Five years had passed since Cell's destruction, and fourteen-year-old Son Gohan was now preparing to enroll at Orange Star High School. In his bedroom at his desk, he leaned back on his small chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. As birds chirped, his stomach rumbled, then crack! One of the chair's legs snapped. A splinter flew at his eye, bounced off, leaving no mark.
Gohan stood up and scratched his head. "Aw, Mom's not going to like this." She would make a fuss over every little thing, increasingly so.
Right on cue, with a flurry of steps, Mother was at the doorway. "Gohan?" she asked too loudly, her voice echoing. "What was that noise?" Her eyes skipped to him, then dropped to the ruined chair, and her concern relaxed somewhat before annoyance deepened a few wrinkles around her eyes. She grumbled, "This chair was your father's."
Gohan's face was blank. "Really?"
"He made it when we were children. I believe it was part of his training."
"Really?" he blurted again.
She knelt and picked it up. Her index finger traced its underside. "Look here." Indeed, the name Son Goku was carved into the wood. Messy, but definitely there.
Gohan held in a shrug. It was still just an old chair; Father most likely had long forgotten about the thing and wouldn't care in the slightest. Gohan said, "That's cool, but why was it part of his training?"
"How should I know? Something about discipline, which you sorely lack." She eyed his application essay on microbiology, frowning. "I told you to work on your hand writing. How will you ever get accepted with this unreadable scrawl?"
"Come on, it's not that bad," Gohan said sheepishly.
"It's just as bad as your father's." Mother sighed. "You'll have to rewrite it, understand?"
"But—"
"Understand?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
He decided it was best to not test her. "Yes, Mom, I'll redo it by tomorrow."
"Tonight."
"Okay, Okay. Tonight. I promise."
"Good." She grabbed the broken chair leg. "Now, breakfast is on the dining table. Eat up while I'll go see if there's any glue left." She hurried out, seemingly caring more about the chair than her son.
"Oh boy, what's gotten into her?" Gohan mumbled, then sauntered to the dining room, his stomach grumbling as he breathed in a delectable scent. Today's breakfast was turnip soup fresh from the garden served with aromatic long grain rice and leftover sweet and sour chicken.
Mother's chicken was Goten's favorite, but Goten wasn't at the table on his high chair; he was away at Bulma's, a sleepover with Trunks—training with Vegeta. It was Saiyan tradition to start training by one's fifth birthday, and, of course, Vegeta wasn't going to let anyone forget the glory of the great Saiyan warrior race any time soon, much to everyone's amusement and annoyance. The guy sure knew a lot about Planet Vegeta's history and customs. He was the prince, after all.
Chuckling, Gohan ate a moderate-sized bite of salty turnip cubes with measured chews as Mother had instructed. He swallowed slowly, mouth closed, face calm. No more brutish gorging. No more meals for thirty people. Students at Orange Star High wouldn't react too well to that part Saiyan biology, and Gohan agreed. The only problem now was his constant hunger. Not too hungry… but hungry enough that food was often on his mind. He had to question if this was healthy. He had only grown seven inches since the Cell Games, and he was now slimmer. His energy reserves had somewhat diminished.
He was weaker.
But these were peaceful times. Cell was forever gone. Freeza was forever gone. Nothing in the world—nothing in the universe—could threaten the peace even if Gohan was slightly weaker. He could always train in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber again, which probably wouldn't be needed anyway. He was the strongest in the universe, still the strongest after three long years. It didn't feel as though Vegeta had broken the ceiling during his regular training sessions. An arrogant smirk slanted Gohan's lips as he finished breakfast with too much brutish haste.
Gohan scrubbed the last of the dishes, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket, and then one of Mother's Women's Weekly magazines took hold of his eye. A slim young lady in a high-cut one piece red swimsuit was on the front cover, posing in a way to emphasize her hips and long chestnut hair. Boy, did she have nice wide hips and perky breasts. Her naughty smile alone was enough to ignite teenage lust, a fiery blush burning up Gohan's face, his mouth watering.
He swallowed and flipped open the magazine. His sweaty fingers squeaked against the gloss. He didn't dare touch the swimsuit model.
Fortunately, the inside was much, much tamer: cooking recipes, uninteresting celebrity news, something about Hercule Satan's daughter, more cooking recipes, and more celebrity news and interviews. The front cover lady was a swimming champion by the name Euphemia, age twenty-one. Her page rambled on about her training schedule and life. Boring stuff. There weren't any more naughty photos of her either. Damn.
Guilty irritation squeezed Gohan's midsection. He quickly flipped through, and was about to head back to his room when a full-page photo made his jaw slacken. Drool trailed from the corner of his mouth. His body was heating up head to toe. From all the blood rushing to his head, he almost had a nosebleed like Master Roshi. Gohan couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Android 18 was in a skimpy white bikini with a hand on her slanted hip. Her expression was a hint of a smile, and her light-blue eyes, almost silver, were just as Gohan remembered: large, calm, mysterious. Beautiful. Her whole body was beautiful and sexy. Slim yet curvy. Quite fit. Her breasts were full and perky. Her blonde hair was much longer. Her skin was perfect without a single blemish, without a wrinkle. She hadn't aged a single day. Best of all, she was posing to emphasize her nice thigh gap. By far, she was the most attractive in the entire magazine.
She was going by the name Lazuli, age eighteen, apparently. From a rural family, she was perusing a modeling career at Hercule City. Money was her only motivation, to be bluntly honest, and modeling was easy work for good pay. She was working in high fashion and swimwear as those had the best pay. She kept a slim figure by rarely eating, which she was used to from her days of poverty. She was skilled in martial arts and gunfighting due to her time dealing with rural gangs, but she doubted she—or anyone—was able to defeat Hercule in the ring. She was a big fan of Hercule. Her other interests included skiing, science, and exploring the wild.
And she was single.
No past boyfriends either, although she had went on a few dates, likely with Krillin. The last Gohan had heard, their relationship wasn't meant to be. They had little in common, and Krillin had no money or house of his own. In Krillin's own words, he wasn't ambitious enough for her.
But I'm very ambitious, Gohan thought, and a house and money can't be that hard to get. It can't be harder than taking down Cell! I also like science and exploring. I could can get into skiing as well. We can go skiing together in some remote place. Yeah, we should hang out, on a beach together. I'd love to see her in person in her skimpy—
Mother's approaching energy cut short that train of thought. Gohan closed the magazine, taking a last peek at 18's photo, and bit into into the half-crushed apple he was holding. His walk down the corridor was stiff, to say the least. His pulse drummed in behind his eyes, and in his waist, while 18's naughtiness stayed in his mind without fading. Bones creaking, he turned into his bedroom.
"Gohan," Mother said, "there you are. How was breakfast? Was it enough for you?"
"Uh, hey Mom." His voice was bit higher pitched than usual. "It was good, filling enough, but these apples are really sour."
She frowned, still applying super glue to the chair's leg. "I told you to let them sit. Look at it. It's green, meaning it's not ripe. Have you learned nothing from your lessons?"
"I know," he mumbled. "I just haven't had anything sour in a while."
"Was my sweet and sour chicken not sour enough for you?"
Gohan knew to be honest, "It's much more sweet than sour, Mom. I think that's why Goten likes it."
"Hmph, thought so. I'll use less sugar next time, or he'll grow fat and die early of heart disease."
"I don't think that's how Saiyan bodies work."
"If you say so, Gohan. Just remember your father almost died from a Human heart virus."
"Really. Bulma told me Vegeta fed Trunks nothing but ice cream and vitamin pills for two months straight, and he's fitter than I am."
"Okay, Gohan." It looked like she wanted to say more. She took a deep breath, and mellow silence filled the room for a minute while she meticulously glued the last splinters. She really cared deeply about that chair. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler: "So I read through your sample essay… Apart from your atrocious handwriting, I think it's very well done, one of your best."
Gohan blinked in surprise, because compliments like these were rare. "Ah, thanks."
"You should submit your application by next Monday, with the essay re-written, of course. I'll be checking." She blasted him with a stern look, her fists on her hips. "Understand?"
"Yes, Mom."
Mother's arms crossed. "Good, and have you decided what you want to put for your career ambitions?" Orange Star High was one of the most esteemed high schools in the world. Naturally, they only accepted the most ambitious students.
"Like I said. A professor or researcher at a prestigious university like Hercule University."
"In what field?"
"Maybe biology or energy physics."
She nearly sighed. "There's no maybe, Gohan. You have to be certain of what your goals are. You are going to be a professor of biology at Hercule University, and you will give it your all to achieve your dream. That's what you write in your application, or I'll write it for you. Got it?"
Her confidence bolstered his own. "Got it."
"Then get to work. You can use the dining table just this once. I'm going to visit Goten. Have you seen the airplane capsule?"
Picking up lined paper and pens, Gohan looked around as though he could see through walls. "I think I left it on the shoe rack."
Her tongue clicked in annoyance. "I'll see you later." She briskly walked out.
"Seeya, Mom," he muttered.
In the dining room, adolescent temptation won against Gohan's will. He opened the magazine to 18's photo and laid it bare on the table, periodically glancing at her while writing, imagining himself touching her, fondling her, hugging her. He almost drooled onto his essay more than once, and the idea of visiting her on Monday took hold of his mind. He just had to find where she lived… but what would he say?
He wiped sweat off his forehead and instead began writing possible introductions. He had a week to prepare, so no sweat.