I woke up to the sight of a wooden ceiling. Blinking, I took in my surroundings—a yellow wall, a window divided into four squares by a red wooden beam, forming a diamond shape in the center. Blue curtains framed the window, lightly swaying from a breeze I couldn't feel.
That's when I realized something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Panic crept up my spine as I scrambled through my memories.
'Okay, okay... last thing I remember—an explosion, the fire, the smoke, and being trapped in a room, all alone... then... nothing. Did I die?' The thought made my stomach turn.
No, that didn't make sense. If I died, how was I still thinking? Reincarnation? That idea seemed crazy—until I considered my current situation.
A cot. My now tiny hands.
This wasn't a hospital. So I must have already been taken home.
The idea that I had been reincarnated settled quickly, but that was when another realization struck.
I was a baby... wasn't I? It was weird, going from a 17-year-old with a life ahead of her to barely a month or less old. However, that wasn't the most unusual part...
There was something new inside me.
I could faintly feel this strange, almost electric-like energy, focused near the center of my body flowing inside of it. It was unnatural, abnormal even.
Before I could process that further, a voice rang out:
"Goku, come on! Dad's here!"
I froze.
I knew that voice.
"Okay, Chi-Chi!" another familiar voice responded.
No way.
That voice. That name. The energy inside me.
No. Freaking. Way.
The door opened, and in stepped a woman with long black hair tied into a bun, two strands framing her face. She wore a blue dress with a yellow sash around her waist. Her Saiyan saga outfit. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, widening slightly before her expression softened into a warm smile.
I knew exactly who she was.
Chi-Chi.
Which meant...
Oh. Oh Shit. I was in Dragon Ball.
And considering the outfit Chi-Chi was wearing... this was before the Android Saga. Possibly... no definitely before Namek at which point, it would be before the Saiyans.
In that case, I was reborn during the time skip between Dragon Ball and Z—which meant I had a lot to prepare for. The Saiyans, Namek, Androids, Buu...
A shift beside me caught my attention. I turned my head looking at the boy.
A baby Gohan was settled in the cot next to mine.
I thought so.
"Hey, Chi-Chi! I'm here!"
That voice.
I turned again, and for the first time in my two lives, I saw him in the flesh.
Son Goku.
He was exactly as I expected with his wild, spiky hair, bright orange Gi, blue undershirt, boots, wristbands, that ever-present carefree grin.
I felt myself smile without thinking. This guy, this legend, was responsible for so many of my happier memories. Seeing him now? It was surreal.
Although that reminded me. He didn't even know he was an alien yet. Only when Raditz arrived did he learn that he was a Saiyan, not an Earthling or Human.
A huge man followed behind him. He was tall, bulky, with a full beard and black eyes like Chi-Chi's. He wore a pink shirt under green overalls, his black hat decorated with a white kanji symbol and freaking demon horns.
Right. Ox King. He was my grandfather now.
That was going to take some getting used to.
"Well, looks like one of 'em's awake," Ox King rumbled, gazing down at me. I stared back at him. "Such a cute girl and boy! Have you decided on their names yet, Chi-Chi?"
"Well, the boy already has a name," Chi-Chi answered, "but I'm still thinking about the girl's name."
Ox King chuckled. "Well, what's the boy's name?"
"EINSTEIN!" Chi-Chi declared proudly.
Baby Gohan immediately started wailing, right next to me.
Great.
Goku scratched his cheek. "I... don't think he likes it, Chi-Chi."
"Then what do you think, Goku?" Chi-Chi huffed.
Goku blinked. "Uh... what would Grandpa Gohan do?"
At the mention of the name, baby Gohan immediately stopped crying.
The Ox King laughed. "Hah! Looks like he likes that name!"
Goku rubbed the back of his head, his signature grin spreading across his face. "Well, how about it, Chi-Chi? We name him Gohan?"
Chi-Chi sighed, relenting. "Fine. Gohan it is. But what about the girl?"
Ox King hummed. "How about a mix of your names? Gochi? Chiku?"
I widened my eyes. If I could do a double take without seeming suspicious I would have.
This man had unknowingly suggested the ship name.
"Nah," Goku said, looking more thoughtful. "I like the sound of something else."
I braced myself.
"How about... Yuzu?"
Ox King nodded. "Yuzu sounds nice."
Chi-Chi crossed her arms, considering it. "Hmm... Sure. It'll work."
…
Yuzu.
So that was my name now.
I guess I can live with that.
—3 years later—
I woke to the sound of a child playing, his laughter echoing through the house.
Gohan's already up, I thought, rubbing my eyes as I sat up.
The drowsiness clung to me, but I fought it off with a quick stretch. My room, bathed in early morning light, was small but comfortable. Most of the walls were a dark purple, complementing the wooden blue-painted bed where I'd just been sleeping. A lavender-colored quilt covered me, and my silver-and-black pillow was slightly out of place from my tossing and turning.
A spruce wood desk sat in the corner, neatly arranged with books, a few papers, and a single chair with crimson cushions. My wardrobe stood nearby, filled with a mix of casual and training clothes. But my eyes were drawn to the object on my desk—a small orange sphere with six red stars embedded within it.
A Dragon Ball.
Dad had gone on a short trip to reclaim the Four-Star Ball, just like in the original timeline. But since he wanted to be fair, he ended up collecting two more, finding them both together, and gave me the Six-Star Ball while Gohan got the Four-Star Ball. Mother had the Five-Star that he also found.
I stood up, grabbed my clothes for the day, a Hanfu-style top that was lavender with green sleeves and on the front was our family name, 'Son', written in kanji within a large white circle with black lining and black pants.
Getting dressed, I ran through today's plans
Even as a baby, I'd been training. Nothing major, just the fundamentals: Running as fast as possible, playing with heavier objects to build strength with basic exercises disguised as playing. Once I was able, I started incorporating elements from the various Martial Arts styles I'd been forced to learn in my first life.
And of course, meditation. That was to increase my Ki Control so when it came time I could learn to use Ki easily. Beside it being rather important to grow in power.
How strong had I become? I wasn't sure. There were no proper benchmarks until Raditz arrived.
Speaking of which... Raditz was still months away. Gohan and I would turn four on May 18th—76 days from now. 77 if you counted to the exact day. It was January 1st after all.
Raditz arrived on October 12th, if I remembered correctly. That gave me eight months and four days before he landed on Earth.
At this point, I had decided that I wasn't going to stop Dad from dying in that battle. The Kaio-Ken was too valuable for him to not learn, and won't be strong enough to deal with Vegeta at that point.
More than that, though, I had my own mission—to make sure Gohan never developed his pacifistic nature via trauma that had started with the Saiyan invasion. He was saved by big green from Nappa who aimed to kill him, killing the pickle that was Piccolo.
If I could push him into training with Dad early, he'd be more prepared.
Of course, if things didn't go as planned, I'd adjust. That was the whole point of strategy.
'Hah, I'm thinking too much.'
I shook my head, dispelling the gloom. The only reason I was even allowed to think about strategy openly was because of what happened last week.
Getting Mom to agree to this hadn't been easy. It had been a war.
For months, I had been asking. Begging, really. Every time Dad went outside to train, I'd tug on Mom's dress. Every time I saw Gohan reading a book, I'd ask why we couldn't run outside instead. And every time, Chi-Chi had shut me down.
"We are a respectable family, Yuzu," she would say, her voice firm, brokering no argument. "You and Gohan are going to be scholars. You aren't going to be thuggish brutes running around punching things."
I had tried to be patient. I really had. I did my meditation in secret, while Gohan napped. I did calisthenics in my room when Mom was cooking. But secret training could only get me so far.
The breaking point had come three days ago.
I had been sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a workbook on basic arithmetic that I had technically mastered in my previous life before I could even walk. The frustration had been bubbling under my skin all morning. Outside, the distinct thud-thud-thud of Dad hitting a heavy bag echoed through the wall.
"Mom," I had said, putting the pencil down. "I finished the book."
Mom turned from the stove, smiling. "Already? That's my smart girl! I have the next level ready for you—"
"I don't want the next level," I interrupted, my voice tighter than I intended. "I want to go outside. I want to train with Dad."
Mom's smile dropped instantly. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to plummet. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned fully toward me.
"Yuzu," she warned, her tone dropping an octave. "We have discussed this."
"No, you discussed it," I shot back, hopping off the chair. "You said no. You always say no. But why? Why is it bad to be strong?"
"It's not about strength!" She snapped, her composure cracking. "It's about your future! I won't have my daughter becoming a... a barbarian! Do you think fighting is a game? It's dangerous. It's violent. You get hurt. You get scars."
"It's fun!" I argued, clenching my small fists. "It's healthy! Dad does it every day and he's fine!"
"Your father is... your father is special," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But you need to be proper. You need to focus on your studies so you can get a good job and not have to live in the woods fighting monsters for dinner!"
"I like the woods!" I shouted, my voice rising. "And maybe I want to fight monsters! Maybe I want to be like Dad!"
"Enough!" She screamed, slamming her hand on the counter. The sound made Gohan jump in the other room, but I didn't flinch. I stared her down, my tail lashing about behind me. "You are going to your room, young lady. You will study, and you will forget this nonsense about martial arts."
"I won't!" I yelled back, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "It's not fair! You can't just decide who I am!"
"I am your mother, and I decide what is best for—"
"Chi-Chi."
The voice was quiet, but it cut through the argument like a knife.
We both froze. Goku, my father, was standing in the doorway. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't scratching his head or looking confused. He stood tall, his presence filling the frame, sweat glistening on his muscles from his workout. He looked... serious.
"Goku," Mom breathed, looking slightly flushed. "I was just handling—"
"I heard you," Dad said, walking into the room. He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on Mom.
My heart hammered in my chest. Usually, Dad deferred to Mom on everything regarding the house and us kids. If he sided with her now, I was screwed.
Dad stopped in front of Mom. He towered over her, his muscles were relaxed, non-threatening.
"Chi-Chi," he said gently. "Do you think I'm a brute?"
Mother blinked, taken aback. "What? No, Goku, of course not. You're... you're you."
"Do you think I'm a barbarian?" he pressed, his voice calm. "Do you think I'm a bad person because I like to fight?"
"That's different!" She insisted, wringing her hands on her apron. "You save the world. You... you're the strongest man in the world. But Yuzu... she's a baby. She's a little girl."
"She's our little girl," Dad corrected. He crouched down so he was eye-level with me, then looked back up at Mom. "And she's got my blood. And yours."
I nodded at him.
'Yeah, tell that bitch.' I thought, not saying the words out loud. That's what she got for delaying my plans for so many months.
Mom stiffened realising where this was going.
"Yours," Dad repeated, emphasizing the word. "I remember that day at the tournament."
Mom's face turned a brilliant shade of red—I felt a flicker of mirth upon seeing such a thing—yet she didn't look away from Dad.
"You were strong," Dad said, a small, nostalgic smile touching his lips. "You were fast, kept me on my toes a little as well.You were a martial artist before you were ever a Mom."
'You mean the same fight where you dodged every strike she made? You were only on your toes because you wanted to hear her name since you forgot the promise,' I said in my mind.
"That was... a long time ago," she whispered, looking down.
"Maybe," Dad replied, standing up again. "But it's part of who you are. And it's part of who Yuzu is. Look at her."
Mom looked at me. I stood there, fists still clenched, chin raised, refusing to back down.
"She's got your fire," Dad said softly. "She's stubborn. Just like you."
That was wrong, the fire I held was because of something I couldn't admit yet. Not to myself.
Mom let out a long, shuddering sigh. Her shoulders slumped, the tension draining out of her frame. She looked at Dad, then at me, and finally at the open door leading to the backyard.
"I just..." Her voice wavered. "I don't want them to get hurt, Goku. I don't want to lose them."
"You won't," Dad promised, placing a large hand on her shoulder. "I'll teach her. I'll make sure she's strong enough to protect herself. Stronger than me, even."
Mom laughed, a wet, rough sound. "Stronger than you? Now who's dreaming?"
She wiped her eyes and looked at me. The strict disciplinarian was gone, replaced by the mother who just wanted her kids to be safe.
"Fine," she said, her voice attempting to regain some of its usual steel. "Fine. You can train."
I felt my heart soar. "Really?"
"But!" She raised a finger. "Your education comes first, understood? You start falling behind, the training stops."
I beamed, happiness evident in my expression. "Understood, Mom! I promise!"
After all, what could she get me that would challenge me? It was hilarious to think about.
She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you two."
Goku grinned, the tension vanishing as his usual goofy demeanor returned. "See? I told you she'd get it! Thanks, Chi-Chi!"
"Oh, hush, you," she grumbled, though she leaned into his touch. "Go wash up before you get sweat on my floor."
I snapped back to the present. I turned to see Mom standing in the kitchen, her hands busy preparing breakfast. The memory of our argument faded, replaced by the warm smell of cooking rice.
After breakfast, I approached Dad as he was finishing up his meal.
"Hey, Dad, do you mind if I come with you today?"
He looked at me and grinned. "Sure! It's about time I start teaching you the basics of the Kame style."
The Kame Style was... odd.
It wasn't like traditional martial arts where form and discipline were everything. The Kame Style was adaptable, made to flow more akin to Jeet Kune Do with an emphasis on Shaolin Kung Fu principles than other martial arts I had mastered—at least in my past life.
I stood in the proper stance—legs spread evenly, knees bent, arms positioned to defend and strike at any moment. One hand was held up near my face, the other positioned slightly lower. It was similar to Karate's opening stance, but looser.
I threw a punch. Then another. Then a kick.
At first, I kept my movements slow, letting my body adjust to the style. Then, gradually, I increased my speed. Faster. Stronger. Sharper. Each move is precise, and strong.
Dad watched, nodding approvingly.
For a few hours, I practiced while he chopped firewood. I absorbed every motion, every detail, like a sponge.
Then, the real challenge began.
"Alright, Yuzu! Let's put those moves to the test!" Dad grinned, dropping into his fighting stance.
My Saiyan half practically sang at the idea of a sparring match.
I mirrored his stance, tail flicking behind me in excitement. "Alright. Try to not hold back so much."
He chuckled. "We'll see about that."
And with that, he dashed forward.
I barely managed to dodge the first strike. He wasn't going all out, obviously, but he was still fast. I ducked under his punch, twisting my body into a spin kick. He blocked it easily, but I followed up with a jab that landed.
He grinned. "Nice one!"
This was the best way to learn—trial by fire.
And so, we continued.
Dad moved like lightning.
His foot barely grazed the ground before he was in front of me again, throwing a right hook aimed at my shoulder. I sidestepped—barely. His fist missed by a hair, but the sheer force of the air displacement sent a shiver down my arm.
"You're getting faster," Dad said, bouncing lightly on his feet. "Keep it up!"
I grinned and swept low, trying to take out his legs. He jumped, flipped once in the air for the fun of it, and landed behind me.
I spun around my blood rushing as I darted in again, fists flying. Jab, cross, elbow strike—each move sharp and calculated.
He blocked the elbow with a raised forearm and gently pushed me back, his strength contained. I flipped mid-air, landing on both legs, before launching back in with catlike agility with a flying knee.
He smirked and caught my knee with one hand thinking he had blocked the hit, but twisting midair I brought my heel down in an axe kick.
He released my knee just in time, allowing me the motion. I slammed my foot down—but he was already gone.
A soft tap on the back of my head told me exactly where he was.
"Focus," he said gently, grinning as I spun around again.
I rubbed the back of my head with a scowl. "You're holding back too much."
"Well yeah," he replied, crossing his arms. "You're new."
"I'm not going to break, Dad."
"Not break, no," he said, tilting his head. "But there's a difference between training and getting flattened. Trust me. Master Roshi used to do the same thing with me."
I knew that was partly a lie... he was just being careful with me.
Dad had no idea Roshi was Jackie Chun after all, he never figured it out.
I concentrated back on the fight. But then I felt something pulse through my body going through my arm then... an unexpected surge of energy gathered in my palm—bright, crackling energy I hadn't meant to form.
Yet before I could stop it a miniscule ball of bright blue energy, buzzing softly, shot from the palm of my hand—straight toward Dad.
His eyes widened in surprise as he blocked the weak blast with his palm.
I... I... did I just use Ki?
Surprise would be an understatement. I was completely flabbergasted by this development but that quickly vanished as I put the pieces together.
Meditation increased Ki Control by its nature so of course it helped, Half Saiyans had immense potential and Saiyans had a natural feel for Ki. Pair all three with the fact that I already know what Ki is and you get a recipe for accidental Ki Blast, basic, but still.
Dad blinked once, then twice before a huge grin spread across his face. "Yuzu, that was amazing! You already figured out how to use Energy!"
I shook my head. "I didn't even mean to do that."
"Even better!" Dad laughed. "You're a natural."
I hadn't meant to do that, yet I wanted to do it more so as I stared at my hand, I focused on the feeling from earlier. Pulling a portion from the ocean inside me and controlling it. A small ball of crackling energy formed in my palm.
"Huh, it's kinda easy." I say, observing the small sphere of glowing blue energy with curiosity.
Deciding to do something else, I added more energy to the sphere. The orb grew, glowing somewhat brighter. I then focused on condensing the Energy... that was a bit harder.
I focused harder, narrowing my breathing. The Ki trembled for a moment before it obeyed. The energy condensed slightly, the glow intensifying as it compacted into a denser sphere.
I could feel the difference. It buzzed hotter now, more reactive, and hummed with power.
"Okay..." I murmured, extending the ball in front of me. "Let's try this."
I fired it forwards sending it hurtling towards the tree that then exploded, creating a hole in the tree... before it toppled down on the now singed grass.
'So it can explode like that…' I flicked my fingers toward the sky and launched a newly formed orb upward like a bottle rocket. I barely heard Dad's amazed whistle as he stood there, content watching me practice before I willed it to stop.
The orb froze mid-air.
I clenched my fist.
The orb snapped back toward me like a yo-yo, slowing down just enough that I caught it, palm open. My hand tingled from the contact, but the energy didn't hurt me, it obeyed.
Like a butler or maid obeying their lord or lady, the energy obeyed my commands.
Why could I make it stop mid-air? The Twin Dragon Shot, Feint Kamehameha, or whatever one wants to call it, was a variant of the Kamehameha Goku, now Dad to me, used against Frieza in their battle to land a devastating blow on him due to Frieza being unable to sense Ki.
He used 2 orbs of Ki underwater that stayed in place as he backed away, then fired them one after the other.
I figured I could do something similar but different, yo-yoing Ki Blasts might be a good trick to learn. But I didn't expect to get it on the first try.
I felt my chest tighten at the thought, but buried the unsettling feeling deep. Deep down. It wouldn't do me any good to focus on the past.
Deciding I wanted to try something else, I attempted and managed to split the orb into two smaller ones. Separating the Ki had been easy. I focused on the Energy, and moved it apart and whilst they flickered a bit being wobbly and uneven—they held their shape.
I moved them apart, then together again and after a bit, I sent one spinning in a slow orbit around my head, the other hovering near my shoulder like a floaty little moon.
This was fun.
I felt a small smile form as I looked at the technique I had made.
"You really are unique, Yuzu." Dad stated, laughing slightly as he watched me play around with my Energy.
I was getting tired though. Ki was tied to stamina after all.
And seeing as I was using it to control the spheres further, I was tiring myself out more.
The spheres came back to my hand fizzling out as I exhaled—hard.
My knees buckled slightly as the last of the energy fizzled out in my palm. That trick with the orbiting Ki orbs? Yeah, turns out it's a lot easier to start something flashy than to maintain it.
That said, if I could refine this into a Ki Yo-Yo-esque technique... I'd have to work on that for a while.
Dad whistled low, clapping slowly like he was genuinely impressed. "Not bad, Yuzu. You're catching on real fast."
I managed a lopsided grin, breath still heavy. "Was that... too much?"
He crouched beside me and gave my hair a quick ruffle. "Maybe. But hey, if you've got it, why not show it off? Just don't burn yourself out every time."
Mom stepped out from the house, hands on her hips. Her eyes scanned the faint scorch mark on the ground where the Ki orb had exploded midair, then landed on me—sweaty, panting, tail wrapped around my waist like a security blanket.
"...You let her fire off energy blasts?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dad scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I mean... she kind of did it on her own."
Mom narrowed her eyes but sighed. "As long as you're keeping up with your education, I don't mind a little training. A little."
I grinned. "Don't worry, Mom. I've got everything under control."
Dad patted my head. "You should've seen her, Chi-Chi! She's already showing talent!"
Mom sighed, but I caught the small smile on her face. "She takes after you."
I clenched my fists, feeling the smallest trace of energy flicker inside me again.
My thoughts trailed on the details of the future. A specific threat and thus depending on what I did, I could potentially make them stronger, or weaker. So I had to follow the timeline precisely until that point.
And obviously, I could be in the future timeline too. I had to prepare for everything. Even the idea that the movies might be canon to this AU was something to prepare for.
—A time-skip of 1 week—
I sat beneath the trunk of a gigantic tree, its sturdy roots gripping the earth like an unshakable fortress. From my spot, I watched as Gohan and Mom moved through the basic motions of the Kame Style, with Dad guiding them.
I had managed to convince Gohan to try a session and to my surprise Mom jumped in as well.
I was taking a break, exhausted from my earlier spar with Dad. He wanted to see how far I went since he was already training me and while he held back, only blocking and countering when necessary, it was still a challenge.
I stretched my limbs, feeling the lingering soreness from the fight. I wasn't injured—just tired.
I stood up and dusted off the back of my pants. Across the clearing, Gohan was practicing his stances, tongue poking slightly out in concentration, while Mom tried to copy a Ki flow exercise with furrowed brows and a surprising amount of grace.
I felt my lips twitch into a smile, despite myself.
'Alright. Rest time is over, time to get back to work.'
I chambered my leg before launching it outward, a sharp snap of a side kick. My inward arm followed, delivering a crisp palm strike as my foot settled back to the ground. A quick pivot spun me around, my open palm becoming a swift back fist that sliced through the air, creating a faint whisper of wind.
I paused briefly before unleashing a Meia Lua de Compasso—the spinning kicks flowed with natural grace arcing toward an imaginary opponent's midsection then snapping up toward their jaw then the temple. The final kick launched me into a front flip that ended with a punishing axe kick.
I landed light using the momentum to flip back and create distance. Without hesitation, I shifted into a balanced Taekwondo stance, launching into another spinning kick and shifted again, Karate.
My hand curled into the shape of a tiger's claw. I stepped forward, seizing the fabric of my shadow opponent. A sharp pull dragged them downward just as my heel snapped out in a sidekick connecting hard enough to throw them back and denying them any follow-up.
I closed the distance with a subtle sway hiding my next move.
They barely had time to recover before my leg arced in an outside crescent kick. They dodged—nice try. The follow-up came fast: a jumping sole kick that struck clean. My right foot hit the ground first, and the impact flowed instantly into a flurry of strikes—right hooks, left straights, sharp vertical punches, spinning roundhouses, descending axe kicks.
Ten full seconds of unrelenting speed and force.
Then I jumped back, launching a small ball of energy in my left hand hurtling toward the ghostly opponent—who promptly evaporated on impact because I knew if this was an actual fight, it would have ended with that.
I stood there, chest rising and falling, the shadow opponent gone.
When I turned, all three of them—Mom, Gohan, and Dad—were staring.
They had stopped their own training. Gohan's eyes were huge. Mom's mouth was slightly open. Dad had that look—like something had just clicked in his head—and in the glint of surprise, I caught it: pride.
Maybe I had gone a little overboard.
The final barrage had just... happened. It wasn't even deliberate. It felt like the techniques I remembered, like my muscles remembered things from my past life that they shouldn't.
Even if it wasn't the same level I used to have, my body still remembered something. The echoes were there.
It was like my soul—with all its old reflexes—was slowly syncing with this younger body, letting muscle memory bleed through into muscle future.
And it was starting to show.
It was just like—
"Yuzu!" Gohan's voice snapped me back like a rubber band to the present. Gohan had jogged over, his face alight with pure admiration. "That was so cool! I didn't even know half of those moves existed!"
Chi-Chi followed at a calmer pace, brow lifted, lips pressed together in that particular Mom-expression that meant: We're going to talk about this later. But even she couldn't hide the flicker of awe in her eyes.
And then there was Dad.
He scratched the back of his head, smiling, but his gaze stayed sharp and thoughtful.
"You've been holding back," he said—not accusing, not disappointed. Just knowing.
"A little. Maybe."
He tilted his head. "Nah, not just that. You weren't just using stuff I taught you. That last sequence... you've done that before. It was instinct. Old instinct."
There was no point lying.
I nodded once. "During my own training."
He crossed his arms, grin wide now. "You're really somethin', Yuzu."
It shouldn't have mattered. Shouldn't have meant anything coming from a man with hair like a porcupine had an affair with a supernova. But the pride in his voice—not forced, not transactional, just genuine—unlocked something I didn't know I'd been holding in my chest.
I smiled a bit. "I am being trained by the best."
Mom clapped her hands lightly. "Alright, everyone. Let's have a lunch break."
Gohan nodded enthusiastically and ran off toward the house, eager to get his hands on lemonade. Chi-Chi followed at a much more dignified pace.
I lingered for a moment after they turned away.
The clearing was quiet again, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas. A few fallen petals drifted across the dirt where my imaginary opponent had vanished. I stared at the spot.
My thoughts dwelled on the past.
Perfection to me was a dangerous word. Nobody can truly be perfect. Everyone has flaws, imperfections of some kind. This wasn't some novel revelation I'd stumbled upon in a dusty tome; it was lived experiences.
A memory from the life before this one surfaced.
I was walking down the hallway of my school, the usual murmurs following me.
"Look, that's her, Hotaru Inoue, the Miracle Prodigy," someone whispered
"Oh wow, she's amazing at everything," another chimed in, breathless with awe.
"I wish she was my girlfriend. She's so pretty," a guy sighed dreamily, only for his best friend to mutter back, "Dude, we don't stand a chance. She's into girls."
The hallway stretched endlessly ahead of me, lockers lining the walls like steel sentinels. Every step echoed, every footfall measured. I walked with my usual posture—back straight, head level, expression neutral. Not aloof. Not cold. Just… correct.
That was the word teachers liked to use.
Correct.
My uniform was immaculate, skirt pressed, blazer spotless. Hair tied just tight enough to be practical, just loose enough to be aesthetically pleasing. Even my pace was regulated—not too fast to appear eager, not too slow to suggest laziness.
Everything about me was curated, whether consciously or not.
"Hey, Inoue!"
I stopped.
A girl jogged up beside me, breathless, clutching a notebook to her chest. Her name was Aiko. I knew this because she'd told me three times this semester. She smiled like she was approaching a celebrity who might grant her a selfie.
"Um—about the physics exam," she began, eyes sparkling with hope. "You got full marks again, right?"
I nodded once. "Yes."
Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Of course you did. I mean—why wouldn't you?" She laughed, a nervous little sound. "I was wondering if you could maybe look over my answers? I just want to see where I went wrong."
I glanced at the clock mounted above the lockers.
I had twelve minutes before my next class.
"Sure," I said, holding out my hand.
Her gratitude was immediate and overwhelming. "Thank you! You're a lifesaver. Seriously, I don't know what we'd do without you."
'You'd fail,' a small, detached part of me supplied.
I flipped through her paper methodically, red pen already uncapped. Her mistakes were obvious—misapplied formulas, skipped steps, conceptual misunderstandings that should've been addressed weeks ago.
I corrected them quickly. Efficiently.
"Here," I said, handing it back. "You misunderstood angular momentum. You treated it as linear. That's why everything after this collapsed."
She blinked at the page. "Oh. Right. Yeah. That makes sense when you say it."
She paused, then laughed again. "You explain things so clearly. You should be a teacher."
I smiled, politely, the kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes but looked real enough to pass.
"Maybe," I said.
She thanked me again, profusely, before scurrying off like she'd just received a sacred blessing.
I stood there for a moment longer, pen still in my hand.
Not once had she asked how I felt about the exam. Not once had she wondered if I struggled.
Every interaction followed the same script: admiration without intimacy. Praise without understanding and maintaining distance masqueraded as respect.
Teachers adored me.
I remembered sitting across from my homeroom instructor during parent-teacher conferences, hands folded neatly in my lap while my parents listened with proud, distant smiles.
"Hotaru is remarkable," the teacher had said, adjusting his glasses. "Truly exceptional. She has no weaknesses."
No weaknesses.
The words had lodged themselves somewhere deep in my chest, heavy and suffocating.
Because I knew that wasn't true.
It wasn't physical; my mastery of martial arts proved that. Nor was it academic—I was always the best in my class. The girl who parents compared their children to.
No, my struggle was emotional.
Yet I ignored it back then.
In my past life, I had excelled. Academically, athletically, artistically—I was lauded, celebrated, put on a pedestal. Yet, the higher I climbed, the more isolated I became.
Plato's forms came to mind. He argued for an ideal realm where perfect, unchanging 'Forms' existed, and everything in our tangible world was merely an imperfect copy. My life felt like a bizarre inversion of that.
People saw me as the ideal form, and everyone else as the flawed copies. But I knew that the perfection they saw was an illusion, a projection of their desires and expectations onto me.
A cage they themselves made.
I remember reading Nietzsche, particularly his ideas on the Übermensch, or 'Overhuman'; a being who transcends conventional morality and values constantly striving for self-overcoming.
While it sounded empowering, my own experience suggested a different angle. My constant 'overcoming' wasn't about transcending but about the performance for an audience that demanded a flawless protagonist.
It was exhausting, a chase after a phantom ideal that perpetually receded, like Sisyphus pushing his boulder. Each success rather than feeling like an achievement, felt like a temporary reprieve before the next, higher expectation.
There was no joy in the process, only the brief cessation of pressure.
The weight of being seen as 'perfect' was heavier than any failure. Because failure, at least, offered the possibility of growth, of learning.
Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, always resonated with me. It celebrates the flaws and breaks as part of the object's history, making it more beautiful for having been broken.
Here, in this new life, with a tiny tail I could wrap around my waist and Ki, the idea of perfection felt absurd. Dragon Ball was all about overcoming your limits, to push past what "perfection" looked like. Dad had thought he had plateaued and yet when he saw Vegeta's power he realised he could go so much further, both of them saw it as a loss.
That was why I loved Dragon Ball: because in my past life the title of "'prodigy' had been a barrier, severing any genuine connection for me. I had no person I could call a friend, nor did I have a lover, and my parents... well I never felt loved by them.
Here, it was different. Well not the lover and friend part but I could connect with my new family in ways my old one didn't.
I didn't miss my family, I didn't love their lavish lifestyles, I didn't miss them. No… I loved this family, my current family. My utterly imperfect family.
"Yuzu!" Gohan's voice again, half-muffled around what sounded like a mouthful of rice, took me out of my memory. I turned and saw him waving wildly from the porch, one arm up, the other holding a bowl bigger than his head.
Dad was already seated cross-legged next to him, grinning at nothing, chopsticks twirling between his fingers. Chi-Chi was laying out more dishes with the same practiced elegance she used when hurling frying pans.
I dusted off my palms and jogged over.
As I plopped down beside Gohan, the scent of grilled vegetables and steamed buns hit me and my stomach growled.
Apparently, even reincarnated geniuses had to eat.
Chi-Chi gave me a quick glance, then a nod. Not warm, not cold. Just... storing it for later.
I got the feeling we were definitely still going to "talk about it later."
And Gohan? He was practically vibrating.
"That last move!" he blurted, still chewing. "With the spinning and the flip and the bam!—can you teach me that one?"
I raised a brow. "You sure? You're still working on not tripping over your own feet."
He puffed out his cheeks. "Hey! That was one time. Okay, like three times. But I'm getting better!"
Dad laughed, mouth full of food. "He is. And hey, you've got a good teacher."
"That's true. Father's the strongest martial artist on Earth."
Not even an exaggeration. He had won the 23rd Tenka'ichi Budōkai almost four-years ago. It was the finale of the old era—Dragon Ball's last bow before Raditz shows up.
Mom snorted. "Great, now if only that title came with a paycheck."
The meal was loud.
Chopsticks clinked against bowls, Gohan's questions came rapid-fire, Dad made vague sounds that might've been words, and Chi-Chi corrected everyone's posture like she was running a dinner dojo.
It was... nice.
I found myself relaxing, even as the phantom of earlier still lingered at the edge of my mind. The ghost of that finishing combo, of muscle memory cracking through like light under ice.
I tucked it away for now. I wasn't ready to deal with it, and it wasn't ready to let me forget it.
"Yuzu," Mom said suddenly, voice deceptively casual as she refilled my tea. "Where'd you learn that spinning axe kick?"
I blinked. She didn't ask if I had learned it—just where.
I scratched the back of my head. "Uhh. Just... picked it up, I guess? From watching stuff. Moving around. Trying things."
It wasn't technically a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "You're not supposed to just pick up things like that. Your balance is too precise. Your transitions are... clean. That kind of control takes years."
Dad grinned, clearly proud but not helpful at all. "She's just got a knack for it. You should've seen how fast she picked up Ki Control. She can sense Energy now."
That was true, Dad taught me how to sense Ki last week.
Chi-Chi narrowed her eyes at him, then looked back at me.
"I'm serious, Yuzu. That wasn't just a talent show out there. That was—" She stopped herself, lips twitching like she was trying to decide if she wanted to frown or smirk. "That was professional."
Gohan chose that exact moment to burp and then immediately look guilty.
Dad burst out laughing. Chi-Chi sighed and muttered something about "living with three children." The tension shattered like a dropped teacup, and I quietly let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
She wasn't wrong, though.
That was professional.
And that was the problem.
After lunch, Gohan tried to get me to go for a second round with him, but Chi-Chi shut that down with the gentle force of a woman who had once thrown a demon through a wall for ruining dinner.
"Digestion first. Sparring later."
I ended up sitting on the porch while everyone else wandered off to do their own thing. The midday heat had settled into something soft and golden, and for a moment, I just sat there listening to the wind moving through the grass. Thinking.
Wooden boards creaked beside me as Dad sat down, still sipping from his can of juice like the eternal twelve-year-old he was.
His gaze was warm, as he simply asked. "You okay?"
"Yes." I lied, knowing that I wouldn't be able to talk about my past life at all. After all, I couldn't tell them I remembered another life where they were fictional characters.
"You're thinking pretty hard for someone who's 'okay'," he chuckled, taking another long sip of his juice. His eyes, usually so bright and carefree, held a surprising depth as he looked at me. "Is it about what Mom said?"
I hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Sort of. It's just... I've been thinking about what 'perfect' really means. And if it's even a good thing to be."
He hummed, setting his can down.
"Perfect, huh? Well, I don't know much about that. I just try to get stronger so I can protect the people I care about." He paused, looking out at the distant mountains. "But sometimes, when I'm fighting someone really strong, I mess up. And that's usually when I learn something new. Or figure out a way to get even stronger."
He turned back to me, that familiar, wide grin returning. "So maybe 'perfect' isn't about never messing up. Maybe it's about getting back up after you do, and learning from it."
"Yeah," I said softly, a small, genuine smile finally touching my lips. "You are right, Dad."
He ruffled my hair, standing up with a stretch. "Come on, then. If you're done thinking, let's go see if Gohan's managed to get into the cookie jar yet. Chi-Chi's probably looking for someone to help with dinner anyway."
I stood up calmly, looking up at the man. "Hey Dad?"
"Yes Yuzu?"
"Can you teach me the Kamehameha later?"
He blinked, a slow, surprised blink, and then that wide, genuine Goku grin stretched across his face. "The Kamehameha? You really wanna learn that one?"
I nodded, feeling a spark of excitement. "Yep."
His grin widened even further. "Alright! If you're ready, I'll teach ya. But it's gonna take some work, ya know. It's not just some flashy move; it takes focus and energy."
"I know," I said, a determined glint in my eyes.
"That's my girl!" He clapped me on the back, a little too hard, sending a jolt through my still-recovering muscles. "Come on, let's go find Gohan before he eats all the cookies."
As we walked towards the house, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The scent of Mom's cooking wafted from the kitchen, a comforting aroma that grounded me in this new reality.
I still had a long way to go.
Raditz was coming, then Vegeta and Nappa, then Namek, and beyond.
Yet, I didn't have it in me to plan right now. Well I did all my planning already, all that's left is ironing out details.
As we stepped into the house, Gohan, crumbs clinging to his face, indeed looked guilty beside an empty cookie jar. Mom, predictably, let out a long-suffering sigh.
"Goku! Yuzu! You're just in time to help with dinner, since someone clearly helped themselves to dessert already!"
Dad just laughed and ruffled Gohan's hair. I just smiled; genuinely, unburdened smile.
Yeah, this was my life now. An utterly imperfect family.
[Raditz arrival: 284 days away]