Four days until the Budokai...

"Well, hi, Krillin! What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know. Shopping for food. #18 likes us to eat real food instead of foraging in rubbish bins like I used to do."

Yamcha chuckled. "You sly dog! Hey... what happened to your eye?"

Krillin froze. "I walked into a door."

"Are you sure? That doesn't look like an accidental bruise to me."

Krillin slumped against a crate of cabbages and sobbed into his hands. "Oh, Yamcha! What can I do? I feel so imprisoned!"

"She's beating you, isn't she? Your wife is beating you!"

Krillin wailed. "She's just so powerful! She says 'Krillin, let's spar so we can get stronger for the Budokai', and then she hits me, Yamcha! She hits me!"

"Does... does Marron see any of this?"

"No." Krillin wiped away a tear. "She's always asleep whenever #18 gets drunk and abusive. I... I was tempted to go sleep at Goku's place, but I can't leave the house when she's about. She's always watching."

"Krillin," said Yamcha.

Krillin sniffed. "Yes?"

"Don't be such a pansy."

"Er, yeah." Krillin glanced around, embarassed. "I mean, it's not as though I'm the only guy whose wife beats him. Hey, Vegeta."

"Don't look at me," roared Vegeta, putting on sunglasses and disappearing into Frozen Foods.


Three days until the Budokai...

"Look at me, Gohan! Look at me! I'm flying!" Goten spun in the air. "Hahahaha! I can fly!"

"Not now, Goten! I'm busy with Videl!"

Goten frowned. "You never taught me how to do that."

"Go away, Goten!"

Goten circled them. "What sort of fighting technique is that?" he said curiously. "It looks like you've taught Videl how to hurt you, Gohan, the way you're moaning like that--"

"GO AWAY!"

Goten shrugged. "I'll fly to Trunks' house! He'll be impressed!" The little Goku-clone somersaulted in the air before heading off at an incredible speed towards Capsule Corp.

"Ouch!" Gohan winced. "That one hurt."

"Sorry, Gohan," said Videl, lifting the nail clippers. "But look, if you'd just hold still, cutting your toenails wouldn't hurt this much!"


Two days until the tournament...

Vegeta walked over to the Gravity Setting dial. Nine out of ten doctors recommended not training at 450 times regular gravity, citing all kinds of circulation problems, pressure on bones, stunting of regular growth, not to mention that being crushed into a small filmy puddle is bad for overall health.

Vegeta, however, always listened that tenth doctor who never agreed with the others - the one that said brushing your teeth caused cancer, the one who thought that apples were made from arsenic, and the one who thought that training under 450G was actually a really good idea. He turned the dial up.

It felt like an immensely fat man was jumping up and down on his shoulders, but that was okay. He began to punch at the air, sweat rolling down his body. Punch! Kick! Punch! It helped that every time he imagined he was punching or kicking Kakarotto, who was floating transparently in the air with that stupid smile of his. "Hi," said the non-existent Kakarotto who was only part of Vegeta's imagination. "I'm Goku! Yuk yuk yuk! I'm so STOOPID! But I'm so much better than you, Vegeta!"

He glanced up as the door to the gravity chamber opened, and Trunks wandered in. Immediately the boy buckled as if somebody had dropped an anvil on his head, but he kept stumping around in the gravity, completely determined. Vegeta felt that disturbing feeling inside him again, the one that made him feel as if the Earth was a decent place and his family was really all that mattered and that butterflies weren't really so bad--

He punched himself in the face. "Snap out of it, Vegeta!"

"Huh?"

"This is no place for a child! If you get crushed, your mother will never let me hear the end of it. Look at you, you can barely move."

Trunks concentrated. His hair thickened and flew into the air as it was infused with the golden power of a Super Saiyajin; his aura lengthened and he began to fly around the gravity chamber as though there was no gravity at all. "I can move now!"

"Ghbnh," said Vegeta. He stiffly moved over the wall and beat his head against it. When he'd killed enough brain cells to be able to confront the situation he turned to Trunks again. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"Oh, a while," said Trunks, capering around the room.

"Can Kakarotto's son do that too?"

"Kakarotto?" Trunks hesitated. "What's a Kakarotto?"

Vegeta sighed. "Kakarotto is Kakarotto's real name."

"What?"

"I said, Kakarotto is Kakarotto! But all his friends call him Kakarotto!" Vegeta stopped. "What? I can't say Kakarotto! I mean, Kakarotto! Aargh! I've spent so long calling him Kakarotto I'm physically incapable of using his other name!"

Trunks backed away, then ran out the door screaming "Mum! Dad has gone insane!"

"Okay, Vegeta, you can do this." He took it slowly. "Go.. Go... Gokakarotto. Damn it! Damn it!"


One day until the tournament...

Piccolo sat motionless in the air, hovering above the tiled floor of the Lookout.

"He's been like this for days," said Mr. Popo quietly. Dende looked horrified.

"What if he's dead, Mr. Popo? Huh? What if he's dead and you just left him there for days?" Dende ran towards Piccolo, tears beginning to flow from his eyes. "Piccolo! Oh, I'm sorry, Piccolo! I wasn't here soon enough!"

"No, Dende, I meant he's been MEDITATING for days!"

Piccolo's eyes opened. "Go away, Dende."

"Uh, right. Sorry, Piccolo." Dende retreated back to Mr. Popo's side. "I guess I got a little carried away there."

"Yes, you did."

Dende frowned. Mr. Popo hadn't spoken for almost ten seconds now... was he? Oh no! Mr. Popo was dead! He burst into tears. "Mr. Popo!" he screamed. "Oh, Mr. Popo! I'm so sorry you had to die!"

Mr. Popo scowled. "I'm not dead, Dende!"

Dende sniffled. "Right. Right. Hey, Piccolo hasn't moved since we spoke to him last... are you sure he hasn't died?"

"Hey, Dende." Mr. Popo picked up a stick and threw it over the Lookout. "Go fetch! Go fetch!"

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Popo."