Near East City, a three-story building stood by the mountain. At first glance it looked abandoned to any passerby, but inside it was another story. Several gunshots, bombs exploding and walls breaking could be heard.
Since the sun had set long ago, the conflict unfolding there remained discreet to the vast majority.
The dry blows and groans of pain mixed with, and were muffled by, the sound of gunfire that gradually died away. Amid the chaos, the second floor's ceiling gave way from the explosions and collapsed onto the first, raising a thick cloud of dust. One of the few survivors coughed, trying to breathe the heavy air that now filled the room.
"YOU OLD BASTARD!" shouted a man who turned out to be fat and bald. "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID HERE! DO YOU HEAR ME?!!!"
The man pushed through the dense cloud of smoke, clutching his rifle with both hands. He shouted words filled with hate, trying to mask the fear in his voice. But the sweat running down his face, the trembling breath, and the faltering steps among the rubble made it clear: there was no courage there, only despair.
He kept walking across the ruined floor. The smoke began to dissipate, and his anxiety eased a little; however, his heart still beat like a drum, the day for him and his group was clearly not going well.
He walked a few more minutes until he heard a grunt that piqued his curiosity. For a moment, the fat man's feet seemed rooted to the ground before he finally gave in to his curiosity and slowly moved toward the source of the sound.
With his weapon in hand, he stepped out from behind the pile of debris formed by the collapsed ceiling. He kept his aim steady, ready to shoot the cause of all that chaos. But the corridor was empty, no sign of the enemy prowling the place. Still, what he found ahead was not what he expected.
"Donba?" the fat man murmured.
Donba was tall and thin, with disheveled hair. He was slumped against the wall, a pistol pointed directly at him.
"Ugh… Pompo?" Donba murmured through a grunt of pain.
The man now known as Pompo rushed toward Donba, set his rifle aside, and crouched beside the tall man.
"Donba, what happened to you?" Pompo said hurriedly.
"That weird old man… he broke my leg," Donba growled.
Pompo looked around, found a broken broom handle and, with his own shirt, improvised a splint. His movements were quick and shaky.
"Let's get out of here…" Pompo said, as they helped Donba lean on his shoulder. "Far from here, we can start the gang again…"
Donba didn't answer immediately, only letting out a grunt. Slowly, the two began to move, supporting each other, until they finally left the building.
"Leave me here…" Donba said weakly. "If you go alone, the chance of getting away…"
"Stop talking shit, Donba!" Pompo snarled.
"I'm not talking shit, you're fat and moving like a slug, leave me here and get out!" Donba replied in a flat tone.
Visibly irritated by his companion's words, Pompo stopped and dropped Donba to the ground.
"Screw you, then!" Pompo growled. "Stay here alone with that old bastard!"
Donba looked at him, startled, he didn't seem prepared for his friend's emotional outburst.
"You and I started this gang together!" Donba shouted. "You're the smart one in the gang, damn it! How am I supposed to leave you here, you idiot?!"
"Shit…" Donba grunted, letting his head fall back to the floor.
"THAT'S IT… YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" Pompo bellowed, his voice loaded with anger.
"Look behind you, you idiot… he's already here," Donba snarled.
Pompo froze. The air seemed to vanish for a few seconds. He took a deep breath and, his heart pounding, turned slowly.
There he was, the man who, in a single night, had taken down an entire gang without a weapon or help.
He was an old man of calm appearance, maybe in his sixties. He wore a black qipao with gold trim, loose white pants and Wushu slippers. Sitting on a large chunk of broken wall, he watched the two gangsters while calmly eating a rice cake.
"Finished yet?" the old man asked.
"Damn it!" Pompo grunted.
The fat man quickly leveled his rifle and, without hesitation, opened fire.
Bullets flew in several directions, the result of Pompo's trembling aim. Projectiles that struck the floor and concrete kicked up a light cloud of dust. When no sign of the old man appeared through the smoke, a spark of joy bloomed in the criminals' hearts.
"F-finally…" Donba relaxed.
"H-He… HAHAHAHAHA," Pompo began laughing loudly, verge of hysteria. "LOOK, DONBA, WE'RE FREE NOW! THE OLD MAN IS DEAD!!!"
"Are you sure? He might have hidden somewhere." A voice sounded behind the pair.
"Of course I'm sure, Donba, the bullets must've turned that walking raisin into Swiss cheese!" Pompo said with a grin… until he realized.
That wasn't Donba's voice.
The old man was behind them, again sitting on one of the rubble piles, one hand closed and the other supporting his own chin.
Pompo turned hurriedly, but before he could start shooting again, in the blink of an eye the rifle was wrenched from his hands.
"I'm confiscating this, you're old enough not to be playing with a toy like that!" the old man said.
"H-How are you here?" Donba stammered. "You were at least four meters away and in a different spot a moment ago…"
"That's for me to know and you to think about," the old man replied, with a calm smile.
"T-the bullets…" was the only thing Pompo said.
The big, fat man's body collapsed to the ground; his legs had gone limp from the fear he felt.
"Do you want them back?" the old man asked.
Pompo's heart sank at the question.
'He's going to kill me!' Pompo thought.
"Here they are!" the old man said.
He opened the hand that had been closed until then, crumpled bullets slowly fell to the floor. The two gangsters stared at them, stunned; the elderly man before them seemed to defy any logic they had in their heads.
"It's already very late, and I want to go!" the old man said.
Before either of the two criminals could react, their vision went dark.
The old man watched them for a few seconds, sighed, and, with some difficulty, began to carry them.
In a few minutes, he reached a more remote corner of the three-story building, now practically in ruins. There, a pile of bodies caught his eye. At first glance they looked like corpses, but on closer inspection it was possible to see that they were all still breathing.
The old man tossed the two men into an area near the pile, then turned and rummaged in a pocket of his qipao. He pulled out a small, simple phone and, after a few taps, made a call.
"Good evening, this is the East City Police Department," a female voice said.
"Hello? This is Son Gohan. I just captured the Silver Bandits Gang. I would like you to send some vehicles to take them to jail," the old man said calmly.
"Ah, Son-san! I'll notify the supervisor, were all gang members captured?" the woman asked.
"Yes, there are at least twenty of them here!" Gohan said. "I'm southwest of the East City gate, near the abandoned building by the mountain."
"All right! I'll dispatch some patrol cars, we'll be there in forty minutes!" the woman said, then hung up.
Son Gohan put the phone away. He looked at Pompo and Donba, crouched beside their unconscious bodies, placed his hand on their chests, and closed his eyes.
A faint greenish glow began to emanate from Gohan's hands and spread across Pompo and Donba's bodies. The look of pain on Donba's face started to fade, and his breathing grew more regular. After that, Gohan stood and let out a soft sigh.
"This is a fairly simple way to practice healing magic," he murmured to himself.
'It's been five months since I left Karin Tower, after learning the basics of magic. Master Karin said I should seek training with Uranai Baba, but knowing her, I'll need at least a ton of money just to make her consider it,' Gohan thought.
Forty minutes passed, and the police patrol cars finally came into Gohan's view. During that short time he had to knock the criminals out again. To save effort, he didn't bother with powerful blows, if any of them stayed unconscious, that was fine. He also used the chance to practice his healing magic once more.
Five police patrol cars pulled up quickly. Gohan watched calmly as the uniformed officers ran to secure the unconscious bandits. Two officers approached while the rest did the heavy lifting: a large, muscular man and a blonde woman with glasses, both wearing the East City Police Department's navy-blue uniform.
"Good evening, Son Gohan-san!" the officer said. "I'm Takashi, chief of the East City Police Department! It's an honor to meet you, sir!" he added excitedly.
Takashi extended his hand to greet the elderly martial artist.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Takashi-san!" Gohan replied, returning the chief's gesture.
"I must say, I heard a lot about you when I was a child. My father used to tell stories about your fights during the 12th and 13th Tenkaichi Budokai. It was one of the reasons he took up martial arts!" Takashi said enthusiastically.
"Really?" Gohan asked, surprised.
"Yes! He became a black belt in karate and later went into boxing," Takashi recounted.
"Sir, I think we should get back to the matter at hand…" interrupted the woman accompanying him.
"Yes, right…" Takashi replied, a little deflated. "Gohan-san, the East City Police Department, offers its sincerest thanks for your services in hunting these criminals over the past five months!"
Gohan was surprised by the sudden gratitude for work he had done only to support his own plans. Seeing the chief and the woman bowing to him made him genuinely uncomfortable.
"You don't need to thank me, I had my reasons for what I did!" Gohan said, hurried and slightly embarrassed.
The woman stood up quickly and stared at Gohan.
"Regardless of your motives, you still helped the police capture criminals who'd been on the run for quite some time!" she stated. "Because of that, the crime rate in the nearby villages that rely on us for security has fallen to its lowest point!" she continued.
"I understand…" Gohan murmured.
"And so, with the support of Takashi and other members of the force, we would like to request your services as an instructor for our officers!" the woman went on.
Gohan said nothing for a few seconds, he was in shock.
"I'm honored, miss…?" Gohan began.
"Naomi," she replied.
"I'm honored, Naomi-san, but this is a very sudden proposal…" Gohan said.
Naomi looked at Takashi, who remained silent at her side. Impatient, she jabbed him with her elbow to make him react.
"Urgh…" Takashi grunted.
"Say something, this was your idea!" Naomi whispered.
Unfortunately for her, Gohan had heard what she said but stayed silent, amused by the pair's interaction.
"You didn't have to be so violent, Nao-chan…" Takashi murmured, rubbing the spot she'd hit.
Takashi took a deep breath, let out a sigh, and looked at Gohan, who wore a calm smile on his face.
"We know this is a sudden request, Gohan-san, but it wouldn't be immediate…" Takashi said. "If all goes well, and you accept, we'll have a dedicated place for you to teach and train the officers…" he continued.
Gohan fell silent, considering the idea, this lasted for three minutes. Takashi waited calmly, but Naomi was growing tense at the prospect of a refusal.
"All right, I can do that after the 20th Tenkaichi Budokai!" Gohan said.
The answer cheered Naomi and Takashi. The blonde woman prepared to thank him, but was abruptly interrupted by her colleague.
"Are you going to compete?" Takashi asked, excited.
Gohan chuckled lightly at the question.
"No, my student will be the one competing. He arrived in East City two months ago and has been challenging dojos in the region for a while. I'm thinking of going to see him to talk about the tournament and, afterward, take care of some pending matters," Gohan explained.
Takashi wilted, much to Naomi's satisfaction, but the mention of a disciple of Son Gohan, who was well known in martial arts circles for being an unbeaten winner of three editions of the Tenkaichi Budokai, was a huge surprise.
"If you'll allow me to be a bit nosy… when did you take on a disciple, Gohan-san?" Takashi asked.
"I took one on six years ago. I've cared for him since he was seven," Gohan said. "My grandson actually found him, along with the daughter of a friend of mine, in the middle of the Devil's Desert."
The two officers were astonished. The revelation that Gohan had a grandson and a disciple who had lived in the Devil's Desert, infamous for its gangs that ruled the area like a lawless land, was worrying. The idea of such a young child surviving there was troubling.
'At least that child is in a better place with Gohan-san!' Takashi thought.
Before Takashi could start asking more questions, Naomi saw one of the officers signal that they had finished loading the unconscious criminals into the patrol cars; the blonde woman quickly clapped a hand-over Takashi's mouth.
"Again, we thank you for your help with this gang and for accepting our offer, Gohan-san. We will deposit the reward money into your bank account!" Naomi said hurriedly.
Gohan watched as Naomi and Takashi walked away with the other officers, taking the small gang of twenty men with them in the patrol cars.
"All right… I suppose I should check on Yamcha and Goku tomorrow morning," Gohan murmured to himself.