(I'm not quite sure why I wrote this any more. It was a long, long time ago. I still think it's cute, tho. Go figure. Oh, and don't forget: *insert witty rant about how I don't own Dragon Ball* - but you get the idea, right? ^_^)
I had always been a student. My mother started me with my education when I was just a few years old. When I was five I was taken into the desert to be trained by my sensei to fight the Saiyans. It was so easy being a student of Piccolo-san, he told me what to do and I did it, he took care of me when I was sick, he set up camps every night, he did everything – I got the benefits for his trouble. He was always there for me, even after that. He sacrificed his life to save me, put his own best interest aside – and the thoughts of the other that had died - just to save a small, half-Saiyan child. Me. I lived that day because he didn't. I don't think he'll ever understand how much that means to me, and that it was not important just to him, that I would have done the same for him without second thought. But he didn't like to talk about that anymore – nor did he at the time – I think he felt like he was loosing his cold aura when he admitted to caring for people.
Nonetheless, he's here for me still as I continued to grow up. He gave me his energy while I fought the Ginyu force; he took care of me while Frieza was attacking. He trained with me while we waited for the androids. He's always been there; he even stood there with my parents to hold me down while Videl went into labor.
But now, I'm the sensei. It's hard to believe, even as I walk into my classroom, briefcase in hand and smile on my face. I approached the front desk, with the blackboards and graphs for my class. I look over my 'audience', the front rows with the students that are so eager to learn about their science and be successful. A bit further back there were some of the less enthusiastic students who had more of an 'I'm-only-here-because-my-parents-forced-me-to-come' attitude, I don't mind them, I wasn't exactly unlike them in some of my classes throughout school.
My favorite student, amazingly, wasn't in the first few rows with their notebooks open and their ears perked. Nor was my student of choice in the middle of the class sort of half paying attention, just enough to pass the course.
No, my most important student, the one whose presence in courses I most cherished, sat right in the back of the class. He didn't socialize with the other students, and I didn't have a hope in hell of collecting an assignment from him. He just sat in the corner, letting what I said enter his head. I have never doubted for a moment that he's paying strict attention, just as I did so long ago. All the information was going into his mind where it would be stored. He would never ask any questions, of course – his pride would never allow him to do that – and he would rarely even speak at all from the time he entered the room until the time he left. But his presence was important.
I began the lesson as usual, ignoring most of what was happening in the class. There was no way I could help solve the problem of students passing notes, it was inevitable. I did notice a heavy pair of eyes on me, and looked up to see Piccolo looking at me from his inconspicuous spot in the back of the class, it was a change from his eyes being closed as they normally were.
I grinned up to the back of the class, knowing that most of the students would just think I was sharing a private joke with one of their classmates. And in fact, I was. The role of Sensei and student had been reversed.
I don't think either of us minded that much at all.