiding the tiniest twitch of amusement behind his usual scowl. "Tch. Idiots everywhere."
The group continued their leisurely stroll through the vibrant heart of Tempest, the morning sun warming the polished stone streets lined with colorful stalls and floating lanterns that bobbed gently in the breeze.
Before the conversation could deepen, excited shouts drew their attention toward a lively open plaza just ahead. A small, informal tournament was in full swing — not the grand event Rimuru's people were secretly preparing, but a local festival-style gathering for fun and bragging rights.
Colorful banners fluttered from temporary poles, and a modest crowd of Tempest citizens had gathered around a roped-off fighting ring made of sturdy enchanted wood and soft padded mats to prevent injuries. Spectators cheered and clapped, placing friendly bets on snacks or minor trinkets rather than money. The atmosphere was electric with good-natured energy: vendors circulated with trays of steaming food, musicians played upbeat tunes on drums and flutes, and kids mimicked the fighters' moves on the sidelines. A large sign proclaimed "Tempest Open Skill Tournament — Winner Gets the Legendary Ultra-Spicy Dragon Skewers!" The prize table nearby held a gleaming platter of those very skewers — glistening, sauce-coated meat that emitted a mouthwatering aroma and faint magical glow, promised to be the spiciest (and most delicious) delicacy in the capital.
Geld and Hakuro stood at the edge of the crowd, observing quietly. The massive orc general crossed his arms, nodding approvingly at the disciplined setup, while the sword saint Hakuro stroked his chin with a serene expression, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
Gobta bounced ahead, pointing excitedly. "Look, Goku! It's the weekly tournament! Anyone can join — it's all about technique and fun. The winner gets those dragon skewers. They're super rare and super tasty! You gotta enter!"
Gabiru struck a dramatic pose, cape swirling. "Hah! As if mere skewers could tempt the great Gabiru! But… if it means showcasing my unparalleled lizardman prowess before these commoners, then perhaps I shall grace the ring with my presence!"
His two followers clapped vigorously. "Captain Gabiru will dominate! No one can match your magnificence!"
Goku's eyes lit up at the mention of food. "Dragon skewers? Count me in! Sounds like a blast."
Whis leaned in with a gentle smile, placing a hand on Goku's shoulder. "Do remember to have fun, Goku. The real tournament Lord Rimuru is preparing is still a ways off — something far more… stimulating for all of us. For now, just enjoy yourself at their level."
Goku waved him off with a carefree grin, already loosening up his shoulders. "I know, Whis! I'm not going all out or anything. Just pure technique — no ki blasts, no transformations, nothing fancy. Human-level martial arts only. It'll be good practice, and hey, free food!"
The announcer — a cheerful hobgoblin with a megaphone-like magic tool — called for new challengers. Goku stepped into the ring first, still in his orange gi, looking relaxed and friendly. The first opponent was a burly orc warrior with a massive ego, pounding his chest. "I am Grimgor of the Iron Fist! No outsider in silly clothes beats me!"
The fight was over in seconds. Goku dodged the orc's powerful but telegraphed haymakers with effortless footwork, slipping inside his guard and tapping a precise palm strike to the solar plexus — not hard enough to injure, but perfectly placed to knock the wind out. Grimgor stumbled back, gasping, then sat down hard as the crowd cheered.
"Nice power," Goku said cheerfully, helping him up. "But you're swinging too wide. Overconfidence leaves your sides totally open like 99% of the time. Keep your elbows in next time!"
Next came a cocky elf archer-turned-fighter who boasted about his superior agility. "My forest grace will dance circles around you, orange-man!"
Goku moved like water — fluid sidesteps, subtle redirects of the elf's kicks using minimal force, ending with a sweeping leg trip that sent the elf sprawling gracefully into the mats. "You're fast, but you telegraph your spins too much. That ego makes you predictable. Relax a bit and you'll be even better!"
After the elf archer tumbled to the mats with a surprised laugh, the crowd clapped enthusiastically, and the announcer's voice rang out again. "What a display! Let's keep the momentum going—who's next to challenge our orange-clad visitor?"
A lean, dark-haired Kijin warrior stepped forward from the sidelines, clad in simple training garb with twin short blades at his hips. His movements were precise and measured, eyes sharp with focused calm. This was one of Hakuro's more talented disciples, known among the Tempest forces for his analytical fighting style and relentless pursuit of technical perfection. He bowed respectfully to Goku before entering the ring.
"I am Kurogane, disciple under Sword Saint Hakuro. I will not hold back my technique. Let us see whose form is superior."
Goku grinned and returned the bow. "Sounds good! Come at me with everything you've got—I'm just using normal martial arts here."
The bout began with explosive speed. Kurogane was no showy fighter; he moved like a shadow, feinting low before snapping into a series of rapid, chaining strikes designed to force Goku into predictable defensive patterns. He circled constantly, changing angles with smooth footwork, using subtle shifts in weight and blade angles to probe for openings while keeping his own guard airtight. Every attack flowed into the next with calculated precision, aiming to outmaneuver rather than overpower.
Goku's responses looked almost lazy at first—casual sidesteps, minimal blocks with open palms—but no matter how cleverly Kurogane changed direction or layered feints, Goku was already there. A slight tilt of the hips, an unconscious micro-adjustment of the shoulders, and the Kijin's blade whistled through empty air every time. Goku seemed to anticipate the attacks before they fully formed, his movements fluid and economical.
Still, Kurogane impressed him. The warrior adapted mid-combo, switching from dual blades to a sudden low sweep followed by an elbow strike, then transitioning seamlessly into a thrusting stab aimed at a momentary gap. Goku's eyes widened with genuine appreciation.
"Whoa, that was smooth! You're really good at reading distance and chaining your moves. Most people telegraph their intent way earlier."
Kurogane pressed harder, sweat beading on his brow as he tried a complex maneuver—drawing Goku forward with a high feint, then dropping into a spinning leg trap while twisting for a follow-up slash. It was textbook perfection… yet Goku simply flowed around it, his footwork carrying him just outside the radius without ever seeming to hurry. A gentle palm tap to the shoulder ended the exchange, sending Kurogane stumbling back a few steps but remaining on his feet.
The Kijin exhaled sharply, lowering his blades with a respectful nod. "I… could not create a single true opening. Your movements defy prediction. It is as though your body reacts on its own."
Goku scratched the back of his head with a bright smile. "Haha, yeah, I've been training a long time. But seriously, you've got real talent! That last combo was awesome—you almost had me thinking twice. Just remember, over-focusing on the perfect sequence can make you a little rigid. Loosen up the hips a bit and you'll flow even better."
The crowd erupted in cheers, clearly enjoying the display of skill over raw power. Hakuro, watching from the edge, gave a small nod of approval, murmuring to Geld beside him, "The boy's talent is genuine. Few can pressure an opponent with such layered technique while staying so disciplined."
Geld rumbled in agreement. "Yet even at human limits, the Saiyan's form remains untouchable." Kurogane bowed deeply and respectively before leaving, Goku mirrored his bow with respect.
The announcer barely had time to catch his breath before another challenger leaped into the ring—a burly dragonewt soldier with gleaming scales and a confident smirk, wielding a heavy polearm. "Name's Drakon! I've trained with the elite guard. Let's see if fancy footwork beats raw strength and reach!"
Drakon fought with aggressive, sweeping arcs, using the polearm's length to control space and force Goku backward while mixing in powerful kicks from his clawed feet. His style was more direct than Kurogane's, but he incorporated clever angle changes, suddenly shortening his grip to thrust inside Goku's guard or spinning the weapon into unexpected overhead strikes.
Goku weaved through the barrage effortlessly, his body dipping and turning with that same baked-in instinct. Drakon's eyes narrowed in frustration as every calculated trap—feinting a wide swing only to reverse into a low jab—found nothing but air. Goku would slip inside at the perfect moment, tapping the dragonewt's wrist or shoulder just hard enough to disrupt balance without causing real harm.
"You're strong and you've got good reach," Goku called out mid-fight, dodging a spinning pole strike by leaning back at an impossible angle. "But when you commit to those big swings, your core opens up every time. Overconfidence in your weapon's length leaves the rest of you exposed—like almost every time!"
Drakon growled and doubled down, attempting a complex feint-and-thrust combination that would have caught most opponents off guard. Goku's response was almost anticipatory: a smooth pivot that carried him around the polearm entirely, ending with a light fingertip push to Drakon's chest that sent the dragonewt stumbling backward onto the mats.
Drakon sat up, breathing hard but grinning. "You… you move like the wind itself. I couldn't pin you down no matter how I tried."
Goku offered a hand to help him up. "Hey, you almost got me with that last reversal! Nice adaptation. Keep working on tightening those transitions and you'll be even tougher."
The crowd roared with laughter and applause. Gobta was jumping up and down outside the ropes. "That was awesome! Goku's amazing!"
Gabiru pushed his way in for his turn, posing dramatically. "Witness the splendor of Gabiru! My ultimate technique shall—!"
Goku countered every flashy kick and spin with calm, economical movements — a simple block here, a gentle redirection there, finishing with a light shoulder throw that left Gabiru comically tangled in his own cape. "Haha, you've got spirit! But all those extra flourishes? They're fun, but they open you up wide. Technique wins over show every time."
Gabiru sat up, dazed but grinning. "I… I have been bested by true magnificence! Well fought, orange one!"
Gobta's match was last among the locals. The little hobgoblin charged in with enthusiastic wolf-rider style punches and rolls, yelling battle cries. Goku met him with pure precision — mirroring moves at half-speed to let Gobta learn, then gently disarming him with a wrist lock and tap to the forehead. "You're tough for your size, Gobta! Great energy. Just don't get so excited you forget your balance. We'll train more later!"
Gobta flopped onto the mats, laughing breathlessly. "I lost… but that was the best loss ever! You're even cooler in person!"
With the local challengers cleared, Goku stood victorious, barely breathing hard, sweat glistening but his smile as bright as ever. The announcer declared him the winner amid thunderous cheers. A vendor handed over the prize platter of Ultra-Spicy Dragon Skewers, the aroma making mouths water across the plaza.
Geld leaned slightly toward Hakuro, his voice dropping into a low, respectful rumble as they observed from a distance.
"The Saiyan's movements… they flow like a river. There is no wasted motion—every step, every shift of weight serves a purpose. Even restrained to human limits, his control is absolute. Defense becomes offense in the same breath. It is not just strength… it is refinement, forged through real battle."
Hakuro did not answer immediately. His sharp eyes tracked Goku's form with unwavering focus, following each subtle adjustment, each effortless transition. A faint gleam of something rare—uncertainty—flickered beneath his usual composure.
"…Yes," he said at last, more quietly than before. "I see it as well. And yet… I am not certain I fully understand what I am seeing."
Geld's brow furrowed slightly. "You are unsure?"
Hakuro exhaled softly, his hand resting against the hilt of his blade.
"To my trained eye, it appears as though his body moves before conscious thought can intervene—as if each limb acts of its own accord, responding perfectly to intent without delay." His gaze narrowed just slightly. "And yet… I cannot say with certainty that this is truly the case."
Geld's expression tightened, the weight of that statement not lost on him. "For you to say that…"
Hakuro gave a faint, almost amused hum, though his eyes never left Goku.
"I have spent a lifetime studying the blade, refining technique to its purest form. There are few warriors whose movements I cannot read… fewer still I cannot predict." He paused, the admission hanging for a brief moment. "But with him… there are instances where even I cannot tell what comes next."
Geld folded his arms, watching more intently now. "Do you believe you could outmaneuver him?"
This time, Hakuro's answer came without hesitation—yet it carried no pride.
"…I do not know."
The words lingered between them, heavy with meaning.
Hakuro's gaze sharpened further, a quiet intensity building beneath his calm exterior.
"And that," he continued, "is what makes this so extraordinary. It is not merely that he is skilled… it is that his technique exists on the edge of something beyond conventional mastery. If what I am seeing is true—if his body truly moves independent of conscious command—then even the finest technique may not be enough to surpass him."
Geld let out a slow breath, his respect deepening.
"And yet, he speaks casually of being unable to touch Lord Beerus's attendant."
Hakuro gave a small nod.
"He told Lord Rimuru that he has never once landed a clean strike on that blue figure… not in all their training." His eyes softened with quiet awe. "If this is the level he considers insufficient… then the gap between him and that attendant must be immeasurable."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Below them, Goku laughed, moving with that same effortless grace—unburdened, unthinking, yet impossibly precise.
Hakuro's grip on his blade loosened slightly, a faint smile touching his lips.
"…To witness such a thing in one lifetime," he murmured, almost to himself. "It seems even an old swordsman like me still has something left to learn."
As Goku stepped out of the ring, happily offering skewers to Gobta, Gabiru, and the group, the atmosphere swelled with even more festive energy — music picking up, spectators congratulating fighters, kids begging for autographs or demonstrations. Vegeta watched from the sidelines with his usual scowl, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips at the sheer absurdity of it all. Whis simply chuckled, already anticipating the grander tournament to come while eating his spicy dragon skewers.