The hum of the spaceship was constant, a low vibration that filled the silence between breaths. Out here in the vast emptiness of space, Gohan and Trunks had no audience, no enemies to worry about, no sounds except the faint pulse of the engines and their own beating hearts. For the most part, their training consisted not of punches and kicks, but of stillness.
They sat cross-legged in the small gravity chamber, sweat dripping slowly from their temples despite the lack of exertion. Meditation training. At first glance it looked simple, but the effort it demanded was brutal.
Trunks had explained it carefully to Gohan the first day. "It's a new method I found. It focuses on energy control—on learning how not to waste a drop of ki. If we master this, our energy management will be leagues better."
He left out the real truth, of course. The Law of Creation training method was meant for cultivating God Ki—something Gohan wasn't ready to know about. Not yet. Trunks told himself it wasn't deceit out of malice; it was just that some knowledge without a proper source would bring him trouble, he did not know who was watching him after all. But the boy in him couldn't help feeling guilty hiding it from his teacher, the one who had given him everything.
If I can master even a trace of God Ki… my power will climb faster than anything else. I have to. This is the only way I'll be able to protect them. To protect Mom. To protect him.
The requirement was simple on paper: no aura leakage, not even the faintest whisper of ki leaving the body. But in practice, it was maddening. Gohan knew full well the difficulty—he had achieved the perfected Super Saiyan form, but even then, faint currents of power escaped in battle. Here, they had to go beyond perfection.
"Keep it contained, Trunks," Gohan murmured, his voice calm, patient, the way Piccolo's once was with him. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and measured. "Imagine your aura as water in a jar. If there's even a crack, even the smallest leak, it spills out."
The meditation itself wasn't hard, but combined with the gravity chamber, keeping your focus and not letting any ki escape was insane.
Trunks clenched his jaw, focusing. He could feel the wild edges of his energy scratching against the barrier of his skin, desperate to burst out and support his body against the 200x gravity. He forced it back down, beads of sweat forming across his brow. Every second stretched into minutes, every slip felt like failure.
In those moments, Trunks understood something about Gohan. His patience wasn't laziness or complacency—it was forged in these kinds of trials. That discipline, that iron calmness in the middle of chaos, was why Gohan could teach him.
After each meditation, Trunks pushed himself further. When Gohan thought he was resting, he added his own hidden drills—moving while containing ki in the gravity chamber, he mastered the first phase of his plan. The pressure was overwhelming, like trying to swallow fire, but he endured. He would sometimes momentarily feel the traces of god ki but lose it just as quickly.
When their legs grew stiff from hours of meditation, they shifted into physical training. The gravity chamber's weight pressed down on their muscles, making every movement a battle. But here too, Trunks tried something different.
While Gohan struck and blocked with precision, Trunks kept a sword strapped across his back. Between sets, he drew it and practiced fluid arcs, trying to merge swordplay with ki control. His blade hummed faintly, coated in his restrained energy. Each strike was silent, aura locked tightly within, no leakage allowed.
At first, the sword felt heavy, unbalanced. His swings were jerky. Gohan raised an eyebrow once, watching him.
"You're pushing yourself hard with that sword," Gohan commented, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Remember, control first. If you force it, you'll only tire yourself out."
Trunks nodded quickly. "I know. It's just… that im frustrated."
Concentrating, focus and clarity became second nature to him.
He could lock in, in milliseconds.
Seven days passed in that rhythm. Ki control until their bones ached, gravity training until their lungs screamed, sword swings in the quiet hours. The walls of the spaceship became both prison and sanctuary.
Each night, Trunks reviewed the Law of Creation method in secret. The words burned into his mind like divine scripture. The first phase demanded perfection, and though he stumbled, he felt progress—like drops of dew condensing on a leaf, building toward something greater.
By the time they reached the green horizon of New Namek, both Gohan and Trunks could feel the difference. Their power was heavier, denser, more controlled. Even their breathing carried a quiet confidence.
As the stars shifted to reveal the emerald planet below, Trunks pressed his palm against the cold glass of the viewport. His reflection stared back at him: determined eyes, the sword on his back, the faint hum of suppressed ki beneath his skin.
He was still training even when constantly moving; it became second nature to him. The same could be said of Gohan.
The spaceship began its descent, the hum of engines louder now. Their week of silence and stillness had ended.