Disclaimer: The following characters belong to Akira Toriyama, except for distinct aspects of their personality that you do not recognize. This fiction is written purely for entertainment – mine and yours – and not for profit – mine or yours.
Prologue
I wish there were something I could do – to ease their pain, to ease my pain. My pain is there. Although it is eternally suppressed, it remains a perpetual ache in my heart. The pain is always there, no matter how hard I try to block it out.
That is my nature. To suppress my own pain, when others are in pain – that is my nature. It is my nature to shield others from my pain, because evidence of my pain will only make their pain all the more unbearable.
I wish there were something I could do, as I watched Chichi and Gohan around Goku's hospital bed. I wish there were something I could do, as Chichi's heart-wrenching sobs overshadowed Gohan's sharp intakes of breath. I wish there were something I could do, as the self-proclaimed health professionals bustled about pretending there were something they could do. I wish there were something I could do, as I leaned against the doorframe in as nonchalant a manner as I could muster. I wish there were something I could do, to ease their pain, to ease my pain. I wish there were something I could do, to dull the ache that is there.
After one particularly gut-wrenching cry that emitted from the forlorn Gohan, I could not take this tension, this apprehensive anticipation, any more. I walked off, my untarnished white cloak billowing behind me. I walked off that day, leaving behind all that I had cared for and had cared for me. That day, I forsook the part of me that cared. Caring required too much effort, too much energy; it hurt too much. Caring had put a damper on the innocence and optimism that Goku's presence had brought to me. I no longer cared, not because I refused to, but because I could not.
