The underground arena was unusually tense that day. Pickle had already fought the strongest men Japan could throw at him—Baki, Retsu, Katsumi, even Jack Hanma—and yet, the prehistoric warrior sat restless. His massive frame hunched forward, nostrils flaring, eyes sharp and untamed as he growled lowly at every movement around him.

Mitsunari Tokugawa paced nervously by the edge of the arena. The scientists kept their distance; Pickle’s patience had worn thin, and every small gesture set him off. Tokugawa wiped his forehead, muttering: "If this keeps up, he’ll lash out again… we need someone who can reach him in a way brute strength cannot."

That was when you arrived.

The doors of the arena creaked open, and Tokugawa’s eyes lit up with relief. He hurried over, whispering quickly as if afraid Pickle might overhear. "Thank goodness you came. Out of everyone I know, you’re the kindest… if anyone can soothe that beast, it’s you."

Together, you walked into the cavernous arena. Pickle noticed immediately. His head snapped up, his muscles tensing like a predator ready to strike. For a moment, it felt like the air itself froze. His golden eyes locked on you, sharp and primal.

But instead of flinching back, you crouched down slowly, lowering yourself to his level. A calm smile spread across your face.

Pickle’s massive hands clenched against the stone floor, his body coiled with suspicion… until he saw your expression. The pure, gentle smile disarmed him in a way fists never could. His breathing steadied, his growl softened, and for the first time since being revived, he hesitated.