Dragon Ball if I was Goku

The Tenkaichi Budokai arena hummed with excitement, the late afternoon sun painting the sky in streaks of orange and blue as it began its descent toward the horizon. A pale moon, already visible in the fading daylight, hung faintly overhead—an unusual sight that drew a few curious glances from the crowd. Thousands of spectators packed the stands, their cheers echoing off the stone stage where two fighters faced off: Son Goku, blindfolded and radiating confidence, and Jackie Chun, calm and composed.

Goku stood at the center of the ring, arms crossed, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "C'mon, old man," he called out, his voice thick with arrogance. His smirk was wide, unshakable—this was the Goku everyone knew, brash and self-assured from the start.

Jackie Chun adjusted his beard and took a measured stance. "Big words for a kid who can't even see me." There was something oddly familiar about his posture, the way he held his shoulders—but with Goku blindfolded, these subtle details went unnoticed.

The referee signaled the start. "Begin!"

The bell rang, and the arena fell into a tense hush. Goku didn't move, his strategy simple: let Jackie strike first, then grab him and end it quick. He was stronger—much stronger—and he knew it. But Jackie was no ordinary opponent.

He dashed around Goku like a shadow, with a ft formidable footwork. A punch slammed into Goku's chest but Goku's hand swiped at empty air, missing Jackie by a heartbeat as the older fighter slipped away with practiced ease.

Another hit landed, this time on Goku's arm. Again, Goku grabbed and missed. "Quit dancing around!" Goku snapped, his smirk twitching into a scowl. "You scared or something?"

Jackie chuckled "Scared? No. Just using proper technique, something you might want to learn."

The crowd buzzed, captivated by the strange dynamic. Jackie's attacks were relentless, a flurry of precise strikes that spoke of decades of experience, but they barely fazed Goku. He stood like a rock, absorbing each blow without a flinch.

"He's not even dodging!" a spectator yelled. "But Jackie doesn't seem to hurt him!"

In the stands, Goku's friends watched with mixed reactions:

Bulma leaned forward, frowning. "What's he doing? Just standing there like an idiot? MOVE SON-KUN DO SOMETHING!!."

Oolong smirked, munching on a snack. Don't worry I bet he has a plan!."

Pu'ar cheered, waving her tiny paws. "You can do it, Goku!"

Krilin rubbed his chin, more worried. "Jackie's really fast, but Goku's waiting for an opening. One grab and it's over..."

Minutes ticked by, the stalemate wearing thin. Jackie's strikes grew more precise, targeting pressure points with surgical accuracy, but Goku's patience frayed. "You're wasting my time!" he shouted, lunging blindly as another punch grazed his side—missing again. His cocky grin was gone, replaced by a gritted-teeth glare beneath the blindfold.

Then, something shifted. Goku stilled, his head tilting slightly as his enhanced senses kicked in. He began to feel it: the faint tremors in the stone beneath his feet when Jackie landed, the whisper of displaced air as he moved, the rhythm of his breathing between attacks.

A jab came from the right; Goku's arm snapped up, blocking it cleanly. A kick from the left; he stepped aside just in time, his movement fluid and precise.

The crowd roared. "He's adapting!" "Jackie's in trouble now!"

Goku's predatory smirk crept back. "Not so fast now, huh, old man?" he taunted, his hand shooting out with newfound precision. His fingers grazed Jackie's sleeve, nearly closing the gap. "You can't hide from me anymore..." He says like a predator cornering his prey