A year later, he finally finds Vitelli again… and a new path quietly begins.
A week had passed since Vitelli returned from the Lookout.
In that short span, the atmosphere at the Brief estate shifted in subtle ways—almost without anyone noticing.
Vitelli, as if trying to repay his three-day disappearance with interest, kept his mornings sacred for the gravity chamber… but for the rest of the day, he was practically glued to Bulma's side.
They did what any normal couple in love would do.
Hand in hand, they went to the movies to watch the latest sci-fi blockbuster. They exchanged carefully chosen little gifts. They drove up to scenic mountaintops, leaning together to watch the sunrise and the sunset like the world had no urgency at all.
At night, Bulma would pull him onto the terrace she'd personally decorated, and the two of them would enjoy candlelight dinners under the open sky.
It was sweet. It was warm. It was romantic.
But after a full week of doing nothing but dating—
And worse, after every date Bulma would drag him into "staying busy" for half the night—
"Whew…"
Early one morning, Vitelli woke up before dawn. He carefully propped himself up from the warm, comfortable bed, terrified of disturbing Bulma beside him.
Her blue hair spread softly across the pillow. Her sleeping face was calm and peaceful.
Vitelli slipped out of bed like a thief.
He dressed in his battle suit with near-silent movements, then tiptoed toward the door and eased it open as quietly as he could.
Only after the door clicked shut behind him—sealing that tranquil bedroom away—did he finally release a long breath, as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders.
Then—
He bolted.
Like a wild horse finally released from its reins, he sprinted straight for the gravity chamber in the backyard, moving so fast he left a blur in the morning mist.
Clack.
The thick alloy door shut behind him.
Clack.
He locked it from the inside.
"Training," Vitelli breathed, pressing his back to the cold metal as he drank in the familiar pressure of this place. A look of pure relief spread across his face—half salvation, half survivor's joy.
"Training… I need to train."
He didn't know how Bulma did it. A week of dates had drained him more than any brutal routine ever had.
Spending a day shopping, sightseeing, and pretending to enjoy "romantic strolls" felt more exhausting than doing ten thousand squats under five hundred times Earth's gravity.
Inside the chamber, Vitelli rolled his shoulders, loosened his neck, and his eyes sharpened again. He inhaled slowly—then let his will snap into place.
"Hah!"
Gold light flashed.
A dense, violent Super Saiyan aura surged around him, hair rising and turning brilliant gold in an instant. His eyes settled into that cold, vivid green.
His plan was simple: train under gravity in Super Saiyan form.
If he could do it, he'd harden his power and, more importantly, accelerate his adaptation—maybe even step toward that "full power" state where the aura became quiet, consumption dropped, and the form could be sustained naturally.
But reality was cruel.
Five hundred times Earth's gravity slammed down—
And on Super Saiyan Vitelli…
It felt like wearing a jacket.
Not a burden.
Not pressure.
Barely even a warm-up.
"...Tch."
Vitelli clicked his tongue. The gold aura ebbed instantly, hair returning to black.
"Yeah. No. That's useless."
He dropped back to normal, standing in the crushing field again.
Immediately, the familiar heaviness returned—muscles tightening, blood surging faster, body straining at the edge of comfort. The sensation of growth—tiny but real—rose back up like oxygen after suffocation.
Vitelli let out a satisfied hum.
This was what he needed.
—
In the bedroom—
Bulma, who had supposedly been asleep, quietly opened her eyes.
She listened to the near-silent footsteps outside the door, faintly hurried, faintly guilty. She kept listening until she heard the distant, unmistakable sound of the gravity chamber door shutting… and then the lock.
Bulma buried her face into the pillow and laughed.
"Pfft…"
After a while, she raised her head and rolled her eyes at the ceiling, lips curling in a playful pout.
"Hmph. Stupid man. Training addict. Wooden blockhead."
Then she snuggled deeper into the blanket—still warm with Vitelli's lingering heat—smiling faintly as she drifted back to sleep.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains and touched the corner of her mouth.
Life was back in its familiar rhythm:
Training. Eating. Bulma.
But in Vitelli's neat three-point routine, one extra activity had been added.
Regular trips to the Lookout.
To repay Mr. Popo for the crucial advice that had saved him from his own instability, Vitelli had gone out of his way—uncharacteristically so.
He had located the finest specialty craftsman in West City—one obsessed with meticulous detail—and commissioned a Shenron model made from special alloys and rare materials. Every scale was lifelike. Every curve and horn and claw was perfect.
When Vitelli handed it to Mr. Popo on the Lookout plaza, the servant's dark eyes seemed to brighten… just slightly.
Popo still didn't speak. His face didn't change.
But the way he accepted it carefully—fingers lightly tracing the carved scales—and the fact that he barely put it down afterward… said enough.
Nearby, Kami watched in silence.
He watched Popo holding the gift.
Then watched Vitelli standing there empty-handed—clearly not planning to offer Kami anything.
Kami's wrinkled green face tightened.
Finally, he gave a sharp, offended—
"Hmph!"
Then turned away, hands behind his back, and marched into the Lookout with the unmistakable stride of someone sulking.
Vitelli blinked, thrown off by the sudden cold shoulder.
"Uh… what's with him?" he asked, confused.
Mr. Popo hugged the Shenron model like treasure and only shook his head, saying nothing.
Vitelli didn't pry. He had another reason for coming.
"Mr. Popo," he said, sincere, "I want to keep training with you. I feel like my precision control still has a lot of room to improve."
Mr. Popo looked at him for a long moment. Then he answered in that flat, emotionless voice.
"What I can teach, I already taught. A clear heart. Smooth power. A stable foundation. The rest… you must walk yourself. I have nothing new to give you now."
Then, holding his beloved model, Mr. Popo turned and left the plaza as well.
Vitelli stood alone on the open Lookout, cold wind cutting across the endless sky.
After a while, he sighed.
"Guess it really does come down to me…"
—
Time moved on.
A full year passed—quiet, steady, filled with training and life.
One afternoon, the sun was bright.
Bulma lay comfortably beneath a large patio umbrella in the courtyard, wearing a light summer outfit, flipping through the latest science magazine.
Then a cheerful voice called from above.
"Hello! Is Vitelli and Bulma here?"
Bulma looked up.
A golden cloud hovered over the estate.
On it sat Son Goku.
He was a little taller now. Some of the babyish roundness had faded from his face. But his eyes were still clear, bright, and innocent—and his grin was still unmistakably Goku.
"Goku?!" Bulma sat up, delighted, and waved.
"What are you doing here? Get down here!"
Goku guided the Flying Nimbus to the lawn and hopped off, looking around at the refined estate with open curiosity.
"Bulma! I finally found you!" he said happily, then craned his neck, searching.
"Does Vitelli not live here? I can't sense his ki at all."
Bulma heard he was looking for Vitelli and immediately relaxed again.
She leaned back onto her chair, lazy and casual, and pointed toward the huge metal building in the backyard.
"You're looking for Vitelli? He's in there training. He switched to a pretty flashy hairstyle—his hair's gold now. Just press the doorbell."
"Gold hair?" Goku scratched his head, even more curious, and walked over to the gravity chamber.
He pressed the bell.
Ding-dong.
The clear sound rang across the quiet courtyard.
"Vitelli! Are you in there?"
—
Inside the gravity chamber—
Vitelli hovered cross-legged in midair, maintaining Super Saiyan at full power.
But the aura around him wasn't wild.
It burned like a tame flame—steady, controlled—so perfectly restrained it almost blended into the air itself.
His eyes were closed. His mind was deep in the flow of his body, the minute circulation of power, the seamless coordination between ki and muscle.
Then the doorbell reached him through the thick alloy wall.
And the familiar voice.
"Kakarot?"
Vitelli opened his green eyes slowly, a hint of surprise flickering.
"What is that kid doing here?"
He floated down, aura shrinking into nothing. In one smooth motion, he walked to the door.
Hiss.
The heavy door slid open.
"Goku?" Vitelli said, looking down at the boy who had grown just a little taller, his ki more refined. "What are you doing here?"
The instant Goku saw him, his eyes lit up like spotlights.
He felt it—something deep, unfathomable, like standing at the edge of a vast abyss.
Just being this close made Goku's body tremble on instinct.
Not fear.
Something else.
The pure physical reaction of a weaker creature standing before a predator.
"Wow! You're insanely strong, Vitelli!" Goku blurted, thrilled rather than intimidated. "I'm actually shaking just standing here! That's incredible! How did you get like this?"
Vitelli narrowed his eyes, unimpressed, and reached out—
Pinched Goku's cheek.
Hard.
"Ow—!" Goku winced, face scrunching. "Hey!"
"Say what you came to say," Vitelli grumbled, giving the cheek one more deliberate squeeze. "Since when did you learn to flatter people?"
"Flatter?" Goku repeated, blinking through the pain. "What's that? Is it like horse meat? Can you eat it?"
Vitelli stared at him.
Then released the cheek, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed like a man confronting the limits of civilization.
"…Right. Of course."
He looked back at Goku. "Fine. What's the point? You didn't come all this way just to compliment me."
Goku rubbed his reddened cheek and grinned, voice flaring with determination.
"I came to ask you to enter the Tenkaichi Budokai!" he said. "Last time I didn't get to fight you! That was the worst! This time I'm going to beat you!"
He clenched his fists, eyes burning with clean, fierce ambition.
Vitelli's mouth curved into an amused smile as he looked him up and down.
"Oh?"
Then he tapped Goku's forehead lightly with one finger.
"With your current level?" Vitelli said, voice sharp with teasing honesty. "You're nowhere near it, kid."
He lifted his hand again as if to go for the cheek—
"Hey! Don't pinch my face again!" Goku yelped and hopped backward fast.
Vitelli chuckled. Then his expression turned more serious.
"I'm not entering this time."
Goku's excitement collapsed instantly. "What?! Why not?"
Vitelli shrugged, shameless. "Because you're all too weak. It'd feel like bullying children."
Goku's eyes dimmed.
Then Vitelli's gaze shifted—something playful glinting there, like a man about to start trouble.
"But…" he added, voice light. "Since you're this eager, I can help you get stronger. Want to try?"
Goku's eyes exploded back to life.
"Huh?! You can? How?!"
Vitelli turned and walked back into the gravity chamber, tossing the words over his shoulder without looking back.
"You want to know? Keep up."
—
That evening, Bulma watched Vitelli return to the courtyard, hair still damp from a shower, looking refreshed and annoyingly pleased.
She frowned. "Huh? You came back alone. Where's Goku?"
"Goku?" Vitelli flopped onto the chair beside her, grabbed her half-finished juice without permission, and took a big drink.
"He's inside the gravity chamber training like his life depends on it."
He swallowed, then added casually, "Tell the chef to make extra dinner. Like… three times my usual amount."
Bulma stared at him. "Three times your—?"
Vitelli nodded calmly. "Otherwise it won't be enough for that kid."
"Oooh~" Bulma drew out the sound, lips curling with a teasing smile. "So if Goku's occupying your precious gravity chamber… what are you going to do? Want me to dig out the first-generation chamber my dad built you? It's old, but it's better than nothing."
Vitelli leaned back, eyes on the horizon where the sunset painted the sky in gold and crimson.
"No need."
His voice was steady. Certain.
"At this point… having a gravity chamber or not doesn't make much difference."
Bulma caught something in his tone—a slight pause, a thread of weight.
She turned her head. "Hm? What happened?"
Vitelli met her eyes. No dodging.
"I…" he said quietly, "…hit another wall."
Bulma's face tightened instantly. She sat up straight, tension snapping into place.
"A wall?!" she demanded, panic rising fast. "You're not going to vanish for days again, are you?!"
Vitelli's heart warmed at the fear in her voice. He reached out and took her hand, holding it firmly.
"No. Not like that," he said gently. "Probably."
Then he hesitated.
"…But I can't promise. Breaking through a wall sometimes needs… a trigger."
Bulma's brows knit tighter, but she didn't let go.
Vitelli continued, tone turning thoughtful.
"Tomorrow, I need you to help me with something."
Bulma blinked. "Help with what?"
"Call in famous chefs. And pastry chefs. Bring them to the estate."
Bulma stared.
"…Chefs?"
A beat passed.
Then she understood, and her lips puffed slightly in a pout.
This training maniac…
When he hits a wall, he thinks about eating first?
But then she remembered everything else—how he'd been clinging to her all week, how he'd been gentle and apologetic, how he'd held her like he'd never let go again.
Her annoyance softened into helpless indulgence.
She sighed, squeezed his hand, and muttered like she was surrendering to fate.
"Fine. Fine. You're the man I chose. If you want to eat, you'll eat. As much as you want."
Vitelli pulled her into his arms, amused, and kissed the top of her head.
"It's not for eating," he said, smiling. "I'm running an experiment. If it works tomorrow, I'll tell you."
Bulma huffed, but she melted into him anyway, curling close as they lay together on the wide chair, watching the sunset bleed gold across the sky.
Vitelli rested his chin lightly on her hair, green eyes reflecting the horizon—and something else.
Anticipation.
"Tomorrow…" he murmured, voice fading into the evening breeze, "let it go smoothly."
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