Invincible Goku

Chapter 8

Goku woke slowly.

The ceiling above him was warm, smooth wood, and sunlight spilled through a paper screen.

His body ached everywhere. Dull throbs across his ribs, bruises tightening with every breath. For a moment, he didn't open his eyes. He just listened. Birds chirped. Distant waves lapped at the shore. And something else—chewing?

He blinked.

Johnny was sitting cross-legged on a low stool, working through a bowl of rice crackers like a full-course meal. He looked up.

"You're alive. Good."

Goku sat up with a groan.

"How long was I out?"

"A while. Long enough to clean the arena and reset the bracket."

Goku rubbed his forehead.

"Did I win?"

Johnny smirked.

"You did more than win. You survived Udon. That alone deserves a medal."

He stood and stretched.

"Kaiden carried you here himself. Said nothing the whole time. Just dropped you off and left. Weird guy."

Goku looked down at his hands. Still trembling slightly and still healing.

"I didn't think I was going to make it," he admitted.

Johnny shrugged.

"But you did. And now you'll rest while I throw hands with a guy who drinks tea before a fight."

He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair.

"You good?"

Goku nodded. "Yeah. I just…"

"Take your time. You earned it," Johnny said, already halfway out the door.

As the door closed behind him, Goku fell back onto the mat. His ribs protested, but he smiled.

"Thanks, Kaiden," he murmured.

Johnny walked the stone path toward the arena alone. The breeze was light, and the courtyard was nearly empty. His usual grin was gone.

He passed a stone fountain and paused beside it. His reflection stared back. Older than it should've been.

Have you ever gotten tired of faking it? He thought.

He touched the scar above his right eyebrow. It wasn't from a tournament. It was from an underground fight—fists soaked in blood, the roar of a crowd that didn't care who walked away. He was sixteen.

His old coach once told him, "Be the loudest. Make 'em remember you."

Johnny smirked.

Mom hated it from the start.

Every bruise, every taped knuckle. Said Johnny had too much heart to waste it in a cage.

But the rent was late. And chemo wasn't cheap.

So he fought.

She never watched. Not once. Until the night she showed up — pale, wrapped in a scarf, sitting alone in the back of a bloodstained warehouse. He won in under a minute.

Afterward, she hugged him and said, "You're better than this." Then she cried and cried.

That was the last match she saw.

Now, every fight since? It's not for fame.

It's to prove she wasn't wrong about him.

From the shadowed corridor beneath the east wing, Iroh watched.

He hadn't entered the arena yet. He sipped quietly from his tea, eyes fixed not on Johnny but elsewhere.

The boy. Goku.

Iroh recalled the final moments of the previous match—Goku's eyes. The look is not of victory, but of hunger. Pain harnessed. That's what interested him.

He closed his eyes briefly.

"You didn't lose," Iroh murmured. "Beautiful."

He took another sip of tea, expression unreadable. Then a smile.

The door slid open.

Udon entered.

Udon stepped into the room without a sound. He didn't bow. Didn't speak. Just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, as if observing a ripple in water.

Goku pushed himself upright with a wince.

"Hey."

Udon gave a slight nod.

"You're awake."

Silence hung between them for a moment.

"You surprised me."

Goku blinked, still resting against the stone wall.

"Yeah?"

"You adapted. Mid-fight." Udon paused. "Not many can do that."

Goku scratched the back of his neck.

"Didn't feel like I was adapting. Felt like I was getting tossed around."

"You were." Udon let the faintest smile pull at one corner of his mouth. "But you didn't break."

"I didn't expect to win," Goku admitted. "Not really."

Goku looked down at his bandaged hands.

"It hurt like hell."

"I meant for it to."

There wasn't malice in the words—just honesty.

"I wasn't sure who you were when you stepped into the ring," Udon said. "But I saw something I respect. And I think you're still figuring it out."

"I am," Goku said. "Still figuring it out."

Udon studied him. "You beat me fair and square."

Goku's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You could've ended that match whenever you wanted. Why didn't you?"

Udon didn't deny it.

"Because you were still learning. And I was testing you. To see if you were worth losing to."

The words sat heavy in the room.

"I thought… You were trying to crush me."

"I was." Udon turned to face him directly now. "But you beat me."

Goku looked away, his jaw tightening.

"You didn't lose," Udon added. "That matters."

Goku didn't answer right away. The weight of the past few days — the transformation, the crater, the looks he got — all curled behind his eyes.

"I almost did," he admitted. "Still might."

Udon gave a slow nod, then finally moved, sitting cross-legged across from Goku.

"I've fought warriors stronger than you," he said.

"Faster. More refined. But I haven't fought anyone who wanted to understand the fight as it was happening. That's rare."

"I'm still weak," Goku mumbled.

"You won."

Another pause.

"You passed."

Goku watched him turn to leave. "Will we fight again?"

Udon paused at the door.

"Maybe. But when we do. I hope you're not the same, kid."

And with that, he stepped out, leaving Goku alone with his thoughts — and for the first time in a while, a strange kind of calm.

The midday bell echoed across the grounds. It was a clean, hollow chime rolling through stone walls and open skies.

A monk's voice followed, precise and formal:

"Second match. Johnny vs. Iroh."

Goku leaned forward slightly in bed, hearing the name. His ribs still ached, but he couldn't help it — this was one he wanted to see.

Outside, Johnny stretched his arms behind his head, a half-eaten apple still in his hand. "Guess that's me," he said, casually tossing the core over his shoulder.

Kaiden sat nearby, sharpening his focus more than any blade. "Don't joke around in there."

"I'm not. I'm warming up." He cracked his neck and winked. "Besides, he drinks tea in the middle of a fight. How scary can he be?"

From across the courtyard, Iroh stepped into view.

The older man always wore the same soft expression. He carried a small clay teacup in one hand, still steaming.

Johnny's grin faltered for just a second.

The arena doors opened again.

Monks stepped aside.

Iroh walked in like it was just another morning—no tension, no theatrics. He stood with a bow to the crowd and took one final sip of his tea before setting the cup gently on the stone beside him.

Johnny followed, slower than usual, his usual swagger checked by something more like curiosity than fear.

Goku could feel the calm before the storm inside the infirmary.

The arena tiles gleamed under the sun, finally breaking through the clouds. The crowd, quiet during the last match, had started murmuring again — anticipation, curiosity, restlessness.

Johnny cracked his neck as he stepped onto the stone platform, tossing his hoodie to the side. Underneath, his sleeveless tee read: Hit Me With Your Best Shot.

He waved casually toward the crowd, then stretched his arms over his head. "Hope you're watching, Mom," he muttered.

Across the ring, Iroh stepped in silence.

He wore loose maroon robes that flowed lightly in the wind, clasped his hands in front of him, and walked like he had all the time in the world.

No showboating. No words.

The contrast was sharp.

Johnny rolled his shoulders. "Tough guy, huh?"

Iroh bowed once. Slow. Respectful.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, then gave a half-salute back.

King Kai's voice cracked over the speakers. "Second match: Johnny versus Iroh. Let's keep it clean or at least not too messy."

The crowd chuckled faintly.

"Begin."

Johnny shifted side to side, cracking his knuckles. "You gonna fight or sip tea 'til sunset?"

Iroh gave a slight bow. "Ladies first."

Johnny snorted. "Guess chivalry is dead."

Johnny didn't wait.

He shot forward like a spring, feet barely touching the ground. His fist glowed with a faint green shimmer — energy coiling around his knuckles like flame.

He closed the gap in a flash and swung.

Iroh moved like water.

He tilted back, hand brushing Johnny's wrist to redirect the momentum, then stepped past him with almost no effort.

Johnny stumbled a step, but grinned. "Ohhh, you're one of those."

He turned and lashed out again — a spinning kick this time, faster, tighter.

Iroh blocked it with a single palm, absorbing the blow without flinching.

Then, in one motion, he pushed.

Johnny skidded backwards three steps.

His smile didn't fade. It widened.

"Okay. Cool."

He bounced on his toes once.

Then his entire body glowed.

A faint snap echoed, and the air shimmered around him. His fists burned with controlled light, not heat, but focus.

"Try to keep up, old man."

Iroh didn't move.

He stood, hands relaxed at his sides, watching.

Johnny rushed again — this time faster. A green shimmer pulsed at his feet as he zipped across the stone. He jabbed once, twice, then a high kick, testing angles.

Iroh dodged the first, parried the second, and leaned under the third.

Still no counter.

Johnny grunted. "Alright, that's how we're playing it?"

He dropped low and fired a blast point-blank from his palm.

POP — a burst of concussive force.

Dust shot up, the sound echoing off the courtyard walls. For a second, Iroh vanished behind the smoke.

Johnny stood ready.

Then Iroh stepped forward through the haze, untouched.

The crowd was stunned.

Johnny exhaled hard. "No way."

Then — SNAP — he clapped his hands together. A pulse rippled outward, and suddenly there were three Johnnys—perfect afterimages flickering with green light.

"Alright, let's turn it up!"

They struck from three angles—high, low, straight-on.

Iroh closed his eyes.

He moved like he'd seen it before.

A sweep — one image vanished. A palm to the neck — another blinked out.

The last Johnny, the real one, swung with a glowing fist.

Iroh caught it.

Held it there.

Johnny's entire arm locked up. His muscles tensed. The pressure of Iroh's grip was like steel wrapped in stillness.

Then, softly — too softly for anyone else to hear—Iroh spoke.

"You move well. But you think too loud."

And he pushed.

Johnny flew backward, crashing across the stone like a pinball, skidding until he stopped.

The crowd winced.

Johnny groaned and pulled himself up, spitting dust.

"Okay," he coughed. "So that's how it is."

He raised both fists again.

His aura flared brighter.

Johnny's aura surged — a pulsing green shell, flickering at the edges.

Across the ring, Iroh exhaled slowly. His hands drifted outward, and flame coiled around his palms for the first time — slow, deliberate streams of fire rising like incense smoke.

The crowd hushed.

Even King Kai, watching from his screen, leaned forward.

"Finally showing your hand, huh?" Johnny muttered.

Iroh nodded once. "You've earned it."

Then he moved.

No teleport. No flashy technique.

Just speed — natural and practiced.

He crossed the arena in two steps, flame building with each motion. He struck low, fist arcing upward like a rising sun, and fire burst from his knuckles.

Johnny barely dodged. Heat singed his face.

He ducked, stepped in, and countered — his green fist slamming into Iroh's ribs. The blow connected. Solid.

But Iroh turned with it, absorbing the momentum, then spun, dragging a spiral of flame in a wide arc.

Johnny flipped back, the heat chasing his shadow.

FWOOOOOSH.

A wave of fire expanded outward. Johnny threw up both hands, his ki snapping forward as a shield. The green light held — barely — as flame crashed against it.

He hit the ground in a crouch, smoke rolling around his boots.

"You bend fire with your will…" he said, panting. "That's wild."

Iroh stood calmly, fire wrapping his forearms like silk. "No. I shape my ki. The flame is the form it takes."

He raised both hands — and with a sharp inhale, flames roared from his feet, launching him forward in a burst of aerial speed.

Johnny's eyes widened.

He crossed his arms just in time.

CRACK.

Iroh landed a double palm strike midair — one to Johnny's guard, one sweeping upward — flames bursting with each hit like detonations wrapped in silence.

Johnny slid backwards across the stone, boots sparking.

The crowd was fully locked in now. Zuki's brow arched slightly. Kaiden said nothing, but his gaze didn't move.

Goku, back in the infirmary, grinned through his pain. "Whoa…"

Johnny gritted his teeth. "Alright. My turn."

He punched the ground.

A ripple of green light blasted out in a circle. Dust rose, and Johnny disappeared inside it.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then —

POP. POP. POP.

Blows came from every angle — fists crashing into Iroh's guard from above, behind, left, and right.

Johnny blurred with speed, using his afterimages as misdirection and weaving around with chaotic precision.

Iroh blocked two hits.

Took one to the ribs.

Parried another.

Then, finally, he exhaled, focused, and spun in place.

A fire vortex whirled from his core — not wild, but tight, controlled.

WHOOM.

Johnny was caught in it — launched up, crashing onto his back.

He rolled, steam rising off his arms. He didn't get up right away.

Iroh lowered his hands. Flames retracted.

"You're quick," Iroh said, walking forward. "But you burn easily. You fight like a man afraid to waste time."

Johnny groaned, dragging himself upright. "That's 'cause I am."

His fists lit again.

And he smiled

Johnny didn't wait.

He dashed forward, tracing a green streak across the arena floor. His fists rapidly snapped out — one-two, duck, spin, uppercut.

Iroh blocked each blow, but the force behind them had changed.

There was heat now.

Not fire. Will.

Johnny wasn't trying to win pretty anymore but to land something real.

A punch slipped through Iroh's guard — just barely — and clipped his shoulder.

Iroh's foot slid back half a step.

It was the most minor shift.

But it meant something.

Johnny's grin cracked wider. "You felt that."

Iroh rolled his shoulder. "Hmp."

Johnny surged forward again — this time weaving between strikes. One hand lit like a flashbulb, the other pulled back.

He ducked under Iroh's guard and slammed his fist into the older man's side.

BOOM.

A small explosion of green light shot outward — a stun punch.

Iroh's eyes widened faintly. His footing staggered.

Johnny launched a high knee to the chest, then spun and dropkicked him clean across the ring.

Dust flew.

The crowd leaned forward. Even Kaiden blinked once. Zuki let out a single, soft whistle.

Johnny landed on one knee, panting, fists still glowing.

Iroh stood slowly from the cratered edge of the arena. Smoke curled from his robes. His expression was unreadable.

Iroh glanced at him sideways. "Why are you here?"

Johnny's mouth twitched. "Same reason anyone enters a tournament like this. To win."

Iroh smiled slightly. "Lying doesn't suit you."

Another pause. Then—

"I made a promise," Johnny said, voice lower now. "To someone I loved. That I'd be more than a bruiser. More than a paycheck in gloves."

"Your mother?" Iroh asked.

Johnny nodded, staring at the sky.

"She died watching me fight. I told her I'd give it up. I didn't. But I'm trying to make it worth something."

Iroh raised one hand.

And snapped.

FOOM.

Flames erupted in a wide arc around him — not wild, not showy—beautiful, focused arcs of orange-blue heat.

Then his body shimmered — his ki burning like a slow sun.

He swept one arm forward.

A wave of fire lashed out, carving a spiral toward Johnny.

Johnny spun his arm like a wheel, generating a rapid ki wall.

Searing heat met green force — the two clashing in the center with a massive burst.

CRACK.

The recoil threw both fighters back — Johnny tumbling across the ground, Iroh sliding with a grunt.

Smoke drifted over the tiles.

Johnny coughed, his energy flickering.

Iroh stood straighter. His eyes are sharp now. "Enough?"

Johnny staggered to his feet. "Yeah," he said, dragging one foot forward. "I've had enough…"

Then he raised one last fist.

"…but I'm not done."

Iroh's eyes narrowed — not in anger, but in respect.

Johnny surged forward — no tricks, no feints, just raw movement.

Iroh didn't dodge.

They clashed — palm to fist — and the force explosion rippled the courtyard.

Silence followed.

Then Johnny stumbled back.

Fell to one knee.

And smiled, winded.

"Did I make you proud, Mom?"

Iroh caught him gently before he collapsed.

Goku was watching from the window.

"Johnny…"

Kaiden stood, arms still crossed.

Zuki tilted her head. "Johnny didn't win. But he sure left an impression."

King Kai's voice rang out, calm and impressed:

"Winner: Iroh."