Last Time on…
Dragon Ball: Reborn
Goku and Piccolo at last succeeded in defeating the alien invader Raditz, though not without paying a heavy price.
At Death's door, Goku was forced to bid a tearful goodbye to his family and friends. As our hero passed on to the next world, his body disintegrated, clueing Master Roshi and Piccolo in to Kami's intervention. The group decided to split up, with the Turtle Hermit returning to Kame House to commune with the deity, while the others reconvened at Bulma's.
Once in the safety of the Capsule Corporation headquarters, Piccolo confessed to the Z-Warriors the role they played in Goku's demise, as well as their conflicted feelings on the matter. It was then Bulma realized they could revive their friend using the power of the Dragon Balls! No sooner did she come to this conclusion than Raditz's Scouter activated, opening up a direct line of communication between his master and the Dragon Team.
Still reeling from Goku's passing, Bulma lashed out at the mysterious new Saiyan, boasting of their victory against his cohort. This prompted him to announce he and his attendant would be arriving on Earth to take their revenge in one year. The proclamation shocked Gohan out of his delirium, and the little one made a plea for Piccolo to teach him how to fight. Despite Chi-Chi's protests, Goku's old foe agreed to the boy's terms.
Elsewhere, Goku awoke in the afterlife, ready to meet whatever challenge next awaited him…
Season 1, Episode 5 —
"Plight of the Children"
Goku and Kami spent roundabout twenty minutes traversing the long, winding stone path before them. Twenty minutes was only Goku's guesstimate, as there was no burning ball in the sky with which to judge the passage of time by. Who knew if time even existed or functioned in such a place? It was a concept that boggled the mind.
The path was five feet wide and dipped in and out of the endless bank of clouds. Goku wondered why it wasn't a level plane, or why it didn't at least lead in a single direction. More conundrums he couldn't begin to fathom answers to.
"So, two more Saiyans are on their way? And they'll be there in a year? That about the size of it?" Goku asked as he walked arm in arm with his resident deity.
"I am afraid so," Kami replied. Their voice possessed a quality of unflinching grace and wisdom, despite how feeble They'd gotten in recent years. "Your friend Bulma had quite the spat with the leader of the duo. She's a spirited one, to say the least."
"Yeah, sorry. She can kinda fly off the handle when she's upset. It's not her fault they're coming, is it?" Goku cringed.
"No, not at all. Once they learned of your defeat of Raditz, it was inevitable they would turn their attention to Earth. As you well know, the Saiyans' employers already had."
"Do You know who they are? Or anything about them?"
"Sadly, no. Nothing outside what you do. And what Raditz told you. He was not in my crosshairs long enough to be probed for such information," Kami confirmed with a solemn expression.
Kami was the Guardian of Earth—the closest thing to what many on said planet would consider God. Such a position carried with it several powers not accessible to mere mortals, among them a degree of all-sight. Such a talent was useful, given Their duty of watching over the entirety of the world. That said, Their prescience had its limitations.
Reading minds was not a fast, simple process. It was akin to being in a packed filing room with only the vaguest notions of where to start looking for a specific document. What's more, Their ability to see all and know all did not extend past Their dominion, leaving Them blind to goings-on elsewhere in the cosmos. Goku would soon learn Kami relied on a psychic network of shared information between otherworldly beings. This helped ascertain happenings on other planets in other star systems, should they involve Earth at any juncture.
"Y'know," Goku began with a wry smile, "I didn't really stop Raditz. All I did was create an opening. Piccolo ended up being the one to take 'im down."
Kami looked Goku in the eyes. They knew what he was getting at. It was part of his nature—to always look for the burgeoning good in others. It was a quality They admired, though one that had diminished in Themselves over the past three centuries.
Witnessing Lord Piccolo's reigns firsthand, as well as the constant reminder of evil in the souls of men tended to erode one's optimism.
"That is not entirely accurate, though I do not begrudge you the error. You were passing in and out of consciousness when it happened. Your boy Gohan was, in actuality, the one who felled your brother."
"What!?" Goku blurted. The pair stopped moving.
"'Tis true. The boy has a fearsome power inside him, lurking beneath the surface. But you already knew that. He demonstrated his hidden strength a year ago, yet he does not remember it. He is every bit his father's son."
"Huh," Goku marveled. He scratched the back of his head with his free hand, befuddled as to how he could've missed the endcap to the battle with Raditz. He figured an injury as extreme as being headless couldn't stop him from witnessing such an awe-inspiring moment. But who was he to doubt Kami?
Gohan. His child. His flesh and blood. Fighting for good, saving those in dire peril. Following in his dad's footsteps. He got choked up simply imagining it.
"I understand your reasoning for bolstering Piccolo," Kami continued. "While the effort is noble of you, it is ultimately wasted. I can see into the hearts, the minds of all those I survey. Piccolo has not changed, much as you may want to believe otherwise."
"Aww, really? I thought they were finally starting to come around, what with them getting buddy-buddy with Chi-Chi and helping me save Gohan again."
"Let us not forget their primary goal was to destroy you, my friend. Anything Piccolo has ever done has been in their own self-interest. That is taking into account both the lives they've lived. And while being self-serving is not in itself a sin, their aim was always your final end. No matter what needed to be done to achieve it. It is a sad truth, and one you must face."
"I dunno," Goku said as he linked arms with Them again and resumed walking. "You told me a long time ago Lord Piccolo used to be Your dark half, right? That must mean, even if they were born bad, they're still part of You. And even the worst part of You has to be more good than most people."
"It…doesn't work that way, Goku," Kami said, struggling to follow the train of thought, no longer able to divine it.
Partly due to his brain injury, Goku wasn't the best at qualifying his statements. Reading his mind was always a welcome accompaniment to his speech. Sometimes it was essential to get to the real meat of what the man was trying to convey. In the here and now, They found themselves on a much more level playing field with him, since he was dead. Having transcended physical trappings, Goku's mind no longer fell under the Guardian's jurisdiction.
"If it's all the same to You, I'm gonna keep having faith in 'em. Sometimes people can change without even knowing it."
"Without me even knowing it?" Kami jested.
"Sure, why not? You've said it Yourself. You're powerful. You're not all-powerful."
Kami emitted a noise like a car failing to start. It went unnoticed by Their black-haired companion.
Only Goku would have the audacity to downplay a god's prowess without realizing it, the Guardian mused to Themselves.
"Say, Kami, where're we going?" the orange-clad man asked.
"You will see soon enough. We are almost there. Just over this last ridge."
"You can walk in and out of the afterlife whenever You want, wherever You want, can't you? Couldn't you have teleported us where we need to be?"
"Yes. I certainly could have," Kami smirked. "Though such a thing would have robbed you of seeing said place as all others do. If I allowed us to materialize straight there, you might never have appreciated the majesty of the place."
Goku wasn't sure he got the point. He wasn't going to argue it, however. If nothing else, Kami had proven more than trustworthy as long as they'd known each other. There was always a grand design, always a plan for everything They ever said or did. It was Goku's unspoken responsibility to believe it, not contradict it.
They maintained their leisurely stroll. Goku delighted in the feeling of the peach-colored clouds breaking across his upper body and face. It was like getting hit with a soft gust of cool air. Tiny water droplets spread across his skin, refreshed him. This sensation triggered numerous questions in his head.
Wait, do I even have skin anymore?
He pinched at his ribs. He felt a minute amount of pain. He supposed he did still have a body, could still feel things. He pondered then if his soul was still inside him somewhere, or if when he died his spirit somehow became tangible. Perhaps what he was walking around in was actually his essence made manifest.
It started to irritate him. He'd been in the "great beyond" for what felt like ages now, and he was still no closer to getting any answers.
The two burst through a particularly large dune of cumulus. Once they did, their ultimate destination came into full view. Goku's mouth fell open.
"A wondrous sight, is it not?" Kami chuckled.
"Wow!" exclaimed Goku.
Half a mile down the path in front of them was a pristine courtyard bordering a magnificent palace. The structure was several stories tall with many tiered roofs constructed of green and red shingles. Its high walls and the floor of the courtyard were an iridescent white, acting as something of a beacon to lead all wayward souls toward it. Goku could already feel a strange pulling sensation drawing him to the unearthly castle, though he resisted as best he could. His halo glowed brighter in response.
He felt like an insect attracted to a powerful source of light. He hoped where they were going wasn't some sort of metaphorical bug zapper.
"What is this place?" Goku wondered aloud as he planted his feet firmly beneath him.
"This is Earth's check-in station. Think of it as a sort of purgatory. A limbo, if you will. We are neither in Heaven, nor Hell. The check-in stations serve the purpose of ferrying those between the mortal world and their destined afterlife. There are countless living things in our universe. Therefore, there are a great many check-in stations throughout the untethered plane. They are all governed by one being, existing in incalculable instances of himself, simultaneously at the forefront of each of them."
"You mean…God?" Goku stammered.
"Pardon?" Kami asked, not fully comprehending the query.
"Y'know, the god that's above You?"
Kami took a moment to consider this.
"Well, I suppose he is above me. Metaphysically, and from a hierarchal standpoint. It would be incorrect to refer to him as a god, exactly. The deity which you refer to? The one ruling over all others? Not even I am sure They exist."
"Really? I would've thought there'd be somebody running the show up here."
"There is. And we are about to meet him. But there are several in a position lateral to his, as well as superior to him. You have much to learn about creation's pantheon, Goku."
"I guess so. Hey, what's a pantheon?"
Kami let out a sigh. This was one in a series of moments where the divine being was forced to remind Themselves Goku was Earth's greatest champion, no matter how dim he could be.
"Nevermind. Not important at this juncture."
They finished their journey at the end of the path's long descent where it met and blended into the castle grounds. Following the tractor beam-like sensation in his chest was gratifying to Goku in an odd, unexplainable sort of way.
As they stepped up to the large entryway, Goku swore he could see faint, ghostly images of others passing by him. He would catch glimpses for all of a second or two before they'd vanish. He turned his head back and forth and noticed it tended to increase and decrease the rate at which they appeared. It was as if they were traces of light, refracted through a prism.
"As I mentioned, there are untold mirrors of this place connected to different worlds, all intersecting at a single reality. All the souls you see will end up in one of the same two places. It would not be feasible to have them all come to a single check-in station," Kami explained.
Goku was about to ask another question, but Kami put up a hand to silence him. Time was becoming a factor. As opposed to Goku, Kami was well aware the flow of time didn't function as living things believed it did—not while they were dead. That fact didn't prevent the clocks from ticking on Earth.
The massive double doors in front of them slid open, revealing a single room which took up most of the palace's interior. It was spacious and sparsely furnished, save for some potted plants, a waste bin, and a gargantuan mahogany desk four times Goku's height. Atop the desk were a comically oversized rotary phone and clipboard. Sitting behind it was the single biggest man Goku ever laid eyes on. He wasn't even so sure the figure was a man, what with the magenta complexion, flowing ebony hair and beard, and set of curved horns pointed at the ceiling. The horns protruded from what appeared to be an indigo hat matching the three-piece suit he was wearing. The behemoth leaned in his office chair, adjusted his golden tie, and clicked the ballpoint pen in his grasp. The pen itself was at least as tall as Krillin.
Goku had the distinct feeling this was someone he did not want to get in a tussle with. He reminded him of his father-in-law.
I will do the talking. Do not speak unless spoken to, Goku heard in his head. Even after a decade of knowing Kami, he wasn't sure he would ever get used to the occasional telepathic communication.
"Guardian of Earth. I greet You," the thing bellowed in a cacophonous monotone. The entirety of the room reverberated with the utterance. Goku struggled not to plug his ears.
"Greetings. Goku, this is Yemma. He is chieftain of all ogres and judge of the dead. He is the being who is in every check-in station at once, perceiving and knowing all who pass through. It is he who decides who goes up and who goes down. Goku, I permit you to introduce yourself."
The Saiyan gulped and stood at attention.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yemma! My name's Goku," he said as he performed a highly reverential bow.
"This the one You told me about, Kami?" Yemma asked. He rested his head on one colossal fist. He seemed bored by the proceedings.
"Indeed. I humbly request a stay on his judgment, noble chieftain. He sacrificed himself in battle against a great evil that befell our planet. The evildoer was only the precursor to even worse calamities. Two more forces of great strength shall be arriving within a mortal Earth year. They seek nothing short of our world's destruction. To avert such a tragedy, I beseech you to allow Goku passage on Snake Way to receive training from King Kai."
King who? Goku thought to himself, deeming it unsafe to speak up yet. If Kami heard him, They didn't show it.
Yemma mulled over Kami's proposition. He chewed on the end of his pen with teeth whose size defied description.
"Tall order, Kami. You know as well as I do the Kais don't appreciate being disturbed, much less for training. Not unless the subject in question is particularly strong. Is this one such a specimen?"
"Oh my, yes. Goku is the most capable warrior on the planet Earth. His might far eclipses even mine."
Goku did a cartoonish double take. He wasn't aware of that little tidbit. Still, he would never want to go toe-to-toe with Kami, since he was pretty sure Their vast array of supernatural abilities could circumvent his own raw power and technique.
"Hmm. I don't know. If the beings on their way to Your world are as strong as You say, what makes You think King Kai's training will even make a difference?" Yemma interrogated.
"If there is anything you can count on about Goku, it is his boundless will and tenacity. He will never give up, never falter. The fate of his home, his family, his friends lies in the balance. He will attain the strength he needs to, and then some. This, I can promise."
"Aww, gee. Thanks, Kami," Goku responded, bashful, a blush reddening his cheeks.
Yemma needed to think. He twirled his gnarled pen and began to tap his foot. It was a gesture which made Goku think the whole building was going to collapse around them.
"Yemma, I beg of you. Think of all the additional paperwork you will have to do if this pair kills everyone on Earth."
Yemma rolled his eyes at the thinly-veiled bait.
"Your tricks won't work on me, Sorcerer. I'm already knee-deep in paperwork. My guess, it sounds like the couple You're referring to are from the Planet Trade. If that's the case, Your man here doesn't stand a chance. If it's any consolation, You don't need to hear my judgment to know where all them are going."
"Such is the bureaucracy of the immortal coil," Kami lamented.
"Wait, you know about the Planet Trade?" Goku interjected. Kami turned to him, wide-eyed. Yemma wasn't fazed by the outburst.
Goku, there is not much he does not know. Control yourself, Kami implored mentally.
"Of course. Little empire's been keeping me up to my eyeballs in a managerial nightmare for a while, now. The one you helped stop was your…sibling, yes?" the titan asked as he studied his clipboard.
"Y-yessir. Unfortunately. I didn't know he was my brother until I met 'im. And I wanted nothing to do with 'im after I found out what his plan was."
Yemma cupped his hand to his mouth and yawned. The gesture wouldn't have come off so exaggerated on a creature of normal size.
Goku fell to his knees in supplication. He placed his hands on the red carpet and dipped his head. The halo above him tracked his movement and bobbed from side to side before becoming stationary again.
"Please, Mr. Yemma, sir. I need to get more powerful so I can help defend my home. I'll do whatever it takes. I need to meet this Kai guy, whoever he is. I need him to train me."
"He is a god, young man. And King Kai will not train just anyone. He only takes on pupils who prove themselves worthy of His teachings. To do so, you must brave the long and arduous path of Snake Way. Are you up to the challenge, m'boy?"
"Yes! Definitely!" Goku shouted without a moment's hesitation, not a clue what such a commitment entailed. Kami couldn't help smiling. Begrudgingly, Yemma did as well.
The ogre watched Goku for a long while. He sensed something in the human. Spunk? Endearing stupidity? A combination of both? In any case, he couldn't help taking a liking to him. He supposed it wasn't so beneath him to do the earthlings a favor.
"All right, kid. You get your shot. Out the door behind me and to the left is the entrance to Snake Way. Better get to it."
"Th-thank you! Thank you, sir!" Goku yelled as he leaped to his feet and took off. Kami gawked as They were left in the dust. Yemma made a noise, probably a laugh. It only registered as a profound rumble in his throat. Kami stared up at the horned judge and shrugged before following in Goku's wake.
Once Kami made it out the exit, They found Goku standing, slack-jawed, gazing in shock at a huge marble snake's head. It was half the size of Yemma with yellow eyes and a gaping mouth. Behind the snake's tongue was an opening leading onto a road behind it. The road was as wide as the path leading to Yemma's castle with sharp waist-high scales flanking its sides, acting as borders. It stretched out as far as the eye could see.
"So. This is Snake Way, huh?" Goku wavered. He was petrified at the sheer size of it.
"It is. I am incapable of intruding on the space of those higher than myself on the food chain, so to speak. Otherwise, I would teleport you to the end right now."
"It's cool. I get it," Goku mumbled.
"Besides, your well of energy will expand significantly by making the pilgrimage. And it is essential to proving your worth to King Kai."
"Who is He?" asked Goku, stalling.
"There are four 'corners' in our universe, so to speak. Each one corresponds roughly to a direction. North, south, east, west. Ours is the northmost. Each corner has a Kai to watch over it, much how every planet with intelligent life possesses a Guardian. Ours is the North Kai, or as He boastfully refers to Himself, 'King Kai'."
"And He's pretty strong?"
"More than you can imagine. Though His strength is less physical and more a spiritual one. There is no telling how formidable you can become under His tutelage.
"At least there's that," nodded Goku.
He knew he should set out, take the first step. Nerves were getting to him, freezing him in place. Kami noticed his apprehension. They pointed their walking stick forward.
"It is no easy task lying ahead of you, my friend. Since you will have no mechanism by which to tell time here, you must make haste. It will take you a bare minimum of three months to reach Snake Way's end. Once you do, you will find King Kai. On the upside, being dead has its advantages. You will not run out of energy, and you need not sleep nor eat. Your form is not in the strictest sense corporeal, so it does not have the physical limitations a body does."
"Well, some good news is better than none," Goku acknowledged. "I'm gonna miss eating, though."
Kami placed a withered hand on his shoulder.
"Good luck, Goku. You may need it. Be swift. I will meet you here once your training is complete. Oh, and one more thing? Do not fall off the edge. Grave horrors await if you do."
Goku tightened his lips and clenched his fists.
It was no big deal. It was a long walk. Heck, he could fly the whole way if he wanted to (and not break a sweat, apparently). It was hardly the biggest challenge he ever faced.
I can do this.
He turned to Kami and regarded Them warmly.
"Thank you. Take care of yourself," Goku spoke. Kami nodded and swatted him on the back.
"Go."
With a leap and a bound, Goku took off, beginning his flight across the seemingly endless serpentine road.
Piccolo sat cross-legged two feet from Gohan. Their coat flapped in the breeze like a cape, making them appear all the more imposing and authoritative. The pair faced each other on the edge of a grass-covered ocean cliff beneath an overcast sky.
Gohan was clothed in a set of training gear modeled closely on his teacher's. Atop his gray muscle shirt was a violet gi with mauve trim. It was cinched with a thick, dark belt matching his baggy pants. His wrists were ensconced in purple athletic tape. He would've covered his palms and the webbings of his fingers, yet Piccolo insisted he wouldn't be punching anything for a while yet.
His mentor didn't care one iota what he wore; they found the boy's attention to detail vexing. They considered the overture a worthless attempt at impressing. Matching outfits weren't going to save them from the Saiyans. Identical loafers weren't going to make him any stronger. Gohan even chose to adorn a white headband to dishevel and mask his bowl cut, though this was less to earn good graces and more out of embarrassment for the hairdo his mother thrust upon him.
Piccolo raised both hands in front of them and made a pyramid of their fingers. Since recovering from the conflict with Raditz, they were able to devote the necessary faculties towards regeneration. The new arm grew in quite nicely. One would never even know it wasn't the one they were born with.
Piccolo looked up from their lap and opened their eyes. As they did, their hood blew back from their head. Their antennae and ears twitched at the fresh source of stimuli. A small orb of yellow blinked into their hands. Gohan craned his neck to get a closer look.
"This is energy. It is an extension of the fuel your body consumes to power motor functions, to do everyday tasks. It keeps you awake, invigorates your senses. Science has taught you it is a natural force inherent to you. That it can be replenished with food, rest, maintaining a healthy lifestyle. While partly true, science has yet to catch up with the exact nature of this force. Its intended applications."
Piccolo opened the triangular formation of their hands and let the ball of energy grow bigger, brighter. Gohan cooed at the sight.
"Your energy is far more than what you use to get around. It is a living, breathing lifeblood pumping through all living things. With diligence and practice, it can be harnessed as a weapon, tool, or both."
Gohan titled his head like a curious animal. He reached a hand out to the ball yet was careful not to touch it. It exuded a warmth, crackling like static against his fingertips.
"You mean, I can learn it? Regular people can? It's not something only things like you can do?"
Piccolo sneered. They did not appreciate being referred to as a "thing".
He's a kid. Let it go.
"Yes. All beings are capable of manipulating their energy, long as they put in the necessary work. It doesn't come easy for the uninitiated. Then again, you aren't 'regular people'. You are half-Saiyan. Doing it should be more natural for you than most, given your ancestors' penchant for great strength."
Gohan frowned. He hadn't considered he was part Saiyan. He supposed he should've accepted it as fact as soon as his father's real heritage was revealed. It was a strange feeling. A sort of biological cognitive dissonance.
"So, I'm not human?" the boy asked.
Piccolo didn't know how to react.
"Not fully, it would appear. I wouldn't worry about it too much. Thanks to astronomical luck, Saiyans are very human-like, so you pass. Especially without a tail. Unlike me."
Gohan pulled his hand away from the orb. He stared at Piccolo, more questions blooming in him like a field in spring.
"You wish you could? You wish you looked like everyone else?" the boy quizzed. Piccolo furrowed their brow.
"I suppose everyone who's different desires not to be at one point or another. Anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is you learn how to detect and focus your energy. Do as I do."
Piccolo let the ball of light dissolve. They placed their hands on their knees, palms facing up. They closed their eyes and took long breaths. Gohan mimicked their actions.
"Close your mind. Open your heart. Feel every infinitesimal sensation around you. The cool touch of the wind. The swaying of the grass. The brushing of cloth against flesh. The smell of the air. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks. Clear your thoughts. Funnel your senses. Hear nothing but the breeze, the water, my voice and the thump of your pulse. Wait for it. Soon, you will find it."
"Find what?" Gohan whispered, his forehead knotted with effort.
"Your inner self. Another heartbeat. Your energy pulsing through you. Give it time."
Gohan did as was told. He concentrated, trying his best to stymie all the commotion in his mind. It was a feat. He never meditated before. A state of not thinking a single thing was alien to him. The closest things he'd experienced were the timeouts he was forced to endure during his few and far between hissy fits as an even younger child. The negative association only served to frustrate him, making it all the more difficult to achieve the calm, peaceful state he was aiming for.
After minutes, he blew out a mouthful of air, his face red with perspiration and discouragement. The polar opposite of what Piccolo instructed.
"You're trying too hard. If you're straining so much, you're doing something wrong."
He tried again. He shut his eyes tight, balled his fists against his thighs and steadied his breathing. Instead of making his mind a total blank, he tried focusing on one thing. Something stationary, solid, immovable. He thought of a tree. The way it swayed yet never budged from its spot rooted to the ground. He kept repeating it as a mantra in his head.
Tree. Tree. Tree.
The more he did it, the more he began to dissect the term and each letter within. Tree. Tree. Tree. T-R-E-E. He got to the point where the incessant repetition of a single word causes it to sound foreign and lose all meaning. This was no good. He was still intently scrutinizing something as opposed to nothing, which was the goal. So much for cutting corners and finding roundabout ways of getting where he needed to be.
"I don't know if I can do this," the boy finally said. He sniffled once, twice, regained his composure. He refused to cry in front of his teacher.
"You're being too hard on yourself. You are young. No one successfully meditates on their first try, let alone learns to control their energy."
"My dad did," Gohan sighed. A single tear escaped. He quickly wiped it away with his knuckle.
Piccolo didn't know what to say. Frankly, they were astonished the boy was coaxing so much sympathy out of them. A week ago, they wouldn't have hesitated to treat the situation like a drill sergeant preparing a soldier for war. They pondered if such an approach might work better, be more beneficial in the long run. Eventually, they decided not. Much as it disgusted them, in almost all scenarios, positive reinforcement trumped negative. Then they remembered these circumstances were wholly unique, uncharted territory for them.
Seven days ago, they wouldn't have thought twice about kidnapping the kid as leverage against Goku. Or exterminating him outright.
"Your father was a few years older than you when he mastered the power inside him. Even for him, it wasn't effortless."
"Explain it to me again?" Gohan pleaded. Piccolo acquiesced.
"Your energy is a strength within you. It serves everyday functions, like making you conscious, allowing you to move, driving your thoughts. You can replenish it with food, rest, relaxation. Science would tell you it's an inherent, kinetic force. While technically correct, it's much more. It flows throughout all life, unites and binds everything. It's the one immutable building block to existence. You can bend its will to match your own. You just need practice."
This was the part Gohan was bothered by. The fact Piccolo kept disparaging science to get their point across. He was weaned on science, educated in the fundamentals of math, chemistry, and biology at three years of age by his aunt and mother. Piccolo's teachings flew in the face of everything he knew.
The simplest explanation was magic did exist. It was as real as any scientific discipline or school of thought. What really separated science and magic, anyway? In all likelihood, the two concepts probably weren't dissimilar to each other. Capsule Corp., for example, blurred the line between the possible and the impossible with their revolutionary shrinking technology pretty routinely.
Was it so outlandish to think it could all be true? He knew firsthand monsters and aliens existed. He'd been captured by each, respectively. Plus, there was no denying whatever Piccolo was, it wasn't human. And as he recently learned, his parents and their friends accepted magic as commonplace when they weren't much older than him.
But you don't know…
He didn't witness the battle with Raditz, in fact, blacked out during the end of it. He couldn't recall much from his abduction the previous year. And while his father's tall tales from youth were thrilling, there was no way to prove they actually happened. He didn't think his family and their friends were liars, per se. And yet, he couldn't help question whether everything was as described, or if some of it was embellished for his benefit.
He could've imagined the monstrous features of his kidnappers. He knew from the astronomy books he read aliens were theoretically possible, so Raditz's arrival wasn't quite the shock it could've been. He also knew a side effect of his dad's injury was an extreme incapability of exaggerating or bending the truth, which only served to add to the boy's confusion. He now knew people could fly, too. He was still having trouble figuring out how. Piccolo said it was from energy manipulation. Gohan wasn't so sure.
There has to be more to it. Something I'm not getting. Something obvious, staring me right in the face.
"Let's call it a day. The sun will be going down soon. Go over that hill and collect some firewood. I'll find something edible for you," Piccolo grunted.
Gohan was filled with a mixture of relief and disappointment at the lesson's conclusion.
Less than an hour later, the sky molted its whites and grays, replacing them with bruise-colored shades of blue. Stars shimmered on, one by one. Aside from the galactic tapestry, the only source of light for miles was the duo's makeshift campfire. Roasting on a spit above it was some kind of bird, likely a seagull. It wasn't the tastiest thing Gohan ever ate, rather gamey. He was nonetheless thankful he wasn't forced to take part in killing and cooking the poor thing. The gratitude spurred an idea in him.
"Do you think any wilderness survival training might help?" Gohan asked as he cleaned the skin and meat from a glistening brown drumstick.
Piccolo shook their head. They were bathed in an orange glow from the flames. It turned their skin from a brilliant emerald to a mustard-yellow.
"No. You're not going to be in the wild by yourself. Not while I'm training you, in any case. I can't imagine such skills will be of much use against the Saiyans. Honestly, my hopes aren't high for us making it out of said battle alive. We can't afford to be wasting time teaching you things you don't need."
"Oh well. Maybe another time, then. Who knows? Could be good practice for some real camping, once it's all over. If we're still around," Gohan tittered.
Piccolo turned their head away, scoffed at the implication they would ever do something so insipid as go vacationing together.
"Get it straight, kid. I'm not your pal. I'm not your friend. You are my student, and I am your teacher. For now. If we make it out of this, we go our separate ways, and maybe I don't come back to finish the job I started with your dad. Got it?" Piccolo snarled. Gohan inched away.
"Okay. Sorry," he replied, a note of sadness in his tone.
A long hush followed, punctuated by the crackle of the roaring fire.
Gohan toyed with saying more. He didn't feel like getting yelled at again. He also didn't want to spend the whole night sharing an uncomfortable silence with someone who might as well have been a stranger to him. Remembering this fact caused him to miss his parents, made the enormity of his predicament rear its ugly head.
He wasn't strong. He wasn't a fighter. He was almost five. He was way in over his head. He didn't ask Piccolo to train him because it was what he wanted, instead what he felt was right. His parents taught him early on good people didn't sit idly by and watch others suffer when they could do something about it. He knew they meant when he was older. Still, there was an overabundance of Goku hardcoded into his DNA. He felt instinctively attracted to danger, intrigue, challenge, and selflessness. They were all ingrained in him.
He needed to say something—anything to distract himself. Otherwise, he'd have to stifle more tears.
"I never thanked you. For saving me. Twice," Gohan spoke low.
Piccolo gave him a sidelong glance and twitched their nose.
"Don't mention it."
"Guessing you mean literally?" Gohan asked with a hint of sarcasm.
"If it can be helped."
Piccolo's poker face was strong, their expression steely. Nevertheless, the pint-sized fighter in-training was sure he detected the faintest shred of mirth in their response. This pleased him. He took it as unspoken permission to keep going.
"Why did you save me?"
Piccolo was caught off guard by the question.
"This time or the last?"
"Both, I guess. Last time I was too young to remember much. I know some creepy guys kidnapped me. Everything's kind of blank after that. I think they wanted my hat more than they wanted me."
Piccolo uncrossed their legs and drew one up to their chest. They rested an arm upon it and cracked their neck.
"They didn't want your hat. They wanted the Dragon Ball on it. Your father was never the sharpest tool in the shed. Still, I would've figured your mother would be smart enough to keep the damn thing away from you. Dragon Balls are magnets for trouble."
"Because they can grant wishes?" Gohan said with an air of incredulity.
"Precisely," Piccolo confirmed.
Of all the farfetched things he'd been told over the last several days, the legend of the Dragon Balls was a mighty pill to swallow. Since he was no longer in the presence of his grieving mother and distraught aunt, he didn't need to pretend he thought they would actually bring his father back. He wanted to believe. The faith wasn't coming easy.
"Why don't more people try to find them? You'd think everyone would want a wish granted."
"They're mystical artifacts, central to folklore the world over. Most dismiss them as nothing more than fodder for children's bedtime stories. Of the few who can separate myth from reality, most spend their entire lives seeking them out, only to die without ever discovering one.
"Whenever a wish is granted by the Dragon Balls, they scatter across the planet. Afterward, they become inert. You wouldn't be able to tell one apart from an average stone, albeit a curiously spherical one. It takes a year for them to recharge and become active once more."
"Awfully convenient," said Gohan under his breath. Piccolo chuckled.
"Wouldn't have taken the son of Goku for a skeptic. You'll see soon enough."
Gohan tossed his stripped avian bone into the fire. He stared at the undulating flames, transfixed by the heat and the movements.
"I act a lot younger when I'm around my dad."
Piccolo didn't respond. The boy kept on.
"I know he's not as smart as most people. Can't be. So, I try to act my age around him. I think I'm smarter than most of the grown-ups I've met. You can blame my aunt Bulma. And my mom. They started me reading as soon as I could walk far enough to grab a book off the shelf. I study for fun. I love making them proud of me. My dad doesn't really care. He'd rather me be a fighter. I guess me doing this would make him happy."
He was on the edge of the fire, inching closer and closer to Piccolo throughout their conversation. It did not go unnoticed.
"How many times do I need to tell you? Just because I killed your father doesn't mean I have any interest in crowning myself his replacement. Keep to yourself."
"So, what? Are we supposed to not talk? Wouldn't it be good for my training for us to get to know each other?"
"Can't see how it would make any difference," Piccolo grumbled. Gohan shook his head from side to side in an animated fashion.
"You've gotta train for the Saiyans, too. This is time you could be using to make yourself stronger. Instead, you're helping me. There's gotta be something in it for you, right? Especially if you think my dad's friends are gonna bring him back with the Dragon Balls. You shouldn't feel guilty about killing him anymore."
"Suppose that lets me off the hook, then," Piccolo said. They meant it to be threatening. They couldn't hide the lightheartedness cropping up in them.
Gohan's good nature was infectious. Unlike Goku's, it felt genuine. The product of raising someone right, rather than a concussion in a ravine to spur the bubbly disposition.
"If you were gonna call it quits, you'd have done it already. If I were you, I would've…considering how bad I did today," the boy spoke, amping up the exaggerated self-pity on his face.
"Stop talking down about yourself. Adding confidence issues to your trouble focusing will only make finding your center harder," Piccolo said without thinking.
"You definitely wouldn't be saying stuff like that if you didn't care. At least a little bit," Gohan retorted, grinning ear to ear. The green one became flustered.
"I'll say one thing for certain. You don't get your conniving ways from Goku."
"C'mon. Let's talk. Please?"
Piccolo removed their coat and laid it out behind them like a blanket. They leaned back and rested their head on their palms, their elbows pointed out to their sides.
"Fine. Get your fill before I change my mind."
"Why did you save me?"
"Last time?"
"Sure."
"Your father and I found ourselves with a common enemy. His goons attacked me, attacked Kami. Wanted to take over Earth. I staked my claim on this world long ago. I felt obliged to exercise said right. Saving you happened to be a consequence of our truce and ultimate victory."
"Who's Kami?"
Piccolo shuddered. Gohan couldn't tell if it was from fear or anger. Maybe both.
"Kami is the Guardian of Earth. Your rightful God. He and your dad go way back, which doesn't win either of them any brownie points with me."
Piccolo's voice sounded as if it curdled like milk when speaking of Kami. Gohan was reluctant to poke the bear but wanted to know more.
"God, huh? My mom and dad told me about Him. They never said He had a name. Why don't you like Him?"
"It's…complicated," Piccolo breathed.
When the boy didn't say anything else, they realized he was waiting for them to go on. They emitted a low growl in the pit of their throat.
"A being very much like me arrived here centuries ago. They were cold, alone, afraid. They fended for themselves for many years. This hardened them, gave them a cynical view of their unwelcoming new home. They amassed great strength, and eventually found the Lookout—the temple of the Guardian, suspended high in the sky.
"When the being communed with God, God saw great potential in them. They saw capacity for great evil as well, due to their hard heart. This prevented God from relinquishing His title. So, the being used an ancient technique. A purification ritual. It coalesced the darkness inside them and separated it into another, distinct form. Of these two, the purified one went on to ascend the throne and become Kami. The other, twisted by circumstance of birth and their own ambition, became Lord Piccolo. The one who created me in their own image, with all their thoughts, desires, and memories."
"Lord Piccolo. Weren't they one of the ones my dad defeated?"
Gohan felt a thrum in the air. His bones rattled and the campfire almost went out. His blood froze in his veins.
Piccolo didn't move. The minor show of energy was enough to let him know this was a fine line he was on the verge of crossing.
"Yes. In quite the same violent fashion you dispatched Raditz," Piccolo rumbled, their gaze fixed on the stars. They hadn't vocalized it to anyone, but the image of Gohan bursting through the Saiyan's chest would be one to haunt their nightmares for some time. More so when their subconscious inevitably bled it into the memory of Goku doing the same to their predecessor. It was the type of remembrance which carried physical pain with it, like a phantom limb. It was a memento from their forbearer they would gladly choose to forget if possible.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. Don't ever apologize for your own strength. You did what needed to be done, whether you were aware of it or not. As you know, there is great power hidden in you. We will find its trigger. All the same, mastering your energy is key to controlling your power. A flare-up in dire straits will only take you so far."
Gohan got bold. He decided to ask a potentially dangerous question.
"Couldn't you say the same about my dad? Didn't he do what needed to be done against Lord Piccolo?"
Piccolo didn't answer him. The thrum didn't happen again, which meant they were at least letting the concept marinate.
"My dad said my uncle Krillin and his friends Yamcha and Oolong used to be bad. I'm sure he thought you could be one of the good guys, too. He was willing to let go of the past. Why can't you do the same?"
"I'm sure your dad's friends drilled into your head what a great hero he is. Defender of the weak. Protector of the innocent. Yes, your dad has saved this world on more than one occasion. But Goku is a fool who plays at being a saint. He has left more than his fair share of bodies in his wake. And nothing he's done in the name of the 'greater good' is without consequence. You'd do well to remember that."
Gohan nodded, despite Piccolo being unable to see it. Their speech suggested to him there was no small amount of hyperbole in the stories regaled by Krillin, Master Roshi, and the like. A hollow ache started to form in the space between his stomach and chest. He wondered how well he really knew his father. It was a troubling line of thinking. Gohan felt even more lost than before.
"So, everything they told me the other day…it was all a lie? They weren't superheroes? They didn't fight demons? My dad's just a murderer?"
"I didn't say that. Quite the contrary. None of the things you've heard are outright fabrications. The Dragon Balls are real. Goku did fight demons. He is also a murderer. My point is, what you've been told specifically about your father, while true, is very skewed. Meant to fit a narrative by those who love him. All I'm telling you is not to accept everything so blindly. If you take everything you hear at face value, you're bound to be disappointed someday."
Piccolo's own views were a bit skewed. Even so, Gohan felt at least a portion of this was important life advice. He took it to heart while abiding its underlying message. Whether it be stories of Goku's youth or Piccolo's jaded opinions, he needed to question all of it. He was positive even Bulma would approve of such a takeaway.
Accept nothing at face value. Question everything. Even Piccolo's teachings?
Internally, the boy was still a mess of discombobulated opinions, theories, and hopes. He felt like bits and pieces were starting to make sense.
"Why did you save me this time?" Gohan asked in an attempt to squelch the myriad voices in his head for the moment.
Another silence followed.
"It was your mother."
"My mom?" Gohan responded in mid-yawn.
Fatigue crept up on him without notice. His eyelids were turning heavy with the effort of propping them open. It was surely past 9:00. Usually, he was in bed no later than 8:00. That was on a good night when Chi-Chi was feeling lenient. Plus, he did just finish eating after a mentally and emotionally taxing day.
"When she came to me, begging me to help get you back, I realized my quarrel wasn't with her. I am Lord Piccolo's mind and spirit, reincarnated. Yet, the strength of their will, their ferocity seems absent from me as of late. Your mother must have a degree of psychic aptitude. I see no other way she could've known to capitalize on my weakness. She exposed a desire I have to forge my own path, create my own destiny. After dispatching your father, of course. In the end, I couldn't muster the desire to refuse her. Not when she showed me a kindness, a sincerity no one else had. The likes of which were sorely needed when Kami and I were still one."
Gohan thought he understood. It also cemented in his mind Piccolo wasn't so bad. Sure, they could be gruff, perhaps even a little mean. But all the apprehension, fear, and displacement he'd gone into this state of affairs with were gone, evaporated. He wondered if those feelings were holding him back, inhibiting his training. This made his mind race, sending a few pointed thoughts bubbling up through the haze of his need for sleep like lanterns in mist.
"Rest. We begin bright and early tomorrow," Piccolo affirmed. They rolled onto their side and folded one arm beneath their ear as a makeshift pillow. Gohan agreed, fully aware he would not be sleeping much that night.
When the sun next met the stratus, Piccolo awoke to a surge of energy. There was a thickness to the air, a tremor in the earth. At first, they thought it was merely the remnants of their dreams. Sitting up to see Gohan floating at the edge of the cliff seemed to confirm the suspicion. When they jabbed themselves with a sharp nail and felt the pain without awakening, they realized what they saw wasn't their eyes playing games with them.
It was happening. The boy found his center.
The kid broke through.
"Gohan, you've done it!" Piccolo shouted.
They were too distracted by the momentous step forward to chastise themselves for feeling so elated, so proud. They rushed to their feet and dashed over to the boy, careful not to approach too quick and break his concentration.
Gohan was suspended in the air, four feet off the ground. Particles of soil levitated, swirled in concentric circles a six-foot radius from his body. The blades of grass for several yards in every direction stood on end, pointed towards him. His legs dangled and kicked, incapable of finding purchase. He looked to be held by the spot where his neck met his spine as if hanging by a hook. His fists trembled at his sides, his eyes tightly clenched shut. He bared his teeth with the effort. His whole body vibrated, sweat caking his skin.
Once he heard Piccolo and their words of encouragement, Gohan opened his eyes and smiled. His exertion lessened in the process. The calm he attained caused him to float a few inches higher.
"How? You struggled so much yesterday. How did you manage to do it?" Piccolo bellowed, a genuine laugh of excitement coating their voice.
"Well, it was easy. Once I realized you were wrong," Gohan replied matter-of-factly.
Piccolo blinked several times in rapid succession, dumbfounded by the revelation.
"What?" they balked.
"You were wrong. You kept telling me controlling energy was something science hadn't caught up with yet. That was the problem. I love science. My mom and my aunt have been teaching it to me since forever. It was strange for me—to think something everyone has in them and can do would be a total mystery to scientists everywhere."
Piccolo's expression of shock and bafflement didn't falter. For once, they were the one hanging on every word, urging the boy to continue his explanation.
"I was wracking my brain thinking about it. I couldn't sleep. Then, it hit me. Scientists do know about energy control. It's just not what they think it is. Or what you think it is."
"Pray tell. What is it, then?" Piccolo asked, dubious.
"It's gravity."
Piccolo contorted their face, not getting it.
"Come again?"
"Gravity. You described energy as a force, existing and moving through everything in the universe, right? All living things are affected by it, yeah? I tried to think if anything like it has been studied before. If there's any analog. A precedent. Then, there it was, staring me right in the face. Gravity. Gravity exists everywhere, in everything. Even things in space are affected by it. It makes the universe go 'round, controls the sun, the moon, the planets. We all feel it, even if we don't notice it. It governs everything. Once I knew the two forces had to be one and the same, it all clicked. Then I started to hover."
Piccolo wasn't certain they bought into the kid's line of thinking. They didn't agree with the notion energy could be dumbed down and reduced to such a material thing when it was wholly immaterial. Taking the spirit out of the spiritual. Even so, the results spoke for themselves. Gohan was practically flying. His real training had at last begun.
Maybe there was hope after all. Piccolo started to wonder if the impending fight with the Saiyans was one they could possibly win. They decided they needed to take their own advice. Question everything. Leave no stone unturned. Abandon preconceived notions wherever possible.
Maybe Gohan had a point about letting go of the past.
"Man, this rrreeeaaalllyyy blows," Yamcha groaned.
He put his feet up on the rim of the dugout, careful not to move forward too far and risk sliding off his seat. If he did, he'd be unable to catch himself, and Krillin was too wrapped up in watching the team practice to notice.
"I know, bud. It's only eight weeks. Then, you'll be good as new and ready to train with us!" Krillin said. He always did his best to look on the bright side, to find the silver lining when someone was in a bad way. It wasn't working.
Ever since having his arms broken by Raditz, the long-haired baseball star refuted any and all attempts at positivity. The loss did more than waylay his team's winning season; it was a tremendous blow to his confidence, his self-worth. If one enemy could beat him so handily, even when his best friends and some of the strongest fighters he knew were tag-teaming them, what chance did he stand against a greater threat? Not to mention his injury put him squarely in the public eye, even more so than usual. He knew as soon as he left the West City Stadium, he'd be mobbed by entertainment reporters and paparazzi. It was bad enough having to deal with them whenever he and Bulma wanted a night out on the town, or when the Titans pulled off a harrowing victory in the eleventh hour. There was no one to blame but himself in the latter case, due to his occasional reliance on energy control to augment his speed and strength and turn the tides of a difficult game. He couldn't use his heightened abilities on a regular basis. Otherwise, he risked accusations of steroid use at best, his superhumanity being exposed at worst.
"Speak for yourself," Yamcha bemoaned while attempting to move his arms. He was mummified in off-white plaster from shoulder to wrist on both sides, his elbows pointed up. He imagined he resembled a puppet with a few strategically cut strings. "Eight weeks until I can get out of these casts. Then there'll be at least another six of physical therapy. I bet I can cut that to four if I try hard enough. You guys'll be way past me by then. I'll slow you all down. I might have to bow this one out."
Obviously, he was referring to the impending war with the Saiyans. Krillin tore his attention away from the other players doing warmups on the field to better tend to his friend.
"I mean, no one would hold it against you if you did. You've got two busted arms. There's not a whole lot you can do until they're healed. Besides, you won't be the only one. I'm sure some of the gang will show. The heavy hitters. Others won't. I'd be surprised if Nam's kept up with his training. And Bora and Upa likely won't suspend their duties of guarding Korin Tower."
"I don't want to give up. I don't wanna feel useless, either. Trust me, I'm itching to train. I'd take any excuse to get away from Capsule Corp. and the media for a while."
"Well, you kinda didn't make it any easier on yourself with that tabloid stunt," Krillin chastised.
The stunt in question was Yamcha's cover story for how he broke his arms. Before getting them set in casts, he made sure to make a big show of getting drunk and climbing to the top of Capsule Corp. HQ. He intentionally threw himself off the roof. Once it was revealed he survived the plummet, he did a hasty interview to dispel any rumors it may have been an attempted suicide, rather the antics of an insane partier. The press ate it up, as it only fed into the bad boy image he cultivated for himself in the news circuit. There was a bit of drama with the Titans' owner Freddy threatening repercussions for his conduct off the field. Said posturing was always a non-start due to how essential Yamcha was to the team, which would certainly be proven in the coming weeks when they wouldn't be able to use him as their ace in the hole.
One scandal (along with a resulting PR nightmare and his sportsmanship called into question) thwarted. The flipside, of course, being the number of vultures he still needed to deal with on a daily basis, and the fact his fall from Capsule Corp. exacerbated his injuries. Since it wasn't a calculated move (as well as being deeply inebriated when it happened), he didn't have the luxury of planning how he would fall, instead adding potential months to his recovery process.
"We could still use your help. So, you'll have to play a little catch-up. Nothing you haven't done before. And you're still a part of the team. Always remember, you were ours first," Krillin said as he gestured at his teammates, who were now jogging laps around the baseball diamond.
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I wish I took Bulma up on the offer of some Senzu when I had the chance. Then this would be a non-issue."
"Yeah, but you were brave for doing it. And who knows? It might've made the difference in the fight with Raditz. The best side of you always comes out when there're people in worse trouble. That's why we need ya."
"See? Now you're guilting me into not throwing in the towel," Yamcha teased.
"You betcha," Krillin replied with a wink.
"Someone call for the Bean Daddy?" said a gruff, raspy voice from behind them. They knew it in an instant. As grating as the person attached to it was, most often his appearance carried good news and even better gifts.
Krillin spun around in his plastic seat to face their guest. Yamcha intended to do the same. Instead, he flopped out of his folding chair like a caught fish. His concern for whether his bald compatriot would catch him was not misplaced.
There was a heavyset man blocking most of the entrance to the dugout. He was between Yamcha and Krillin in height, wearing a bright orange robe-like garment which hung to his ankles, held closed with a large belt. The fabric on his shoulders was shredded, bearing gold pauldrons on either side. His thick arms were bare to his beige wristbands which matched his belt. Affixed to the belt was a crimson scabbard with a lengthy sword inside. His gigantic feet were clad in white socks and rope sandals. His pudgy face was framed by a wild mop of tousled black hair. He always made them think of a rocker who decided out of the blue to devote his life to spiritual pursuits but couldn't quite let the old habits and fashion sense die hard.
"Yajirobe!" Krillin shouted. He looked to his side and noticed Yamcha on the floor. He knelt to grab him and accidentally hoisted him up by the casts, eliciting a string of expletives and yowls of pain.
"Boy, you guys're fallin' apart over here," the rotund swordsman guffawed. He approached the duo and lent a hand pulling Yamcha to his feet.
"Been a long time, man! Tell me you've got something good for us," Yamcha said through grit teeth, biting back the soreness in his upper extremities.
"Geeze, is this how Bulma feels, always gettin' taken advantage of? It's never, 'Hey, Yajirobe! How you been? I noticed you've lost some weight!' Nah, it's always, 'Where the beans at? Come on, make with beans, Bean Daddy!'" Yajirobe yelled in indignation.
"No one calls you Bean Daddy. Only you've ever called yourself that," Krillin spoke while scratching his chin and looking off in another direction.
"See, this kinda disrespect is exactly what I'm talkin' about. I ain't giving you guys a thing until I see some warmth and kindness outta ya."
Krillin and Yamcha sighed with exasperation.
"Hello, Yajirobe. How are you doing? You sure have lost a few pounds," the pair said in complete unison, having been put through this routine on more than one occasion.
"That's better. Here," he said as he rummaged around in a brown sack with a loose tie. He withdrew a single Senzu Bean from it and flicked it at Yamcha. The large man delighted in watching the former bandit scramble on the ground for the wayward morsel. He banged his head and his casts several times during the vain attempt to find it. Finally, Krillin was forced to swallow his pride and get onto the floor to help him locate it. Once they did, Krillin popped the thing into Yamcha's mouth. He chewed the crunchy green bit with great enthusiasm.
"Well? How d'ya feel, buddy?" Krillin whispered, waiting with bated breath.
Yamcha narrowed his eyes and smiled.
"I'll show you how I feel."
The Turtle Hermit student crouched and began to yell. His bellow echoed throughout the dugout, carrying towards the rest of the stadium. All his teammates stopped what they were doing and turned their heads to see what was going on. Yamcha didn't care. A laugh became intermingled with his roar. His energy rose, built higher and higher, shook the structures around them. Yajirobe clung to a wall for dear life while Krillin watched, a grin spread across his face.
Yamcha flexed and shattered his casts. His arms blasted through their plaster tombs, looking healthier and more defined than ever. A chorus of gasps and shrieks emitted from his teammates at the sight.
"I'd say you're feeling a bit better," Krillin chortled. He patted Yamcha on the bicep. It felt like spun steel encased in flesh.
"You're welcome. Didn't hafta be a diva about it," Yajirobe muttered.
"Thank you, Yajirobe. I owe you, big time," Yamcha said as he slapped his own muscles, delighted to no end.
"Yeah, yeah. Listen. Not all I'm here for. You guys got a royal decree. Big Man told Popo to tell Korin to tell me to tell you. Anyone and everyone who's preparing to fight the Saiyans is invited to the Lookout for special training with Kami. Guys best not keep 'Em waiting."
Krillin and Yamcha ogled each other at the proposition. Among them, only Goku was ever personally invited to train in the Temple of the Guardian. This was huge. Not only was it an amazing opportunity to gain strength, it was also an incredible honor. This could very well be the leg up they needed to turn the tides of the coming battle.
"Yamcha, what say we go find Tien and Chiaotzu, bring them along?" Krillin asked with a smirk. Yamcha high-fived him in response.
"Sounds like a plan."
To Be Continued…