At first, we couldn't believe what we were seeing.
We never imagined that such a thing was even possible.
The first to notice, of course, was Baki.
Huh?
Wounds.
The sort of wounds that might have come from the slash of a falchion.
The old scars ran in a diagonal line clear across Pickle's upper body.
Where did those come from?
Looks like he was shot with a machine gun.
He certainly didn't get those here.
Claws?
Spikes?
Must've been something from his own time.
Who or what made them?
What sort of creature could have inflicted them?
We were about to find out the amazing answer.
We were stunned when we saw the same scars ran across his back.
Then we knew.
Matching scars on his front and back.
There is only one thing it could mean.
From their shape, their size, their age...
They hadn't been made by a knife, but by teeth.
Pickle was a man who had survived the jaws of a Tyrannosaurus Rex!
Our shock, our pity, our esteem,
how do you suppose we expressed them?
As one, without consulting each other,
we all simultaneously began to applaud.
By rearranging his joints, he transformed into full battle mode.
This was Pickle's final form.
All right.
So now we can really get down to business.
This is when the real battle begins, right?
His final form,
after he'd adjusted the joints at his shoulders,
elbows, wrists, and hips,
was truly uncanny.
With the awakening of his primeval memories,
the densest parts of his body became even more solid.
The parts that were strong became even stronger.
The parts that were tough before became even more resilient.
I'm touched, Pickle.
I'll just take your transformation as a sign of respect.
A gesture of friendship.
Huh?
Humanity has been ceaselessly evolving
since the beginning of history.
And over the course of that evolution, we've acquired many different weapons.
We've used stones, clubs, swords, guns, missiles,
even nuclear weapons.
But in the process, we've lost something.
We've left something behind.
This is what this primordial man has taught us.
We've lost the tough skin and strong bones and muscles,
the fighting spirit that doesn't succumb to pain.
As we've come to rely on ever more powerful weapons,
we've lost these other things, one by one,
until we're no longer even capable of defending ourselves.
I'm right here,
within your range.
I'm not going anywhere.
By standing here right in front of you,
I will return your friendship!
Damn it, Baki. Gotta do better.
Baki should've been sent flying by Pickle's blow,
but he's barely budged!
I bet I know what you're thinking.
How am I still here after that punch?
It's simple.
I met your strength with all of my strength,
only quicker and at a sharper angle.
They call it skill. Along with evolution.
You see, we've learned a few things since your time.
Things like the martial arts!
I'll put what I've got against what you've got any day!
We match up well in a lot of things.
Strength, speed, stamina, experience.
We're pretty much even on those.
We both know what this means, and neither of us wants to lose.
But maybe you have the advantage all the way ‘round.
And of course, when it comes to the sheer weight and size of our bodies,
there's no comparison.
So, if that's the case, how can even I fight you?
What do I have to work with?
My moves!
The moves and skills I've been developing for so long,
I can't even remember when I started.
I've endured pain,
honed my body,
nourished myself,
faced challenges, and fought.
The unconscious formation of the fist.
The instinctive placement of the feet.
The natural breathing rhythm.
Eyes that know exactly what to look for.
These fighting skills passed down from ancient times
live within me and support me.
Skills that were created to ensure survival,
sharpened for self-defense,
fed on hatred,
and passed down through sorrow.
These are the links in the chain that bind me together.
Suddenly, Baki saw it.
Awakened to his own history,
he was now able to see Pickle's history as well.
It was the same with him!
All those teeth, claws, and horns from the distant past,
they were what supported him and made him what he is now.
I guess that makes sense.
You've got your--
Then, amidst those monstrous weapons,
human figures began to appear.
Oh, now I get it!
Pushing aside the claws was Retsu.
Standing in front of the teeth was Katsumi.
Deflecting the horns was Jack.
They, too, had supported Pickle.
What is it? What is it he's seeing?
What's wrong with Pickle? Why's he crying?
This is more than a fight.
It's all-out war.
I've never faced a more formidable opponent.
What do I do in this situation? What's my move?
Should I try it?
Just try throwing it out there and see what happens?
Or do I play it safe?
I could probably dodge or block it.
Man, what should I do?
You're running out of time. You gotta make a decision.
Oh, so that's what it is, huh?
Bold choice!
You didn't dodge or block.
You literally beat him to the punch.
You have to anticipate your opponent's moves,
get into his flow,
and use his own momentum to counterattack.
Now, you'll get two effects from a solid counter-punch.
There's the physical effect, of course.
Even a small amount of force can have an outsized impact.
But even more important is its effect on your opponent's morale.
When your heart and mind are solely focused on attacking,
your jaw tends to fall open, your neck muscles go slack.
At that moment, you've forgotten that you can get hit too.
You don't easily recover from a blow like that before the count of ten.
When a fighter, any fighter, forgets that he can be hit,
even as strong and tough a fighter as Pickle,
he becomes as defenseless as a newborn infant.
There was once a boxer with a punch so devastating
that it was said he could stop an elephant in its tracks.
That man was George Foreman, the heavyweight champion of the world,
and he had the highest knockout rate in history,
though the great majority of his victories had come from technical knockouts
and not ten-counts.
Facing him was a fighter who'd been described
as, pound-for-pound, the weakest champion in history,
Muhammad Ali, known as "The Greatest."
With his lightning-fast "phantom punches,"
he forced many boxers, including Foreman,
to endure the losing end of a ten-count.
A clever counter-punch comes out of nowhere.
A complete surprise to the opponent.
That's exactly what Baki did.
That's how he was able to trade punches with a larger and stronger man.
That's how he forced Pickle back against the ropes.
"I've been attacked by giant teeth," Pickle told himself.
"“But I smashed them all with my fists."
"I've been attacked by razor-sharp claws,
but I grabbed them, twisted and broke them."
"Whenever I was attacked, this is what I did."
"Against great size, I won."
"Against great speed, I won."
"I won."
"In my world, I was the greatest."
"But in this world, I feel cornered."
He's cornered Pickle!
His size advantage wasn't working.
His strength advantage wasn't working.
The primordial man was bewildered.
He had never encountered moves like this,
or such mystifying fighting skills.
And then...
Huh? What?
I can't even see him!
Like in his fight with Jack, it's lightning-fast teleportation.
Pickle is trying to take cover.
But it's not working.
Everywhere he goes, Baki's right there with him!
I told you, you remember?
I'm staying right here. I'm not going anywhere.
The huge difference in size,
the vast disparity in strength,
they were overcome by a tool of civilization known as the martial arts.
Baki was on the verge of victory.
At that moment,
as glory fell within his reach,
something new sprouted in the young man's heart.
A bad habit was born.
As he gazed at the other's out-thrust fists,
it dawned on Pickle that this man was offering him
the opportunity to decide this fight on stamina alone.
It was a reckless act of insatiable greed
on the young man's part.
He had carelessly thrown away a sure victory earned by his skills,
and instead sought to prove
that he could beat his opponent in a test of stamina.
It wasn't long before the difference in their stamina was manifested,
and the result was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east
or water flowing to the lowest point.
Pickle executed a move!
During the course of this contest, he had sensed his own fear,
the fear of losing to this modern man.
And motivated by this fear...
...the primordial man had acquired a new weapon.
Their battle was over.
Hmm.
Pickle's not even trying to move.
And Baki couldn't move if he tried.
Well, then,
do either of you two have an opinion?
Foolish question.
There's only one opinion that anyone could have.
If Pickle had wanted to kill Baki, he certainly could have.
So clearly, Pickle won.
Huh.
I have a different opinion.
Oh?
The only way the weak can ever compete against the strong
Is by executing moves.
Moves are weapons.
Uh-huh...
Pickle is strong already. And huge.
For him to have acquired that weapon as well...
It's an unwritten rule
that the strong don't have the right to use tricks.
That's funny coming from you, Kaoru Hanayama.
You were born with strength to spare.
What do you say about Baki?
Pretty sure we just watched him back Pickle into a corner!
My heart tells me the victory should be his.
Retsu, who lives by martial arts,
and Hanayama, who lives by masculinity,
you are both right and you are both harsh.
- Look! - He's standing! How?
We're going to let him just walk out?
Oh, let him go.
He's not an animal, after all.
Though Professor Payne will probably throw a fit.
Well, it seems my patient has walked out on me.
Obviously, my services weren't needed.
Waste of time.
Whenever he's hurt and feeling depressed,
there's a sight he longs to see.
Good choice.
This spot definitely has the best view.
It's amazing how much you can see from up here.
And how far too.
All the way back to a time before history,
when none of this was here.
When the world was new and untouched.
When it was your world.
It's beautiful.
Mind if I... sit here and share it with you?
On that same day, in Washington, D.C.,
a secret meeting was taking place at the prestigious St. Renas Hotel.
Prior to this meeting, a 700-meter security perimeter
had been established around the location.
In all this time since I've been in office,
this must be the first time I've taken a meeting
without, uh, having the Secret Service hiding in the woodwork.
Which, when you think about it, is a little bit strange,
since you're generally considered
one of the most dangerous people on the planet.
You sure talk a lot.
Oh. Sorry.
Well, allow me to, uh, get straight to the point, then.
Ever since the time of my predecessor, Ronald Reegan,
every single U.S. president has signed a formal Treaty of Friendship
with the man known as "the Ogre," or Yujiro Hanma.
I was only informed of this secret just last week.
- And I must say, when I first-- - Hey!
Just get on with it, will ya?
Sorry. I got carried away.
Okay, let's wrap this up.
I won't waste any more of your time.
I hereby swear that the United States of America8
will do its utmost to maintain an amicable relationship
with Master Yujiro Hanma.
That we will respect your interests,
and leave you free to pursue them as you see fit.
That we will never interfere with you or your actions,
regardless of anything that might happen.
That I will faithfully execute and abide by this treaty of friendship,
I do solemnly swear,
as President of the United States, Barack Ozma.
It's a pain to have to do this every four years.
Hmm?
A lump of coal.
They say if you apply pressure to it equal to 100,000 atmospheres,
it will turn into a diamond.
Now, that's not something that most folks get a chance to see with their own eyes.
So I was thinking, Mr. Ogre,
if it's true you're more powerful than a nuclear bomb,
maybe you could do it with your bare hands?
You too, huh?
You're no different than President Bosch.
He cut that glass tabletop in half, just as if he were using a diamond!
It's not worth as much as a real one.
Oh damn.
Yes, you could!
As for what to do about Pickle,
I don't think there's any room for debate.
The only humane choice is to return him to his original state.
After all, it's only because of human curiosity that he's even here.
Professor Payne, what do you think?
You make it sound so simple.
If by "returning him to his original state,"
you mean we should put him back in that salt mine on Colorado,
what's to prevent him from being unearthed again years from now?
Will Pickle fit in any better in a society in the distant future?
I have to say that this "humane" solution of yours
doesn't strike me as much of a solution at all.
You'll merely be kicking our problem down the road
and leaving it for a later generation to deal with.
I quite agree.
Pickle is our responsibility, and we should resolve this situation.
Tell me, Mr. Strydum.
Are they true, these rumors that we've all heard?
That you've forced that priceless human artifact
to engage in bloody hand-to hand combat
with various fighters and martial arts specialists?
I was honoring the promise I made to him.
Promise? How can you make a promise
to someone who doesn't even understand language?
It wasn't a promise made with words.
In classrooms,
in workplaces,
anywhere and everywhere that people gathered,
the topic of what to do with Pickle was discussed.
It was debated in Europe, America, Asia, and in the United Nations,
until it was finally resolved
to allow the people of the world to decide his fate.
500,001,572 VOTES
500,000,543 VOTES
After a worldwide referendum of one billion people,
and by a margin of little more than 1,000 votes,
a decision was made.
What's your reaction to the outcome, Professor Payne?
Disappointment.
However, we must abide by the decision the people have made.
I have no choice but to remain silent.
Those 1,000 votes are proof that humanity are fools.
This outcome can only be described as very unfortunate for Pickle.
We're avoiding our responsibility.
We're just sealing away the opportunity to unlock the riddle of Pickle.
What in the world is this?
- It's... it's Pickle! - What's he doing here?!
This was Pickle's way of showing Strydum his appreciation.
He had brought him a gift, for having fulfilled his promise.
Pickle scoffed at the world, and vanished into the maze of Tokyo.