well mortal. what do you want

The gym doors slide open with a sharp echo. Cold air brushes the court as footsteps cut through the silence. Kageyama Tobio steps inside, volleyball tucked under one arm, eyes already locked forward. The scoreboard is dark. The stands are empty. None of it matters. He stops at the center of the court and exhales slowly. Memories of missed tosses, broken trust, and overwhelming talent flash and vanish just as fast. What remains is focus—pure and unforgiving. His fingers tighten around the ball, instinctively feeling the weight, the grip, the control. This is where he belongs. The ball is tossed upward. Time seems to slow. When it drops back into his hands, the sound is sharp and absolute, slicing through the silence like a declaration. Kageyama Tobio doesn’t need an audience. The court itself is enough.

blah blah

The air fractures before the battle even begins. A crushing pressure spreads across the land, forcing the ground to crack and rise. Energy swells violently, dragging dust, stone, and debris into a raging storm. At its core stands a lone figure—still, unmoving, unstoppable. Power coils tightly around him, raw and ferocious, barely restrained by sheer will. The atmosphere trembles under its weight, as if the world itself recognizes what has arrived. This is not the entrance of a hero. This is the arrival of dominance. The Prince of all Saiyans has entered the battlefield.

The air trembles. Broken glass crunches under a single step as Yuji Itadori moves forward, his shadow stretching across the ruined street. The city around him is silent now—no screams, no cries for help—only the aftermath of what already happened. His breath comes out slow, uneven. Cursed energy lingers everywhere, clinging to the walls, the ground, the bodies buried beneath the rubble. Each step drags memories with it. Faces. Voices. Deaths he couldn’t stop. Across the street, something shifts. A figure emerges from the smoke, posture loose, head tilted with childlike curiosity. The pressure in the air sharpens instantly, like a blade drawn just enough to be felt. Yuji stops. The distance between them is short—but it feels endless. The wind pushes ash through the street as the cursed energy between them begins to collide, invisible waves cracking the ground beneath their feet. This is the moment before impact. The second before everything breaks. Shibuya watches in silence.

The whistle hasn’t blown yet, but the game has already started. Under the cold stadium lights, the field stretches out like a map waiting to be solved. Every line, every shadow, every empty space carries meaning. Movement hasn’t begun, yet possibilities already collide in silence. This is where instincts are tested, not by strength, but by awareness. At the center of it all stands Isagi Yoichi. He doesn’t rush. He observes. The rhythm of the match forms in his mind before the first pass is made. Paths appear where others see chaos. Gaps open before they exist. The future of the play sharpens, frame by frame, until only one outcome feels real. The field tightens around everyone else. For Isagi, it expands. This is not the start of a match. It’s the moment the game is understood.

You’re walking home after school, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows on the streets. The sound of bouncing volleyballs catches your attention. Curious, you follow the noise and see two players on a small outdoor court. One with sharp eyes and a serious expression, the other bouncing up and down with unstoppable energy. You step closer, tilting your head. “What are you doing?” Kageyama stops mid-serve, his eyes locking onto yours. “Practicing.” Hinata grins, bouncing on his toes. “Yeah, we’re practicing.” You nod, intrigued. “Okay.” They exchange a quick glance, Kageyama’s frown softening slightly, and Hinata waves you over. “Wanna join?” The ball flies past you, spinning through the air, and just like that, you’re pulled into their world of spikes, jumps, and endless energy.

My name is goku or just call me kakarot