Gohan finished his fourth serving of beef and broccoli, licking the plate clean like an uncivilized Saiyan, wanting more. His stomach had space for a couple more plates full, but the last of the beef had been grilled. And there wasn't any more time for feasting. Every passing minute was hours if not days wasted.

18 said, "Did I hear you correctly? An entire year in one day? Just you and I?" She gave him a paper napkin that smelled of lemon-scented alcohol.

He wiped his lips and face. "Yeah, are you up for it? It'll be the hardest thing you've done in your life, physically and psychologically."

She thought about it and said, "I'll do it."

"Great. Ready to go?"

She then stepped into his personal space and leaned to his face. Her lips met his, the tip of her tongue brushing against his top lip, just for a second, no more. "Ready." Her eyes gleamed.

And someone had gasped loudly. Mother. She said, "I saw that. You just kissed him on the lips. How dare you!" Grandpa Ox King and Yamcha restrained her. "Let me go. Let. Me. Go."

Gohan offered Mother a wordless apology before sheepishly looking at 18. "You did that on purpose."

"I don't kiss people by accident." She smirked like a naughty little girl.

He whispered by her ear, "You're asking for it. Just wait till we're inside the Chamber. Let's go." His fingers intwined with hers. He led her toward the temple.

Mother asked, "Where are you going? Come back here, Gohan!"

Piccolo dashed in front of her and said in a voice of authority, "They are going into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber to train for one day. They need to prepare for battle, and you are not to disturb. Understand?"

She shrank back in fright, but new anger clenched her fists. "Without supervision? Who do you think I am? I'm going—"

A distinctive static noise turned heads. The sturdy, down-to-earth, lively energy of Gohan's father mixed with everyone else's. He stood tall with unshakable confidence in that all was going be fine, and he hadn't aged a day since Gohan had seen him disappear with Cell. He waved. "Hey, I'm back!"

There was a chorus of, "Goku!" Krillin and Yamcha ran to him, embraced him in brotherly hugs, leaving no room for his wife or sons, while Gohan exclaimed, "Dad, it's really you! You're alive! No halo!"

Father's hand waved above his head to check. "The Namekians found all seven balls in record time. Without a dragon radar too."

Mother said, "Oh, sweetheart, I've missed you."

"I've missed you, Chi-Chi." He hugged her, then noticed someone at her leg. "And you must be Goten."

"You look like me but bigger," Goten said.

"I was about to say something similar," Father laughed. "You even have a uniform like mine."

"It is yours. Mom gave it to me."

"Oh, whoah, it is." Father picked up Goten, playing with him as though he were a toy plane. "No tail? I could've sworn Gohan had one."

"We had it removed like with Trunks," Mother said.

Goten wasn't happy: "Huh? My tail? I had a tail?"

"You don't need it," Father said with a goofy expression. "Trust me, it's much more fun to be a Super Saiyan. Just ask Vegeta. I know, I'll teach you from now on, so you'll get the transformation down in no time."

"Wow, really?!"

"Of course, son."

"Can you teach me now?" Goten bounced on the tiles.

"Not now," Piccolo said. "Goku, it's been twenty minutes since you were revived. Elder Moori feared something went wrong." More private telepathic conversations—across the galaxy. Impressive.

"Sorry," Father said with a bit of unease. "King Yemma asked me to go check out something in Hell, but it turned out to be nothing."

Vegeta asked, "Was it nothing or was Freeza attempting an escape?"

"Nothing, really. The guys running the place aren't perfect; they make mistakes sometimes. The line of spirits at the station was longer than usual. Do you know that heart virus I almost died from still hasn't been cured? I'm surprised Capsule Corp didn't distribute the antidote."

"We did," Bulma said, "but the virus mutated many times. It'll be over soon though."

Piccolo said, "Let's just hope that line won't be getting any longer. You better not be hungry, Goku, because we have work to do now. We will split up and fan out to the south from here. Yamcha and Krillin will stay close together and fly far right. Tien flies far left. Goku will fly center between Vegeta and I; us three will keep our power levels raised. We should be able to sweep all of West District by sundown. Any questions?" Piccolo threw one of Bulma's communicators to Gohan's father.

"Yo, wait," Yamcha said. "Should one of us stay here and keep an eye on Cus?"

Father blurted, "Who?"

"I don't think she means any harm," Dende said, and Gohan agreed for the majority.

Piccolo added, "And she can tell us why she's here whenever she wants to. Forget about her."

"Yeah, but who are you talking about?" Father asked, glancing left and right until his gaze wandered toward the temple. Cus's weak energy signature was in there. "Oh, I see. Is she not just a normal Human?"

"Forget about her," Piccolo repeated. "Any more questions? If not, we—"

Arm raised, Trunks asked, "Why can't Goten and I come?"

Bulma grabbed his fingers. "You can join in when you're Super Saiyans. At the very minimum. No exceptions."

Goten whined, "But Krillin, Yamcha, and Tien—"

Vegeta said in a mocking tone, "Even if you two could transform, you would barely be a match against Krillin. Although he may be only Human, he is stronger than he looks."

"Gee, thanks," Krillin said.

"I have to agree with Vegeta," Father said, looking around, his eyes stopping at Gohan. "Are you sitting this one out? Don't tell me you have to study. Come on, Chi-Chi, this is serious. The world is at stake again."

"I know," Mother said, arms crossed. "I just don't like any of this."

Gohan sternly said, "Sorry, Mom, but my decision is final. I'm going into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber with 18. I've slacked in my training these five years, and by slacked I mean I haven't been in any real fight at all. I'll only make a big mess in my current state."

Vegeta grunted in agreement.

Father, quite amused, walked to 18. "Hi, call me Goku. I heard your primary objective is to kill me and not Gohan, so I'm going to assume I can trust him with you in there. Go easy on him. He can be a cryer, and I'm warning you, he's not a good cook either. There was this one time when we were in the Chamber, I asked him to roast a ham for me—"

"Dad, shut up!" Gohan's head was ballooning with heat. How embarrassing. This was not how he had imagined this introduction to unfold.

And 18 was at a loss for words, only for a few seconds. "Nice to meet you, Goku. Our objective was fulfilled when you died to Cell's explosion. Technically, you only had to be killed once."

"Then great!" Father gave a thumbs-up. "I'll see you two in a day. Hopefully this all blows over by then. If not, I'll be counting on you."

18 nodded. "Good luck, Goku."

"Yeah, good luck, Dad," Gohan said.

Father waved farewell, sprinted down the line of trees, and dove off the Lookout's rim as his hair turned blond and his golden aura flared along with Vegeta's at his side. Piccolo and the others weren't far behind. Their combined energy was like a second sunrise. Earth's strongest fighters—the Goku Force. They merely needed some cool poses, in Gohan's opinion.

Before Mother could say anything, Gohan snatched 18's hand and flew into the temple, up a curved flight of stairs, onto the observation deck where the Time Chamber's door was gathering dust. No one had entered for years. The brass door nob, very cold to the touch, twisted with a clicked. Creaking, the door swung inward, revealing nothing but white light.

"This is it?" 18 asked rhetorically and stepped through the boundary.

He followed and made sure to lock the door. He shivered. Today, it was freezing inside, foggy, and he had forgot to change out of his pajamas. No point in turning back now. He ignited his aura, immediately feeling warmer.

Frowning, 18 said, "How are we going to train? This room is tiny."

"That's not a wall," he said, pointing at the white expanse.

"What do you mean it's not—" Her breath hitched. She took her first step onto white ground, and her knees slightly folded. She stood straight without problem. "What in the world is this place? Where are we?"

As he walked to her, he barely felt the increased gravity. "This is a separate dimension. We're on a sphere as large as Earth. The temperature ranges from freezing to on fire, and don't fly too high; the air gets extremely thin even at a hundred feet. Also, be careful to not damage the entrance… or we'll be stuck here forever."

A glimmer of fear leaked through her eyes. "We're going to be here for an entire year?"

"Maybe less than that, depending on how quickly we start to plateau." He did his stretches; arms, legs, back, and neck. Joints cracked. A few tendons were stiff.

She copied him. "What about the gravity? Does it get worse out there?"

"No, it's a constantly ten times that of Earth's. I wish it were more, but there are weighted bangles and jackets in the room next to the food store, starting at fifty kilograms up to fifty tons a piece. The most I got up to last time was ten tons while still maintaining speed." A strange thought wormed into his head, and he timidly said, "You'll probably end up putting on some muscle." He didn't quite like the mental image.

She glanced at him. "You don't like muscular girls? Be honest."

"Not really. I like you slim."

She scoffed, her eyes rolling. "You can relax. 17 and I can't bulk up very much if much at all. Doctor Gero thought bulky muscles are a terrible design of nature, and I agree; it's far too limiting when it comes to speed and finesse. I heard Trunks made that blunder against Cell."

He exhaled in naughty relief, and a tangent thought pricked him. "So if you can't bulk up, how much stronger can you get?"

"We're going to find out, aren't we?"

"You said you seldom trained with your brother. Any results?"

"I might be a tad stronger than I was five years ago. I can't be sure. Anyway, should we get started?" She walked further out into the white landscape.

He chucked the bag of senzu beans to the entrance—no accidents. "Let's start slow, a light warm-up spar. After, we'll do ten thousand sit-ups, push-ups, and squats with weights on, three to four times a week. Then maybe we can start getting serious. How does that does?"

She shifted into a semi-offensive fighting stance. "I like slow. Let's keep it that way."

"We'll see."

He threw the first punch, and their spar gradually intensified in a dance of back and forth dodging, neither landing a single hit.