The air changed first.
Riku felt it before he understood it—a tightening in his chest, like the world had drawn a shallow breath and refused to let it go. The desert went quiet. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Goku stopped smiling.
"Oh," he said, head tilting slightly. "That feeling's closer now."
Bulma looked up from her bag instantly. "What feeling?"
Riku was already turning, eyes scanning the ridgeline. His instincts screamed—not danger the way a storm warned you, but the way prey knew it was being watched.
Then the sound came.
Engines.
Low, rough, cutting across the sand.
Bulma swore under her breath. "Bandits."
The vehicles crested the ridge in a spray of dust—three of them, patched together with scrap metal and mounted guns. Men stood in the backs, faces hidden behind goggles and scarves, weapons already raised.
"Great," Bulma muttered. "Because today wasn't exciting enough."
Gunfire erupted without warning.
The sound was deafening.
Goku laughed as bullets pinged harmlessly off his skin. "Whoa! These guys are loud!"
Riku didn't have time to be amazed.
He moved.
The first burst chewed through the ground where he'd been standing a heartbeat earlier. Sand exploded upward, stinging his face as he dove behind a rock, breath coming fast and sharp.
So this is the difference, his mind said coldly.
Saiyans ignored bullets.
Humans died to them.
"Bulma!" Riku shouted. "Get down!"
She was already scrambling for cover, but she was slower—human slow. Another volley tore through the air, too close, far too close.
Riku didn't think.
He ran.
The world narrowed to motion and timing. He felt the weight inside his body shift, compress, drawn inward by panic and focus. When he hit Bulma, he wrapped an arm around her and twisted, throwing both of them hard into the sand just as bullets tore through the space she'd been standing.
Pain flared white-hot across his shoulder.
He grunted, teeth clenched, rolling until his back hit stone. Bulma gasped beneath him, hands gripping his shirt.
"You—!" she started.
"I know," he said, breathless. "Later."
Goku appeared in a blur, kicking one of the vehicles clean over. It cartwheeled through the air before exploding in a plume of fire and metal. The bandits panicked instantly.
"Hey!" Goku called cheerfully. "You're supposed to take turns!"
Riku barely saw it. His vision swam, heat spreading down his arm. He pressed his hand to his shoulder and came away red.
Shot.
Not deep. But real.
Bulma stared at the blood, then at him. Her hands shook as she grabbed a cloth from her bag and pressed it down. "You're bleeding," she said unnecessarily, voice tight.
"I noticed."
Another burst of gunfire cracked. Riku felt it in his bones this time—not fear, but awareness. The way the bullets tore through the air. The timing between shots. The rhythm.
He inhaled slowly.
And felt it.
Not power.
Control.
He leaned out just enough, heart hammering, and focused—not outward like Goku, but inward. The pressure inside him condensed, pulling tight around muscle and bone.
When he moved, it was fast.
Not fast enough to dodge everything—but enough.
He crossed the gap between cover and the nearest bandit in a heartbeat, fist driving into the man's gut. The impact wasn't explosive. It didn't send him flying.
It folded him.
The bandit collapsed, gasping, weapon clattering uselessly into the sand.
Riku stumbled back immediately, pain roaring through him as the focus shattered. He dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
Goku finished the rest in seconds.
When it was over, the desert was quiet again—vehicles smoking, bandits unconscious or fleeing into the dunes.
Bulma knelt beside Riku, hands already working, eyes sharp despite the fear he could still see in them. "You're lucky," she said, wrapping his shoulder tightly. "Another inch and—"
"I know," he said softly.
She stopped, then looked at him properly.
"Why didn't you run?" she asked.
Riku met her gaze. He didn't try to sound brave.
"Because you can't," he said.
For a moment, Bulma didn't speak.
Then she scoffed quietly and tied the bandage tighter than necessary. "You're unbelievable."
Goku wandered over, hands behind his head. "That was fun! Oh—Riku, you're hurt."
"I gathered," Riku said dryly.
Goku frowned, genuinely confused. "Bullets shouldn't do that."
Bulma snapped her head up. "They do to humans!"
The silence that followed was heavier than the gunfire.
Goku blinked. "Oh."
Riku pushed himself to his feet despite the protest from his body. He felt different now—not stronger, but sharper. Like a door had cracked open inside him.
Fear hadn't weakened him.
It had focused him.
He looked at his blood on the sand, then at the horizon where danger would always come from.
This world didn't forgive hesitation.
If he wanted to stand in it—
He'd have to become someone it couldn't ignore.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Comment:
This chapter is a turning point. Riku isn't competing with Goku—he's surviving beside him. Bullets matter. Fear matters. Every fight carries consequences. From here on, the path forward isn't about wanting strength—it's about needing it. Thanks for reading, and welcome to the real grind 🐉🔥