Six months passed faster than I expected.
Between managing research, overseeing production, and monitoring training data, time blurred together into a steady rhythm of work and responsibility. I now had a home—and a city built around it. Thankfully, Dr. Briefs understood my limitations better than I did. He handled the administration, the factories, and the workforce, assigning a capable assistant to manage what I couldn't.
My focus remained where it always was: training and growth.
Most of my attention went to Goku.
Through observation and recorded data, I finally began to understand the true nature of a Saiyan's Zenkai boost. It wasn't limitless. The increase depended on three factors: the strength of the opponent, the severity of the injuries, and—most importantly—the intent behind the battle.
We couldn't cheat it.
Self-inflicted injuries produced only marginal gains. The body knew the difference.
I learned that lesson the hard way.
Once, during training, I raised my power level to nearly double Goku's.
He almost died.
The increase he gained afterward was massive—but the memory of his broken body burned into my mind.
"Do it again," Goku said later, grinning despite the bandages.
"Next time I'll take it better."
I refused.
"No," I said flatly. "I won't gamble your life like that again."
He didn't argue—but I could tell he understood why.
Thanks to the specialized training facility Dr. Briefs had constructed, Goku could now fight without restraint. Every blast, every surge of ki was absorbed by the room itself, stored and recycled to power the city and its factories.
No wasted effort.
No meaningless destruction.
Krillin trained alongside him, pushing himself harder than ever. Yamcha, however, was absent.
When Goku invited him, Yamcha hesitated.
Bulma didn't help matters.
She had shown him the training room—and demonstrated her armor.
When her power level climbed into the triple digits, Yamcha's face went pale.
I recognized that look.
Inferiority.
Even Bulma… had surpassed him.
"Hey," Goku said cheerfully. "You should train with us! Krillin's joining too."
Yamcha hesitated. Pride flickered behind his eyes.
"I'll… train on my own," he said at last. "See how far I can get."
Goku smiled. "Okay."
He didn't press.
Yamcha looked… disappointed.
So he wanted to be asked again.
But Goku wasn't someone who chased people.
I understood Yamcha better than he realized.
Pride could protect you—but it could also trap you. If it kept you from moving forward, it became self-destruction disguised as dignity. No amount of advice would fix that. He had to confront it himself.
Strength wasn't built alone.
Even Master Roshi—far weaker than I was—had something to teach me. And I accepted him as my teacher without shame.
Krillin understood that too. Beneath his jokes and relaxed attitude was a student eager to learn.
I wished I could find Tien.
But no trace of him surfaced.
So I created something else instead.
A surveillance drone—small, silent, shaped like a raven. Hundreds of them scattered across the planet, searching for powerful ki signatures.
I didn't find Tien.
I found Piccolo.
I waited until nightfall before approaching him.
When he noticed me, he tensed—then forced himself to calm down.
"What do you want?" he asked coldly.
"I want to talk," I replied honestly.
He laughed.
"If you're here to tell me to abandon my revenge, don't waste your breath."
"That's not why I'm here."
He smirked. "Good. Then I'll just catch up to your strength—and kill you after I defeat Goku."
I met his gaze calmly.
"Good luck with that."
His expression faltered, just slightly.
"I'll come back another time," I added. "When you're less hostile. Maybe then you'll listen."
I turned and left without another word.
No threats.
No lectures.
No fight.
Just a seed planted.
I returned home and went to sleep, wondering which would sprout first—
his pride… or his doubt.