The field was quiet in the way only mountains could be—vast, patient, and unaware of how easily they could be erased.
Morning sunlight spilled across the uneven ground, painting the grass in soft gold. A cool breeze passed through the valley, carrying the faint scent of pine and stone. Birds cried somewhere far away, their voices echoing freely, ignorant of the two figures standing at the center of the open land.
Son Gohan stood with his sleeves rolled up, calm and focused, his posture straight but relaxed. He looked older than his years now—not just in height, but in presence. Responsibility had settled on his shoulders gently, like a familiar cloak. Scholar, son, fighter. He balanced all three as best he could.
In front of him, crouched slightly and gathering small stones from the ground, was his younger brother.
Son Goten.
To anyone else, the boy looked harmless—short, cheerful, bright-eyed. His movements were light, almost playful, as if training were just another game. He hummed quietly while selecting stones no larger than his palm, tossing a few up and down experimentally before nodding to himself.
Gohan watched him with a soft smile.
There was something comforting about moments like this. No world-ending threats. No screaming skies. No enemies with impossible power. Just two brothers training beneath an open sky.
Gohan gathered a handful of stones himself and then carefully placed them in a small pile before straightening up.
"Okay," he said, brushing dirt from his hands. "Let's do some reflex training."
Goten looked up immediately, eyes shining with curiosity. "Reflex training?"
"Yeah." Gohan stepped forward and drew a straight line in the dirt with the heel of his shoe. The line was clean, deliberate. "You'll stand there."
He stepped back a few meters and planted his foot, then drew another line. "I'll stand here."
Goten tilted his head, glancing between the distance and the stones in his hands. "And… I throw the stones?"
"Right," Gohan replied easily. "One at a time. No rush. Just throw them straight at me."
Goten blinked. Then blinked again.
"Isn't it a bit… close?" he asked carefully.
Gohan chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I've done this kind of training since I was a kid. I'll be fine."
Goten hesitated.
It was subtle—so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. A half-second pause. A faint tightening of his grip on the stones. His gaze flickered, not toward Gohan, but toward the distant mountains behind him.
Still, he smiled.
"Okay," he said. "If you're sure you won't get hurt."
Gohan nodded confidently. "Go ahead."
Goten drew his arm back.
He was careful. Extremely careful.
He adjusted his stance, controlled his breathing, and calculated—not with numbers, but with instinct. Output lowered. Speed restricted. Strength sealed down as far as he dared.
Two percent.
That was all.
The stone left his hand.
To Goten, it felt slow.
To the world, it was anything but.
The air screamed.
Gohan's eyes widened a fraction of a second before his body moved on instinct. His muscles reacted before his thoughts caught up, years of battle and training forcing him to twist aside with everything he had.
The stone passed his cheek.
Not brushed. Not grazed.
Passed.
A violent gust tore at his clothes as it flew by, the pressure alone enough to sting his skin.
There was no explosion.
No flash.
Just a distant, thunderous roar.
Gohan turned his head.
One of the mountain peaks behind him was gone.
Not cracked. Not split.
Gone.
The upper half of the mountain had simply… vanished, pulverized into dust and debris that now drifted upward in a massive cloud. The shockwave rolled across the valley seconds later, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
Gohan stood frozen, his breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. His heart pounded violently against his ribs as he stared at the empty space where solid stone had existed moments ago.
Then he slowly turned back.
Goten was staring at the destruction too, eyes wide—not with fear, but with awe.
"Wow…" Goten said sincerely. He looked back at Gohan, grinning. "You really dodged it. You're amazing, bro."
Gohan didn't respond.
His mouth was open, but no sound came out.
That stone…
That was just a stone.
And he had barely avoided it.
Gohan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His mind raced, replaying the moment over and over—the speed, the pressure, the sheer force behind something thrown so casually.
That wasn't an attack.
That was restraint.
Goten bent down and picked up a few more stones, rolling them between his fingers thoughtfully.
"Let me throw some more," he said cheerfully.
Gohan's blood ran cold.
"WAIT—!!"
Goten froze instantly, the stones slipping from his fingers and dropping harmlessly to the ground.
He looked up, startled. "What is it, Gohan?"
Gohan didn't answer right away.
He walked—no, almost jogged—farther back, putting much more distance between them. He stopped only when he reached what he judged to be a safer range, then bent down and drew another line with his foot.
"From here," he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. "Throw from here."
Goten studied the new distance, then nodded. "Okay."
Inside, he frowned slightly.
Looks like I used a bit too much strength, he thought. I should lower the output more.
He adjusted again. Lowered everything he could without making it obvious.
This time, when he threw the stones, Gohan was ready.
Still, it wasn't easy.
Each stone cut through the air like a bullet, forcing Gohan to move constantly—ducking, weaving, leaping back. His breath grew heavier with every dodge, his focus sharpening to a razor's edge.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Sweat dripped down Gohan's temples, but something strange happened.
He adapted.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, his movements became cleaner. His timing improved. His reactions sharpened. He stopped barely avoiding the stones and started dodging them with intent.
Goten noticed.
His eyes sparkled with excitement.
He's getting better, Goten realized. Fast.
Eventually, Gohan raised a hand. "That's good. Let's stop here."
Goten immediately relaxed, smiling brightly. "You did great, Gohan."
Gohan laughed softly, rubbing the back of his head. "You too. Your strength is… impressive. I didn't realize you were this strong."
Goten tilted his head. "Really?"
Gohan studied him carefully now—not as a teacher, not as a protector, but as a fighter assessing another fighter.
"Can you turn into a Super Saiyan?" Gohan asked.
Goten shook his head. "Nah. But Trunks can."
Gohan blinked. "Trunks… can?"
"Yeah," Goten said casually. "He does it all the time."
Gohan stared at him. "Me and Dad trained for years to reach that form…"
Goten shrugged innocently.
"Keep training," Gohan said slowly, smiling despite himself. "You'll get there too."
Goten grinned. "You really think so?"
"Yeah," Gohan replied. "But you're already doing great."
Goten hesitated, then added, "I can still fight Trunks evenly even when he turns Super Saiyan."
Gohan froze.
"…What?"
"Yeah," Goten continued, completely unaware of the mental earthquake he'd caused. "We fight for fun. He's never beaten me. Mom usually stops us when things get serious."
Gohan felt his knees weaken slightly.
Base form… fighting a Super Saiyan… evenly?
He looked at Goten again—really looked.
He couldn't sense his ki.
At all.
It was like staring at a void.
A mystery, Gohan thought. A complete mystery.
But Goten just smiled at him, bright and trusting.
And for the first time since training began, Gohan felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
Not pride.
Not fear.
Something in between.
Something like realization.
And something like unease.
The mountains stood silently in the distance, missing one of their peaks, as if bearing quiet witness to a truth only beginning to surface.
The mountains hadn't moved, yet Gohan felt as if the world had shifted beneath his feet.
Goten's words echoed in his head again and again, refusing to settle.
I can still fight Trunks evenly even when he turns Super Saiyan.
Evenly.
Not survive.
Not last a few seconds.
Not lose narrowly.
Evenly.
Gohan stood there longer than he realized, staring at the ground where the dust from the vanished mountain peak still drifted lazily in the distance. His breathing had slowed, but his thoughts hadn't. They collided, overlapped, unraveled.
That shouldn't be possible.
Trunks turning Super Saiyan wasn't a small thing. Gohan had been there—had lived through the terror and desperation it took to reach that form. He remembered the screaming rage, the helpless grief, the way the world had narrowed to a single breaking point.
And Goten?
Goten talked about it like he was describing a game.
Gohan finally looked back at his little brother.
Goten stood a few steps away, hands clasped behind his head, rocking slightly on his heels. His expression was relaxed, open, almost innocent. No tension. No lingering adrenaline. It was as if he hadn't just casually admitted to something that rewrote everything Gohan thought he understood.
"…Goten," Gohan said slowly.
"Hmm?" Goten hummed, looking up at him.
"You said… you fight Trunks evenly when he's a Super Saiyan."
"Yeah," Goten replied without hesitation. "We do it all the time."
Gohan felt his chest tighten.
"All the time," he repeated quietly.
"Uh-huh." Goten smiled. "It's fun."
Fun.
Gohan rubbed his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose. He wasn't panicking—years of training had taught him control—but unease crept through him in a way he hadn't felt since his first days as a child fighter.
There was something he was missing. Something huge.
"How long has this been going on?" Gohan asked.
Goten shrugged. "Dunno. A while? We kinda just… started."
Just started.
Gohan studied him again, this time more carefully. He focused, trying to sense Goten's ki properly.
There was nothing.
Not suppressed.
Not hidden.
Just… absent.
It was like looking at a calm lake with no reflection.
That alone was wrong.
Gohan lowered his hand slowly.
"…Goten," he said, choosing his words with care, "would you spar with me?"
Goten blinked.
"With you?"
"Yes."
There it was again—that half-second pause. The slight shift in Goten's posture.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Consideration.
"I usually only spar with Trunks," Goten said, "and Mom."
Gohan froze.
"…Mom?"
The word hit him harder than the mountain had.
Goten nodded. "Yeah."
Gohan stared at him, genuinely caught off guard now. His brain stalled for a moment, struggling to process the idea.
Mom… teaching?
Chi-Chi had always been strict, loud, intense—but training? Sparring?
"You mean…" Gohan began carefully, "…Mom teaches you how to fight?"
Goten scratched his cheek. "Not like Master Roshi or anything. She just… helps. Corrects me. Sometimes she joins in."
Gohan felt something strange twist in his chest.
He had memories of Mom yelling.
Memories of her worrying.
Memories of her standing in front of him, terrified, demanding he stay out of danger.
But teaching martial arts?
That was a side of her he had never seen.
"…What does she teach you?" Gohan asked quietly.
Goten's expression softened. "Discipline. Balance. When to stop."
That answer unsettled him more than anything else so far.
Chi-Chi, of all people, teaching restraint.
Gohan exhaled slowly.
"I didn't know," he admitted.
Goten smiled gently. "You were busy, Gohan. Studying."
The words weren't accusatory. Just… factual.
That somehow made them worse.
There was a silence between them, filled only by the wind brushing across the grass.
"…I'd still like to spar," Gohan said at last. "If you're okay with it."
Goten studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Okay. But we should be careful."
Gohan smiled faintly. "Agreed."
They moved to a wider clearing, far from the remaining mountain ridges. Gohan stretched lightly, rolling his shoulders, grounding himself the way Piccolo had taught him years ago.
When he looked up again, Goten had already taken a stance.
Gohan paused.
Something about it felt… wrong.
Not wrong as in sloppy. Wrong as in unfamiliar.
Goten's feet weren't aligned like the Turtle School. His weight wasn't evenly distributed. One hand rested loosely near his center, the other extended—but not rigid. His knees were bent just enough to suggest readiness without tension.
It looked relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Gohan didn't comment. He slipped into his own stance, familiar and precise.
"Ready?" he asked.
Goten nodded.
They moved.
Not fast.
At first.
Gohan stepped in with a probing strike, controlled and light. Goten shifted—not back, not away, but around. His movement flowed like water, redirecting rather than resisting.
Gohan blinked.
That wasn't Turtle School footwork.
He pressed again, a bit faster this time, throwing a combination meant to test reactions.
Goten ducked under the first strike, pivoted on one foot, and tapped Gohan's wrist with two fingers—not a hit, but a placement. His body rolled seamlessly into a low sweep that stopped inches from Gohan's ankle.
Gohan jumped back instinctively.
His heart thumped once.
That was clean.
They circled.
Gohan increased the pace, mixing feints with genuine attacks. Each time, Goten responded not with power, but with efficiency—slipping inside blind spots, using momentum, letting Gohan's own force pass harmlessly by.
It reminded him of something.
Not Piccolo.
Not Dad.
Not Master Roshi.
It was… fluid. Almost playful.
Like a dance designed for battle.
Gohan felt excitement spark despite his unease. He pushed harder, forcing his speed up another notch.
Goten responded instantly.
He stepped in close—too close—and used Gohan's forward motion to pivot, his elbow brushing Gohan's sleeve, his palm stopping just short of Gohan's chest.
If it had landed…
Gohan twisted away, landing several steps back, breathing harder now.
"…You're incredible," he said honestly.
Goten smiled. "You're really strong, Gohan."
They clashed again.
This time, Gohan stopped holding back.
Not fully—but enough to test.
Their movements blurred across the clearing. Grass flattened beneath their feet. The air cracked softly with displaced pressure, though Goten remained careful—always careful.
Gohan began to notice patterns.
Goten never overextended.
Never committed fully unless necessary.
Every movement served two purposes—attack and escape.
Minutes passed.
Gohan felt himself being pushed—not physically, but mentally. He had to think to keep up, to adapt to angles and rhythms he had never encountered before.
Finally, he broke away, raising a hand.
"Okay," he said, breathless. "Stop."
Goten halted immediately.
They stood there, wind stirring between them.
Gohan stared at him now, eyes sharp with curiosity and disbelief.
"…What martial art is that?" he asked.
Goten blinked. "Huh?"
"That style," Gohan said. "The way you move. It's not Turtle School. It's not Namekian. It's not anything I recognize."
Goten tilted his head, thinking.
"Oh. That?"
"Yes," Gohan said. "Who taught you?"
Goten smiled sheepishly.
"…No one."
Gohan frowned. "What do you mean, no one?"
"I mean," Goten said, scratching the back of his head, "I kinda made it up."
Silence.
"You… made it up," Gohan repeated.
"Yeah," Goten said cheerfully. "I was bored."
Gohan felt his brain short-circuit.
"You invented a martial art," he said slowly, "that lets you fight evenly with a Super Saiyan… because you were bored."
"When you say it like that, it sounds weird," Goten replied.
Gohan laughed.
Not softly.
Not calmly.
He laughed in disbelief, rubbing his face again as reality finally caught up with him.
"…You're unbelievable," he muttered.
Goten just smiled, warm and unassuming, completely unaware of how heavy those words truly were.
And as the wind swept across the clearing once more, Gohan understood something profound:
This wasn't just about strength.
This was about potential.
And for the first time in his life, Son Gohan didn't know where the ceiling was.
The Son household was quieter than usual.
Not the comfortable, lazy quiet Gohan had grown used to after years of peace—but a strange, unsettled silence, like the air itself was holding onto something it hadn't decided to release yet.
Gohan sat near the edge of the porch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. His eyes weren't focused on anything in particular. The fields stretched endlessly in front of him, golden under the late afternoon sun, the breeze rolling through tall grass like waves across an ocean.
Behind him, the house stood calm.
Too calm.
Normally, after training—even light sparring—Goten would be bouncing around, talking nonstop, replaying moments of the fight in his head out loud. Trunks would usually be the same way, bragging, laughing, exaggerating. Noise followed those boys everywhere.
But today, Goten had gone quiet.
That alone bothered Gohan more than he wanted to admit.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as fragments of the spar replayed in his mind.
Goten's stance.
The way he shifted his weight—not like someone copying moves, not like raw instinct either. It was deliberate. Economical. Every motion flowed into the next without wasted effort. Even when Gohan pressed harder, increased speed, changed angles… Goten adapted.
Not struggled.
Adapted.
And the words echoed again, refusing to fade.
"I fight Trunks evenly when we both go Super Saiyan."
Gohan had smiled at the time. Laughed it off.
Now, sitting alone with his thoughts, that smile felt painfully hollow.
"That shouldn't be possible…" Gohan muttered under his breath.
Even accounting for Saiyan potential. Even accounting for Goten's talent. Trunks had Vegeta training him personally—harsh, relentless, brutally effective training. Goten had… farm chores. Studying. Occasional sparring.
And yet.
Footsteps approached from behind, light and unhurried.
Gohan didn't turn immediately. He already knew who it was.
Goten stopped beside him, hands tucked behind his head, eyes scanning the sky.
"It's really quiet today," Goten said casually.
"…Yeah," Gohan replied.
Another pause.
Too long.
Gohan finally glanced sideways. Goten's expression was relaxed, but his eyes—sharp, observant—were watching the horizon like he was waiting for something to happen.
That unsettled him even more.
"Goten," Gohan said carefully, "earlier… when you said you and Trunks fight evenly—"
"—I wasn't bragging," Goten interrupted, still looking forward.
"I know," Gohan replied. That was the problem.
Silence returned, thicker now.
Gohan shifted, straightening slightly. "How long has that been happening?"
Goten tilted his head. "Hmm… not sure. Since we started taking sparring seriously, I guess."
"Seriously?" Gohan echoed.
"Yeah. When we stopped just throwing punches and actually tried not to get hit."
Gohan blinked.
"That's… not how kids usually think about fighting," he said slowly.
Goten finally looked at him then, genuinely puzzled. "Isn't that the point?"
Gohan didn't answer right away.
Instead, another memory surfaced—one that had caught him completely off guard during the spar.
Chi-Chi.
Mom.
"Goten," Gohan said, voice lower now, "you said something else earlier. About Mom."
Goten brightened slightly. "Oh! Yeah."
"…You said you spar with her."
"Sometimes."
Gohan turned fully toward him. "Mom doesn't train. At least… not like that."
Goten shrugged. "She says she doesn't. But she corrects my footing all the time."
"…Corrects?"
"Yeah. She tells me when my balance is off. Or when I'm leaving myself open. Sometimes she taps me with a spoon or a stick if I get sloppy."
Gohan stared.
A spoon.
"…Does she know you're sparring?" he asked carefully.
Goten laughed. "She says it's not sparring if no one's throwing ki."
Gohan rubbed his forehead. "What exactly does she teach you?"
Goten thought for a moment. "She says fighting's like studying. If you don't understand the basics, power just makes your mistakes louder."
Gohan's chest tightened.
That wasn't something Mom usually said.
"…When did this start?"
Goten shrugged again. "After Dad died."
The words landed heavier than either of them expected.
The wind rustled through the grass, filling the silence left behind.
Gohan swallowed. "And… Trunks?"
"He's different," Goten said simply. "He hits harder. Faster. But he leaves openings. Big ones."
"You noticed that."
"Of course."
Gohan looked away, jaw tightening.
At seven, Goten was casually analyzing a Saiyan raised by Vegeta.
That wasn't normal.
They moved to the backyard training space later that evening. Not to spar—Gohan made sure of that—but to stretch, to cool down, to pretend this was just another ordinary day.
But nothing felt ordinary anymore.
Gohan watched closely as Goten went through warm-up movements.
That opening stance again.
Feet angled slightly outward. Center of gravity low. Hands relaxed, not clenched.
Not Turtle School.
Not Crane.
Not anything Gohan recognized.
He stayed silent through the first few minutes.
Then ten.
Finally, he couldn't help himself.
"Goten," he said, "that form you keep starting with—what is it?"
Goten blinked. "Form?"
"The way you stand before moving."
"Oh. That."
"…Yes. That."
Goten scratched his cheek, suddenly a little sheepish. "I dunno. I just do it."
Gohan folded his arms. "Someone had to teach you that."
"Nope."
"That stance minimizes blind spots, keeps your vitals protected, and lets you pivot instantly," Gohan said. "That's not instinct."
Goten tilted his head. "I just got bored."
"…Bored."
"Yeah," Goten said brightly. "When Trunks and I kept fighting the same way, it stopped being fun. So I started trying different things. Seeing what worked."
Gohan felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"What about the counters?" he pressed. "The redirections?"
"Oh, those? I just don't like blocking. It wastes energy."
Gohan's fingers curled slightly.
Every answer made it worse.
"…Goten," he said quietly, "do you realize what you're doing?"
Goten finally looked uncertain. "I thought it was normal."
Gohan exhaled slowly, staring at the ground.
Dad would've noticed instantly.
The thought stung more than he expected.
Gohan straightened, forcing a calm smile. "It's impressive. Really. Just… be careful who you show this to, okay?"
Goten studied him for a moment, eyes sharper than before. "You're worried."
Gohan hesitated.
"…Yeah," he admitted. "A little."
Goten smiled softly. "It's okay, big brother. I won't do anything stupid."
That reassurance should've helped.
Instead, it made Gohan uneasy.
Because Goten didn't sound like a kid promising to behave.
He sounded like someone who already knew exactly how dangerous he could be.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Gohan stood alone again, watching Goten head inside the house.
The world was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
And for the first time since Cell's defeat, Gohan felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
But the quiet certainty that something was growing right in front of him—
Something that didn't need guidance to become powerful.
Something that might outgrow everyone before anyone realized it had already happened.
A low, distant hum cut through the open air.
Gohan's head snapped up instantly.
The sound wasn't natural—not wind, not wildlife. It was mechanical, growing louder by the second as it echoed faintly through the mountains.
"…Don't tell me," Gohan muttered under his breath.
He turned toward the direction of the sound, already recognizing it. The faint whine of an engine climbing uneven terrain.
"Looks like she's here," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I really do have to teach her how to fly today."
Goten blinked, curious. "What are you talking about, Gohan?"
"My classmate," Gohan replied. "She wanted me to train her. Just… try not to show your strength in front of her, okay?"
Goten nodded immediately. "Okay."
They didn't wait long.
The sound of the vehicle grew closer, until finally a small car appeared along the dirt road leading toward the house. Dust kicked up behind it as it slowed to a stop.
By the time Gohan and Goten reached the yard, the situation had already escalated.
Chi-Chi stood directly in front of a dark-haired girl in casual clothes, arms crossed, eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
"So," Chi-Chi said sternly, leaning forward slightly, "are you here to date my son?"
Videl stiffened. "Of course not! I already told you—I'm not—"
She stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Gohan stepping into view.
Her eyes lit up. "There you are!"
Gohan winced internally. "Uh… hi, Videl."
He glanced at his mother, already knowing this wasn't going to be simple.
Videl turned fully toward him. "How did you find me?" Gohan asked, trying to sound casual.
"I got your address from the school database," Videl replied bluntly. "You promised you'd teach me how to fly. Are you backing out now?"
Chi-Chi's eyes narrowed instantly.
"Fly?" she repeated. "Gohan, what is she talking about?"
Gohan raised both hands quickly. "Mom, she's going to join the World Martial Arts Tournament. I promised I'd help her train. That's all."
Chi-Chi looked between the two of them slowly, suspicion written clearly on her face.
"…Training," she said. "And this doesn't involve anything inappropriate?"
Videl scowled. "I told you already, I'm not interested in dating your son."
"Good," Chi-Chi replied sharply. "And don't try to seduce him as some kind of reward either."
"That's not—!" Videl clenched her fists, clearly irritated. "You don't have to worry about that!"
Gohan sighed deeply. "All I want is to do some training."
He turned toward the open fields. "Come on. Let's go somewhere open."
Videl hesitated only a second before nodding. Goten followed silently, hands behind his head, eyes observant.
They reached a wide, empty clearing not far from the house.
Gohan stopped and turned around. "Alright. I'll teach you how to fly."
Videl blinked. "Just like that?"
Gohan nodded. "I brought Goten along so he can demonstrate. Is that okay with you, little bro?"
"No problem," Goten replied easily.
Gohan smiled faintly. "Thanks."
He faced Videl again. "Flying is actually pretty simple. It's all about ki control."
"Ki… control?" Videl repeated slowly.
"You might know it by different names," Gohan explained. "Energy. Power. Life force."
Videl frowned. "I don't have anything like that."
Before Gohan could answer, Goten stepped forward.
"He means like this."
Goten raised one hand, focusing just enough.
A small ki sphere formed above his palm—no bigger than a marble.
Videl barely had time to register it before Goten flicked his wrist.
The ki shot forward, striking a cluster of trees in the distance.
The explosion was brief—but devastating.
Trees were obliterated. The ground cracked. Dust and debris scattered outward.
Videl's jaw dropped.
"That's—!" She stumbled back. "That's not possible. That's a trick. Magic!"
"It's not a trick," Gohan said calmly.
"We don't have anything like this!" Videl snapped.
"That might be the problem," Gohan replied.
Videl swallowed. "…Can you teach me to fly without using this… ki?"
Gohan hesitated, then smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. Everyone has ki. You just need to learn how to use it."
"…Really?" Videl asked quietly.
Goten sighed. "It's gonna take a long time."
The wind passed through the clearing again, carrying dust and silence alike.
And somewhere far away, two different fathers felt something shift—though neither yet understood why.
Dinner at the Son household was already loud before Videl even finished her second bite.
Chi-Chi's voice filled the room as she moved back and forth, correcting Goten's posture, scolding Gohan for eating too slowly, and complaining about rising food prices all at once.
"Rice isn't cheap, you know," Chi-Chi muttered. "And don't think growing Saiyan appetites make it magically free."
"Yes, Mom," Gohan replied automatically.
Videl watched in silence, chewing carefully. The food was simple—but warm, filling, and made with effort. Something she wasn't used to.
"This is really good," Videl said honestly.
Chi-Chi paused, then huffed. "Of course it is. Homemade food is always better than wasting money on nonsense."
That word again—money.
Videl tilted her head. "At our place, we usually don't cook. Our cook handles everything."
The room went quiet.
Chi-Chi slowly turned around.
"…Cook?"
Videl nodded, oblivious. "Yeah. My dad hired him years ago. It's just easier with his work schedule."
There it was.
Chi-Chi's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but calculation. Her expression shifted in real time, like gears clicking into place.
"A… personal cook?" she asked, tone suddenly lighter.
"Yes."
Chi-Chi straightened her apron.
"Oh my! Well—of course," she said quickly. "Important people are very busy, after all."
Gohan nearly choked on his rice.
Goten blinked. "…Mom?"
Chi-Chi ignored him entirely, already sitting beside Videl.
"That must mean your father is very successful," she continued pleasantly. "Hardworking men are so respectable."
Videl smiled politely. "I guess."
Chi-Chi nodded vigorously. "Good upbringing is important. Discipline. Responsibility. Stability."
Gohan felt danger creeping up his spine.
"Mom—"
Chi-Chi placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Eat properly, Gohan. No need to rush."
Her tone was syrupy sweet now.
Videl glanced between them. "Uh… did I say something wrong earlier?"
"No, no!" Chi-Chi waved it off instantly. "You're very honest. I like that in a young lady."
Young lady.
That was new.
Chi-Chi leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, Gohan here has always been very serious about his studies."
"Mom," Gohan hissed.
"He's very responsible," she continued. "Not like his father. He thinks about the future."
Videl looked at Gohan. "He does seem pretty disciplined."
Chi-Chi beamed.
"And strong too," she added casually. "But not reckless. Very dependable."
Gohan's soul tried to leave his body.
"Mom, please—"
"Oh hush," Chi-Chi said quietly, still smiling. "I'm just making conversation."
She turned back to Videl. "You're planning to enter the World Martial Arts Tournament, right?"
"Yes."
Chi-Chi's eyes sparkled. "Prize money is quite good this year."
Goten giggled. Gohan buried his face in his hands.
"Well," Chi-Chi continued, "it's wonderful you came all this way to train with my son."
Videl stiffened slightly. "I just want to learn how to fly."
"Of course, of course," Chi-Chi nodded. "Still—spending time together builds trust."
She looked pointedly at Gohan.
"Doesn't it?"
"Yes, Mom," Gohan sighed.
Dinner ended with Chi-Chi unusually cheerful, packing leftovers carefully and insisting Videl take some home.
"You need proper nutrition for training," she said warmly. "And don't worry—come by anytime."
Videl blinked. "Really?"
"Of course!" Chi-Chi replied instantly. "You're practically family already."
Gohan froze.
Outside, under the dimming sky, Gohan finally spoke.
"…She likes you."
Videl frowned. "She does?"
Goten nodded seriously. "That means you're rich."
Videl stared.
Inside the house, Chi-Chi happily calculated expenses.
Smart girl. Strong. Rich family.
This might actually work.
At Capsule Corp
The gravity chamber at Capsule Corp roared like a caged beast.
Invisible pressure crushed downward with relentless force, bending steel plates and making the reinforced floor groan in protest. Warning lights blinked steadily along the walls, signaling the chamber was operating far beyond what any normal body—human or otherwise—could endure.
Inside that oppressive space, Vegeta stood with his arms crossed, boots planted firmly against the floor as if gravity itself were something he dared to challenge.
One hundred times Earth's gravity.
To him, it was familiar. Heavy, yes—but manageable.
To the small figure struggling several meters away, it was something else entirely.
Trunks staggered forward, knees shaking, breath coming out in short, strained bursts. Sweat poured down his face, soaking his lavender hair and dripping onto the metal floor in uneven splashes. Every step looked like it took everything he had.
Vegeta watched silently.
At first, he said nothing. He had trained under far worse. Pain, pressure, exhaustion—those were tools, not obstacles. Saiyans grew through suffering. That was law.
Still…
Vegeta narrowed his eyes slightly.
Trunks stumbled, caught himself on one knee, then forced himself back up. His small fists clenched tightly, nails biting into his palms as he straightened his spine through sheer willpower.
"…Tch."
Vegeta clicked his tongue.
Maybe it's too much for him.
The thought irritated him the instant it formed.
Vegeta stepped forward, boots clanging sharply against the chamber floor.
"Don't overwork yourself, Trunks," he said gruffly. "One hundred times gravity is too much for you right now."
Trunks sucked in a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs like it was molten metal. He wiped sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and looked up at his father, stubborn fire still burning behind the exhaustion.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "I just… need to get used to it."
Vegeta snorted. "You're shaking."
"That doesn't matter," Trunks replied quickly. "I have to train."
Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "And since when did you decide that?"
Trunks straightened a little more, as if the question itself had given him strength.
"Goten told me," he said. "He said he's also participating in the World Martial Arts Tournament."
Vegeta froze.
Just for a fraction of a second—but it was enough.
"…What?"
Trunks nodded eagerly, missing the subtle shift in his father's posture. "Yeah. He called me yesterday. Said it'd be fun."
Vegeta's lips curled into a slow grin.
"So," he said, voice low, amused, "that brat finally decided to step onto the stage."
Trunks frowned slightly. "It's not a game, Dad. I want to be ready."
Vegeta's grin widened, sharp and proud.
"Hmph. Looks like father like son."
Trunks hesitated, then glanced down at his trembling legs. "But it's… really hard. I can barely move."
Vegeta scoffed. "Do you think power is given freely? Strength is forged. You don't complain—you adapt."
Trunks clenched his fists again. "I know. I know."
He took a breath.
"…I'll just turn Super Saiyan."
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Vegeta's eyes widened.
"…What did you just say?"
Before Vegeta could even finish the sentence, Trunks shut his eyes and focused.
The air inside the gravity chamber shifted.
A low hum vibrated through the walls. Energy rippled outward from Trunks' body, subtle at first—then explosive.
Golden light erupted around him.
Trunks' hair flared upward, shifting from lavender to brilliant gold as his eyes snapped open, now a sharp emerald green. Lightning-like sparks danced briefly across his aura before stabilizing.
The pressure of the gravity chamber seemed to… lessen.
No.
Trunks straightened fully.
Vegeta stared.
The boy rolled his shoulders, then took a step forward.
Easy.
Another step.
Effortless.
Then he laughed.
"This is way better!" Trunks said, suddenly grinning. He broke into a jog, then a full sprint, boots slamming loudly against the floor as he ran circles around the chamber. He leapt high, flipping effortlessly through the air before landing smoothly on his feet.
"One hundred times gravity is nothing like this!"
Vegeta couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Impossible.
Super Saiyan wasn't supposed to be casual.
It wasn't a switch you flipped when things got inconvenient.
It was born from rage. From loss. From despair so deep it cracked the soul.
Vegeta had bled for it.
Goku had shattered himself for it.
And this child—
"This is incredible…" Vegeta muttered, fists slowly tightening at his sides. "He turned into a Super Saiyan just like that?"
Trunks zipped past him, laughing as he jumped again. "This is so easy now!"
"TRUNKS!" Vegeta barked.
The boy skidded to a stop and turned, standing proudly in front of him, golden aura flickering calmly.
"Yes?"
Vegeta stepped closer, towering over him.
"…Come here."
Trunks walked over obediently.
Vegeta stared down at him, eyes burning—not with anger, but with something far more dangerous.
Calculation.
"Can Gohan's little brother do this too?" Vegeta asked slowly.
Trunks blinked. "Huh?"
"Can Son Goten turn into a Super Saiyan?"
Vegeta already knew the answer.
He wanted to hear it anyway.
Trunks shook his head. "Nah. He can't."
Vegeta smirked.
"Hmph. Figures."
He crossed his arms again, pride swelling briefly in his chest.
"Then that means you're stronger than him."
Trunks' smile faded.
"…No," he said quietly.
Vegeta stiffened. "What?"
"I've never beaten him," Trunks admitted. "Not once."
Vegeta's eyes snapped back to him.
"Even when I turn Super Saiyan."
The chamber felt colder.
Heavier.
Vegeta stared at his son, mind racing.
A base-form child… matching a Super Saiyan?
That wasn't growth.
That wasn't talent.
That was something else entirely.
Something that shouldn't exist.
Vegeta slowly clenched his fists.
"…I see."
Saiyan prince realized the future was no longer something he could control.
And worse—
It was already surpassing him.
The gravity chamber fell silent.
Not because the machines had stopped—no, the deep mechanical hum of one hundred times gravity still filled the air—but because Vegeta had stopped speaking.
Stopped reacting.
Stopped breathing for a moment.
Trunks stood in front of him, golden aura flickering calmly around his small body, eyes bright with excitement rather than fear. To him, this was just another training day. Another step forward.
To Vegeta—
It was an impossibility standing upright.
"You've… never beaten him," Vegeta repeated slowly.
Trunks shook his head. "Nope."
The word echoed far louder than it should have.
Vegeta turned away, boots scraping against the metal floor as he walked several steps back. His fists trembled—not from the gravity, but from something far more dangerous.
Son Goten.
A child younger than Trunks.
A half-blood Saiyan raised in peace.
Fighting evenly with a Super Saiyan.
Vegeta growled low in his throat.
"That shouldn't be possible," he muttered.
Trunks tilted his head. "Why not?"
Vegeta stopped.
Why not?
He remembered his own childhood—constant battle, blood, fear, survival. Power had been everything. Weakness meant death. Growth meant pain.
And yet…
These children grew stronger without suffering.
Without loss.
Without rage.
It made his teeth grind.
Vegeta turned back sharply. "You said he's holding back."
Trunks nodded. "Yeah. I can tell. Every time we fight, it feels like he's… stopping himself."
Vegeta's eyes narrowed.
"Hmph."
He stepped forward again, standing directly in front of Trunks. The golden aura reflected faintly off his armor.
"Then let me see what you can do," Vegeta said.
Trunks blinked. "Huh?"
"Attack me."
Trunks' eyes widened. "What?! No way! You're way stronger than me!"
Vegeta smirked. "Excuses already?"
"That's not what I meant!" Trunks protested. "There's no point. I can't win."
Vegeta leaned down slightly, eyes burning with challenge.
"If you manage to land even one hit on my face," he said, voice sharp and deliberate, "I'll take you to the amusement park."
Trunks froze.
"…Really?"
Vegeta straightened. "Really."
A grin exploded across Trunks' face. "HELL YEAH!"
Before Vegeta could say another word, Trunks launched himself forward.
Fast.
Much faster than Vegeta expected.
The boy's small fists blurred as he attacked relentlessly—straight punches, hooks, rapid kicks—his Super Saiyan speed amplified by gravity training. The chamber rang with sharp impacts as Vegeta blocked each strike, arms moving with practiced ease.
But—
Vegeta's brow furrowed.
His speed…
Trunks darted left, then right, moving unpredictably. His movements weren't refined like Vegeta's, but they were aggressive, instinctive—raw Saiyan energy pushed to the limit.
Vegeta blocked another punch.
Then another.
Then—
Too close.
A fist slipped past his guard.
BAM.
Trunks' knuckles connected cleanly with Vegeta's face.
The impact echoed through the chamber.
Silence followed.
Trunks froze mid-motion, eyes wide.
"…I—I hit you."
Vegeta slowly turned his head back into place.
His expression was unreadable.
Without warning—
BAM.
Vegeta struck back.
Not full force.
Not even close.
But enough.
Trunks was sent flying backward, crashing hard against the chamber wall before dropping to the floor with a sharp thud. His Super Saiyan aura flickered violently, then vanished as he groaned.
"That's enough," Vegeta said coldly.
Trunks sat up, rubbing his cheek, eyes watering. "That wasn't fair! You hit me back!"
Vegeta snorted. "This is combat. There is no 'fair.'"
Trunks pouted for half a second—
Then remembered.
"…You promised."
Vegeta turned away with a huff. "Tch. I said I'd take you. I will."
Trunks instantly brightened. "Yes!"
Vegeta walked toward the control panel, lowering the gravity settings with a sharp tap. The pressure eased instantly.
As Trunks stood up fully, Vegeta spoke again.
"Tell me something."
Trunks looked up. "Yeah?"
Vegeta glanced over his shoulder. "Who do you think is stronger?"
Trunks didn't hesitate.
"Goten."
Vegeta's jaw tightened.
"Why."
Trunks scratched his head. "I don't know. It's just… when we fight, it feels like he's always in control. Like he could end it whenever he wants—but doesn't."
Vegeta turned fully now, staring at his son.
"And that's why you're training harder."
Trunks nodded. "I want to beat him. Fair and square."
For a long moment, Vegeta said nothing.
Then—
"Good."
Trunks blinked. "Huh?"
Vegeta stepped forward, looming over him, pride blazing fiercely in his eyes.
"From today onward," Vegeta declared, "I will personally train you."
Trunks' eyes widened. "Really?!"
"There will be no shortcuts," Vegeta continued. "No mercy. No excuses."
A grin spread slowly across his face.
"In the tournament," Vegeta said, voice low and dangerous, "you will defeat Son Goten."
Trunks clenched his fists, excitement exploding in his chest. "Yes! I'll win for sure!"
Vegeta turned back toward the chamber, fists tightening again.
Son Goten…
A child who shouldn't exist.
A power that didn't make sense.
Vegeta smiled grimly.
"Good," he said. "Then let's begin."
The gravity chamber roared louder than before.
And somewhere far away, two children unknowingly pulled the world toward a future even the Prince of Saiyans couldn't predict.