"Domesticity"
The night had grown cold
Not that Mugetsu felt it. His body existed in a state of perpetual equilibrium, the darkness that comprised his very being insulating him from mundane concerns like temperature. He could have sat in the heart of a volcano or the vacuum of space and felt equally comfortable.
The Z-Fighters, however, were not so fortunate.
Krillin had started shivering an hour ago, his bald head gleaming with frost that accumulated despite his Ki-enhanced constitution. Yamcha had wrapped himself in his own arms, teeth chattering audibly. Even Tien, with his rigid discipline, had begun to show signs of discomfort.
Only the Saiyans seemed unbothered—Goku radiating warmth through sheer obliviousness, Vegeta too proud to acknowledge physical weakness, and Trunks too focused on his upcoming departure to care.
"So that's everything," the time traveler was saying, his voice carrying across the darkened park. "The Androids will appear on May 12th, three years from now, on an island nine miles southwest of South City. Be there, be ready, and for God's sake—" he looked directly at Goku "—take the medicine when you start feeling symptoms."
Goku grinned, patting the vial in his pocket. "Don't worry! Chi-Chi will make sure I take it. She's scarier than any Android."
A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the group. They all knew Chi-Chi. They all knew Goku wasn't entirely joking.
Trunks allowed himself a small smile, the first genuine expression of warmth Mugetsu had observed from the young man. "I hope so. In my timeline, you were the strongest of us. Without you, we never stood a chance."
"Hey, don't sell yourself short!" Goku clapped Trunks on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a normal human. "You came back in time to save us. That takes guts. And your power level is nothing to sneeze at either—I bet you'll be even stronger in three years."
Trunks' smile faltered slightly, his eyes drifting toward Mugetsu's seated form. "Maybe. But I'm not sure it matters anymore. With... him... here, everything's different. The future I came from might not even be possible now."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't know. It means my mother—this timeline's version of her—might be safe. It means my father might live. But it also means I have no idea what's coming next. My knowledge of the future is useless."
Goku's expression turned thoughtful—a rare sight. "That sounds scary. Not knowing what's going to happen."
"It is."
"But it's also kind of exciting, right? I mean, that's what life is supposed to be like! Every day is a new adventure, a new challenge. If you already knew everything that was going to happen, wouldn't that be boring?"
Trunks stared at the older Saiyan for a long moment. Then, slowly, his smile returned—stronger this time, touched with something like hope.
"You're exactly like my mother described you," he said quietly. "Exactly like the stories."
"Good stories, I hope!"
"The best."
Mugetsu watched the exchange with clinical detachment.
In another life, he might have found it touching. The time-displaced son meeting the legendary warrior who had died before his birth, finding comfort in the reality matching the myth. It was the kind of emotional beat that anime excelled at—the moment of connection that transcended logic and circumstance.
But the dampener reduced it to data. Interesting data, certainly. Useful for understanding the characters he now inhabited a world with. But nothing that stirred his heart or moved his soul.
I am truly broken, he thought without particular concern. Or perhaps fixed. It depends on your perspective.
The conversation had shifted now, Trunks preparing to depart. His time machine was stored in a capsule, ready to transport him back to a future that might no longer exist.
"I'll return," he promised, looking at each of the Z-Fighters in turn. "When the three years are up, I'll come back to help fight the Androids. Assuming they still appear."
"They will," Piccolo said grimly. "Dr. Gero has been planning this for years. One altered timeline won't change his obsession."
"Then I'll see you on May 12th." Trunks hesitated, his gaze lingering on Vegeta. "Father... take care of yourself."
Vegeta's jaw tightened. He said nothing.
Trunks hadn't expected a response. With a final nod to the group, he threw his capsule, revealing the strange egg-shaped machine within. He climbed inside, sealed the hatch, and with a flash of light that tore reality itself—
He was gone.
The Z-Fighters stood in silence, absorbing the weight of what they had learned. Three years. Androids. The potential end of everything they knew.
"Well," Goku said finally, his tone forcibly cheerful, "guess we'd better start training! Three years isn't that long, and those Androids sound pretty tough."
"For once, I agree with Kakarot." Vegeta's voice was hard, determined. "I will not be surpassed. Not by you, not by some mechanical abominations, and certainly not by—" his gaze flickered toward Mugetsu "—whatever that thing is."
"Hey, he has a name now! It's Mugetsu. Right, Mugetsu?"
Mugetsu didn't bother responding. He had returned to his cultivation, Aura pulsing in slow waves as his power continued to accumulate.
Goku's grin didn't falter. "See? He's just focused. I bet he's really nice once you get to know him."
"Goku." Piccolo's voice carried a note of exasperation. "He killed Frieza and Cold without blinking. He threw Vegeta across a park for attacking him. He's stated multiple times that he doesn't care about any of us. What about that says 'really nice' to you?"
"Well... he hasn't tried to destroy the Earth?"
"That's an incredibly low bar."
"It's still something! And he saved that city, even if he says he didn't mean to. Actions matter more than words, right?"
Piccolo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm going back to the Lookout. Kami and I need to discuss... everything. The rest of you should get some sleep. We have a lot of work ahead of us."
The Namekian rose into the sky without another word, disappearing into the night. Tien and Yamcha took this as their cue to leave as well, mumbling goodbyes and promises to train harder.
Krillin lingered a moment longer, clearly wanting to stay with his best friend but also desperate to escape the oppressive cold of Mugetsu's Aura.
"I should check on Master Roshi," he said finally. "Make sure the old pervert hasn't gotten himself into trouble. I'll see you around, Goku."
"Take care, Krillin! Give Roshi my best!"
And then there were three.
Goku, Gohan, and Mugetsu.
The Saiyan and his son stood together, looking at the dark figure with expressions that were remarkably similar. Curious, open, completely unguarded.
"So," Goku said, scratching the back of his head, "where are you going to stay tonight?"
Mugetsu opened one eye. "Here."
"Here? In the park? But it's cold, and dark, and there's no food or—"
"I don't require food. Or warmth. Or shelter."
"But that sounds so lonely!" Gohan stepped forward, his young face earnest. "You could come stay with us! Our house isn't very big, but Mom always makes too much food, and we have a spare room, and—"
"Gohan." Mugetsu's voice was flat. "I am not going to your house."
"Why not?"
"Because I have no desire for company. I am here to cultivate my power, nothing more."
"But you could cultivate at our house too! Dad has a gravity chamber, and there's lots of space outside for training, and Mom's cooking is really good even if she gets mad about fighting sometimes—"
"I said no."
Gohan's face fell, but only for a moment. Then a determined light entered his eyes—that stubborn Saiyan spirit that had carried him through countless battles in futures Mugetsu had watched from another world.
"Dad," the boy said, "he's being difficult."
Goku grinned. "Yeah, he is. What do you think we should do about it?"
"I think we should convince him."
"And how do we do that?"
"We could..." Gohan trailed off, clearly thinking hard. "We could tell him about Mom's cooking?"
"I already mentioned I don't require food," Mugetsu said.
"We could tell him about the gravity chamber?"
"I have no interest in physical training."
"We could..." Gohan's face scrunched up in concentration. "We could just pick him up and carry him?"
Mugetsu's eyes opened fully, fixing the boy with a crimson stare that would have reduced most beings to quivering terror.
Gohan grinned back, utterly unafraid.
"That won't work," Mugetsu said flatly. "You couldn't move me if you tried."
"Then we'll just stay here with you!" Goku dropped to the ground, crossing his legs in a pose that mimicked Mugetsu's meditation. "If you won't come to our house, we'll bring our house to you. Gohan, go get sleeping bags!"
"Dad, we don't have—"
"Then go get blankets! And food! And tell your mom we're camping!"
Gohan's eyes went wide. "Mom's going to be so mad..."
"She'll understand! Probably. Eventually. After she stops throwing things."
"Dad..."
"Go on! I'll stay here and keep Mugetsu company!"
The boy hesitated, clearly torn between obedience and self-preservation. But in the end, Saiyan loyalty won out. With a resigned sigh, Gohan shot into the sky, racing toward the Son family home.
Leaving Mugetsu alone with Goku.
The silence stretched between them.
Goku sat with his legs crossed, hands on his knees, eyes closed. To a casual observer, he might have appeared to be meditating. But Mugetsu could sense the barely contained energy beneath that calm exterior—a mind that never truly stopped moving, a spirit that craved action and challenge above all else.
"You're not actually meditating," Mugetsu said after several minutes.
Goku opened one eye, grinning. "Nope! I'm terrible at sitting still. Chi-Chi says it's my worst quality, after forgetting to come home for dinner."
"Then why are you sitting there?"
"Because you're sitting here. And I want to talk to you."
"I have nothing to say."
"That's okay! I have lots of things to say. Let me tell you about the time I fought this giant fish—no wait, that's boring. Oh! What about the time I climbed Korin's Tower? Or when I trained with King Kai? Or the fight with Frieza—actually, you already know about that one, since you killed him way faster than I did."
Mugetsu said nothing.
Goku continued undeterred. "You know what's really bugging me? I can't figure out your power. It's not Ki—I know what Ki feels like, and yours is completely different. It's heavier, darker, like standing next to a black hole. But it's also warm somehow? Not temperature-warm, but... I don't know. Alive-warm."
"That's not entirely inaccurate."
"So what is it? Where does it come from? Is it something I could learn?"
"No. It's unique to my existence."
"Aw." Goku's face fell. "I was hoping I could add it to my techniques. It looks really cool, especially those swords you made. Can you teach me those at least?"
"No."
"The meditation thing?"
"No."
"Anything?"
Mugetsu considered the question. There was nothing about his abilities that Goku could learn—the Final Getsuga Tensho form was not a technique but a state of being, impossible to replicate through training alone.
But that didn't mean he couldn't offer something.
"Your son," he said slowly. "He has potential that exceeds your own."
Goku blinked at the non-sequitur. "Gohan? Yeah, I know. When he gets mad, his power goes crazy. It's amazing!"
"It's also unstable. Inconsistent. He can't access it at will, only when his emotions overwhelm him."
"That's true. We've been working on it, but Chi-Chi doesn't like him training too much. She wants him to be a scholar."
"He will be a scholar. And a warrior. And many other things." Mugetsu paused, considering how much to reveal. "In three years, when the Androids appear, his power will be needed. Not at first—not against the machines themselves. But afterward, against the creature that comes next."
Goku's expression sharpened. "Creature? What creature? Trunks didn't mention—"
"Trunks doesn't know. In his timeline, this threat was dealt with before it could fully mature. But timelines change. Circumstances shift. And some dangers are inevitable regardless of what path history takes."
"So there's something worse than the Androids coming?"
"Yes."
"And Gohan's the only one who can beat it?"
Mugetsu considered the question carefully. In the original timeline, Gohan had indeed been the one to defeat Cell—ascending to Super Saiyan 2 through rage and grief, unleashing power that eclipsed everything that came before.
But this wasn't the original timeline. He was here now, an unknown variable with power that dwarfed even Perfect Cell's maximum. If he chose to, he could eliminate the bio-android before it ever became a threat.
The question was whether he wanted to.
"Perhaps," he said finally. "Or perhaps circumstances will be different. The future is not fixed."
Goku absorbed this in silence. For once, the Saiyan's expression was genuinely serious—not the forced solemnity of someone trying to act mature, but the authentic gravity of a father realizing his child might face dangers beyond his ability to protect against.
"I'll train him harder," Goku said quietly. "I'll make sure he's ready."
"See that you do."
Another silence fell between them. But it was different now—less awkward, more contemplative. Two beings of vastly different natures, sharing a moment of unexpected understanding.
Then Goku's stomach growled.
The sound was so loud, so absurdly out of place, that even Mugetsu felt a flicker of something that might have been amusement.
"Heh." Goku rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry. I haven't eaten since I got back from Yardrat. Those Instant Transmission lessons really took it out of me."
"Instant Transmission?"
"Yeah! It's this technique I learned from the Yardratians. I can teleport anywhere instantly as long as I can sense a Ki signature to lock onto. That's how I got here so fast—I felt everyone's energy and just popped over."
Mugetsu filed this information away. Instant Transmission was one of the most broken abilities in the Dragon Ball universe—the power to bypass distance entirely, to appear and disappear at will. If he could learn it...
No. His power wasn't Ki. The technique probably wouldn't translate.
But perhaps he could develop something similar. His darkness could clearly create matter from energy. Could it also bend space? Distort reality? He would need to experiment.
"Gohan's taking a long time," Goku observed, looking up at the sky. "Chi-Chi probably caught him."
"Your wife is formidable."
"You have no idea." Goku shuddered. "She once chased me for three days straight after I forgot our anniversary. Three days! I couldn't even eat!"
"A fitting punishment."
"Right?! Wait—was that sarcasm? It was, wasn't it? You can do sarcasm! I knew there was a person in there somewhere!"
Mugetsu closed his eyes, returning to his meditation. "Do not mistake observation for emotion. I was simply stating a fact."
"Sure you were, buddy. Sure you were."
Gohan returned an hour later.
He was not alone.
Chi-Chi Son descended from the sky like an avenging goddess, her power level negligible but her fury palpable. She landed with a force that cracked the frozen ground, her dark eyes blazing as she surveyed the scene—her husband sitting cross-legged in a dead park, her son floating nervously overhead, and a terrifying creature of darkness that radiated power beyond comprehension.
"GOKU!"
The Saiyan flinched. "H-hey, Chi-Chi! Fancy seeing you here—"
"DON'T YOU 'HEY CHI-CHI' ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS?! GOHAN HAS SCHOOL TOMORROW! WE HAVE DINNER READY AT HOME! AND YOU'RE OUT HERE SITTING IN A PARK WITH SOME—SOME—"
She stopped, finally getting a clear look at Mugetsu.
The dark figure sat motionless, his Aura pulsing in steady waves, his crimson eyes reflecting the starlight with an inhuman gleam. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, reality itself bending under the weight of his presence.
Chi-Chi stared.
Mugetsu stared back.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Chi-Chi turned to her husband, her voice dropping from screaming fury to ice-cold calm—somehow more terrifying than the shouting.
"Goku. Who is that, and why is he leaking death energy all over the park."
"Oh! This is Mugetsu! He killed Frieza and King Cold earlier today, and now he's meditating to get stronger. We're trying to convince him to come stay at our house because it's cold outside and he shouldn't be alone!"
"He killed... Frieza."
"Yep! In like two seconds. It was amazing!"
"The alien warlord who destroyed Namek. Who you nearly died fighting. Who was supposed to be coming here with his father to destroy Earth."
"Uh-huh! But Mugetsu got to them first. He punched right through Frieza's chest and then crushed Cold with his Aura. Super efficient!"
Chi-Chi's expression underwent a remarkable transformation. Fear warred with gratitude, suspicion with pragmatism. Her eyes darted between her oblivious husband and the eldritch being seated on the ground.
"And you want to bring him... to our home."
"He needs a place to stay! And friends! I don't think he's ever had friends before."
"Goku, he looks like he's made of nightmares."
"So did Piccolo when we first met! And now he's one of my best buddies. Give Mugetsu a chance—I bet he's really nice deep down."
Mugetsu wondered if he should intervene. This conversation was spiraling in a direction he had explicitly tried to prevent. He had no desire to stay with the Son family, no interest in domestic entanglements, no patience for—
"Fine."
He blinked.
Chi-Chi had squared her shoulders, her expression settling into one of fierce determination. "If this... Mugetsu... saved the Earth from Frieza, then we owe him hospitality. It's only proper. Besides—" her eyes narrowed "—if he's staying with us, I can keep an eye on him. Make sure he's not planning anything sinister."
"Chi-Chi, he's not—"
"I said fine, Goku. Don't push it." She turned to Mugetsu, her voice taking on the authoritative tone of a woman who had domesticated a Saiyan through sheer force of will. "You. Mugetsu. You're coming home with us. You will be polite, you will not destroy anything, and you will sit at the dinner table like a civilized being. Is that understood?"
Mugetsu opened his mouth to refuse.
"That wasn't a question."
He closed his mouth.
There was something in Chi-Chi's eyes—a steel that had nothing to do with power levels or combat ability. This was a woman who had survived being married to Son Goku, who had raised a half-Saiyan child, who had endured countless world-ending crises with nothing but her own determination to protect her family.
She was terrifying in a way that transcended Ki.
"...very well," Mugetsu heard himself say.
What am I doing? he thought with distant bewilderment. I don't want this. I don't need this. Why am I agreeing?
But the words were already spoken, and Chi-Chi was already nodding with satisfaction.
"Good. Gohan, help your father up. We're going home."
"But Chi-Chi, I can walk by myself—"
"NOW, Goku."
The Saiyan scrambled to his feet with a speed that had nothing to do with combat training.
Mugetsu rose more slowly, his Aura contracting as he stood. The shadows clung to him like a cloak, reluctant to release their hold. Around him, the park seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as his presence lifted.
"Follow us," Chi-Chi commanded, already rising into the sky with a grace that belied her lack of flight training. Goku must have taught her at some point—or perhaps she had simply demanded he carry her until she figured it out herself.
Mugetsu followed.
He didn't know why.
He didn't care to examine the reason.
But as the Son family flew through the night sky toward their mountain home, with the stars wheeling overhead and the cold wind rushing past, Mugetsu felt something stir in the depths of his muted emotions.
Not happiness. Not belonging. Not hope.
Just... a flicker. A single spark of something he couldn't name.
It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
But it had been there.
And that, perhaps, was enough.
The Son household was exactly as he remembered from the anime.
A small, cozy dwelling nestled in the mountains, surrounded by forests and rivers and an overwhelming sense of peace. The architecture was traditional, practical, designed for comfort rather than show. Smoke rose from the chimney, carrying the scent of home-cooked food.
It was aggressively normal. Almost painfully so.
Mugetsu landed in the front yard, his bare feet sinking slightly into the soft grass. The others touched down around him—Chi-Chi already striding toward the front door, Goku bouncing with excitement, Gohan watching Mugetsu with barely concealed curiosity.
"Welcome to our home!" Goku spread his arms wide, grinning. "It's not much, but it's ours. Chi-Chi's family has owned this land for generations."
"It's... small."
"Yeah, but that's what makes it cozy! Come on, I'll show you around."
Before Mugetsu could protest, Goku had grabbed his arm and was dragging him toward the house. The contact was startling—no one had touched him since his arrival in this world, the weight of his Aura instinctively repelling physical proximity.
But Goku's Ki was strong enough to push through the passive resistance, his grip warm and genuine and utterly without fear.
"This is the living room—Chi-Chi says I'm not allowed to train in here anymore after I broke the wall. That's the kitchen—definitely not allowed to train there. The dining room is through there, and upstairs is the bedrooms. You can have the guest room! It's got a nice view of the mountains."
"I don't require a room."
"But everyone needs a room! Where else would you keep your stuff?"
"I have no possessions."
"Really? Not even clothes?" Goku looked down at Mugetsu's bandage-wrapped form. "I guess you don't wear normal clothes, huh. That's fair. Piccolo doesn't either, and he's fine."
Chi-Chi's voice echoed from the kitchen. "Dinner in ten minutes! Everyone wash up!"
"Coming, dear!" Goku released Mugetsu's arm, bouncing toward the stairs. "Gohan, show Mugetsu where the guest room is. I need to clean up before your mom gets mad again."
"On it, Dad!"
And suddenly Mugetsu was alone with the half-Saiyan child, standing in a modest living room that smelled of wood smoke and home cooking.
Gohan looked up at him with those earnest eyes. "Are you really okay with staying here? You seemed like you didn't want to before."
Mugetsu considered the question. "I didn't. I still don't. But your mother is... persuasive."
Gohan giggled. "Yeah, Mom's pretty scary when she wants to be. Even Dad listens to her."
"Your father is wise."
"I know, right? Everyone thinks he's dumb because he's so cheerful, but he's actually really smart about important stuff. He just doesn't care about things that don't matter to him."
"An efficient approach."
"That's what Piccolo says too!" Gohan started toward the stairs, gesturing for Mugetsu to follow. "Come on, I'll show you the guest room. It's next to my room, so if you need anything during the night, you can just knock."
"I don't sleep."
"You don't—" Gohan stopped mid-step, turning to stare. "Like, ever?"
"No. Sleep is unnecessary for my form."
"But... but don't you get tired?"
"No."
"What do you do at night then?"
"Cultivate. Grow stronger."
Gohan's expression shifted from surprise to something approaching admiration. "That's so cool! You can train all the time without ever needing to rest. No wonder you're so powerful."
"Power is not my goal. It is simply a byproduct of my existence."
"Then what is your goal?"
Mugetsu paused at the question. What was his goal? The entity had given him no purpose, no destiny, no grand mission to fulfill. He was simply here, existing, growing stronger by default.
"I have none," he admitted.
Gohan's face fell. "That sounds... sad."
"Perhaps. I don't experience sadness."
"You don't—" The boy stopped again, his young mind clearly struggling to process this information. "But everyone feels sad sometimes. It's part of being alive."
"I am not alive in the way you understand it. I am... something else."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with implications neither fully understood.
Then Gohan smiled.
"Well, maybe you can find a goal while you're here! Dad always says that the journey is more important than the destination. Maybe just living with us for a while will help you figure out what you want."
Mugetsu stared at the child. The innocence, the optimism, the unshakeable belief that everything would work out—it was quintessentially Gohan. The same spirit that would carry him through the horrors of Cell and Buu and countless other threats.
"Perhaps," he said, the word feeling strange on his tongue.
Gohan's smile widened. "Great! Now come on, Mom's going to be mad if we're late for dinner."
He led the way up the stairs, chattering about his studies and training and the fish he had caught last week. Mugetsu followed in silence, his Aura carefully contained to avoid damaging the wooden floorboards.
The guest room was small but comfortable—a single bed, a desk, a window overlooking the mountains. Moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting silver patterns on the floor.
"This is it!" Gohan announced. "I know it's not much, but Mom keeps it really clean for when Grandpa visits. There's extra blankets in the closet if you get cold—oh wait, you don't get cold. And the bathroom is down the hall if you need—wait, do you need to use the bathroom?"
"No."
"Right, right. Um... is there anything you do need?"
Mugetsu looked around the room. It was the first enclosed space he had occupied since arriving in this world. The first domestic environment, the first semblance of normal life.
He felt nothing.
"Solitude," he said finally. "I require solitude to cultivate effectively."
"I can do that! I'll make sure no one bothers you except for meals. Mom insists on family meals, but other than that, you can have as much alone time as you want."
"Acceptable."
Gohan beamed. "Great! I'll let you get settled in. Dinner's in five minutes, so don't be late!"
The boy bounded out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the stairs. Mugetsu was left alone, standing in the center of a stranger's guest room, wondering how exactly he had ended up here.
I should leave, he thought. This is pointless. Domestic entanglements will not advance my cultivation. I have no reason to stay.
But he didn't move.
Instead, he walked to the window, looking out at the mountains bathed in moonlight. They were beautiful in an objective sense—natural formations that had existed for millions of years, untouched by the chaos of human civilization.
The entity wanted me to be interesting, he mused. Perhaps this qualifies. The all-powerful being from another dimension, forced to attend family dinners with the Son household.
It's certainly unexpected.
He could feel his Aura pulsing, the constant accumulation of power that occurred simply by existing in this form. Even here, in this mundane setting, he was growing stronger. The cultivation never stopped.
I'll stay for now, he decided. If only to observe. These characters—these people—are different when viewed from the inside. More real. More complex.
And I have nothing better to do.
"DINNER!"
Chi-Chi's voice echoed through the house with the force of a Kamehameha wave.
Mugetsu descended the stairs.
The dinner table was an experience.
Goku ate like a machine, inhaling food at a rate that defied physics. Mountains of rice, rivers of soup, entire animals consumed in seconds. His chopsticks blurred with speed that would have impressed even the most seasoned martial artist.
Chi-Chi served with the efficiency of a battlefield commander, replacing empty plates before they even touched the table. Her movements were precise, practiced, the result of years spent feeding a Saiyan appetite.
Gohan ate at a more reasonable pace, though still faster than any normal human child. Between bites, he snuck glances at Mugetsu, clearly fascinated by the dark figure sitting motionless at the table.
Because Mugetsu wasn't eating.
"You're not hungry?" Chi-Chi asked, her tone carefully neutral.
"I don't require sustenance."
"Everyone requires sustenance. Even Piccolo drinks water."
"I am not Piccolo. I am something else entirely."
Chi-Chi's eyes narrowed. "Something else. And what would that 'something else' be, exactly?"
Mugetsu considered how to answer. The truth was impossible to explain—he was a reincarnated human from another dimension, inhabiting the permanent form of a fictional character's ultimate technique, dropped into a world that had once been an anime he watched for entertainment.
"I am Mugetsu," he said simply. "That is all you need to know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
The table fell silent. Chi-Chi and Mugetsu stared at each other, an invisible battle of wills playing out beneath the surface.
Then Goku spoke through a mouthful of food: "Chi-Chi, leave him alone. He's probably just shy."
"He is not shy, Goku. He is being deliberately evasive."
"Same thing!"
"It is absolutely not the same thing!"
"Let's not fight at dinner," Gohan interjected diplomatically. "Mugetsu just got here. Maybe he'll open up once he's more comfortable."
Chi-Chi huffed but relented, returning her attention to serving food. The tension eased, though it didn't disappear entirely.
Mugetsu sat through the rest of the meal in silence, observing the family dynamics with analytical detachment. The love between them was obvious—expressed through nagging and teasing and small acts of consideration. It was messy and imperfect and intensely human.
He had never experienced anything like it.
This is what I was missing, he realized. In my old life, I had no family. No close relationships. Just me and my anime and my empty apartment.
I didn't know what I was missing because I had nothing to compare it to.
The thought passed without emotional weight. The dampener ensured that. But it lingered in his mind, a data point that seemed somehow significant.
Dinner ended. Goku helped with dishes—under Chi-Chi's watchful eye—while Gohan excused himself to work on homework.
"You can go to your room," Chi-Chi said to Mugetsu, not unkindly. "Or wherever you prefer to... cultivate. Just try not to destroy anything."
"I will contain my Aura."
"See that you do."
He nodded once and departed, ascending the stairs to the guest room. Behind him, he could hear Goku and Chi-Chi talking in low voices—about him, probably. Discussing the strange creature they had invited into their home.
It didn't matter.
He closed the door behind him, settled into a meditative position on the floor, and let his Aura expand. The darkness flowed outward, carefully contained within the room's boundaries. His power began to accumulate once more.
Day one, he thought. This is my existence now. Living with a family I watched on television in another life. Growing stronger with each passing moment. Waiting for threats I already know are coming.
At least it's not boring.
The first morning brought unexpected visitors.
Mugetsu had been cultivating for approximately eight hours—the entire night, uninterrupted—when he felt the power signatures approaching. Two of them, distinct and familiar, moving toward the Son household at high speed.
Vegeta and Piccolo.
He opened his eyes as the knock came at the front door, followed immediately by shouting.
"KAKAROT! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN UP!"
Chi-Chi's voice responded, muffled through walls: "Do you have any idea what time it is?! Some of us are trying to have a peaceful morning!"
"I don't care about your morning, woman! I'm here for that creature!"
Mugetsu rose smoothly, his Aura contracting as he descended the stairs. He reached the front door just as Chi-Chi was in the middle of threatening Vegeta with a frying pan.
"—and if you ever call me 'woman' again, I'll show you what a real warrior can do with kitchen implements—"
"Chi-Chi." Mugetsu's flat voice cut through the tirade. "I'll handle this."
The woman turned, frying pan still raised. "He's being rude!"
"He's always rude. It's his nature."
Vegeta bristled. "How dare you—"
"What do you want, Vegeta?"
The Saiyan Prince forced his composure back into place, his dark eyes burning with intensity. "I want a rematch. A real fight, not the farce from yesterday. You caught me off guard before, but now I'm prepared."
"And you?" Mugetsu's gaze shifted to Piccolo, who stood slightly behind Vegeta with crossed arms.
"I want to test your power," the Namekian said bluntly. "You're an unknown variable. I need to understand what you're capable of before the Androids arrive."
"So you both want to fight me."
"Yes," they said in unison.
Mugetsu considered the request. Fighting held no appeal for him—it was inefficient, distracting, a waste of energy that could be better spent cultivating. But there was something to be gained from these encounters.
Data.
He didn't fully understand how his power translated to this world's systems. He knew he was stronger than Frieza and Cold, but by how much? What were his limits? Did he even have limits?
Sparring with warriors of known power levels would help him calibrate. It would give him benchmarks to measure his growth against.
And it would, admittedly, be slightly more interesting than meditating in a guest room for three years.
"Very well," he said.
Vegeta's face lit up with savage anticipation. "Finally! A chance to prove my—"
"One condition."
The Prince's expression soured. "What condition?"
"You fight me one at a time. And you fight at your maximum power from the start. I want accurate data, not drawn-out battles."
"You want us to go all out?" Piccolo's eyes narrowed. "Against you?"
"Yes."
"That could be dangerous. For both of us."
"I'll contain myself. I have no interest in killing either of you."
Vegeta snorted. "How generous."
"It's not generosity. You're useful. The threats facing this world will require all available defenders. Your deaths would be inconvenient."
The blunt pragmatism seemed to catch both warriors off guard. They exchanged glances—Vegeta annoyed, Piccolo thoughtful—before nodding their acceptance.
"Where should we fight?" Piccolo asked. "This area is populated."
"The wastelands," Mugetsu said. "Follow me."
He rose into the sky without waiting for a response, his dark form cutting through the morning air like a blade. Behind him, he sensed Vegeta and Piccolo following, their power levels spiking with anticipation.
Below, Goku emerged from the house in his training gi, his eyes tracking the departing figures with obvious longing.
"Hey! Wait for me! I want to watch!"
Gohan appeared beside him. "Me too!"
And Chi-Chi, standing in the doorway with her frying pan still in hand, watched her family fly off toward another battle with an expression of resigned exasperation.
"Just don't destroy anything important," she muttered to no one in particular.
The wastelands stretched endlessly in every direction—a barren expanse of rock and dust and ancient devastation. This was where the Z-Fighters had always trained, where their battles had carved canyons and toppled mountains without threatening civilian populations.
Mugetsu landed on a flat stone platform, his bare feet barely disturbing the accumulated dust. Vegeta and Piccolo touched down across from him, power levels rising as they prepared for combat.
Goku and Gohan arrived moments later, finding elevated positions from which to observe. The Saiyan was practically vibrating with excitement.
"This is going to be amazing! I've never seen Mugetsu really fight before!"
"You saw him kill Frieza," Gohan pointed out.
"That wasn't a fight, that was an execution. I want to see what he can do against someone who can actually push him!"
Mugetsu ignored the commentary, focusing on his opponents. Vegeta stood with fists clenched, Aura already flickering gold at the edges. Piccolo had removed his weighted cape and turban, his power level jumping significantly.
"Who first?" Mugetsu asked.
"ME!" Vegeta surged forward before anyone could object, his power exploding outward as he rocketed toward Mugetsu with murder in his eyes.
The Saiyan Prince was fast—far faster than he had been yesterday, his energy focused and refined for maximum impact. His fist led the charge, blazing with concentrated Ki that could shatter mountains.
Mugetsu didn't move.
Vegeta's punch stopped an inch from his face, halted by the same invisible pressure that had blocked his attack in the park. The Prince's eyes widened, recognizing the sensation.
"No—not again—"
Mugetsu raised one hand, palm facing outward.
"Push."
The word carried power, will made manifest. The air between them solidified, becoming a wall of force that launched Vegeta backward at supersonic speeds. The Prince tumbled through the air, crashing through three rock formations before finally catching himself.
"DAMN YOU!"
Golden light exploded from Vegeta's body, his hair standing rigid as the Super Saiyan transformation completed. His power level skyrocketed, multiplying fifty-fold in an instant.
Approximately one hundred and fifty million, Mugetsu noted clinically. Comparable to Mecha Frieza. Adequate for baseline measurements.
"I AM THE PRINCE OF ALL SAIYANS!" Vegeta's voice echoed across the wastelands. "I WILL NOT BE DISMISSED!"
He charged again, faster this time, his Super Saiyan form pushing his speed beyond anything he had achieved before. Fists blurred, kicks snapped, energy blasts fired in rapid succession—a relentless assault that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.
Mugetsu stood motionless.
Every attack stopped before reaching him. Every blast was absorbed into his Aura. Every strike was deflected by the sheer weight of his presence.
Vegeta's frustration grew with each failed attack. He pushed harder, faster, stronger—burning through his reserves at an unsustainable rate.
"WHY WON'T YOU FIGHT BACK?!"
"I am fighting back," Mugetsu said calmly. "You simply can't perceive it."
He raised one finger.
Vegeta froze.
The darkness around Mugetsu had expanded, wrapping around the Super Saiyan in chains of shadow that no amount of power could break. The Prince strained against his bonds, golden Aura flaring desperately, but the darkness only tightened.
"Your maximum power is approximately one hundred and fifty million," Mugetsu observed. "Impressive for this era, but insufficient to challenge me. The gap between us is... significant."
"How... significant?" Vegeta gasped through clenched teeth.
"Incalculable. You're comparing a candle to a sun."
The shadow chains released, dumping Vegeta onto the ground. The Prince lay there, gasping, his Super Saiyan form flickering and fading.
"Next," Mugetsu said.
Piccolo stepped forward.
The Namekian's approach was different from Vegeta's—more cautious, more analytical. He circled Mugetsu slowly, probing with tendrils of Ki, searching for weaknesses.
"You're not Ki-based," Piccolo said. "I suspected as much. Your energy signature is completely alien."
"Correct."
"But you can interact with Ki. Absorb it. Reflect it."
"Also correct."
"So physical attacks are useless. Energy attacks make you stronger." Piccolo's eyes narrowed. "What about mental attacks? Psychic assault?"
"Try it and find out."
Piccolo's antennae twitched. His power level dropped slightly as he redirected energy from his muscles to his mind, preparing a telepathic strike that had incapacitated opponents far stronger than himself.
The attack hit Mugetsu's consciousness like a hammer.
And shattered.
Piccolo staggered backward, clutching his head. "What—what was that?!"
"My mind is not like yours," Mugetsu said. "It exists on a different plane. Your psychic abilities cannot reach it."
"So you're immune to physical attacks, energy attacks, and mental attacks." Piccolo's voice was bitter. "Is there anything that can hurt you?"
Mugetsu considered the question honestly. In his previous form—Ichigo's Final Getsuga Tensho—the technique had been temporary, burning away all power in exchange for one moment of transcendence. But he had been given the form permanently, without that limitation.
So what were his weaknesses?
"I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't found any yet."
The honesty seemed to catch Piccolo off guard. "You... don't know your own limitations?"
"I'm still learning what I'm capable of. This form is new to me."
"New? But you used it to kill Frieza—"
"That was the first time I tested my offensive capabilities. Before that, I had only cultivated."
Silence fell over the wasteland. Everyone was staring at Mugetsu now—Vegeta with grudging respect, Piccolo with growing unease, Goku with undimmed enthusiasm.
"So you're saying," Goku called out from his observation point, "that you killed Frieza and Cold as a test? Without knowing what you could do?"
"Essentially, yes."
"That's so cool! You just went for it without even knowing if you'd win!"
"There was no chance of losing. I could feel the gap between our powers. The outcome was never in doubt."
"But you didn't know know. You were operating on instinct!"
Mugetsu paused, considering this interpretation. Was that accurate? Had he been relying on instinct rather than knowledge?
Perhaps. His body—this form—seemed to know things his conscious mind didn't. It moved without thought, attacked without planning, defended without intention. The Final Getsuga Tensho was not just a transformation but a state of being, one that operated on principles beyond normal comprehension.
"Perhaps," he said finally. "I will need to experiment further."
"Can I help?" Goku's voice was eager. "I'm really good at sparring! I can push you, make you discover new techniques—"
"We already discussed this. I have no interest in fighting you."
"But you fought Vegeta! And Piccolo!"
"They attacked me. I defended. That's not the same as accepting a challenge."
"So if I attack you, you'll fight back?"
Mugetsu's crimson eyes fixed on the Saiyan. "Are you planning to attack me, Goku?"
There was a long pause. Then Goku grinned. "Nah. That wouldn't be fair. You're not interested, so I'll respect that."
The simple statement carried unexpected weight. Even among the Z-Fighters—a group defined by their battle-hungry natures—Goku's respect for consent and fair combat stood out.
"Thank you," Mugetsu said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.
"No problem! But the offer's still open if you change your mind."
The days fell into a pattern.
Mugetsu would spend the nights cultivating in the guest room, his Aura expanding and contracting in rhythmic waves. Chi-Chi would call him down for meals he didn't eat, apparently finding some satisfaction in the ritual even if he didn't participate. Gohan would ask questions about his powers, his origins, his goals—questions Mugetsu answered as honestly as he could, which wasn't very.
And the warriors would come.
Vegeta appeared almost daily, demanding rematches that always ended the same way. His power grew incrementally with each encounter—Zenkai boosts from the psychological damage of repeated defeat, perhaps—but the gap never closed. He was a candle trying to match a sun.
Piccolo came less frequently, but his visits were more productive. The Namekian was more interested in analysis than combat, probing Mugetsu's abilities with careful experiments. He discovered that Mugetsu's Aura had a definite range (approximately fifty meters at full extension), that it responded to emotional states (even muted ones), and that the black swords could cut through virtually anything.
Goku watched. Always watched. His eyes tracked Mugetsu's every movement, cataloging techniques and abilities with the intuition of a born martial artist. He never attacked, never pushed, never violated the boundaries Mugetsu had set.
But the hunger in his eyes never faded.
On the fifth day, something changed.
Mugetsu was in the wasteland again, having agreed to another "spar" with Vegeta. The Prince had achieved some minor breakthrough—his Super Saiyan form was more stable now, his power output slightly higher—and was eager to test it.
As usual, it wasn't enough.
Vegeta lay in a crater, gasping for breath, his transformation shattered. Piccolo stood nearby, arms crossed, expression thoughtful.
And Goku floated down from his observation point, landing next to Mugetsu with that ever-present grin.
"That was great! Vegeta's definitely getting stronger. He might actually be able to challenge the Androids at this rate."
"His growth is... adequate," Mugetsu allowed.
"High praise coming from you!" Goku's grin widened. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"You're going to anyway."
"True! Okay, so—those swords you made. The black ones. Can you make other things? Like, armor? Or shields? Or really big swords?"
Mugetsu considered the question. He had experimented with his creation ability over the past few days, manifesting various objects from his darkness. The swords remained the easiest—they held personal significance, resonated with his identity—but he had also created simpler things. Chains. Walls. Platforms.
"Yes," he said. "I can create various constructs."
"Cool! Can you show me?"
"Why?"
"Because it's awesome! And maybe I can learn something from watching. Even if I can't copy your techniques exactly, understanding different approaches to energy manipulation could help my training."
It was a surprisingly cogent argument. Goku's reputation as a simple-minded battle enthusiast obscured the genuine tactical intelligence beneath.
"Very well."
Mugetsu raised both hands.
The darkness responded, flowing from his core like liquid shadow. It pooled in the air before him, spinning and condensing according to his will.
First, the familiar swords. Tensa Zangetsu materialized in his right hand, sleek and deadly. The original Zangetsu formed in his left, massive and primal.
Goku watched with wide eyes.
Then Mugetsu pushed further. The darkness expanded, creating new shapes. A suit of armor formed around his torso—black plates that absorbed light, segmented for movement, bristling with subtle blades at every joint.
He created chains that floated independently, each link capable of extending or contracting at will. He created a shield that could block or absorb energy attacks. He created a platform beneath his feet that responded to thought, allowing him to adjust his position without physical movement.
"This is incredible," Goku breathed. "You can make anything?"
"Anything I can visualize clearly. The constructs are extensions of my will, given form through darkness."
"What happens if they're destroyed?"
Mugetsu considered, then hurled the Tensa Zangetsu at a nearby rock formation. The black blade cut through stone like paper, embedding itself in the mountain behind.
Then it dissolved, flowing back through the air to reintegrate with Mugetsu's Aura.
"They return to me," he explained. "The darkness cannot be destroyed, only dispersed. And dispersed darkness naturally seeks to reunite with its source."
"So you're basically invincible," Vegeta spat from his crater. "Attacks can't hurt you, you can create weapons at will, and anything you lose comes back. What's even the point of fighting you?"
"There is no point. That's what I've been telling you."
The Prince snarled but said nothing more, pushing himself to his feet and flying away without another word.
Piccolo watched him go, then turned to Mugetsu with an unreadable expression. "He'll be back tomorrow."
"I know."
"His pride won't let him accept defeat."
"I know that too."
"It will either make him stronger or destroy him."
Mugetsu dismissed his constructs, the armor and weapons and chains dissolving back into his Aura. "The former, I expect. Saiyans are remarkably resilient."
"You know a lot about us. About all of us. More than you should."
"Yes."
"Will you ever explain how?"
"No."
Piccolo nodded slowly. "I didn't think so. But I had to ask."
He rose into the sky, following Vegeta's trajectory toward Capsule Corporation. The Namekian had his own training to do, his own preparations to make.
Leaving Mugetsu alone with Goku.
The Saiyan hadn't moved, his eyes still fixed on the space where the constructs had been. His expression was thoughtful—deeply, genuinely thoughtful in a way that was rare for him.
"Those swords," Goku said quietly. "They mean something to you. Something important."
Mugetsu didn't respond.
"The way you held them, the way you moved—it wasn't just combat technique. It was... personal. Like you were reconnecting with an old friend."
Still no response.
"I won't ask what they represent. That's your business. But I want you to know—" Goku met Mugetsu's crimson eyes directly "—whatever you're running from, whatever you're hiding from, you don't have to face it alone."
The words hung in the air, simple and sincere and utterly earnest.
Mugetsu felt... something. A flicker, perhaps. A spark of that unknown emotion he had experienced on the flight to the Son household.
It faded almost instantly.
But it had been there.
"Thank you," Mugetsu said. "But I'm not running from anything. I have nothing to run from."
"If you say so." Goku's grin returned, bright and uncomplicated. "But the offer stands. You're part of the family now, Mugetsu. Chi-Chi's already started setting a place for you at dinner even though you don't eat."
"I noticed."
"She likes you. Don't tell her I said that—she'd deny it—but she does. Gohan likes you too. And I definitely like you, even if you won't spar with me."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you like me? I've given you no reason to. I've refused your requests, dismissed your concerns, provided nothing of value to your life. What possible reason could you have for positive feelings toward me?"
Goku tilted his head, considering the question with unusual seriousness.
"I don't know," he admitted finally. "I just do. You feel... right. Like you're supposed to be here, even if you don't think so yourself. Like you're part of the story now."
Part of the story.
The words echoed in Mugetsu's mind long after Goku had flown away, leaving him alone in the wasteland with his thoughts and his power and his endless cultivation.
I am part of the story now, he thought. Not as a reader, not as an observer, but as a character. A participant. A variable that changes everything it touches.
The entity would be pleased.
He sat down on the bare stone, crossing his legs in his familiar meditative pose. His Aura expanded outward, pulsing with dark energy that grew denser and more potent with each passing moment.
The swords appeared in his hands—Tensa Zangetsu and the original Zangetsu, black and beautiful and utterly his.
He didn't know why he had summoned them.
He didn't dismiss them.
Instead, he sat there in the wasteland, holding the weapons of a character who had once been his favorite, in a world that had once been fiction, living a life that made no logical sense.
And for the first time since his arrival—for the first time since his death and resurrection and transformation—Mugetsu allowed himself to simply exist.
Not cultivating. Not analyzing. Not planning or preparing or protecting himself from emotion.
Just existing.
The sun set over the mountains. The stars emerged, one by one. The darkness deepened around him, welcoming and warm.
And somewhere in the void between dimensions, an entity that existed beyond comprehension watched with growing fascination.
The game was becoming interesting indeed.
To be continued...
Author's Note:
Chapter 3 complete! Mugetsu has been effectively kidnapped by the Son family, discovered his ability to create constructs from darkness, and begun an unexpected domestic routine punctuated by regular sparring sessions with Vegeta and Piccolo.
The emotional dampener continues to suppress his feelings, but cracks are beginning to show. Small moments of connection, sparks of unnamed emotion, the gradual integration into a family he never asked for.
Next chapter: The three-year time skip accelerates, and we see how Mugetsu's presence has altered the training and development of the Z-Fighters. When May 12th finally arrives, how different will the Android confrontation be?
And more importantly—how much stronger will Mugetsu have become after three years of uninterrupted Aura farming?
Stay tuned!