The flight back to Earth had been smooth, but the real impact hit Gohan and Trunks the moment they stepped off the ship with Dende. Familiar skies, familiar air—the sense of home was heavy in their chests. Waiting for them were smiles, tears, and embraces that stitched back together bonds broken far too long.
Bulma was first, smothering Trunks in a hug before pulling back, her hands trembling as she brushed his cheek. "You've did it," she whispered, her gaze flicking toward Vegeta.
Chichi clung to Gohan, openly crying into his shoulder. "I knew you'd do it, Gohan! I just knew you'd find a way!" Her voice cracked, and Goku placed a steady hand on her back, smiling gently.
The night air over Capsule Corp was alive with warmth. Lanterns glowed across the garden, casting golden light over the tables sagging under the weight of food. Plates clattered, laughter rang out, and for once, the Z Fighters weren't warriors preparing for another battle—they were family celebrating a return.
Trunks sat close to his mother, still adjusting to the sight of Vegeta at the table, arms crossed but eating with his usual quiet intensity. Across from him, Gohan smiled as Chichi fussed over him, piling food on his plate despite his protests.
Master Roshi raised his cup, leaning back with a grin. "You kids don't know how much this means. Seeing everyone together again… reminds me of when I first met Goku."
The table quieted, curious. Roshi stroked his beard, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia.
"That boy… barely up to my waist. Wild as they come. He came crashing into my life chasing after a Dragon Ball with Bulma here." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Didn't even know what a girl was at the time! Thought Bulma was some strange creature."
Bulma rolled her eyes, though her lips curved into a smile. "He still doesn't know the difference half the time."
Everyone laughed, Goku scratching his head sheepishly. "Well, can't argue with that."
Roshi leaned forward, voice softening. "But I knew right away there was something different about him. Strong, sure, but pure. He wanted to fight not out of malice, but joy. That spirit—" Roshi tapped the table with a finger, "—that spirit saved us all more times than I can count."
Gohan's chest tightened as he listened. He thought back to his own childhood, clinging to Goku's back, the way his father always smiled no matter how hopeless the battle looked. Dad… you never changed. That spirit's still there. And I have to carry it, too.
Piccolo gave a quiet snort. "You mean to say he hasn't changed at all? Hmph. He's still reckless, still rushing into fights headfirst."
"Hey, that's what makes him Goku," Krillin said, grinning as he raised his glass. "Without that recklessness, we wouldn't be here right now."
Trunks listened closely, his fingers tightening on his cup.
Bulma, not to be outdone, leaned forward with her own story. "You know, Vegeta wasn't much better when I met him. Tried to blow me up, the jerk."
Vegeta scoffed, glaring at her from across the table. "You exaggerate, woman."
"Oh please. You were trying to destroy Earth!" Bulma shot back, then smirked, her eyes softening. "But you stayed. And now look—you're here, with all of us."
Trunks glanced at his father, trying to read the flicker in Vegeta's eyes. For the briefest moment, he caught it—regret, pride, something unspoken. Father, even if you'll never say it, I can feel it. You've changed too.
Dende, sitting quietly until now, finally spoke. "It's remarkable. I only knew Gohan back on Namek, when he was so young… Now, to see him grown, and with Trunks by his side—it feels like destiny has been weaving you together all along."
Gohan smiled, but inside his thoughts were heavier. Destiny, huh? No… it's more than that. Every choice, every sacrifice, led us here. If I falter now, all of that will be wasted.
Chichi dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, sniffing. "All this talk about destiny and spirit, but what about the simple fact that my son's been risking his life since he was four? Hmph! I just want him safe."
Goku laid a hand on hers gently. "Chi-Chi, you know him. He's stronger than either of us could've imagined. And he's got the same fire I had. Maybe even more."
A hush fell briefly over the group, the weight of those words settling. Then Roshi raised his glass again, breaking the moment. "Well then, here's to the next generation. May they carry the torch brighter than we ever did."
The table erupted with cheers, glasses clinking together. The night rolled on with more stories—Krillin embarrassing Goku with tales of his childhood naivety, Piccolo offering the occasional dry remark, and Roshi occasionally sneaking glances at Launch, who had appeared late, her hair still wild from a sneeze.
For Trunks, every story etched itself into his heart. The way they spoke of battles past, the way they teased one another, the way they remembered sacrifices—all of it painted a picture of what it truly meant to fight for more than oneself.
As the night drew late and the stars scattered thick across the sky, Vegeta finally stood, crossing his arms. His voice cut through the lingering laughter.
"Enough talk. I want to see where my son stands. Words mean nothing—strength speaks for itself."
Trunks' pulse quickened. His father's gaze was sharp, challenging.
Almost at the same time, Goku rose, his grin wide. "Guess that means I'll spar Gohan. Been way too long since I've seen him cut loose."
Chichi groaned loudly. "Fighting?! Now?! After all this food?!"
Piccolo's lips twitched upward. "Typical Saiyans. For them, this is just another way to celebrate."