R.I.P. Shunsuke Kikuchi.
"You know what? Just take the damn thing! Let's get out of here!"
Gohan stood dumbfounded as the small blue elf, the tall woman, and the talking fox sprinted into a plane and flew away. Evidently, the trio were familiar with either the Saiyans or just Goku, because as soon as they saw Gohan's tail, their stubborn efforts to both refuse handing over their Dragon Ball and steal all of his went out the window.
In any case, the three-star Dragon Ball was now Gohan's, bringing his total to six. In close proximity with the other five, it glowed while he stuck it in his red bag. Just one ball away from fixing his mess.
After his encounter with Arepa's doppelganger, Videl, Gohan's search had gone smoothly. The other four Dragon Balls had all been amongst the wilderness, only a few animals obstructing Gohan's search. Growing more eager, Gohan clicked his scouter to scope out the final ball – the four-star ball, the Dragon Ball that meant so much to the elder Gohan and Goku. The ball that fell from the present Gohan's head before Raditz stuffed him into the ship.
However, it wouldn't show up on the radar. Gohan clicked the scouter a few times, thinking it may have been a malfunction. Yet it still showed the other six balls at Gohan's exact location. He opened the bag, staring at the balls and their bright glow. As many times as it suited him, he counted them back up, making sure there were only six of them and that he hadn't somehow missed the most significant one of them all.
His finger nearly jammed itself when it slammed the red button on the scouter again. It wasn't tracking anywhere on the planet. Even after he expanded his search to every end of the globe for the umpteenth time, it wouldn't show up. Had it vanished? Had the four-star ball been lost to some random calamity? Had it become the snack and subsequent dung of some wild animal?
Were Lapis and the rest of Gohan's victims doomed to be lost forever?
Gohan flew up high and froze once he reached the clouds. He felt like ripping that scouter from his ears and crushing it. This couldn't have been it; he couldn't have gone to all this trouble - giving himself a chance, thinking he could right his wrongs - just to come up one ball and four stars short.
A spot in Gohan's lower back, near his tail, heated up. His fingers quivered. The realization that her brother's loss would be temporary had been the only reason Lazuli gave Gohan a chance. Seeing that possibility slip away replenished his despair. He descended to land with a sullen stare towards the horizon. As a volatile heat overtook him, trickles of sweat swam down Gohan's limbs.
With a howl of frustration, Gohan destroyed the nearest mountain with a mighty blast. He hurled the bag to the ground, letting the balls spill out while he sat down with a burgeoning frustration and a loosening grip on his deadly power. He was giving up again. Every time he was saw a bit of light, reality would come around to slam the door.
A sliver of light still glimmered behind the door, however. If the last Dragon Ball was truly lost, he could have a new set made; they were a creation of the Earth's God, after all. And while he had no idea how to even reach such a being, he did remember the testimony of the one man connected to him: Piccolo. God's evil half, apparently.
After stuffing the other six Dragon Balls back in the bag, Gohan tracked down Piccolo's Ki and took off. The half-Saiyan and the Namekian hadn't exactly been fond of each other, but Piccolo struck Gohan as the pragmatic type. Knowing their difference in power, he wouldn't provide much resistance.
In the middle of a valley, that tall green Namekian stood in the center like he'd already been expecting him. Even from the skies, Gohan could see Piccolo looking directly up at him. The last time they'd met like this, it had ended in another angry outburst. He'd have to keep himself under control.
When Gohan floated down, Piccolo smirked and folded his arms. "What do you want, runt?"
Though his eye twitched, Gohan ignored the barb. "The same way this all started: the Dragon Balls."
Piccolo's grin spread wider, almost mischievously. "Haven't we already been through this? I didn't create the Dragon Balls. And judging from that lumpy bag in your hands, it looks like you've had no trouble finding them."
"That's not it. I have six, but if the radar's any indicator, then the seventh one is missing," Gohan replied, tensely staring at the bag. "I know you didn't create them, but I need you to tell me how to find your other half."
"And why exactly do you need me to, kid?" Gohan narrowed his eyes, disdainful of Piccolo's flippant tone. "To bring back all the humans you've killed so far?"
Gohan squeezed the bag, his blood vessels swelling. Clearly, Piccolo enjoyed watching the volatile half-Saiyan struggle to tuck in his bitter emotions.
"Obviously," he finally replied, through clenched teeth.
Piccolo tilted his head, scrutinizing Gohan with his rigid eyes. His prolonged gaze sent tremors along Gohan's body. It was a quiet tension from deep within his veins, anticipating a fight on the horizon. Piccolo was clearly still bitter about Gohan's last "inquiry," and for all he knew, had found a way to grow immensely stronger and trusted his chances.
Piccolo raised his hairless brow. "So, you want me to direct you to God because you believe the last Dragon Ball has gone missing, correct?"
"Yes," Gohan snapped, fed up with the games.
Suddenly, Piccolo swallowed heavily in his throat, practically gagging. Gohan stepped back, halfway expecting some spew of slime or demonic mist to come his way. The imprint of an object slid up Piccolo's green throat, until he finally opened his mouth and uncurled his purple tongue. An orange sphere covered in slime spilled from his tongue and into his hand. As sick as he was shocked, Gohan's jaw dropped. The bag fell from his hands.
"You mean, this Dragon Ball?"
"Goodness, I've never seen an appetite like yours!"
Vegeta ignored the eccentric blonde woman ogling him as he scarfed down a stack of frosted pancakes. In the entire universe, he was certain only Frieza was stranger than her. It wasn't the worst thing in the world – genuine flattery certainly beat the hell out of Frieza's patronizing praise.
"But I guess somebody as strong as you needs tons of food to run on," Bulma's mother said as she poured orange juice from a glass pitcher into Vegeta's cup. "And I'm sure my daughter would know your appetite a little more intimately."
Not only did Vegeta choke on a piece of his syrupy pancake, he clamped down on his fork and cut his tongue in the process. As he coughed up chunks of food with a little bit of blood, Bulma's mother merely laughed. That was why he hated being around her. And just to drive his point home, the blue-haired princess herself strolled into the room in a tenuously-fitted pink tank-top.
"Morning, mom!"
Vegeta's muscles stiffened, but once Bulma sat down without extending him the same greeting, he exhaled with relief. She hadn't started getting the absurd idea that they were friends. Yet, at least.
"I'll leave you two alone," Bulma's mother said with a giggle while both Vegeta and her daughter glared into dead space.
As soon as she left, Bulma shook her head and glanced at Vegeta. "God, you must hate her."
"Well, don't get jealous."
When Bulma laughed, Vegeta flexed his jaw and tightened his grip around his busted fork. This was why he needed to train hard even against common sense; here he was, the Prince of all Saiyans, eating a wholesome breakfast and firing off quips like a domesticated chimp. His brain conjured the idea of the Frieza Force having a camera hidden somewhere in the kitchen; he could practically hear those Ginyu bastards howling with laughter.
After taking a bite out of a pancake, Bulma looked up. "How are you doing?"
Yup, that was quite enough. Vegeta growled and skidded his chair back, though Bulma raised her hands to hold him off. "Cool your jets. That was actually a legitimate question, not the universe's most maddeningly ambiguous greeting."
At his own peril, he listened to the chatterbox and put. Not that he was any less vexed. "Why's this of your concern?"
"For once, I'm wondering how soon it is until you can train again." Vegeta couldn't contain his shock. "Crazy, I know."
Bulma's usual confidence withered under Vegeta's suspicious gaze. She glanced at the refrigerator to escape the shadow of his scrutiny.
"My body's healed enough that I can handle a workout under this planet's pathetic gravity," he finally answered, disgust impeding his voice. "So again, I ask: why do you care?"
"I'm not handing you the indignity of actual concern," Bulma said with that smiler of hers that spiked Vegeta's body temperature. "But I've got some tests I'm trying to run and you're in bad enough shape that I won't get in the way."
Vegeta dropped his fork and scowled. "I'm in fine shape, and you will get in the way." He gathered his numerous plates, got up, and dumped them in the sink. As he headed for the living room, he overheard a dramatic sigh leave Bulma's mouth.
"Ah well. I was only trying to test the superiority of Saiyan physiology, and Goku's already back at his house. I guess that'll have to wait."
Oh, she was good. But while he did squeeze his fists, he didn't fall for her bait.
"Hell, I might as well just wait for him or Gohan come back around. I think I'll get more exemplary results from them."
As quickly as he could throw a punch in peak condition, Vegeta swung around and heatedly glared at Bulma. With the way she smirked at him like a skeevy scam artist, he could have sworn she looked like Frieza. That goddamned, smug satisfaction; and it was working.
"You're skating on thin ice, demon wench," Vegeta warned through his teeth.
The worst thing was, Bulma wasn't the least bit scared. Why should he have been? Vegeta had flung violent threat after violent threat after violent threat in her direction and hadn't followed through on a single one. To 99% of the universe, he was an agent of terror and destruction; to this motormouthed, brittle-boned woman, he was a barking dog. She sipped her orange juice with flair, clearly proud of herself – and damn, did pride suit her well.
"Spaceship in thirty minutes?"
Vegeta squeezed his arms around his chest and tapped his biceps.
Thirty minutes later, Vegeta stood in the spaceship, leaning in the center against the pillar. He wore his raggedy armor and bodysuit, waiting impatiently for Bulma to arrive. Lord knew why he was even entertaining her nonsense. As much as the thought infuriated him, he was far better adjusted to life in Frieza's army. The constant tension kept him sharp, and he could unleash all of his frustrations from the barrage of insults and punishments on whatever planet was unlucky enough to earn his assignment. In only a month on Earth, he had taken three of the worst beatings of his entire life and now his trusted release was frowned upon by those with natural authority.
All he had for entertainment now was the alluring, aqua-haired beauty and her tidal wave of wit.
And lo and behold, she walked up the ramp and inside the ship, a toolbox in one hand and her laptop in the other.
"You're late."
Bulma huffed while setting her items down. "You were seriously keeping time? It was only a couple minutes, anyway."
"A couple seconds on Frieza's base and your ashes would be on the walls."
"Well, it's a good thing we're on Earth."
No reply from Vegeta. He didn't know if it was a good thing or not. The objective part of his brain said maybe.
Bulma opened the toolbox and pulled out an assortment of cords lined with small spheres. She looked up at Vegeta with a puzzled expression. "Are you seriously wearing your whole armor just to train?"
Vegeta shrugged. "If I'm not training under heavy gravity then I need some way to exert myself more."
His answer did little to ease her grimace while she undid the spheres from the cables. "And you're in the same dusty outfit from when you first got here?"
Peeved and defensive, Vegeta sneered in her direction. "Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry training for the strongest warrior in the universe has dulled my fashion sense."
Bulma cupped her chin, scrunching her eyes to study the outfit more closely. "Hmm…maybe I'll design a new suit for you. Even when it's all banged up, you still pull it off."
Vegeta shut his eyes, giving Bulma no indication he was in any way flattered. That being said, it was about damn time she showed him some respect. When he opened his eyes back up, she was still studying him; he could see the admiration washing over her.
"Royal blue and gold…fit for a prince."
Now he could only mask his flattery with arrogance. He smirked boastfully, eyes glowing with pride. "That might be the first intelligent thing I've ever heard you say."
She responded to his backhanded compliment with her own bluster. "Not quite the height of a prince, though."
All of Vegeta's good will flew out of the window while he snapped away from the wall and leaned towards her. "I assure you; we wouldn't be eye level if your legs were pulled out from you."
"So you admit we're at eye level."
Even in the face of his bloodthirsty scowl, Bulma showed no fear. Her disrespect was somehow more enticing than enraging. There was an aura that her brashness brought; she was no physical threat to like a Cold Force superior, yet she had no problem challenging him. Where Vegeta and his ilk walked on eggshells around Frieza at all times beyond their most temperamental moods, this woman had no regard for repercussions.
"But anyway, I'll need the armor to come off."
Vegeta's brows arched suspiciously. "What for?"
"These." She held up the spheres. "Motion capture devices."
Vegeta watched the orbs glisten in her fingers, intrigued by their capabilities. "Studying my movement? What's the meaning of all this?"
"Admittedly, it's not necessarily to test Saiyan ability as much as you guys just being the best subjects. I'm conducting some experiments on improving the twins' engines."
"So you're using me as a guinea pig to strengthen someone else?" He eyes the exit with little interest in her experiment. "What the hell do you take me for?"
Bulma just lowered her eyelids, bringing a drought to Vegeta's throat in the process. "Someone who doesn't back down from a challenge, that's who."
Vegeta's blood vessels throbbed as he glared at the floor. Clearly, he had been spending far too much civil time with this girl for her to know exactly what buttons to push. As much as he hated dignifying her provocations, walking through that door would be tantamount to running away from a new opponent.
Refusing to provide the satisfaction of a verbal answer, Vegeta ripped away his armor with a petulant grunt. The suit had taken quite a shredding from that battle with Avocado and even worse from Gohan's beatdown, exposing much of his upper body. He didn't miss the way Bulma's teeth nicked her bottom lip. As much as he wanted to call her out, he was sure his occasional glance at her body hadn't slipped her notice, either.
She gingery brought the first sensor to his chest. Her hand trembled as she drew closer. Vegeta irritably clicked his teeth.
"Just put the damn thing on!"
"Okay, okay," Bulma said. Her cheeks were a light shade of pink as she placed one hand his arm and pressed the orb on his chest with the other. Vegeta's skin relished her warm touch; and she was so close, he could breathe in the scent of her perfume and apparent shampoo in her hair. Only a few planets in his excursions across the universe had offered a better scent.
"Your skin's...really warm," Bulma observed, sounding dazed. He chanced a glance at her face; she'd kept her lips stiffly pursed, like she was holding her breath. Vegeta's mind tried formulating a curt retort, but nothing came up.
"So fascinating, you Saiyans…" she drawled as she placed a few sensors on his arms. "You guys were probably born in peak condition."
When she placed one last sensor on his abdomen, she looked up at just the worst time, because Vegeta was staring a hole in her. Their eyes met, but dispersed just as quickly. And then Bulma lowered to her knees, which got the closest thing to a squeak anybody in the universe could eek out of Vegeta.
"This would be a weird moment for someone to come barging in on, eh?"
Against his better judgment, Vegeta looked down. He nearly bit his sore tongue again at the sight of her smirking up at him from such a position. But he shook his head and looked straight up at the ceiling as she placed a few more sensors on his legs. When Bulma finished, she shot up so quickly Vegeta had to jerk his head back to stop hers from slamming his chin. She folded her arms, her face every bit as uncomfortable and embarrassed as Vegeta's.
"Wow, that totally didn't feel like the first two minutes of a porno," Bulma quipped. Vegeta frowned in confusion, lost to what a "porno" was but assuming it couldn't have been anything good, coming from her. "Alright, I'll um...just watch from the corner. Try not to blast me."
Bulma let out a pleased breath and fanned herself off. Vegeta glowered at all of the sensors all over his body while she sauntered off into a corner with her laptop, sitting down cross-legged with an app pulled up. With help from Gohan over the prior two weeks, she'd put together a program using the scouters' scanning technology to measure a body's power output on every single motion. Understanding how Ki worked - ethically, of course – would help expand the twins' tech.
As Vegeta stretched himself out and adjusted to the sensors, Bulma felt embarrassed for herself; she had definitely taken her sweet time applying them. She was 37 – excuse me, 27 – years old and had spent most of her life around musclebound fighters, but there she was leering like some horny teenage fangirl that had snuck inside. But Vegeta carried an aura that drew her in – and she suspected she had the same effect on him.
But that wasn't important. For the next hour, Vegeta put on a tour de force. If he had been nearly beaten to death by Gohan just a week earlier, he wasn't showing it, effortlessly hopping around the circumference of the ship with punches and kicks that eluded her eyesight. In her days dating Yamcha, she never cared to watch his training exploits; but she couldn't take her eyes off Vegeta. It was like watching a gazelle in the wild. It had even gotten to the point where she sometimes forgot she had notes to take and meters to observe
After a few more kicks, Vegeta came to an abrupt stop and leaned against the pillar. Bulma frowned in disappointment, and not necessarily for her scientific observations being cut short.
"Done already? You don't even look tired," Bulma whined.
"This is dull, woman." Vegeta restlessly whipped his wrists. "I need a challenge. On Frieza's base, we had little creatures we'd plant from the ground to fight. And surely your research would improve if you could test reaction time."
"Good point." Bulma tapped her jaw a few times before an idea hit her. "Hey, how about I get my dad to build you some drones?"
"Not a bad idea," Vegeta gruffly admitted. Bulma smiled, translating it from Vegeta-ese as a compliment.
"Hell, it might help me crack this Android nut, too." Bulma opened up her notes and typed a reminder to ask her dad about the robots "But man, just with your workout you gave me a lot to work with. Way more than even Yamcha and the gang could."
"Obviously I would," Vegeta replied as he pulled his sensors off and carelessly dropped them to the floor. "Even half-crippled, I'm capable of far more than any human."
"It's so crazy..." Bulma closed her laptop and stood back up. "Our genetics are 99% similar to apes but we can't reproduce with them, yet there's an alien species a bazillion light years from Earth that are not only genetically compatible, but damn near identical and presumably evolved from the same animal. Yet you're naturally far stronger than us."
Vegeta folded his arms, and expressed genuine intrigue. "What are you suggesting?"
"Is it possible humans and Saiyans coexisted at some point billions of years ago?"
Though he stopped and gave her theory some consideration, Vegeta laughed it off. "Don't delude yourself. There are plenty of aliens out there in Frieza's army alone who could pass for one of us, give or take their skin color. There's a big, red-haired bastard that's taller than the average person I've seen around here, but otherwise looks the same. And Gohan's girlfriend looks like any ordinary Earthling girl."
"So that British chick was his girlfriend, then," Bulma said with a grin. "Their little convo's the only time I haven't seen him sad."
"Well, I'd assume so, with the way he clings to her." Vegeta chiding tone plainly exposed his disapproval of the idea.
"Nothing wrong with a little puppy love," Bulma snorted, laughing even more when Vegeta rolled his eyes in disgust. She started gathering the sensors. "I mean, even you and Goku had to have been born from something."
"I assure you it was nothing. Saiyans do not love. We find a strong woman that suits us, mate, and produce a successor. That's as far as it goes."
A taste of the reality of space barbarians brought a cringe to Bulma's face. "I guess the women didn't have a choice in the matter, huh?"
The idea was met with the Saiyan prince's revulsion, however. "Please. Any low-class idiot can force themselves on a woman. A true warrior naturally attracts female interest."
Just as she was about to load the sensors in the suit case, Bulma froze and stared at Vegeta with red, overwhelmed cheeks.
"Ya don't say..."
Vegeta's eyes ballooned. The captivation had been clear in Bulma's voice. But he looked straight ahead with a dismissive snarl. "And Saiyan women were plenty strong. I wouldn't want anything to do with a weak, fragile female who couldn't defend herself, anyway."
The way he emphasized weak and fragile made his intentions loud and clear. For her part, Bulma giggled. "Whelp, guess I gotta cross myself off the list."
"You were never on it."
The two firecrackers drunk each other in with silence. An impenetrable fortress surrounded Vegeta's entire being, leaving Bulma to only guess what was really on his mind. She wanted to think of him as the ring leader of the crew that ruined a kid's life, yet she wanted to know more.
"Whatever," Vegeta finally said, getting up from the pillar.
Breaking the ice the only way she knew, Bulma smiled mischievously. "But hold on - if you say Saiyans prefer strong women…don't tell me you were turned on when Goku's wife slapped you the other day."
Vegeta's face melted into a horrified combination of both red and green, his eyes bulging from their sockets. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Not even the most low-class cretins of the Saiyan race were as vulgar…"
In between laughter, Bulma shrugged. "Besides inventing shit, it's my specialty. But in all seriousness…" Bulma put down her toolbox. Vegeta tightened his posture against the pillar, picking up her shift in tone. "That must've been a lot. I'm not gonna pretend to know how you felt about it."
Vegeta shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose as his head sunk. "I don't feel anything about it."
"Vegeta…"
That doting tone of hers made Vegeta swing his head back in frustration. But if he left, Bulma wouldn't have stopped him. To his credit, though, he stayed put.
"It's okay. Whatever's on your chest, you can tell me. I promise, I won't even make a stupid quip." She lifted her right arm and pointed at the scab on her shoulder, a remnant from her blood drawing. Vegeta's eyes followed it, narrowing with focus.
"Why?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"All of this. And don't give me your usual bullshit about empathy or self-preservation. I don't buy it; completely, at least."
Vegeta may have come from a culture of barbarians, but he was no simple meathead. He could see through her like one of those scouters. She stuck her hands in her pockets and shrugged.
"I really should hate you and everything you stand for. I certainly did that first day. I can't lie though, our little back-and-forth is fun," she said with a chuckle that the prince surprisingly returned. "And for all the tension between you and Gohan, you two care about each other. If Gohan's loyal to you when he has no reason to be, and you do right by him just by not bringing any harm to me or anybody else then hell…maybe you're not a complete piece of shit."
With a smirk that handsomeness on display, Vegeta raised his prominent eyebrow. "So just a nugget, then?"
"And you say I'm vulgar."
For once, Vegeta wasn't expressing displeasure with her presence or trying to leave. He stayed in place while Bulma sat down next to him on the control panel. She pulled out a box of her trusty cigarettes; she nudged it towards Vegeta in offering, but he squirmed in disgust. With a shrug, she plopped a cigarette in her mouth.
"Y'know, Roshi said something to Goku's brother – what was his name again, anyway?"
"Raditz."
Bulma brought her lighter to her cigarette. "Raditz, Kakarot, Vegeta – is it just a coincidence that every Saiyan name sounds like a vegetable, or are you really all just a vegan cult?"
"I believe your father's name is Brief and your name sounds so similar to bloomer I'm convinced it's an alias. That a coincidence?"
Just as she ignited the flame, she switched her lighter off and scowled with murderous intent. "Fuck you."
"Hn."
She glanced at Vegeta, and sure enough, his smug satisfaction ratcheted her blood pressure. But she had a cigarette to light and a point to make.
"Anyway, Roshi said something to Raditz that day. Nature vs. nurture." Vegeta turned towards her. "It's like you said, 'Kakarot' would've killed us all if he didn't get amnesia and have a nice old man raise him. From everything you've said about the Saiyan race, you and Raditz grew up in one big ass gladiator coliseum. I'm not saying that it's right, but you guys see things completely different from lil ol' me and my comfortable home."
"Damn right we do."
"Yup," Bulma replied as she huffed smoke. "I bet you don't even feel betrayed after Gohan tried to kill you. You're probably just mad he beat you up and nothing more."
In lieu of a confirmation, Vegeta exhaled through his nose. Bulma could feel the emotions just in his breath. "You said Gohan's loyal to me. It's bullshit. The boy simply lacks confidence. He convinced himself I'm alright because I was the lesser of the two evils. That day, he showed how he really felt. No matter how much Kakarot, the Namekians, or the twins tried to restrain him, I was his prey. All that anger he's restrained came out."
"So, it did hurt you?"
Vegeta balked with disdain. "I didn't say that; I'm simply saying the truth of the matter. He would have killed me, and I'd have deserved it. Nothing more, nothing less."
"That's a grim way to look at it. You weren't even sad you were about to die?"
"You idiot." Out of sheer curiosity, he snatched the cigarette from Bulma's mouth and took a drag for himself. Immediately, he coughed his lungs out.
"I…" A few more coughs, "Have plenty to live for." He tossed the cigarette down like toxic waste while Bulma covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Vegeta, overwhelmed. The guy had a chain smoker's voice, but lacked the lungs.
"I live for my goals and my pride," Vegeta said with even more rasp. "I won't rest easy until Frieza's dead, and when I've gotten that brat and his peasant father back for the embarrassments they've handed me. And though they've been domesticated by your ilk, they know it and invite it."
Vegeta suddenly stood up, raising his fist with conviction. Bulma put her cigarette box down and stared at him, almost mesmerized by his prideful aura.
"I've lived a life of pain and misery, but it fuels me. I don't concern myself with my feelings or wallow, I simply press on. If Gohan was the same, he could actually find some peace for once in his life. He could hate me all he wants without feeling sad about it."
A broad smile came over Bulma's features. The bastard really did care about Gohan.
"You're kinda right," Bulma said, snapping Vegeta out of his haze. "But bottling everything up isn't good either. It's okay to be sad too, y'know?"
Vegeta scoffed like Bulma had just said he had a third eye. "I have nothing to be sad about."
"Everyone does, you dork. I have this brain," she tapped her head. "And this body," she cupped her breasts. Vegeta glanced at them and looked away just as fast, "And I quite literally have more money than God, but my love life is a dumpster fire. Why do you think I need these bad boys?" Bulma emphatically raised the box of cigarettes. "Anger and sadistic joy aren't the only emotions. Feeling a little joy, a little pain, a little sadness…that's what being human's all about."
"I'm not human."
"But you are a person."
Vegeta finally stepped away from the pillar with his eyes on the exit. "For all of your intelligence, you don't know a damn thing."
"Aww, you do think I'm smart," Bulma quipped as Vegeta sauntered off. Bulma sat up and followed him, rushing so she could quickly close the distance between them. "And for the record…"
Vegeta turned around with that impatient glare of his. "What?"
With an eyeful of his sturdy chest, Bulma leaned towards Vegeta close enough that their noses nearly touched. The rigid Saiyan actually trembled in her presence. "I may not be much, but if I'm pissed off, I have a pretty mean right hand."
Bemusement overcame the Saiyan prince. Though she was sure her constant stream of innuendos had probably nudged him along, she saw the way he looked at her sometimes – the same way he was now. There was a hunger in his gaze. His eyes were traveling up and down her body, and she was giving him the same treatment.
The prince regained his composure, however, and smirked. "Is that so?"
Bulma's heart started pounding. "Wanna find out?"
Unfortunately for Bulma, he wasn't flirting. Instead, he swung his arm up and fired a Ki blast to the corner that left a loud explosion. The ensuing electric sparks filled Bulma's eyes with terror. Holding her breath, she turned around…
"My computer!"
Proud of his work, Vegeta dusted his hands off and smugly folded his arms. "Do your worst."
The blue-haired heiress saw red. She pounced on Vegeta and bombarded him with slaps - and even the occasional kick. Vegeta cackled whilst putting forth no effort to defend himself.
"Fucking motherfucker!"
Vegeta walked out of the way and let Bulma fall on her face, snickering down at her. "I nearly died a weak ago and your slaps still didn't even tickle. Pitiful."
He turned around and left the ship, leaving Bulma with her broken computer and shattered pride. "They would've stuck you in a meat packing factory on Planet Vegeta!"
No – Bulma would not concede. She sat back up and exhausted her facial muscles to make herself smirk at him. "Yeah, well, joke's on you, because I save everything to the Capsule Cloud! HA HA!" She pointed at him with a deranged grin, as if that was supposed to mark him for death. "Y-You think you destroyed my data but you did no such thing!"
"I'm truly distraught."
Bulma kept huffing and puffing with her face beet red, trying to regain her edge.
"Yeah, walk away, Prince of all Vegetables! This ain't over!" She chucked her cigarette pack at him, but it hit the top edge of the ramp that Vegeta was already halfway down. "You're dealing with Bulma! I stay on top! Just ask Yamcha!"
She marched to the remains of her computer, fuming with fury. Sure, she really had backed up all of her work to a cloud server, but that flame-haired dickhead didn't know that. And yeah, she had a storage closet that consisted entirely of replacement laptops, but it was the simple principle of the matter. She was going to exact her revenge, one way or another.
But as she picked up her toolbox and looked outside, a smile crept up. Even including his antics at the end, that was actually altogether pleasant. And he had only threatened to kill her once.
On one hand, Gohan wanted to vomit, seeing the four-star Dragon Ball that he once wore as an accessory covered in slime and bile. On the other hand, he was astonished Piccolo could even do such a thing. The radar on his scouter was now showing one extra orange dot, too.
"Wh-What the fuck?!" he yelled. "How?!"
Piccolo plopped it right back down his throat like an orange. The dot on the radar even disappeared.
"I was watching from afar when your father was revived. When the balls scattered, I took one and kept it safe," Piccolo said, patting his stomach. 'There's enough magic in me that I can hide its properties, I guess."
Gohan snarled at the fabric of Piccolo's gi. It was pure mockery – but that was okay. He narrowed his eyes with warning. "Am I really the guy you want to hold a Dragon Ball hostage from?"
Piccolo remained calm and humored. "There's only one way you're getting this out of me – and that'll just turn it into a stone."
"You piece of shit," Gohan hissed through his teeth. His body shook so violently, the bag fell from his grip.
"Whoa now, I'm not the one who killed those people."
Aura exploded around Gohan's body while he slammed his foot into the ground hard enough rock the Earth. "Give me the fucking ball!"
Piccolo's smirk disappeared, his mockery replaced with focus. "If you truly need the Dragon Ball that bad, kid, then you can have it -"
"Don't bullshit me," Gohan warned, his voice a dangerously low growl.
"But only if you tell me exactly who you are."
"...What?" Gohan wondered if he was still dreaming. "Do you think I'm an imposter or something?"
Piccolo pointed his finger at Gohan's chest. "No. Just tell me who you, Son Gohan, are."
Gohan's eyes narrowed into slits as he tried unpacking Piccolo's inquiry. "I'm...Son Gohan...? What the hell kind of puzzle is this?"
Piccolo remained stoic, deaf to Gohan's confusion. "If you can describe yourself, your story, and exactly who you are, I'll give you the Dragon Ball."
What a ridiculous task – and why did Piccolo think he was in a position of authority, anyway?
"I don't have to explain myself to you or anybody," Gohan growled, his temper flaring at the idea of explaining his past. Everybody already knew it. "I could pry that Dragon Ball out of your stomach and keep you alive, anyway."
Rather than scoff or deliver his own threat, Piccolo laughed. "Ah, so you are just a violent thug who only knows how to get what he wants with bloodshed. We've got a lot in common, you and I."
Gohan's face reddened. "Don't you dare..."
"So, I'm wrong? I guess that brings us back to square one."
In a split-second, Piccolo was behind Gohan. Before the half-Saiyan could react, the Namekian had a handful of his tail. He collapsed onto his knees as his strength withered away.
"You couldn't even see me move in the state you're in, and you really thought you could just beat the Dragon Ball out of me," Piccolo taunted as Gohan seethed at the rocks and dirt below him. "Now, I'll ask again: who are you?"
"LET GO!"
Let go, Piccolo didn't. Instead, he slammed his foot onto Gohan's back and wrought a howl of pain.
"Is this what you really are? A weakling? A powerless child?"
The flames of hatred blazed stronger than the pain surging from his tail, but he couldn't do a single thing but let the insults fly.
"I was there too when your uncle snatched you away. Your screams haven't changed a bit."
"Damn...you...!" Gohan snarled, tears of anger rolling down his face.
"I think that'll do," Piccolo said before he relinquished Gohan's tail. "So, are you Son Gohan the killer, or Son Gohan, the weakling?"
Gohan had no interest in answering; as soon as he felt some of his strength return, he sprang up and wildly swung his fist at Piccolo. The Namekian nonchalantly turned to the side, and then caught the next punch in his palm.
"Utterly powerless," Piccolo chided. "But I know exactly how to get a good answer out of you."
He let Gohan go – roughly, of course, as he shoved him down. Not a second after hitting the ground, Gohan jumped back up and charged at him with murderous intent. Piccolo raised his arm and engulfed his hand with a raging, violently sparking Ki. Gohan stopped in his tracks, knowing that in his injured state, he had no hope of surviving such an attack.
"What do you want from me?!" His jaw hung open, bouncing up and down from his turmoil.
"I'll give you that Dragon Ball," Piccolo stated, "But only if you successfully complete training under me."
Gohan was so flummoxed, he calmed down. "What do you mean?"
"Did I stutter, kid?"
Gohan derided the Namekian just with his fierce, black eyes. "What could I possibly get out of training with you?"
Contempt twisted Piccolo's features. "Plenty, if you don't plan on wishing back even more people in the future."
"What?"
"Since my other question was apparently too hard, just answer me this. Do you remember how your father's Ki felt when you sensed him using the Kaio-Ken technique?"
Gohan blinked in surprise, but looked down as he searched his memories. If Piccolo had some key to him getting that Dragon Ball, he supposed he would just have to play his game.
"It didn't feel like it was going up, like normal," Gohan tried explaining. "It was just more intense, like it was moving really fast."
"Exactly," Piccolo replied. "When your father came back from the after-life with that trick and thoroughly embarrassed me, I spent months figuring out how he could basically cheat his power to reach new heights out of thin air."
Gohan nodded; he was preaching to the choir. And he suspected Vegeta was agonizing over the exact same thing.
"One day, it hit me: it was all in his mind. Your father doesn't have a single thought going on in that head of his, but that's what grants him perfect control over his power. His mind can manipulate his Ki to do whatever his body can withstand."
"Because he has a clear head..." Gohan mused aloud, digging back nine years into the past when he tried teaching himself about Ki on Planet Zuna.
"Exactly. It's one thing to simply be aware of how to control your Ki, but it's another thing to master it." Gohan could feel the scrutiny in Piccolo's eyes from across. "Wielding a technique like the Kaio-Ken requires a perfect grip on your consciousness, and yours is quite frankly pathetic."
"Hey!" Gohan snapped, approaching Piccolo in warning.
"Not exactly proving me wrong," Piccolo snickered.
Gohan grumbled and stepped back. He may have taken offense to the wording, but it was painfully accurate.
"For years, I thought of Ki as nothing more than a source of power. But it's more than that – it's the very essence of your being. That's why your power sometimes rises with anger. That's why it's probably harder to wield when you're rattled."
Gohan had certainly known the feeling, whether it meant people he should have sensed slipping past his notice, or his own Ki's erratic fluctuations.
Piccolo raised three of his clawed fingers. "I surmise there are three tenants of Ki – the raw power, your determination, and your knowledge of self. With your mind as fractured as it is, not only is your sense of self out of sorts, but a whole third of your full power is out of reach."
Gohan's heart skipped a beat. It made that much of a difference? Even beyond just being more aware of the energy around him, it would improve his own power?
"But this isn't about making you stronger; that's merely a side effect. This is about making sure you don't snap and kill everyone, because as much as I hate to admit it, you're entirely too strong for any of us to deal with when you're 100%."
"I didn't just do that out of the blue," Gohan snarled. "It was...a transformation...that..."
He stopped himself, gnawing his teeth against each other. Lying out loud like that and ducking responsibility for his actions brought him physical pain. He despised either of Piccolo's assessments of his character equally, but only because they were the cold truth.
"Altered your mind? Made you snap?" Piccolo asked, finishing Gohan's tenuous argument for him. "Sure. That makes sense. But if you had perfect control, that wouldn't have happened when you transformed, would it?"
Gohan winced, conceding Piccolo's point.
"Imagine you could use that form of yours without worrying about destroying the entire planet." Piccolo raised his right hand like he was emitting a projection of the path ahead. "I imagine it would make your path towards Frieza run far smoother."
"Sure," Gohan stammered, unable to part with his hesitation. "But how long will this take?"
"That's all on you."
The worst answer. He stared at the ground in a panic. "But we have no idea when Frieza will show up. For all I know, he and his army could touch down tomorrow." Gohan's body shook at the thought. "I can't...I can't spend all that time on just one thing. And I can't keep Lapis and the others waiting."
"And I don't want to waste time that could be spent training on babysitting Son Goku's cursed brat either." The "cursed brat" growled in warning, though Piccolo responded evenly. "But what if I told you there was a room where time and space operated differently from the rest of the universe?"
"What? Time and space...?" Gohan didn't even know where to begin.
"Up in the heavenly realm, in the lookout where my other half presides over the world, there's a room known as the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. A whole year in there is only a single day out here."
For a quick second, Gohan's brain went black. Yet again, he expected to wake up at any moment.
Piccolo snickered at his bewilderment. "Of course, that old bastard would sooner die than let me show my face in his sanctuary let alone use one of his facilities. But I'm sure with the stakes and you being his golden boy's son, he'll make an exception."
"An entire year...?" Gohan absent-mindedly muttered.
"I don't want your company for a whole year any more than you want mine," Piccolo said. "But if you want Lapis and the folks in West City to stay dead, then that's on you."
"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," Gohan sneered. "I don't have many options, do I?"
In truth, Gohan desperately yearned for a sense of inner peace. He wouldn't hold his breath on a guy like Piccolo ever getting him there, but he had to at least give it a shot.
"Well follow me, then."
Piccolo blasted into the sky. Part of Gohan still wanted to get him back for humiliating him, but he supposed regulating his emotions would be a crucial component of his training. He took a deep breath, begrudgingly following the direction of his apparent new "master."
He caught up with Piccolo quickly, stopping once they were parallel. As they flew, he probed the Namekian with his gaze. Most of what he'd known about Piccolo came from stories his father told that he could barely remember.
"Something's been bugging me for a while," Gohan said. Piccolo tilted his head towards him. "If you actually managed to kill my father and have this whole planet to yourself, then how the hell did any of his friends live long enough to wish him back? The bad guy won."
Even from the side, Gohan could see the contempt in Piccolo's face. "For one thing, those twins were still far ahead of me at that point. They weren't really on anybody's side back then, but least of all mine. And besides…"
Piccolo growled low in his throat, catching Gohan by surprise.
"That was no victory. That bastard's own body defeated him, not me. All I did was expedite his trip to the afterlife."
Gohan nodded. If there was anything he understood, it was a warrior's spirit.
"And the fact that he even passed onto the next world to begin with forced me to contest with some harsh truths," Piccolo grumbled, though Gohan didn't quite track.
Before he could inquire any further, Piccolo flew straight up into the clouds once they reached a massive pillar. Gohan flew after him, figuring they were entering the Earth's higher plain. The higher they got, the thinner the air became. A vast platform revealed itself amongst the clouds, connected to the pillar below it by a red staff.
The two similarly dressed aliens flew around the lookout's perimeter until they landed on the white tiles of its floor, startling the group of men already present. Gohan looked around, intrigued by the small patches of trees lining up the scenery until his eyes settled onto the huge temple at the end of the lookout. It was a large building consisting of three towers topped by golden roofing, with two lavender-roofed hallways at either side. The Earth's God had great taste in colors, evidently.
In front of the temple, Goku's friends – Krillin, Yamcha, and even Master Roshi. There were two other faces Gohan hadn't seen before, one a bald, muscular man with a third eye in the center of his head, and short kid in clown's makeup. All of them stopped what they were doing to gawk at the Saiyan and Namekian.
"Piccolo." The three-eyed man tersely greeted.
"Tien," Piccolo replied evenly.
"Never thought I'd see you here," Krillin said. "And you too, Gohan? I guess you two really did buddy up."
As Gohan rolled his eyes, Tien, the three-eyed fellow, stroked his chin in observation.
"Ah, so this is Goku's first son, then."
"Looks just like him, huh?" Roshi asked.
"We're not here for pleasantries," Piccolo said. "And what the hell's got you of all people here, Roshi?"
The old hermit shrugged and laughed. "A man's gotta protect his magazines."
"Ah, Roshi, always the comic relief," said a voice from inside the temple, perking up Gohan's ears. Just in its timbre could he pick up the wisdom it carried. "Though I could ask you the same question, Piccolo."
Out of the doorway emerged a tall figure in a white robe and blue hood who basically looked like Piccolo fifty years into the future. Earth's God, unmistakably. At his side was a short man in a genie's outfit, his skin as black as Gohan's hair.
"Don't play coy with me, old man," Piccolo snapped, startling Gohan. He had little patience for his elder half. "You know exactly why I'm here."
"But of course," God replied with a calm laugh. He turned his sagely gaze towards Gohan, who fidgeted awkwardly. "And you, Son Gohan, the first son of Goku. It's a pleasure to finally see you in person."
Gohan offered little reaction to God's greeting and his peculiar smile. Surely, he had been aware of the damage Gohan had inflicted on his planet, and the dangerous figures he led their way.
"The Hyperbolic Time Chamber, I presume?" God asked. "By all means."
"Hyperbolic Time Chamber?!" Yamcha shouted. "Shesh, none of us could even stand a couple days in that crazy place."
"Well neither of us are you, are we?" Piccolo asked, to Yamcha's scorn. Not that the scarfaced Earthling could do much about it, of course.
"I never thought I'd see the day that I would allow my dark half onto my Lookout, but darkness far greater is heading for this planet." God nudged his head towards Gohan again. "And a great darkness is afflicting you too, isn't it?"
Gohan looked away in shame. Of course, a God could pick that up immediately.
And even a God could produce a mischievous smile, because that was exactly what he directed towards Piccolo. "And of course, Piccolo, the evil in you has diminished enough that I actually feel comfortable lending you my facilities."
"Do you want me to show you otherwise, geezer?!" Piccolo screamed. Krillin and the others stood stiff in alarm, prepared for anything, but God simply laughed him off. "Just get the hell out of the way."
"As you wish." God gestured towards the genie besides him. "Lead the way, Mr. Popo."
"Yes, sir."
As they headed inside the temple, Gohan side-eyed Piccolo. He may have assumed the task of unscrambling Gohan's mind, but if that outburst was any indicator, he hadn't completely sorted out his own problems. Once they reached the entrance, God slid out of the way, though he leaned towards his other half.
"I also heard about our heritage, Piccolo," God said. "Planet Namek. A true wonder, knowing our origin, isn't it?"
"Irrelevant," Piccolo dismissed.
"If you say so…"
Mr. Popo led them down marble, blue hallway. Gohan's muscles grew stiffer with every step he took, weary of whatever answers a person like Piccolo would lead him to. And while only a day would pass by in the outside world, he was still committing to a year of his own personal time and labor, removed from everyone.
The three reached two brown doors. "Now, a far warning – the gravity in this room is several times greater than that of Earth," Mr. Popo explained.
"Easy," Gohan interrupted. "I can handle almost 50 times this planet's gravity."
"I see," Mr. Popo said with a calm smile. "But let me finish: not only is the gravity harsher, but so are the atmospheric conditions. The temperature can range anywhere from 40 degrees below freezing, to immeasurably hot. And that's to say nothing of the air."
Gohan shrugged. He had been through nine years of hell traveling planets of varying conditions. He would be fine.
"There's enough food to last two people for a year…though in your case, Piccolo, you don't need the food! But watch your step. It's easy to get lost in there."
Mr. Popo opened the door, releasing a flood of light. Gohan followed Piccolo inside. As soon as the door shut, they headed into the lobby. It only took a few steps before Gohan had to stop and catch his breath. It felt like somebody had been sitting on his chest. Indeed, the air was thinner, even worse than on the lookout.
"If you think it's bad in here, just wait until you leave this room."
Gohan brushed past Piccolo and walked down the hall, looking around and finding a whole kitchen and presumably a bedroom door towards the end. It looked suitable enough. However, when he stepped outside, his already thin breath narrowed to a thread.
It was just a void. Absolute emptiness, as white as the space he traversed for most of his lifetime was black. It was a void that stretched out seemingly for millions of miles. The temperature hadn't been in any of the extreme zones he'd been warned of, yet Gohan felt like his body was running a fever, goosebumps lining his arms while sweat traveled down his body.
The gravity? Easy.
The extreme weather? In theory, manageable.
But this?
He would have to spend an entire year in this with nothing but an ill-tempered Namekian?
"Racing to turn back, yet?" Asked Piccolo from behind him. Gohan didn't turn around, ensnared by the emptiness ahead of him. "In order to conquer my mind, I had to meditate in the absolute harshest, most grueling conditions. Subject myself to the most extreme discomfort. This area will replicate them nicely. Can you do it too, Gohan?"
Gohan fell onto one knee, panting like he'd just been fighting for hours.
He had no answer.