I am back, folks!
So this is a retelling of the great anime series Dragon Ball. If you are interested in reliving it with me, jump right in! It doesn't need to be said, but I'm gonna say it: Dragon Ball means the world to me and I never enjoy myself like I when I'm writing about it.
Disclaimer: this is just for fun—no gain intended. I don't own anything. All rights reserved to Akira Toriyama and Toi Animation.
Note1: I made a few personal changes to the story to make it seem more real to my reality: which is that of a girl in Brazil. For example, Bulma is described as having blonde hair, not blue. Why? Because when I was little I was convinced she had blonde hair dyed blue. I know that's weird, but yeah... No apologies. Also characters who are originally animals in the anime/manga are going to be people, like Oolong and Shu.
Of course that, because I am writing things like I know them, this is a very ocidental take on this story.
Note2: I decided, for poetic effect, to describe the sayan race as having icy blue eyes. Same thing as before. When I was little, (and because in Brazil you don't usually find people with blue eyes) I used to hear people with blue eyes being described as cold and mean. I know it's totally bullshit, but I decided to use this type of prejudice in the story. Because they're cold-blood killers they have blue eyes. However, they aren't cold and mean, not all of them, and we're going to prove this as the story progresses.
I hope it makes no difference for you guys in the long run. After all, no matter how I describe them, you guys still have the freedom to imagine them however you like it.
Hope this goes well xoxoxo
JOURNEY TO THE WEST
Prologue—Far Across The Eastern Sea
Indra Patre (Planet Earth): Year XR748
For many, many years Son Gohan had lived alone, ever since he had fled society in his early thirties. He was a short, stubby old man now, with dark beady eyes and a bushy white mustache. He hadn't always been like this though. A long time ago, in his youth, he'd been strong and fit to fight, which was why he had entered the world of martial arts, and he had been known for defeating extraordinary foes, too. His deeds were long forgotten now, along with his name, and he had exiled himself to a far away land, a beautiful and mysterious place that was believed to be beyond time itself. This region, far from civilization, was called Mount Paozu.
Whatever drove him away—whatever it was that led Son Gohan to the mythical Mount Paozu—no one ever cared to ask. He had been a man of religious beliefs, it's true, and he had seen more than regular folk during his time. He had been good and he had been kind even to his enemies, if there ever truly were any. But time isn't kind, not even to a man like that, and it wasn't long before Son Gohan grew alone and his faith in humanity was lost.
This story actually begins on a very warm day of summer. The sun was high up the cloudless blue sky and Son Gohan decided to enjoy this blessing with a hike. He was skilled and had very strong legs that helped him climb the mountains near Mount Paozu. He also knew the region pretty well by now. He had half a mind to go fishing in the afternoon, probably have some tea later, perhaps read a book—it was just another ordinary day of his uneventful secluded life.
In the forest there was a clearing and in this clearing there was a crater. Something had destroyed good part of the vegetation of the area and caused a great implosion. Son Gohan wouldn't call himself curious, but even he could not help himself. There were no novelties in Mount Paozu. It was usually man (in this case a very old man) and his relationship with nature. So finding something so weird, so unexpected, demanded Son Gohan's investigations. He headed toward the crater and, carefully as he could, glanced down. What he saw made his heart race.
A white iron sphere, the size of a small car, idle for all effects. Breathing heavily, Son Gohan slowly climbed down the crater and when his feet hit the ground, proceeded to study the object with a surgeon's care. The world had changed, that much he knew, but Gohan had kept up with most of those changes. He had seen the creation of hoi poi capsules, the invention of cars and other vehicles moved by vapor and pressure. He had watched the living world turn into this—this machine—and not even, only part of one. Yet, what he saw that summer day in the crater looked so alien, so unseemly to have been made by human hands.
Out of this world...
Gohan placed a hand on the white metallic surface and felt that the object was still warm. Whatever this thing was, it looked to be new. Recently made. And it had been just recently used. This crash landing had probably just happened. How come Gohan hadn't heard or seen anything, he couldn't understand, but he knew there was more to it than what meets the eye. Upon this thought, as if on cue, a cry echoed in the crater making the hairs on Gohan's neck rise.
The old man circled the sphere-thing and quickly found the source of the cry. There was a small opening on the unidentified object, what looked like a circle-shaped broken visor, and through it Gohan saw a bundle of blankets, but it seemed to be moving, struggling. The thing cried out for help again. Against his better judgment, Son Gohan reached inside and took not a monstrous thing in his arms like he had anticipated, but a baby. A newborn by the looks of it, still naked and wrinkled, with cold blue eyes, and so small Gohan could hold it with one hand. The little thing made a tiny sound of appreciation but soon began squirming and screaming and thrashing in Gohan's arms, until the blankets that protected it fell to the ground revealing not only the child's gender, but also a brown monkey tail that sprouted out from his sacrum, like a prolongation of his coccyx.
Son Gohan almost dropped the child. He stretched his arms to get a better look at it, and watched the baby struggling in the air. How odd, he thought. The little guy had his hands closed into fists. A fighter, if Gohan had ever seen one. But also an abandoned child, devoid of a family and of a home, unloved, alone. Much like Gohan. Oh, how he had wished for something like, for many years, how he had prayed for someone who could fill the void he had in his heart! He hadn't expected to be granted this wish, but it felt very much like fate, and Son Gohan wasn't ready to show ungratefulness to the universe. Who cared if the child had a monkey tail? This had to be a sign! It had to mean something! Whatever this creature was and wherever he had come from, he now belonged to Gohan and Gohan was responsible for his life.
The old man picked up the blanket and wrapped it tightly around the baby so he could hold him properly. The boy was not happy about the arrangements, but Son Gohan whistled merrily all the way back home. He washed and nursed the boy to health, ignoring his wild, violent nature, turning a blind eye to the unusual rage that seemed to fill such a young little thing, overjoying over having someone to talk to, someone to care for.
Gohan fed the child and shared a bed with it. Trying to soothe the baby, the old man began telling him his all-time favorite night time story: Journey to the West.
"Far across the Eastern Sea," it went, "on the island called the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits, a magic boulder had sat on the mountain's peak since the creation of the world. Bathed in the energies of Earth and Heaven, quickened by the light of Sun and Moon, the stone became fertile, and at last cracked open to release its young. From this stone egg emerged a full-grown monkey. That could be you," he added pinching the baby's pink cheeks. "And as it gazed about and above, golden light shot from its eyes to the farthest reaches of Heaven and Earth."
Son Gohan doubted the child to be even listening to the story, but he convinced himself that it was working, that the baby was starting to calm down. So he resumed the tale and told the boy about how Sun Wukong, after being born from the stone nourished by the Five Elements, learned the art of the Tao, polymorphic transformations, combat, and secrets of immortality, and through guile and force made a name for himself: Qitian Dasheng. Both of them fell asleep dreaming of adventures, and when Son Gohan woke up the next morning, still with such thoughts in his head, he decided to name the boy after the Monkey King.
Their relationship, however, did not improve with time. The child now called Son Goku remained restless, ill-tempered and strangely violent for a baby, and Gohan's patience began to wear out. But just as he was about to lose faith, something else happened, something that almost broke the old man's spirit altogether.
Son Gohan hadn't stopped taking strolls and hiking through the woods and he often brought the boy with him, inside a basket strapped to his back. He thought the sight of the mountains and the fresh air would do Goku some good. But Goku was such a troubled, fussy, uneasy child that he ended up falling from the basket into a shallow ravine near the outskirts of Mount Paozu.
Almost blinded with grief, Son Gohan retrieved the boy from the ravine and took him home. Goku had severe head trauma which set him into a coma, nearly killing him. Gohan stayed strong. He refused to lose his son. He nursed the boy day and night and did not give up and did not give in until Goku's miracle recovery. It was perseverance, along with the boy inhuman strength. And when he finally opened his icy blue eyes to gaze at his savior something had changed. Son Gohan wasn't sure if something had been awakened or if something had died within the boy; what he knew was what he saw, and what he saw was the pleasing glimmer of innocence reborn. Goku, once so bad tempered and vile, was now kind-hearted and pure. Not a single bad thought crossed his mind, not a single bad word crossed his lips. He smiled more, he laughed loudly, and the ice in his eyes melted to shimmering light. He proved himself capable of much more love and loyalty than Gohan felt capable to teach him.
Believing his dreams had finally come true, Son Gohan vowed never to lose faith again. He would stay true. He would not waver.
The years went by and both old and young prospered on that forgotten land. Gohan taught the boy everything he knew. During the day, lessons on how to be a man and how to be a warrior. At night, stories of a world unknown, of places to never be seen. Those would turn out to be the greatest years of the old man's life.
When Goku turned eleven, Gohan gave him something amazing, something he had collected on a very unusual way, much like the boy. The night was cold. A storm was brewing. Both sat together; young Goku watching curiously as Son Gohan handed him an orange sphere. It was small enough to fit his palm and it shone so brightly Goku had trouble looking directly at it. When he focused his eyes he saw that in the center of the sphere four tiny red stars floated aimlessly.
"What is it?" he asked, eagerly studying the ball.
"Oh, that you must find out for yourself, boy," the old man replied. "I believe it is a large variety of things. It is what you need it to be. I've had it for many, many years and to me, it has revealed itself as the humility of gentlemen and the pride of warriors. Together, they have unfathomable power. Keep it always with you, Goku. Keep it safe. I promised you, son, it'll be worth it."
They smiled at each other and enjoyed the rest of their evening with more tales and adventures. But that very night had already been written and it did not end well. The fullest moon shone in the night's sky, brighter than ever, high above Son Gohan's little cottage. He didn't know what fate awaited him, he couldn't have known.
But we could argue that his last day on Earth couldn't have been better spent.
On the other side of the world, in a place called West City, someone did take notice of the huge blue moon. She thought it was a sign. She was only twelve years old at the time, but since even younger she had always looked for signs where she could find them. People said fate was set to stone and could never be changed, but she believed her bright intellect could perhaps, temper with it, on the very least, maybe even improve it.
The wind came howling and blew the blonde hair away from her face. She inhaled trying to calm her nerves. Then she glanced at the orange sphere in her hand. Two red stars floated in its depths. The lack of knowledge as to what it all meant was threatening to drive her nuts.
She had to know.
With her decision being made, Bulma Brief pulled a rubber band from her left wrist and wrapped her hair in a tight ponytail as she often did to help her think. She glanced at the moon one last time before marching inside the house. She descended a hundred and eleven steps into the darkest, dustiest attic and started roaming around boxes trying to find what she needed.
She didn't know much back then, but one thing she was sure of: destinies were about to change.