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Chapter 2 - Gohan

His first priority was simple: make his base form strength stronger

The System's cold numbers had made it clear. Before opening the novice gift packet, his power level sat at around one million. The number alone had stunned him—it wasn't bad, especially for a boy of thirteen—but it wasn't nearly enough. 

It was probably his hybrid blood that granted him a boost. The fire in his veins wasn't just Saiyan rage; it was the product of his father, Vegeta, having ascended to Super Saiyan at the time of his conception.

Even so, one million was a candle in a storm. Against the Androids, it meant nothing. Against the monsters lurking further in the timeline, it was a death sentence.

Now, however, after unlocking Super Saiyan—after awakening the dormant potential sleeping deep inside his cells—his strength had soared. He could feel it in the way his very body hummed, how the world's weight pressed against him but no longer seemed so heavy.

He noticed in the show that after unlocking every transformation, their base strength also grew. It unlocked and stimulated the mysterious S-Cells within a Saiyan's body, causing them to multiply and refine, feeding back into greater combat power.

He clenched his fist and whispered, "Status."

The glowing text appeared before his eye

{Name: Trunks Brief}{Age: 13}{Race: Half Saiyan / Half Human}{Talent: Child of Ki}{Power Level: 3,200,000}

His breath caught.

Three point two million.

Almost the same as the warriors who fought Frieza. His heart pounded. He could picture that battle on Namek—Goku, Vegeta, Piccolo, all pushing beyond their limits just to survive. And now, here he was, standing at their level. At thirteen.

His power level was equal to Goku's, but he would still horribly lose in a fight; he had no experience, no fighting techniques, or sophisticated ki control.

But even as awe flickered through him, dread coiled in his stomach. Against Frieza, this power would have been overwhelming. Against Androids 17 and 18? Against Cell? It was a drop in the ocean.

He needed more. Much more.

His mind immediately turned to one place: the gravity chamber.

Vegeta's obsession with training in crushing gravity came back to him in sharp flashes. Five hundred times Earth's pull—that was how his father had torn his body down and rebuilt it into a weapon. If he wanted to reach that level quickly, he had to start there.

And so, he went searching for his mother.

Capsule Corporation's main building still stood, one of the last true fortresses in this dying world. The gleaming white dome, with the iconic Capsule Corp logo emblazoned in deep blue along its side, was a stubborn reminder of civilization. The curved letters circled a bold "C" within another, like layers of defense wrapped around hope. It was one of the few places untouched by the Androids—for now.

Walking through its halls felt surreal. The place was too clean, too whole, as though time had forgotten to tear it down. His footsteps echoed on polished tile, the faint hum of machinery whispering through the air vents. Outside, the world was dust and corpses; inside, there was still warmth, lights, and the faint smell of his mother's coffee.

Bulma was in the lab, hunched over a table cluttered with half-dismantled machines and glowing circuits. The bags under her eyes betrayed sleepless nights, but her hands never faltered. She looked up, startled when he appeared in the doorway.

"Trunks? What's wrong?"

He swallowed, forcing his voice steady. "Mom. I… I want to train. In the gravity chamber."

Her brows shot up. For a moment, her face was unreadable. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a knowing smile.

"I see. So you did notice."

"Notice what?" he asked cautiously.

"That Gohan trains there sometimes," she said lightly, as though the words weren't a knife twisted into the air between them. "I caught you peeking once or twice, didn't I? Guess curiosity finally got the better of you."

He forced a shaky laugh, not daring to admit how much he knew. If she suspected he carried knowledge he shouldn't, it would only raise questions he wasn't ready to answer.

"Yeah… something like that," he muttered.

Her eyes softened, but a shadow lingered behind them. Pride, yes, but also fear. She had already lost so much—her friends, her home, the world she'd known. And now her only son wanted to throw himself into the same crucible.

"Alright," she said at last, rising from her chair. "Follow me."

The gravity chamber stood like a steel giant in the courtyard, its walls reinforced, its engines thrumming faintly beneath the surface. To anyone else, it might have looked like a strange dome with endless panels and vents. To him, it was a gateway.

Bulma keyed in the access code. The doors hissed open, and heat rolled out.

The moment he stepped inside, it hit him.

Two hundred times Earth's gravity pressed down like a mountain dropped onto his shoulders. His knees buckled. The air itself seemed thicker, crushing into his lungs with every breath. His bones screamed in protest.

So this… is what Dad endured.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his back straight. The weight of it made every movement deliberate, every heartbeat a struggle. Already sweat beaded along his brow. But underneath the strain was exhilaration. Each step felt like carving power into his very muscles.

And then he saw him.

Son Gohan.

The lone hero of this cursed timeline.

He stood in the center of the chamber, his frame tall and battle-hardened, a silhouette etched by years of relentless struggle. His uniform mirrored Goku's iconic gi, though darker, worn, and cut differently—longer sleeves, boots marked with blue and gold. On his back, the bold kanji of "Han" glowed faintly against the fabric.

He turned, and Trunks caught his eye.

They were sharp, but heavy eyes that had seen too much, lost too much. He carried the ghosts of Piccolo, Krillin, Tien, Yamcha, all the fallen. His shoulders were lined not just with muscle, but with grief.

"Trunks," Gohan said, his voice deep, steady. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Trunks's throat tightened. Standing before him was a man he had admired for years, both as a fan and now as someone who shared his bloodline's burden. A man who had lost everything, yet still fought.

"I… I want to train," Trunks managed. The words felt small in the heavy air.

Gohan studied him. For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the low hum of the chamber's engines. Then, finally, Gohan's lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Good. You'll need it."

The smile faded quickly, replaced by something grim. He turned back toward the center of the chamber, his stance poised, calm, ready.

"Out there, the Androids don't care how old you are. They'll kill you just the same. If you're serious, then prove it—endure this gravity. "

Trunks clenched his fists. His legs trembled under the crushing pull, but his heart burned.

This is it. The beginning of my fight. If I can't endure this, I'll never endure them.

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