The Universe, Nebula of God, Beerus' Planet
Beerus' planet. A distant world hidden away within a nebula, somewhere at an undisclosed location. The population? Two. At least, this was normally the case. During these past ten months, the number of inhabitants on Beerus' lonely planet had increased by what could be considered an exponential number compared to its usual humdrum total. Seven additional people now found themselves living on Beerus' world: Son Gohan, Son Erasa, Son Goten, Trunks, Piccolo, Tenshinhan, and Yamcha had all made the voyage to Beerus' world, seeking training from Whis.
These seven individuals, despite training under the same master, were running under vastly different schedules to suit the needs — and lives — of each fighter. This showed through even now. Training was 'on', as one could say, the morning suns rising above Beerus' planet being the call to action for the seven martial artists. Atop a peak, Tenshinhan was already at work. He sat cross-legged at the very heights of this rock formation, all three eyes closed, fingers clasped together. The three-eyed man was locked in heavy meditation, a sphere of ki, coloured a translucent red, encircled him. Occasional sparks dug at the integrity of the protective orb — an indicator of when Tenshinhan's focus slipped.
Fine-tuning the control of one's ki was certainly the order of the day for the Earthling fighters. Standing tall at the base of the jutting rock-peak was Yamcha. He was rigid in formation, fists clenched lightly at either side. Flowing out from his body was a vibrant flame of pure white ki — the flow was smooth, more like water than flames — and it clung tightly to his form, matching the contours of his body was as much accuracy as Yamcha could attempt. Erratically, the flow would snap out of this pristine formation, branching out and distancing itself from Yamcha's body; each time this misstep occurred, the Earthling breathed slowly inward, recalling the ki towards its previous shape.
Above the lavender-hued lake that was the primary source of the Beerus planet's freshwater, the two Saiyans, Goten and Trunks, found themselves focusing their reserves of ki into a stunning, brilliant-white aura. Beneath them, the water began to ripple and churn, swirling into violent waves that rose into a maelstrom around the two of them. Witnessing this, they dialed back their ki immediately, leaving Goten to chuckle awkwardly.
"I can already hear Whis reprimand us instinctively now," he admitted sheepishly, the water sloshing back into a still pool within moments of the two reigning back their auras. The young man, still so resembling his father, had adopted a new gi since coming to train with Whis. His new attire was dark blue in colour, the gi tops and bottoms matching each other in hue, tied together by a white-coloured obi. Worn underneath the gi was a reddish-pink, long-sleeved shirt, and his boots were a dark burgundy, tied with Velcro and steel-tipped. The young Saiyan had accessorised with a headband, of the same hue as his undershirt, though it was worn much shorter than Videl's.
"No point in trying to make excuses now," replied Trunks. "Until the surface of this water remains absolutely still, we're pretty much stuck on this lesson." Much like Goten, Trunks had undergone a wardrobe change now that they had begun to train in earnest. The half-Saiyan wore the breastplate of a Saiyan Combat Jacket over his otherwise bare torso, the golden shoulder-straps keeping it locked firmly in place. The armor itself was a dark black in hue, with a green section directly placed centre over his stomach. Rather than the leotard bottoms that typically accompanied this manner of dress, Trunks wore dark blue gi bottoms. His hands were gloved in white, and the man wore white boots to match, with his hair still being worn long, tied by a white band.
The two individuals who had drawn the short end of the stick were Videl and Piccolo. The former student and teacher found themselves in charge of managing the morning chores — some of which included changing the bedding of a volatile, still sleeping, Beerus, more dangerous than even Whis' training — but it was a testament to how long they'd been training that neither found the time to grumble or complain. Besides, efficient, quiet cleaning led to them finishing quickly, which would give them more than enough ample time to train.
Individuals naturally progressed at vastly different paces. This was something that every warrior would have to accept at some point, and Whis' lot of students — each at various levels of progression — were living examples. Among Whis' students were those who had taken quite a shine to his training, for one reason or another, and were beginning to see the results in a much more tangible way. These two cases had currently found themselves pit against each other in one of their now regular sparring matches, clashing across the surface of Beerus' planet.
Son Gohan and Son Erasa were locked in a routine sparring match, not atypical of their regular training sessions. The cacophony that followed from each and every blow the duo exchanged could only be described as a repetition of explosions. Gohan thrust his arm toward Erasa, who raised a thin hand to catch the incoming blow with her palm. Her free hand snaking through the air, the woman unleashed an open-faced palm blow; Gohan guarded against it with his own fist. How long had it been since they'd had a proper sparring match? Even before coming to Beerus' planet, it had been quite some time.
The Saiyan-half son of Gokū had never been able to proper spar with Erasa during her initial training more than a decade ago. And once she'd reached a level comparable to the rest of his family and friends, the two had been quite busy just living their lives. Despite this, they'd managed to find the time to polish their skills using each other as a partner; due to that, Gohan and Erasa knew the movements of the other quite thoroughly.
In the midst of their physical skirmish, a gush of white ki erupted from their hands and bodies, buffeting the air before dissipating into nothing.
Observing their demonstration was Whis, staff held delicately in hand. He emitted an obvious click of disapproval, leading to the two glancing over at him in surprise. Sternly, the blue-skinned entity explained, "That simply won't do in the slightest," he admonished the two of them. "The both of you may be in excellent form, but this means nothing when you're simply allowing your ki to leak from your body. This only enables your opponent to read your intentions more clearly; by keeping your kiwithin your body, it'll prevent the opponent from picking up on your intentions in battle."
Whis gave them the silent cue to continue, keeping his eyes firmly on Erasa and Gohan. The two adopted their stances again, before resuming their skirmish. Attempting to follow Whis
words had led to an adjustment in their movements, with the two of them attempting to keep their ki internalised. The resulting clash — appearing almost to be more of a dance than a spar, Gohan and Erasa weaving around each other in fluid course, easily anticipating the action the other would take without missing so much as a beat — emitted far less ki than their exchange before; it was still imperfect, however, and white ki suffused their forms all the same.
"You sure don't look impressed," the sound of a new voice drew Whis' attention away from his unsuccessful students. The blue-skinned entity saw his and Beerus' piscine companion, the Oracle Fish, within his floating bowl. "I'm not a fighter, but my foresight lets me 'see', at least I'm impressed by those two. For mortals anyway. Though it looks like they'd be better off as a team than pit against each other; not sure what good they are for sparrin', when they seem to know each other so well."
"That's an interesting proclamation, Oracle Fish," replied Whis wryly. "I'd say the best sparring partner varies depending on the person. Take Videl — for her, the perfect sparring partner is going to be someone directly her opposite. The young Prince Trunks, her other half, is inadequate in this regard. In fact, it could be said that Erasa would be Miss Videl's perfect sparring partner," He reminisced of when their training had begun, ten short months prior. "It is Erasa that brings out the fire in Videl to improve, more than any other. She sees Erasa the one most worthy to compete with her. Yet in the case of Gohan and Erasa, they themselves are perfectly compatible as sparring partners. They know the ins and outs of each other's fighting methods most completely, and their burning desire to improve alongside each other is what brings out the best in them both during training." Smiling towards the Oracle Fish, he continued. "And then, if they so choose, they can turn the fruits of their methods towards more team-oriented methods of fighting.
But for now—" Whis waved his staff, and there was a massive shift in space as each and every one of his students were suddenly pulled before him, ignoring reasonable laws of physics. "—there's plenty of time to improve, the lot of you."
Goten scratched the back of his spiky hair sheepishly. "We were just getting the hang of it, y'know?" The youngest son of Gokū tried to defend his own efforts fruitlessly, but stopped as Whis turned a stern eye towards the young Saiyan.
"I won't deny the leaps and bounds all of you have made since coming here ten months ago," replied their teacher to the group as a whole. "However, each and every one of you are far and away from mastering the new gifts you've been bestowed with. The ki of the gods is not the same as the ki that mortals wield, and a mere ten months — and a ritual that itself is rough around the edges — will not grant you the comprehension you seek.
I'm sure that you all have noticed," Whis continued, as if sensing Goten or Trunks were going to forward further excuses, and edging in to cut them off, "that this world is replete with godly ki. It surrounds us in its entirety, making up the atmosphere you breathe in, flowing through the grass at your feet, coursing through the streams and lakes that litter this world. There is truly no better place to master godly ki than here. However—"
Goten and Trunks were the first to wince at his sharp stare, yet it was clear Whis' stern change was meant for every individual present. "—each of you are not without your faults. No fighter is perfect, and one would do well to address the places where they are lacking. Son Goten. Your weaknesses are few but blaring. This may be your nature, but you are too easily distracted. I've noticed that you become far too fixated on the moves of your opponent, rather than the opponent themselves. In doing so, you become distracted from the whole picture by narrowing your view to single instances. It would behoove you to allow your mind to continue flowing rather than fixating on every 'stop' along the way, so to speak." Watching the blank expression on Goten's face, Whis decided to boil it down yet further. "This is something you can put into practise during your training; expand your sense while keeping your ki focused and under control."
Goten chuckled weakly, scratching the back of his head. "I've been told before that I'm quite similar to Dad, so I'm sure part of that comes from him," His gaze shifted from carefree to determined, the young man's eyes brimming with fire. "I made a decision ten years ago, so I won't waver now, Whis. If my focus is where I'm lacking, then you can bet that I'll buckle down as best I can and work on it!"
"More easier said than done, hm?" Trunks jabbed his best friend in the side, causing a verbal objection from Goten. "But that doesn't surprise me at all; you've always been had an attention deficit."
"Ah, but Prince Trunks, you are not perfect either," Whis' jovial tone carried on through their bickering. "In fact, when compared to Goten here, you may have far more homework at the end of this."
"...Damn," muttered the lavender-haired young man, Goten grinning behind him.
"It is by no means a difficult feat to sum up your issue, Trunks," Whis carried on. "You are arrogant." As Trunks began to protest, mentally connecting this statement to his father's own behaviour, Whis cut across him. "I do not mean 'arrogance' in the sense that you view yourself as superior to others. I am referring to in a more subtle way. You are arrogant in the sense that you become surprised far too easily. A true warrior, one that fights, is always going to come across warriors with powers outside the norm. And yet, to be so easily surprised so often by powers unseen is a mark of both inexperience and arrogance."
Trunks winced; Whis must have been paying more attention to his battle with that woman from Edo, Mifune, than Trunks particularly cared for. Grimacing, the half-Saiyan prince waited for Whis to speak again.
"This is arrogance in the sense that you goes into a fight expecting things to be a certain way, not truly accounting for the chances that you'll be against an opponent who exists outside of your normalcy," Whis said. "To be blunt, you are far too complacent. You are so used to being one of the strongest, or perhaps even one of the 'smartest', to the point that anything which challenges this view of yours is too much for you to take in right away. This leads to your surprised reactions." With a wave of his staff, Whis brought into form two ceramic cups, in addition to a steaming hot pot of tea.
"Allow me to teach you a lesson," Whis passed one of the cups to Trunks, who took the container in bewilderment, and held a cup in his own hand. He set his staff aside, manually pouring a full serving of tea into his own cup, and then another full serving into Trunks' empty cup. "Now, allow me to share a portion of my cup with you." Whis held his cup aloft, pouring the contents of his cup into Trunks' own. Predictably, the tea began to overfill, flowing from the rim onto the blowing grass beneath their feet.
Glancing at his overfull cup to Whis, Trunks said, "Um...Whis, you won't be able to pour anything into this cup unless I empty it out to make space."
"Precisely," replied Whis, a significant smile forming onto his face. "And much like this cup, you will not be able to embrace new teachings or lessons until you clear out the thoughts that form your existing perspective on the world. To be more specific; empty your own cup, Trunks."
"Empty my own cup," parroted Trunks. "Arrogance was what caused my father to fail...an inability or rather, a stubborn desire to only see things from his view. I want to carry on Father's pride...but I'll do it my own way. I won't make the same mistakes as Father."
Listening to Whis' assessment in full, Piccolo had begun eyeing Goten and Trunks with an exasperation that spanned multiple years, though he couldn't help but feel the slightest iota of pride at their drive to improve.
"Piccolo, you, by all respects, are the most accomplished as a fighter," Whis, quickly addressing the Nameccian."You're an intelligent man, both observant and rational, and you're not arrogant — for the most part." In spite of what should be praises, Whis' stern expression did not change, and Piccolo seemed far from willing to stop him there, as if expecting something else to punctuate these accolades. "Still, what could be considered beneficial traits can be a hindrance at the same time."
"Oh, so even Piccolo isn't flawless?" grinned Goten cheekily. The Nameccian grumbled, but nevertheless allowed Whis to continue. "Intelligence certainly comes at its own price; you tend to impose your own beliefs on how things should be more frequently than others would. This is an idealistic quality in a normal person, but for a fighter, you'll find it can serve to hamper you more than help. You'll become too involved in what you consider to be the 'right way' that, and you will miss certain things that you earlier wrote off as either unlikely or impossible."
The Nameccian flashed a wry smile, though it was undercut by only the slightest bitterness. "I've seen more than my fair share of fighting, and you could say I'm rather set in my ways. Your advice is sound...and it reminds me of the way a certain someone would fight. That man—" Piccolo could remember easily when Son Gokū's unorthodox thinking would lend him an edge in battle, tip the scales in his favour because that man truly used everything at his disposal, "—it wasn't strategy, but his ingenuity that made him the kind of fighter he was. But one doesn't so easily change themselves."
"And yet what best rewards a person than putting in the effort?" replied Whis curtly. "I am not asking you to change yourself completely, but merely allow more flexibility."
It appeared as if Whis intended to truly speak to each and every one of his students — in front of everyone else, no less — and point out their flaws directly. In truth, he had hoped that they would have discovered some inkling of where they lacked in these last ten months of training, but he was dealing with a mixture of different personalities, many ill-suited to introspection.
"Tenshinhan," started the blue-skinned man, Tenshinhan answering with naught but a nod. "Your weakness should be more apparent than the rest. You are strong — that much is undeniable — but your strongest techniques involve the utterly reckless expenditure of unnecessary amounts of ki. I'm sure that the lot of you here understand the necessity of proper ki control; if you build up too little, the technique will ultimately fail, but if you build up too much, no matter the strength, this excess amount of ki is wasted, and will only hasten an exhausting death." On this grim note, Whis added, "Your techniques, in short, possess such flashiness that makes them easy to counter. A reckless waste of ki with little to no payoff. Work on refining your control, and there will no need to place your life unnecessarily at risk, and your performance in battle will only benefit."
A reckless waste of ki with little to no payoff. Utterly reckless expenditure of ki. The words repeated themselves in Tenshinhan's head, as he came to terms with the fact that Whis speaking truth. The martial arts that his former teacher, the Tsuru-Sennin had developed, was meant for killing; refinement had never been in his teacher's vocabulary. This could be seen in the their secret moves; the Kamehameha and the Kikōhō, which were vastly on the polar opposite-side of each other. The Kamehameha pulls the latent ki in ones body into a concentrated point in their palms, before releasing a powerful, though controlled, blast. The Kikōhō utilised all of the body's ki reserves in an explosive blast, deliberately pushing the user to their conceivable limits and past it, emptying the body of ki in only a few uses — all for the sake of killing the target.
Tenshinhan crossed his arms, all three of his eyes closed, his face stern. "Recklessness, hm? You're correct. Time and time again, due to my own carelessness, or my opponent's ingenuity—" The three-eyed martial artist grinned in spite of himself, remembering his bouts with Gokū. "—the weaknesses in my techniques have been turned against me." Tenshinhan's eyes shot open, as he made his declaration. "Under your tutelage, I will temper my control and destroy my weaknesses!"
"Yamcha, your issue may be harder to address, as yours lies in what now must assuredly be decades of accumulated habit," it was almost becoming routine, with the blue-skinned extraterrestrial simply adjusting his posture slightly to address them each in turn. "You depend solely on your unique fighting style, do you not? To say 'my style is like a wolf', to define your fighting style by those restrictions. It becomes stagnant, unable to evolve. Defining means to impose a limit. You need to broaden your own horizons."
The white-clad martial artist gave it some thought; despite the strides he'd made in the past ten years, he'd focused largely on polishing the Rōgafūfūken. In fact, it his new teachings and style revolved around the Rōgafūfūken almost exclusively. The simplest form, the smallest movement, would envision the 'wolf'. Every strike was akin to the claws and fangs, the mauling of the beast. In contrast to the others, Yamcha's response to Whis' statement was almost entirely internal. To define my own limits with my style...it looks like it's time to start over again from the basics, isn't it? He chuckled weakly, this seemingly satisfingy his teacher.
"You're beginning to understand," Whis nodded. "Now...Son Erasa and Videl...you two are an interesting pair that I have observed as a set, and very closely at that." The two of them looked at each other, perplexed, before looking back at Whis. The entire scenario felt like primary school all over again, though neither one of them voiced the comparison aloud. "As you two are akin to the opposite poles of the same plane, I should start with Videl first. You are powerful, and furthermore, when you fight, you fight with utter devotion to the battle, and your durability, for an Earthling, is surprisingly high.
"However," Whis changed tact from praise to dissection, Videl's expression shifting from smile to stoicism with it. "Your issue lies in your over reliance on aggressive tactics. Excessive aggression without form is naught but mindless violence; beasts exercise tasteless savagery, but a martial artist should stray from this method from the moment they begin to study even the basics. Martial arts was designed to give the weak a way to fight the strong; your technique, Videl, defeats the purpose of this."
The young-female martial artist had listened to Whis in silence, but now began to protest. "And what's wrong with an aggressive style? If I can overpower my opponents with my own strength, there isn't any need for finesse!"
"And how well did that go for you when you fought with Erasa most recently? Or during any of the sparring matches you've performed with her under my watchful eye?" Whis interjected calmly, but sternly. Videl flinched at the statement, but did not respond; Whis' truthful utterance had effectively silenced her. "What will you do, when mindless aggression fails to overcome an opponent? You're more than capable of shrugging off most attacks, and yet ultimately, this is something that will only work against someone of equal ability and power. Against someone of a craftier or more powerful disposition, you're placed at an extreme disadvantage."
Erasa, listening in, sincerely wished that Whis would do her the favour of not using Videl's battles with her as an example. Her best friend Videl may be, the woman was still temperamental. The blonde-martial artist knew that she would not hear the end of this for the rest of the day, once they were all out of Whis' earshot. Erasa could only sigh, lamenting that future prospect as Whis continued his lecture.
"You should strive, with this single-goal in mind, is to avoid leaving yourself open," said the blue-skinned man. "To do this, one must develop 'exit-strategies'. What I mean by this, is to develop methods for dealing with opponents like Erasa; someone who won't simply throw power at you, but also utilises more clever maneuvers. How you do this is entirely left up to you — but I would suggest looking to your friend."
Videl blinked, her head craning towards Erasa; the blonde woman tried her best to shuffle out of sight, yet Whis was not to be deterred.
"Erasa, if you would be so kind as to remember this is a group activity?" admonished Whis. "I specifically addressed you both one after another because there are things the two of you can best learn from the other. But you interest me specifically, Erasa," Whis' eyes narrowed, his mouth curling into a slight grin. "For all of Videl's aggression, I would say the one who fights most like a demon is you. So much so, in fact, that one may say you've forgotten how to fight like a human."
The blonde martial artist found this statement thoroughly confusing. The school she led was named the "Shinma School", but surely that had been merely out of respect for Gohan and Piccolo; was Whis' choice of words simply strange?
"Truth be told, you two compliment reach other far better than you may think, simply by existing as such natural foils," Whis carried on. "You, Erasa, are someone who 'responds' to the present while Videl 'acts' in the present. This itself is why your battles with Videl proceed as they do; you will easily maintain dominance if you have an opponent with such strict adherence to acting rather than responding. To be precise," he waved his staff, replaying precise moments from Videl and Erasa's battle during the tournament, an easy feat for one such as himself, "against attacks that are also entirely devoted to 'right now', you will win ten out of ten times.
This is, at the same time, your weakness. You only know how to deal with what's going on right in front of you, and against someone who fights in a way that considered response an equally valuable strategy than just straightforward, the situation can be turned against you at any time." The man held up his hand, folding down his index finger to meet his thumb, until three fingers remained standing. "Within martial arts, initiative in battle can manifest in three forms:
Go no sen: response to an attack after it has taken place.
Sen no sen: response to an attack at the moment of the strike.
Sen sen no sen: response to an attack before it has even taken form.
The two of you suffer from an over-reliance on this first mental state, the Go no sen. In other words, an over-reliance on the present situation and responding to the present situation once it has been recognized." Lowering his hand, the blue-skinned man twirled the staff in his adjacent hand, the sphere pointing directly at Erasa. "Erasa, you often find yourself reacting in response to the present situation, and act in a manner that will neutralise and/or overturn the opposition." The staff shifted, and Videl soon quickly found the edge jabbed towards her. "In contrast, Videl, you respond to any opening that presents itself, charging in recklessly to seize that opportunity." Smiling wryly, he tacked on. "Humans have a saying for such things, do they not?"
"A few dozen," Videl remarked dryly.
"I mean, we have sayings for simply waking up in the morning," Erasa added, but she nodded all the same. "In short, what you're trying to say is that I need some 'Videl-style' and Videl needs some 'Erasa-style'?"
The emotion changed in Whis' smile, but it did not recede. "That would be correct. For you, Erasa, it means to attack before the opponent's own attack fully takes form. Simply responding after the fact means giving the opponent an opportunity to also respond afterwards, but by striking at the moment the first attack is beginning to take shape, the opponent can be caught off-guard. In other words, you need to build up confidence and let yourself act before the opponent can fully make their move."
The blonde-haired martial artist let this information sink in. For everything Whis said, she knew it would only be invaluable information that he bestowed upon her. For what purpose had she come here, if not to better herself?
"For you, Videl," Whis said, addressing the ebony-haired girl next, "you need to recognize the flaws in your own attacks, and recognize the most vulnerable openings these attacks can create. By doing so, you will know your own openings before the opponent can recognize them, and as such, can already act to stop the opponent's responses. However, Videl, you will need to loosen your own confidence and be willing to give opponents those openings to exploit — be willing to allow weaknesses in your stance, provided, of course, that you are able to quickly snap her stance back into form and strike at the moment the opponent has decided to target those openings."
"I don't like it," Videl replied simply. "Still...I can't simply lag behind, so I'll do my best to stomach it." Her facial expression slacked into a reluctant smile. "It isn't like this changes our future prospects; I was always going to train to overtake Erasa. Now I merely have a pathway laid out for me to walk."
"You're talking like it's going to be easy," interjected Erasa. "I'm not simply going to stop improving either." She grinned broadly. "Guess nothing much is going to change, is it?"
Whis left these two to their banter, his attention finally shifting to the final member of his new group of protégés, Son Gohan. The air shifted near-immediately, and Whis' smile truly did fade. When he spoke to Gohan, it was sterner than any tone he'd addressed his other students with. The half-Saiyan himself couldn't avoid noticing Whis' adjustments; his body tensed, the way one would for confrontation.
"Son Gohan, where you lack is the most concerning," Whis stated, unsmiling. "I will start with the biggest and most pressing matter; your manner of fighting in its entirety."
"In my manner of fighting?" Gohan repeated, astonished. The Saiyan-half knew he wasn't perfect, but his fighting had improved considerably in the past decade. It certainly wouldn't warrant the tone and expression that Whis was handing to him at this moment.
"To put it as plainly as I can, your fighting style lacks a 'heart'," said Whis. "Your fight with Beerus was enough to tell me everything; you may seem as if you fight in earnest, and it's true that you do. I can tell, nonetheless, simply by the way you act and the way you respond — you dislike fighting. I sensed to personal passion in your movements, your punches lacking fire. You're the type who fights for the sake of rage, duty, or out of a desire to protect, are you not? Still, even under these circumstances, fighting to you seems like a half-hearted mindset strains your fighting style, Gohan. You don't give yourself over to the passion of the fight; instead, you try to remain detached, don't you? It has me curious; why do you hold yourself back this way? To protect your family? To satisfy your own ego? Or simply to oppose the notion that you may be weak?"
There was a stunned silence. To hear Gohan so openly criticised like this had come as a shock to the party at large; Gohan was, by far, the strongest out of the entire group. Goten, of all people, had expected Whis to commend his brother in the way he had commended Piccolo; though perhaps this was merely his idolisation of his elder brother that shone through, even now.
"It is this one overbearing trait encompasses the other areas in which you lack, Gohan," Whis continued. "Similarly to Videl, I noticed that you will jump at any opening that presents itself. Leaping at any opening you notice means that, against an opponent with superior combat experience, one might be fooled with 'false openings'. That is, to say, openings or vulnerabilities the opponent makes in order to draw in their adversary so as to counter violently. While I do not believe that you are entirely foolish, this is something I've noticed during my tenure as your teacher, and it can reach a point where you will allow your naïveté overshadow your experience and caution.
Secondly, and I cannot speak with the utmost confidence on this one, but your actions tell me quite a story...you lack faith in your own abilities, Gohan," Whis pursued the topic without losing breath. "At multiple instances during your fight with Lord Beerus, I noticed changes in your movement patterns that indicated to myself an attempt to mimic the fighting style of another person."
"Was it that obvious?" Gohan asked, his voice quiet. "I didn't think I was giving off any signs that obvious."
"Perhaps it might seem like a good thing, and ultimately applying ideas from other sources is a good way to grow as a martial artist, but the trick is to make it your own," Whis' tone was no longer admonishing, but instructive. "When I saw you fighting Lord Beerus, however, I didn't see that happening. I see saw you losing faith in your own flair and tendencies, and falling back on the strength of someone else instead. You made no effort to turn that into your own strength.
If I had to sum you neatly, Gohan, it would be 'empty'. A superficial warrior that tries to cover up their insecurities. You are the one with the most potential out of any of your comrades — even Lord Beerus has his eye on you. It will not do, Gohan, to remain as you are."
For the Saiyan-half, this was quite a lot to hear all at once. Whis' assessment left him not simply silent, but inwardly analysing himself. He merely offered his teacher a nod of acknowledgement, but deigned to say nothing more. Instead, it was Trunks who next spoke up.
"So...why did you decide to address all of this now? Surely, we're not doing so bad of a job here that we needed this sort of aggressive review."
At this, the blue-skinned entity smiled.
"As Lord Beerus says, before creation must come destruction. We have to break down your bad habits as a fighter and build you back up properly."
Nebula of God, Beerus' Planet, Nightfall
A hush had come over Beerus' planet. Under the cover of night, the planet's sky was blanketed in a staggering array of stars; various hues and shades of purple and blue, the stars themselves glittering akin to jewels. Today's training routine finally put behind him, Whis found himself sitting at the top of one of the smaller, gnarled trees that rested close to the planet's lake. Unable to sleep, the night was time he would typically spend to himself.
I've done all I can for them with words, thought the Hakaishin attendant. If they don't make an effort to improve themselves, whatever I tell them will be meaningless, after all. I've done more than enough to train them for this long; I cannot carry someone who refuses to fly on their own in perpetuity. Almost as if his thoughts were being transmitted, Whis felt a ki disturb the quiet of the night. He cast an eye towards the castle, able to make out with remarkable ease what would be a silhouette to most.
Gohan, atop one of the platform's along the castle's walls, just outside the room he slept in. It was clear that this was no mere excuse to step out for fresh air; Whis could tell from Gohan's movements that he was practising his form, this late into the night.
"Now that is a rare treat," mused Whis, a smile creeping onto his face. In the past months that he'd trained this lot, he'd yet to see something like this. His students typically slept undisturbed until the morning, and to see Gohan emerge from his bed this late meant only one thing. He was considering Whis' words. Pleasantly, Whis turned away from the sight, content to let Gohan continue as he was.
"Don't you consider it rude to spy on people, Whis?" a gruff, disgruntled voice caught Whi's attention. The thin appearance of the being that was both his strongest student as well as his current charge, clambered onto the tree nearest him.
"Oh my, Lord Beerus," chuckled the blue-skinned man. "It's rare to see you awake this late. Is there something that requires my attention?"
The Hakaishin, seated cross-legged, rested his chin in the palm of his hands. He too found himself glancing upward at the figure of Gohan, whose limbs cut evenly through the crisp night air. "I was finding it difficult to sleep with that much noise going on," he finally offered this excuse up after a moment's deliberation. The two sat in silence, the time creeping by, even Beerus' planet victim to it.
"He doesn't realise, does he?" Beerus broke the silence, his ears twitching, scanning around for any sort of noise; an eavesdropper, perhaps? "How he may have just saved himself, by coming to train with you? Then you keep him in the dark."
"Are you concerned, Lord Beerus?" inquired Whis with barely-repressed surprise. His expression quickly adjusted, Beerus glowering look visible even under the cover of night. "He is my student, after all. The most I can do prepare the roadwork; how he chooses to walk, and how he reads the signs, are entirely up to him. This is no different than what I've done for you, when you became my student — back when you retired our previous Hakaishin."
Beerus' yellow eyes narrowed at Whis' choice of words. Retired was certainly one way to put it, though he didn't think his predecessor would see it that way. Back when he was a mortal himself, he had killed the previous Hakaishin in single combat; some may have said it was his sheer talent, but Beerus chalked it up to his own stubbornness. "I remember you being rather insistent that I take up this post," replied Beerus with a yawn.
"Even now, you must understand my hands were tied, my Lord," said Whis.
"Around my neck!" snarled Beerus loudly, failing to stifle his voice. The two stole a look towards Gohan's training figure, but he didn't even take notice. With a more hushed tone, Beerus continued, though he was grinning now. "One could almost say you strong armed me into becoming a god."
Innocently, Whis worked his way around these accusations by avoiding them almost entirely. "Would you suggest something as nefarious as my manipulating of that earnest young man?"
The Hakaishin scoffed pointedly, acknowledging Whis with a disgruntled countenance. "I've waited years for someone who has the potential to become my rival, Whis. It's only natural that I'd be interested in this boy's development — for better, or worse." The feline deity slid off his perch, landing nearly onto the grassy terrain without kicking up a hint of dust. He yawned widely, turning to walk back towards his castle. "I really have been awake too long...it isn't like either one of us to talk like this, Whis." With the full intention to sleep for another solid month, the Hakaishin sauntered off towards his castle.
At the same time, atop the balcony protruding from the side of the castle, Gohan carried on with his training, deaf and blind to the goings on down by the lake. The castle was of sufficient height that he could neither see nor hear the exchange of the deity and attendant far below — to the half-Saiyan, the night belonged to him. His clenched fist cut through the air easily; the man turned on his heel, flattening his clenched fist into a spread palm, raising it to shoulder height. Pulling his hands inward, the man crouched slightly, his right arm pulled back, clenched akin to a claw, with his left arm extended, palm flat. Pivoting left, he raised his leg in a sharp kick, his left arm trailing backwards; Gohan thrust his right arm forward, fist tensed. With a breath, the young man relaxed his body, standing upright.
Alone with his thoughts, Gohan was able to think of nothing but Whis' words — and his condemnation. Empty. A superficial warrior that tries to cover up your insecurities. Those were Whis' exact words, and they were digging into Gohan's thoughts like flesh-eating worms. Could his own resolve really be that weak? For ten years, he had trained; set aside a portion of a life he could have otherwise lived peacefully, for the sake of becoming someone who could protect his family, friends, and the planet that Gokū had left behind.
And yet these feelings are simply holding me back? The half-Saiyan felt confused. His sense of obligation this far had been his motivation; fighting was always something he'd been hesitant to fully commit to. He wasn't like Gokū, who reveled in the joy of battle. At least, that's what he thought. But when I fought Lord Beerus, ten months ago, I could feel it...a growing excitement, that sensation that Dad must feel when he would fight someone strong. Reflexively, Gohan clenched his right fist tightly. He felt power course through it, as if affirming his feelings. I felt like a Saiyan for the first time...but then I shoved that feeling away. I tried to put myself in your shoes, Dad. The words escaped his mouth before he could catch them, without any regard for whether he was still alone.
"What am I still afraid of?"
"I was wondering what changed the wind patterns," a voice cut across Gohan's brooding, a voice he knew all too well; his first teacher, Piccolo. The Nameccian walked out onto the balcony, his stern black eyes boring into his former pupil. "Isn't it a bit late in the night to be soul-searching, Gohan?"
"Piccolo..." Gohan was taken aback by the sight of the Nameccian. He'd well and truly thought he was alone, as he'd checked to make sure that everyone else had been asleep. Then he remembered that Piccolo had always been a light sleeper; even during their time training for the arrival of Vegeta and Nappa, Piccolo never truly relaxed into a deep sleep. The half-Saiyan felt a deep sympathy that this had persisted even decades later. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I should have been more discreet."
"Don't trouble yourself over it," replied Piccolo. "I would hardly think one can sleep soundly on a planet where the Hakaishin dwells." As he said this, the sound of Goten and Trunks' familiar snoring caught attention; wryly, he realised it may have taken a certain amount of youthful naïveté to ever feel comfortable here. "Yet you're dodging my question; what brings you out here so late? I hardly think you're out for the fresh air."
Mutely, Gohan waited for Piccolo to finish speaking. The Saiyan-half leaned on the edge of the balcony, his eyes taking in the remarkable nighttime horizon of Beerus' planet. In silence, they continued, Piccolo having a vast amount of patience as he waited for his student to formulate an answer. Gohan replied in due time, his voice unsure, "Everything Whis said...he's got a point. I don't like fighting — I never have — so of course I wouldn't put my whole effort it into. But all the same—" His body tensed, hair bristling, Gohan feeling himself beginning to get worked up, "—does that mean these last ten years have been a waste? Have I just been walking down a path that's leading nowhere?!" Tightly, Gohan gripped the railing of the balcony, threatening to shatter it entirely. "Am I just protecting everyone without any real conviction?!"
The Nameccian, having folded his arms and closed his eyes in response to Gohan's words, quickly re-opened them. Unfolding his arms, the man walked over towards the railed balcony's edge to stand at Gohan's immediate right. "You don't ask easy questions," replied Piccolo, slowly and deliberately. "And the time is far past when I can give you answers as your teacher — in strength and will, you surpassed me long ago." At this, a flash of disquiet crossed Gohan's face, though Piccolo continued speaking as if he simply hadn't noticed. "Instead of speaking to you as a teacher, Gohan...this time, allow me to speak to you as a comrade."
Gohan's perturbed expression waxed and waned, nodding at his former teacher's sentiment.
"Ten years," Piccolo mused. "It truly has been ten years since since then...and only now are you asking if your effort has all been for naught?" The Nameccian's voice was laced with a hint of bitterness; he did not look at Gohan as he spoke, gazing instead far into the night sky of Beerus' planet. A crisp gust of night air rushed past the two of them; Piccolo's cape billowed in the wind, and Gohan's earrings jangled to match. "I expected a fixity of purpose to be far stronger from the man who has saved our planet twice now. Can you just throw these ten years away?!" Piccolo turned on the spot, his voice reaching a fever pitch. His four-fingered hand slammed into Gohan's chest, but the Saiyan-half did not budge. "You stand here now Gohan, because of you've found something to protect! Like your father and Vegeta did when they settled down here on Earth! Like I did when I took you under my wing!
Yet, if you see all this and still believe you've led yourself astray, ask yourself! Why are you here?!" Piccolo grit his teeth, walking past Gohan, making his way towards the interior of Beerus' palace. "It's up to you to decide why you train, Gohan — why you fight! No one else can make that decision for you — and it is within you that you'll find your answer." The swish of his cape obscured the Nameccian from sight, disappearing into the confines of the castle.
Alone once more, only the sounds of nature kept Gohan company now. And Piccolo's words had left him with only further conflict.
A/N: Hi, everyone! It's good to be back, let me tell you! Honestly, after I posted the previous chapter, I firmly intended to be back the next month fresh with another chapter. I started this chapter on the 11th of January, and it is now the 3rd of May. I really did not intend to have you all wait this long for an update, but this chapter proved staggeringly hard to write. I'm a wannabe author, but I am no martial artist. It was difficult beyond words to describe the mental block I had trying to write for Whis and his dissection of each and every member of his new class — as you can see, I chose more than simply two Saiyans that get more spotlight than they rightfully deserve — and eventually, I had to consult fellow fanfiction author, Silver-Haired Seireitou, a good friend of mine, on how to take this direction. He deserves a HUGE writing credit for this chapter, because I had him analyse everyoneso I could know where they needed to improve, which included reading older chapters and past battles. Thanks to his work — the majority of which I had Whis regurgitate near verbatim — this chapter was able to be brought to you all, if three months too late. That mental block wasn't the only thing; I have to admit I got distracted by a host of different things. Work has been steadily aggravating me, and I discovered the Utawarerumono series, which by the way is absolutely stellar, so I wound up playing that, if only to alleviate my inability to write anything.
I'm sure there was more than simply this; I've been going out a little bit more, trying to expand on my personal life even the slightest bit. I've been studying Japanese for about a year, and I'm trying to balance that with my family's insistence on spending more time with them. Then there's a myriad of new books — manga, light novels, and actual novels alike — that keep my attention. But I apologise profusely and sincerely for not being able to deliver a chapter in these past four months, and for not alerting you all until only recently. With this chapter out of the way, a more regular update schedule should resume — along with the likes of Heart of Adventurers, as well as anyone looking forward to the yearly update of Little Miss Devil!
So, without further ado, please enjoy the chapter, everyone! There won't be a character profile this time, simply due to the fact that this author's note has rambled on for too long already. I appreciate everyone's patience, and though it may be rude, I ask for just a bit more as I continue my story! With a special thanks to Silver-Haired Seireitou, and the usual appreciation to Demod20, I will see you all in the next exciting chapter of the Erased Chronicles!