This fic renders Buu saga as null.

Characters might seem OOC, I prefer to think about it as my own, more mature interpretation of them.

May contain slashes. Or so I believe they're called.

May contain characters bashing.

May contain dark themes.

May contain spoilers on Super.

If you continue afterwards, it is your own responsibility.

This is just the epilogue for the future chapters.

*4 years after the Cell games*

Bulma lighted a cigarette and sat comfortably in an armchair in front of the TV, with a glass of wine already standing quietly on the table, at her disposal. This has been one of her favorite activities lately. She would storm around in her father's lab, now hers, enthusiastically, as a teenager, but now half of her former exuberance was gone. Now 38, her best friend is dead, her — she could not quite put a finger on it, for 'life partner' would be a too generous compliment — was always absent. Those absences took up a lot of space on her mind lately and she could neither focus on her former passions nor ascend to a tame life. No excitement and no stability either, were there available for her.

Maybe she could flirt with the idea of going back to-...

'Mom, I am home!', shouted Trunks, now 5-years-old, disrupting her reverie, bursting through the door of her luxurious bedroom and jumping into her arms.

'How is my little sweetheart doing? How was kindergarten today?'. Bulma took him into her arms and rocked him, gently.

Trunks almost ignored her question when he turned his head to the TV, suddenly curious at the mature man with a motorbike-style mustache, having a speech about who-knows-what — his young brain could not comprehend anyway.

'Mummy, who is this guy? They puts picture with him everywhere in our building and my classmates say he's the hero of the world!'

Bulma could not abstain herself from an angry chuckle then. Her figure turned sober, so much as not to scare her little child, and spoke up, frown fixed on the screen that was loudly playing on their side.

'He is no hero, my baby! I bet even you could beat that wimp!'

And she meant it. Bulma could not forget the way she felt when she found out that Cell had pierced her boy, almost killing him. The relief that Trunks made it out alive, eventually, could not wash away the frightening thought of imagining the light of her eyes, her most precious, in such a scenario – bleeding, hurt, almost dead. It was devastating, it was almost as empathizing with Chichi for not letting Gohan participate in such dreadful showdowns.

And there he was - the hero of the world. The one that had assumed the outcome to himself, one that involved her best friend getting killed, her kid almost killed and an event of great torture for most of her other fellows, while the phony had just kept himself hidden, mimicking a stomachache, in such an unscrupulous manner. She hastily took the remote and turned off the TV, then threw it against the pillows of some other couch.

'How about we go and visit aunt Chichi? Goten would be excited to see you again!'

Chichi was doing the dishes, an activity among many other domestic, monotonous other ones she has had all those years. Goten, almost 4 now, was rampaging around the house and in their little yard, a bit too much energy for such a small child. She looked at him and found herself once yet contemplative. He is so different than how Gohan was at his age - Gohan was timider, soft, whereas Goten is a bundle of energy and scared of nothing. And ultimately, she is not about to force Goten to study as she did with his older brother. She always believed that education is important, but maybe she went overboard with Gohan.

Ever since the terrific Cell games have ended, she insisted that Gohan continued with his studies and so he did, while she was busy coping with tending her newborn and her immense frustration that resulted from the death of her husband. Only then has she slowly begun to realize, that in her overwhelming engagement in all those household chores and her own mental struggle, she did not actually take the time to talk to her oldest son. She was simply grateful having him study all day, eventually going out for visits once a few weeks and now there he was, a young man of 16-years-old, theoretically 15 earthly years —if not counting the one year spent in the Time Chamber—, most of the time locked up in his room. He is nowadays very polite, very reserved, with all his reactions and all his words calculated, chiseled, almost making her believe he was masking something.

She would often peek inside his room, when he, in his inattention, would leave the door cracked, and she would catch him at his desk, staring outside the window, dreamy-eyed. She would often try and raise questions to get things out him, without success unfortunately. Gohan is always 'fine, just a little tired'. Had she pushed her own son to distance himself from her?

She did not want the same with Goten, though. Maybe now she was being too permissive, but she definitely did not not want to lose even the third 'man' from her life, not taking her father into account.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a few knocks on the door.

'So, you see, Chichi, there was this Mr. Satan idiot on television, making this speech about bravery and how people should not feel down if there are tricksters out there trying to overshine them or whatever - and obviously they gave our friends as example. I was mad...', flared up Bulma, while trying not to spill coffee on her or on Chichi's couch from the cup that she was holding with a shaking hand. 'But we have to keep this façade, because we are the two richest families and it is not healthy to ruin our partnership... Well, it isn't any healthier this way, either, but...'

*(on TV) Now preseting you, Hercule Satan Energy Bar!

(An actor resembling a Super Saiyan) Here Cell, I am super-duper strong, I will beat you!

(Ineffectively punching an actor dressed up as Cell) Huh, why isn't this working?

(Someone throwing a chocolate bar at him) Here, have this Hercule Satan Energy Bar!

('Saiyan' actor) Why?

Because you're turning into a wuss when you're hungry! Better?

(Now Mr. Satan appeared instead) Better! *

Chichi promptly took the remote and changed the channel to some soap opera. Bulma fixed Chichi's face to search for approval, but there was no need to. She could read there, that the younger woman was even more affected by everything, by the way she was suppressing her sighs and clenching one of her fists. Bulma grabbed the said fist with a comforting hand and a compassionate expression.

'This - this trash of a human being. And everyone with him... My husb- Goku... he went among the dead ones so that Cell wouldn't sacrifice them. And that boy there-'

To which they both turned themselves so they could look through the large-opened window with dancing curtains, where outside Goten and Trunks were light-heartedly brawl-playing and laughing.

'That boy will never get to meet his father. And here they are, making an ultimate clown out of him. And of my bigger son.'

Under her frown, Chichi was visibly holding back angry tears, but decided not to let them fall. She changed the subject, instead. 'So, how are you and Vegeta?'

Now was Bulma's turn to fall into a melodramatic mood. She felt like lighting a cigarette, but she knew Chichi would not allow anyone to smoke in the same house where her children lived. To her excuse, her mansion was big enough for Trunks not to be bothered.

'Well, he's fine, I believe. After he demanded for a gravity room to be built in some wasteland, because the space at our place felt too tight and people around him too bothersome...', she was obviously inconvenienced at this remark. 'I did not get to see him since then.' She lowered her head to stare at her lap.

And it was as well Chichi's turn to play the comforting shoulder.

'Bulma, dear. Let's cheer up a bit. As long as our children are safe and sound, we should feel happy, too. I prepared some Milanese pasta, would you like some?'

'Yes, I would love to!'

But before Chichi could get up and head to the kitchen, Gohan appeared before her, dressed in his 'Sunday' clothes, a white tunic and black baggy pants, tightened only around his ankles and his black espadrilles, as well. She already knew what his intentions were, but did not mention anything. She shared a few words with him and then left him in the living room with Bulma to chat for a while, and when she returned with an elegant china filled with spaghetti, the demi-Saiyan was already at the door, eager to leave.

'Mother, I would like to visit the Lookout for an hour or two. Hope you don't mind!'

'Sure. You have been a good boy, you deserve it. Have fun and take care!'

And next moment, Gohan was gone. Bulma was still surprised by those unusual scenes between them.

'Hey, Chichi. What's up with you lately? You are not the severe mother I used to know', asked Bulma in a joking tone.

And they spent quite some time talking about how Chichi ended up agreeing to this self-imagined truce between her and her son to regain his trust.

Gohan was flying at high speed, feeling a pleasant, chilly breeze brushing his skin against a warm sunset. Green pastures and quiet mountains were scrolling underneath, just like the film of an old camera, however Gohan was familiar with this calm-inducing scenery. He had already lost track of how many times he had crossed this aerial path to reach the Lookout. Upon arriving, Dende, now taller and Mr. Popo, the same as usual, ran up to him in excitement. The boy knew that they were aware that he was approaching, and they knew that he knew, but they still acted surprised — maybe for the etiquette.

Usually, the small Guardian would pick up Gohan's hands but, after noticing his latest taciturn demeanor, he would be content only with a smile and a welcoming wave.

'Mr. Gohan, long time no see!'

'Hello, Mr. Gohan, would you like a cup of tea?', intervened Mr. Popo, to which the one in cause agreed.

And so they entertained an ordinary gibber, in which Dende talked about his responsibilities as the new Guardian of the Earth and Gohan talked about his studies, his family, the visits that he would sometime make or receive, with a special emphasize on Goten and Trunks — a casual matter, not too delicate, which allowed him to keep himself in his comfort zone.

This time, though, Dende unwillingly pushed him past those self-induced barriers and asked an unworked question.

'Any news about your father, Mr. Gohan?'

In all his innocence, he only realized what this topic meant to Gohan, after he hesitated in his answer and looked somewhere past his shoulder, trying to keep his composure.

'No... he did not contact through King Kai, yet.', then stood up, his tone increasingly hasted. 'And he knows we have no means of initiating one!'

'Mr. Gohan, I am sorry-'

'No, it's ok, Dende. Glad you asked. Maybe if you'll ever have the chance...', and with this he placed a hand in front of the already agitated Namekian, who was mimicking his stature. His expression was now relaxing and turning into a smile, though half as cheerful as it used to be several years ago. But Dende understood too well what he meant with his last sentence. He would definitely have some mediator role to play, in case Goku would leave some 'voicemail' on the Lookout after so much time. He did not know how to react in those regards. He came from planet Namek, he could not understand this human tendency to yearn for close, constant contact. But he could definitely tell that the young man was missing his father to death. He did not know if it would be appropriate to insist on the subject, but he would surely love to.

Gohan did not want to go further into details, though, so he switched to another hot topic.

'How is Piccolo, by the way?... Where does he wander about, nowadays?'

Dende and Mr. Popo knew that Gohan was able to sense Piccolo around and this was only his way of forcing out some verbal confirmation. For what reasons — only he knew. Mr. Popo was the one to answer this time.

'We have not seen him today, we are not sure. But we are sure that if he was here, he would love to see you... Mr. Gohan.'

But Gohan was not one to fall for kind words so easily. He lowered his head, staring at the floor, an encrypted mixture of feelings on his face, not in the mood of staying too much out in the open. Already did it when asked about his father. So, he shared a cordial smile with them and a small chuckle and wished them a good evening, invoking reasons such as his mother's worries.

As he was racing towards his home, the sky only scarcely warm-toned, announcing night time, he heard a crash in the vicinity and then a flock of distressed birds blocking the sunlight, noisily. Not alarmed, but rather accustomed to sleep with one eye open for any possible dangers, he approached the source of disturbance. He had simply resigned a long time ago with the idea that Earth attracted unwanted attention.

He landed in front of a small, newly-formed crater, somewhere in a slade.

Inside was a mystical creature - it looked humanoid, but at the same time ethereal. Pearled skin, almost glowing - pristine crystal eyes, that betrayed no emotion and long, kempt amethyst hair. His configuration was that of a fighter's but his outfit had a royal vibe, mostly consisting of red silk.

Gohan walked up to him, reluctantly. He seemed enemy material but then again, this was no betting game. Everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt.

'Hello, mister. May I be of any help?'

The creature laid eyes him, no malice there. He could barely tell if there was any life behind them.

'I am begging for forgiveness, should I have disrupted the fragile dormancy of this planet - whose name may I acknowledge?'

Gohan stood for a few moments, shocked. He had never encountered anyone with such an amiable choice of words. After all those years of interacting with arrogant opponents, and insults, and mockery.

'This is Earth... May I also ask, who exactly wants to know that?'

'My sincerest apologies for my poor mannerism, I am the one they named Ius. Descendant of The Wise and Noble Angel of the Seventh Universe, Whis and the Adroit Supreme Kaioshin of the Western Quadrant of the Seventh Universe, Vesperis.', finishing with a bow.

Gohan, one well raised in the arts of politeness, mirrored the gesture with no words coming from his mouth, though. It was surpassing his understanding - he did not know who this aerial creature was, who his... antecedents were, or how he should react overall. One thing was clear, before departing, his father made sure that Gohan was going to take upon himself the responsibilities that poured from being the strongest on the Earth - the hero. And here he was, put in front of a fait accompli, forced to make a resolution. But he had no idea.

Then a tall, fluttering silhouette landed in its usual grace just on the other side from where he stood, at an almost equal distance. It certainly did buy Gohan some time to contemplate about a possible course of actions, but it did not help his nervousness.

'A Namekian! I have the utmost respect for the race you are a member of. Very sapient, very adaptable and very chaste — one of the greatest wonders of nature.'

Ius slowly approached Piccolo to extend a hand. Still reluctant, but diplomatic by nature, Piccolo responded to the greeting.

'I am called-'

'I've already acknowledged, I'm afraid my hearing is a sense I cannot keep under control.', interrupted Piccolo, not intending to be disrespectful at all. 'I would like to know, though, how we can be of help.'

'I am thankful that you have asked — I would like to meet the one named Kakarrot, self-proclaimed Son Goku.'

Both men were keeping a very composed stature. Piccolo had his usual cold, tactful demeanor, best expressed by crossing his arms while Ius had this uncanny tumidity about himself — voicing thoughts in high regards without any earthly emotions at all. His cordiality did not feel false, or practiced, but robotic. In those moments Gohan was truly brought to believe that mythical creatures like angels, gods and whatnot, were real — asides his knowledge about a being superior than the Guardian, a so-called King Kai. But hearing his father's name did not bring him any comfort. When he heard Piccolo starting to talk, he lowered his eyes to the ground, again.

'Why are you searching for him?'

'There are certain aspect about him that cannot be pardoned anymore. The next logical terminer would be, should there be no golden means, to destroy him.'

Thank you for reading it.

Please let me know if you found any errors inside – I am not a native speaker, so that would be extremely helpful.

Also, some themes inside might be sensitive – I will not argue ideologies, thank you for understanding.