It's a little unlikely, but it's a cute thought. It takes place the night after Hero's battle with Piccolo during the final Dragon Ball World Martial Arts Tournament, the one in which Kami possessed his body. I say it's unlikely in that Hero probably wouldn't have returned home with no recollections of the tournament whatsoever, what with Piccolo and Goku decimating the area around them afterward, but as I said, it's a cute thought.
Hero could only bob his head as his nine-year-old son jumped on his twin-sized bed, the springs crunching with each leap in the air he took. He beat at his father's head, sending a model airplane crashing into Mt. Dadotopolin, as they would name a mountain in honor after that legendary battle he apparently battled. His son couldn't get over the fact that his dad, his dad, had actually participated in a World Martial Arts Tournament, using those neato karate moves that were only in those awesome television shows and shooting beams out of his hand as if he was Earth's next superhero. But Hero could only grimace as his son jumped around and exclaimed his joy for the world to hear.
"You were great, Dad!" the boy said, the pitch of his voice fluctuating with each bounce on his mattress. "There were so many cool lights, and you were flying, and that evil green guy was zapping lasers at you, but you dodged them all! It was so cool!"
When his son had first told him things of this ilk, Hero refused to believe him. The only thing he could remember was being in that crowd, stumbling off of the steps of that stage, probably having just tripped over them in an attempt to get close to the ring. But as he walked out into the crowd, he had heard roars for his name, the same roars that he had been longing to hear all his life. But, no. He was only Hero, not some world-famous martial artist. He had no place in such a community, leading him to believe that they were all either crazy, or he had dreamt the whole thing up.
But if this was a dream, it was certainly a long one. It had been hours since they had arrived at home, Hero collapsing from physical exhaustion. Something had consumed his energy, though he preferred not to think about the possibility his son had suggested. He, a martial artist? The idea was incredulous. He was only... Hero.
His thoughts were muddled as he sat there, unable to understand if this was reality. It hadn't only been his son that insisted he had been doing spectacular tricks at that tournament, as his mother had called him up for the first time in years, reprimanding him in that harsh tone of her's for having done such theatrical stunts obviously beyond his bodily limits. Hero could only listen after awakening from his nap, wondering if this could perhaps be true. It certainly did sound like his mother, though the one-way conversation had ended on a strangely positive note. For the first time in his life, his mother congratulated him for a job well done. He had felt so abashed by this that he hadn't managed to say a thanks of gratitude before she hung up.
No, it had certainly been a bizarre day. He hadn't seen this much life in his son since his mother had left the two of them. Now he was shooting off of the walls, probably thanks to all of the caffeinated beverages served at the tournament also nurturing his active imagination. But it couldn't have simply been his mother and son fantasizing, as after he had picked up that call from his mother, it seemed as if a dam had broken. A flood of calls had poured in, each praising his efforts, each ending in him having to explain that he hadn't participated in the tournament. It was a ridiculous idea, him having participated in the tournament. He had to tell each caller that he had been a spectator and nothing more.
The calls had become so numerous that he had finally stopped answering them, and as he pondered over the events of the tournament, he heard his phone ring yet again. But he ignored it as his son crashed his plane into Mt. Dadotopolin again, lodging the nose of the thing into his father's ear. His eyes widened with a sudden jolt of pain through his head, but they softened to an expression softer than he had used all night, an endearing one. He loved his son so much, seeing him so jubilant only brightened the man's spirit, and with his scrawny arms, he lifted his small boy up. He grunted while doing so, standing up and swinging his son around once before dropping him back down on the bed. And the little boy's hair was whipped around, the largest, toothiest grin Hero had ever seen on his son's face. His son's face nose was scrunched up playfully as he jumped at his father, successfully knocking him backwards. And Hero could only laugh, snorting out of his nose as his son launched another attack against the his head.
Hero laughed, now against a wall to help support the weight his son added on to him. His son was latched on in determination to bring the enemy mountain down, a mission accomplished as Hero fell on his back against the floor, groaning slightly with the pain. But a little pain was worth seeing his son's expression so vibrant as he yelled, "I've got you now!" And with the son sitting triumphantly on his father, he parked his little plane right on Hero's large forehead, a perfect landing. "Vrrrroooommmm..." The plane had landed.
The man simply laid there for another few seconds before springing up, catching his son by surprise by catching him around the sides, tickling him. His son squirmed, pressing his lips together to resist laughter, but found that he had to let out a few splutters. The giggles as he attacked his son only cheered Hero up, clearing his head of all of the confusion with this World Martial Arts Tournament situation. At the moment, his only priority was to keep his son happy.
He let his captive go, and the boy automatically grabbed the airplane that had been knocked off of his father's forehead. Then he sprinted out of the small room, leaving his father to sit there, rubbing his temple as he felt a head ache come on. But he took a deep breath before standing up, making off to chase his little boy down.
It wasn't until he had run through the hallway in his black slippers that he found his son, distracted by the television set. He crept up to the standing boy who had his plane in his hand dropped to his side, his other hand subconsciously brought up to his mouth in awe. His eyes were widened, but Hero took no note of this, simply making his way steadily up to the boy's unsuspecting back. It wasn't until he was right behind his son that he looked at the television that he dropped his jaw, his glasses nearly shattering from surprise.
There he was on television.
Hero could only drag his feet towards the television set, his son immediately crying, "There you are, Dad! There you are!" He pointed fervently at the television set, so proud of his father, but it was too much for his poor father to handle. He watched as images of him kicking and flying and punching were all shown, ending in a video clip of him setting some tiny, ceramic jar on the ground, summoning shadowy figures out of it. He glanced down at this hands, hardly able to pry his eyes off of the television screen, and wondered if that was really him. Could he do these things?
He felt his son tugging at this shirt, hopping up and down in place and saying, "Dad! You're so neato! You're the coolest dad ever!"
The man could only gulp before staggering towards the sofa, his son following his lead. And as he sat down on that sofa, leaning back against the large cushion, his son joined him, placing the toy plane on his lap. He watched as other fights flashed across the screen, looking down at his son curled up next to him, smiling contentedly as his sugar rush finally died down.
Hero was a simple man, and trying to think of such complexities only puzzled him. So he washed his mind of the thoughts of what exactly had happened, deciding that he would focus on now. Now he had his son by his side, the respect that had been lacking before shining fervently. He placed a hand against his son's back, only able to thank Kami for doing this to him. Whatever had happened, he was simply thankful to have his son think so highly of him, not thinking of him as the most humiliating father in the world now, but as something more of a hero.