Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to their respective franchise.

"Mh…hrm…"

Everything was a blur after he opened his eyes, his vision flooded with the bright color of white, causing him to instinctively squeeze them shut to clear the fog, gradually revealing the white to be a wall; no, a ceiling. He blinked once more before his eyes wandered without direction, his mind and senses empty. Was he lying down? He pushed himself upright, albeit slowly, feeling sluggish for some reason. When he regained enough of his bearings, he straightened up a bit more, and then his ears perked up as he heard a faint rustle - something had fallen off his chest.

Looking down, he spotted what appeared to be a white envelope resting precariously on his lap. Picking it up, he turned it over and found the outside completely blank, with no identifiable markings or writing; not even a stamp. It was still sealed and looked pristine, unwrinkled, as if it had just been freshly prepared for mailing. Before he could even think of opening it, he turned his head slowly, took in his surroundings to determine where he was, and found himself sitting on a cold floor that was as white as everything else.

He was in a hallway that seemed to stretch with no end in sight unless he turned a corner. His mind whirled, trying to remember what he was doing or where he had been before. His most recent memories were fuzzy, but he could make out a few details that painted a very fragmented picture.

Something about someone needing his help?

He continued to rack his brain until the envelope seemed to call for his attention once more. Guessing it could only be a clue, he carefully pinched the top edge and pulled, tearing cleanly until the gap was wide enough. He stuck the same forefinger and thumb between the fold to grab the paper inside and carefully pulled it out, when a strange pitfall in his stomach cropped up out of nowhere.

Placing the now empty envelope back on his lap, he unfolded the paper and found it to be a letter. His eyes scanned the contents in an instant, and he was slightly taken aback by how clean and precise the writing was. It would have been easy to mistake it for machine print, but something in the back of his mind told him it was actually handwritten. As he began to read it properly, more and more of his memories trickled in, but the confusion was soon replaced by trepidation mixed with annoyance at how he found himself in this situation.

Dear Mr. Son,

Firstly, let me preface this with an apology to you for the immense inconvenience and circumstances you must have found yourself in. Knowing from experience, you may even be a little confused due to gaps in your memory, but hopefully reading the rest of this letter will remedy that. Secondly, let it also be known that you had given full consent to partake in this mission on behalf of humanity.

And yes, humanity's survival hinges on your participation. Why, you may ask? Well, due to some... rather unforeseen variables at play in this particular timeline, the events and sequences that would have most likely played out have been thrown wildly out of whack. Long story short, someone else was supposed to be in the role you're filling in for. You need not worry over the details, for soon enough you will be briefed on the key parameters of this mission. You have my word that once the crisis is resolved, you will be returned to your proper timeline/reality. Consider this an educational, albeit egregiously dangerous, campaign that will undoubtedly leave a lasting impression on your development. Part of your training, as your father would so succinctly put it.

So, with all of that out of the way, allow me to welcome and congratulate you, Son Gohan, for this is your hero academ-

{Sorry, wrong universe.}

Welcome to Chaldea.

Sincerely yours,

Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg.

P.S.

For the time being, it is imperative that you suppress your Ki, preferably below for it to be undetectable. This bears repeating - suppress your Ki until you feel it appropriate to cut loose. I highly recommend this to avoid...certain complications.

Gohan released the breath he had held in the time it took for him to go over the entire letter, skimming it a few more times in case he misread or missed even the tiniest detail. While his memories were still quite fuzzy, he recounted having indeed given his consent, though this Schweinorg fellow could have done more to be plainspoken and just a tad more thorough. It had been a day like any other when he made his impromptu arrival at Capsule Corp, curiously asking for an audience with the company president herself, Bulma. His father, having passed only recently due to his actions back at what would be known in his world's history as the 'Cell Games', was happily spending his time in the afterlife, though given what he had read in the letter, he was allegedly preoccupied by something important.

Bulma had called him by smartphone, having been gifted one by her as part of his reward for dealing the killing blow to the Bio-Android, and to make it simpler to get in touch in case of an emergency. This had become mandatory with the rest of their close knit group not long after to better coordinate in the future. He flew in at around the same time as Krillin was parking a motorcycle, the diminutive monk wearing a baseball cap and what looked to be a white uniform with a name that he didn't quite catch, but he seemed to be working in food delivery.

An escort led the two of them into the large atrium that adjoined the main building, and there, waiting for them, was Bulma, her purple hair now cut short from how it had nearly reached her shoulders during the Cell Games the month before. She was in her work clothes, a green jumpsuit from her workshop. Sitting at a table, she was enjoying a cup of black coffee, both as a personal preference and to give her some pep for the workload she had ahead. Sitting across from her was a sharply dressed gentleman who looked to be in his mid to late fifties, wearing a dark frock under a cloak with finely woven gold trim. He had seldom seen anyone dressed like such, as his surroundings consisted mostly of clothing more suited to the martial arts. The man's hands were covered in gloves, white and immaculate as he held a saucer under a steaming cup of tea. He looked good for his age, with well-groomed gray hair and a beard. If Gohan were to imagine the archetypical grandfather type, this man would fit the bill.

Looking around, he noticed others standing off to the side, their own eyes drawn solely to the newcomer. The one who watched with the most smoldering intensity was the one closest to Bulma, his muscular arms folded across his barrel chest. He wore a blue tank top that matched his pants so well that it gave the impression of a bodysuit. He wore white gloves as well, though his were more robust for more than just fashion, reaching past his wrists. Matching white boots completed his attire. The man was not that impressive in height, but that did little to diminish the dangerous aura he exuded even in such a relaxed state. Perhaps the most distinctive feature that stood out the most was the man's hair, which stood up in an almost impossible manner if not held up with gel, with a prominent widow's peak at the end.

Another man was stationed a little farther away, his figure obscured by the palm tree he leaned against in the garden, mimicking the first, though facing away from their direction. Despite the distance and posture, he was no less attentive to the upcoming discussion. His appearance stood out the most among those gathered, standing much taller at his full height, his skin a vivid green except for his visible forearms and biceps, which had patches of pink skin with red outlines. Three red veins went around his wrist and ankles.

The clothes he wore were similarly minimalist for optimal mobility: a sleeveless purple Gi and pants. Pointed orange shoes protected his feet. Contrasting with the simplicity of all this was a conspicuously heavy looking white cloak, held in place by armored pauldrons sewn beneath the fabric. A white turban with a blue top was wrapped around the man's bald head.

The boy, Gohan, was dressed in a simple blue t-shirt with a stylized shooting star design on the front. Instead of pants, he wore a simple pair of brown shorts, held in place by a knot tied around the waistband. He wore flip-flops on his feet when he normally would have worn the same pointy shoes as the green-skinned man, but today was supposed to be his rest period after his regular training routines.

Shuffling near the table, Gohan broke the silence with a greeting, "Hey, Bulma."

Bulma, placing down her mug, faced the boy with a smile and greeted back, "Hey, Gohan."

"Is everyone here?" Gohan asked. Bulma nodded.

"Not everyone, obviously," the woman replied, leaning back in her seat. "I did call the others, but they couldn't make it for one reason or another. Not that we really need them all to be here." She motioned with her free hand, pointing at the man. "At least according to this man here."

Gohan followed the gesture and rested his eyes on said man, who nodded after returning his gaze, a thin smile dancing across his lips.

"So, what's this about, Bulma?" Krillin asked after stopping next to Gohan, and earning a slightly aghast look from the woman.

"Wait, Krillin, were you working?"

Krillin waved off the concern. "I'm on break. Figured I needed something to pass the time. That said, I still have to go back and make more deliveries. Pretty sweet gig if you ask me." He grinned proudly, having risen to become one of the top drivers in the company he had applied for some time after the Cell Games, bringing in some much needed income to build up on savings. Being able to move at unseen speeds only contributed greatly in his meteoric rise.

Hearing this, Bulma still seemed unsure before letting the matter slide, figuring that the monk could serve as an additional witness for whatever accord was to be made within the glass confines of the atrium.

"Tell me something," a new voice entered the discussion, laced with irritation and impatience, "is this just another one of your business meetings, woman?" It was the man in the blue tank top, glaring daggers at the stranger for nothing else but putting a notch on his precious time. "If so, I'm leaving."

Bulma put on a sour look, which quickly dispersed for one of calm resignation. "Fine by me, but don't come crying back if you're only going to miss out."

The man scoffed with barely disguised contempt. "Miss out on what? How much you've got riding on the stock market? Useless. No thanks."

The elderly man's smile; to Gohan's keen observation and curiosity, seemed to shift ever so slightly from serving as audience to the brief argument, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. From the corner, he caught another notable shift, though only to him, coupled by a pit forming in his stomach.

The moment he stepped through the door, he had already sensed it.

Now, perhaps 'sense' wasn't the quite right way to describe it. It was more like he couldn't sense anything from the man. All living things had Ki, life energy. Human beings, animals, even plants, so no matter how fleeting or minuscule it may be, there was always something there for him to pick up on, even one's intention. The man had none of that - not even a speck. He was 'empty', if he could even call it that. He watched the last traces of the departing Vegeta, who had probably also picked up on the strange presence the man was giving off - or lack thereof. Again, it was difficult for him to put into words.

He had also been stopping himself from acting on impulse, for Bulma wasn't quite herself.

"Bravo."

Gohan didn't flinch as the man's voice washed over each of them, as if the man had crept uncomfortably close to whisper in their ear. All remaining eyes fell on said man, even Krillin's, who only at that instant understood. His smile widened, and his hold on Bulma abated, with the woman looking like she had just woken from sleep. "Huh? Where…?"

"Hey."

The man's gaze shifted to Piccolo. "I would advise you not to provoke us, Mage."

"Mage?" Gohan and Krillin thought together, the latter being quick on his feet as he attended to the now dazed Capsule Corp. president.

The man's smile broadened after he took a sip of his tea. "Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance, son of Katas?"

"...Schweinorg," Piccolo said with a resigned acknowledgement after a long period of silence.

"Indeed," Schweinorg affirmed, carefully setting the mug down on the table. "I see you've pulled yourself together. That must have been quite an episode."

"That was a long time ago," Piccolo replied dryly. "I take it you're not here to catch up on old times."

The man now known as Schweinorg chuckled. "I would have liked to, my boy. Really, but my coming here is strictly on business."

"Which is?"

"The end of humanity," Schweinorg concisely provided.

The atrium fell into a still silence. Bulma, having recovered enough, heard the man's words, drawing a confused look from her. Krillin's was more tense, his figure going rigid as his brows crinkled. Not even a month had passed since the colossal clusterfuck that was the Cell Games, and another world-ending crisis might be around the corner.

"And?"

Schweinorg's smile grew with a sliver of mischief. "What? No panic? No disbelief?"

"The entire planet was nearly cracked in two over a month ago," Piccolo revealed with a roll of his eyes. "We're way long past that shit."

"Wonderful," Schweinorg beamed, clapping his hands together. "Then that just makes this easier for me."

Bulma blinked. "Uh…what…exactly?"

"I am in dire need of help, Son of Katas," Schweinorg admitted, flicking a glance at Bulma as he did. "Humanity is on the brink of extinction. That is to say, humanity in a particularly separate timeline from your multiverse."

The gears in Bulma's mind turned upon processing this. "Separate…from our multiverse? "

Schweinorg elaborated, "Existence consists of innumerable universes, timelines, and dimensions. I am certain after your son's arrival from his timeline, you've played with the theory?"

"Played with the theory?" Bulma said with a light groan, rubbing her head from the lingering aftereffects of being hypnotized. "More like tap dancing on it until my feet were sore. But…how could you…?"

"Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg is a mage who comes from... it's hard to say exactly which universe he comes from," Piccolo explained as he stomped closer. "He is a traveler capable of crossing boundaries to other universes, and may even be the only version of himself that exists. A true enigma."

"Come now," Schweinorg snorted, "I'm not that mysterious. Simply ask, and I'll answer to the best of my abilities. I am still a teacher, after all."

"A teacher?" Gohan echoed questioningly.

"I am, Mr. Son," Schweinorg addressed the young man as if he were a student. "I teach at the London Clock Tower, a school for young and promising mages."

"Wait a minute," Krillin spoke up. "You mean there's actually a school that teaches magic?"

Schweinorg grinned. "Well, not in this universe. And it's not magic per se, but magecraft."

"What's the difference?" Krillin shrugged, becoming more relaxed when the man didn't seem hostile. None of them were strangers to the use of magic, with Piccolo being an accomplished wizard by experience alone.

"That would be True Magic," Piccolo clarified, tapping deep into his old memories from Schweinorg's presence. "Magecraft is simply a cheap imitation of the real thing, which is more in the realm of the divine. A clear example would be what Shenron is capable of, but only so. With True Magic, you could resurrect the dead with little to no restrictions. Even after a natural death, and no matter how many times."

"Shenron…" Schweinorg mused. "Ah, yes, those…Dragon Balls. Curious little knickknacks you used to show off to me," he chuckled, causing Piccolo's eye to twitch. "Do you still have them?"

"They are currently in a dormant state," Piccolo replied flatly. "We have no real use for them right now."

Schweinorg's smile shifted again, which Gohan caught. "All for the best, I suppose. I have had my fill of wish-granting trinkets to last me several lifetimes."

Gohan shared a look with Krillin. "Are you saying that there are others... besides the Dragon Balls?"

Schweinorg huffed. "You would be surprised. I even helped in the creation of some of them. Though I must admit, the Dragon Balls certainly don't require as many hurdles to use."

Krillin huffed. "That's what you think, pal. With all the trouble we used to go through just to find the damn things, you might just eat those words."

"Oh, but have you ever fought to the death for them?" Schweinorg challenged.

Krillin shrugged. "Yeah."

"Amongst yourselves?"

The bald monk tensed slightly, reading more into the question but deciding to answer truthfully, "We have, but that's ancient history."

The strange man chuckled enigmatically. "I come from... let's say an entire multiverse where there are competitions for the prize of being granted a wish. A single, precious wish, and for that, countless people, numerous factions, and even divine beings have gone to war for the opportunity to manifest all their dreams, ambitions, and desires."

Piccolo and the others were silent, none of them stunned by this reveal to Schweinorg's hidden delight. "A battle royale where seven are chosen. Seven players, seven masters. A war not fought with weapons, though that is certainly allowed. Instead, at their beck and call, each of the Chosen Seven must summon a familiar, formally known as a Servant. These Servants are the remnants of heroes who have etched their legends into history, spirits given physical form to fight in their name and, hopefully, mediate their own wishes."

Gohan's eyebrows furrowed. All of that for a wish? From his own experiences on Namek, he knew firsthand the desperation, the absolute struggle it was just to secure the Dragon Balls of that planet from the merciless warlord that was Frieza. They fought tooth and nail, shed blood and endured pain unlike any he had ever felt, all so that the tyrant would not be able to fulfill his desire for immortality and whatever other malicious whim stirred within such a twisted mind.

While he could empathize, he had a hunch that those involved in such a conflict were anything but benevolent. Schweinorg smiled as he seemed to sense the young man's inner musings. "These competitions, these battles, would come to be known as the 'Holy Grail Wars,' a free-for-all where no tactic is too underhanded, no plan too meticulous, for the sole purpose of obtaining the ultimate prize, the Holy Grail, named after a sacred relic used by one of the most revered religious figures who ever lived."

"Wow," Piccolo began with a roll of his eyes, "and you told me not to go with 'Dragon Balls'."

Gohan and Krillin exchanged uncomfortable looks, knowing that the name could be interpreted wildly in another context. "I had the perfect names for them all neatly written down for you," Schweinorg huffed. "Yet, you stubbornly stuck with the naming convention of your people, the language barrier notwithstanding."

"What, or how do you even say Dragon Balls in Namekian?" Gohan asked, scratching his head.

"Ancient Namekian," Piccolo clarified. "It's all but dead as no modern Namekian even speaks it save for ceremonial rites. Elder Guru was fluent in it for that reason besides being one of the oldest living of his generation."

"Just how old is the Namekian race, anyhow?" Bulma asked, genuinely fascinated.

"Quite old," Piccolo admitted. "But enough of the history lesson. Schweinorg," he turned his focus back to the mage, "am I to understand that you wish for one of us to take part in this Grail War? Speak plainly."

"Not... necessarily," Schweinorg admitted. "Nor is it in any way a normal Grail War." He chuckled, "Although even I have to admit that it's ever really normal." He cleared his throat. "No. This is all connected to an organization that was formed in one of several timelines in my multiverse called 'Chaldea'. It was founded for the purpose of protecting humanity and preventing temporal anomalies that could have drastic and largely catastrophic ramifications on what is referred to as 'Proper Human History'. If an anomaly or singularity exists, it is Chaldea's design to correct such abnormalities."

"You mean you're here to recruit us?" Piccolo ventured, though he sensed that the mage wasn't just looking for potential inductees.

"In a manner of speaking," Schweinorg shrugged, lowering his head as if considering how to break the news to them. "To put it bluntly, Chaldea is in a bit of trouble. So are most, if not all, of their alternates. What's the old saying? No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy? Well, that could not be further from the truth, as the beginnings of Chaldea's first mission went practically tits-up. It might as well be a constant. A traitor planted a bomb under the floor where they were to be sent to their respective singularities, killing most, if not all, of the Masters just as they were about to embark.

Gohan blinked. "Why would someone do that? I mean, isn't correcting human history a good thing?" Recounting the accounts of the older Trunks from his own timeline, if there had been something like Chaldea, they might have even been able to help against the Androids.

Schweinorg shrugged. "Even I am at a loss as to who exactly they are and what their end goal is in all of this." Piccolo rolled his eyes inwardly. Though it had been thousands of years since he had last seen or spoken to the man, he could recognize a blatant lie when he heard one, and he could tell that the old man knew he knew. "The only clue I've been able to glean is that they're part of the administrative body within Chaldea."

"One of the higher-ups?" Krillin said. "Man, that's always trouble."

"Yes," Schweinorg agreed. "A majority of the Chaldean Masters end up dead from the bombing or comatose in other possibilities. One other constant is that only one has managed to survive and continue the organization's mission."

"Only one?" Gohan needled. Schweinorg nodded.

"A fellow by the name of Fujimaru Ritsuka," Schweinorg recalled, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand. "In other versions, Fujimaru is female." The man seemed to shudder for a moment trailing off, but he quickly regained his composure. "Unfortunately, that is not the case in one timeline."

"That Fujimaru Ritsuka is dead?" Piccolo guessed. "Or maybe they don't even exist?"

"Dead," Schweinorg replied. "Killed before he or she could even make it to Chaldea." Piccolo's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Someone intercepted them." Schweinorg nodded again.

"An anomaly out of an anomaly," Schweinorg said cryptically. "Someone or some other party is interfering."

"Okay, but what does that have to do with you stopping here?" Piccolo mused.

"Through my investigations, I was able to trace what clues I could find of the culprit, much of which have led me to your multiverse," Schweinorg revealed, shocking Bulma, Krillin and Gohan. "But I did not come to this conclusion on my own. I was contacted by an old friend, the Supreme Kai of Time."

Piccolo gasped. "The...Supreme Kai of TIme?!"

From the gobsmacked expression on the Namekian's face; which was rare, Gohan and Krillin became worried, causing the former to ask, "Who's the Supreme Kai of Time? Are they like King Kai?"

"The Kai have a hierarchy, Mr. Son," Schweinorg lectured, raising a finger. "The King Kai that you're familiar with is considered on the lower end, with his authority only encompassing the Northern Quadrant of this universe. A mere Galaxy, if you will. Same with his contemporaries that oversee the rest. South, East, and West. The Supreme Kai, on the other hand, has authority over the entire universe, and alongside this universe's God of Destruction, they work to maintain a very delicate balance to ensure that the Mortal Level is at an adequate number. The Supreme Kai of Time, as the title implies, governs over time itself."

The entire group was now staring at the old mage like he had just grown a third arm.

Piccolo smacked a hand against his forehead at the impromptu information dump. It wasn't so much that it was forbidden for people to know, but that they had no real need to know.

"Supreme Kai?" Gohan repeated.

"God of Destruction?" Krillin followed.

"We're veering off topic," Piccolo said, promptly putting a stop to whatever headache was to come. "So, Schweinorg, what did Chronoa say?"

Schweinorg shrugged. "She suspects that it might be one of the temporal criminals they are currently dealing with, perhaps wishing to expand to other universes in order to evade arrest. For that, I have her full permission to bring along a champion of my own choosing from here. Truthfully, I was originally planning on poaching one of her Time Patrollers-"

"Time Patrollers?" Bulma interrupted.

"The Time Patrol, an organization the Supreme Kai of Time founded. They serve the same function as Chaldea, only in Chronoa's realm, known as the Time Nest, which exists outside of time," Schweinorg provided. "They search for anomalies and resolve them before they risk causing irreparable damage to the natural flow of history."

"Wait," Bulma interrupted. "If that's the case, then, Trunks..." Before she could even bring up the possibility of her son being on some temporal law enforcement's most wanted list, Schweinorg was quick to put those worries to rest.

"Oh, I can assure you, Ms. Bulma, your son is not in any trouble. In fact," Schweinorg said with a click of his finger, "after his rather admirable actions during the android debacle, Chronoa herself saw fit to recruit him.

"Recruit..." Bulma was really surprised, as well as Gohan and Krillin. "Are you telling me that my son is some kind of time police?" Schweinorg nodded.

Gohan beamed with relief, as he had sometimes wondered how the elder Trunks was doing since he returned to his own timeline. Now to find out that he was not only fine, but that he was continuing to correct other timelines was more than he could have expected.

"Man," Krillin whistled. "Talk about moving up in life. He must be having a blast."

"Don't be so sure," Piccolo grumbled from his spot. "The Time Patrol deals with highly dangerous temporal anomalies that threaten to wipe out entire universes and timelines. He's not some beat cop handing out parking tickets."

"Guh," Krillin flinched. "You don't need to be such a killjoy, Piccolo."

"Mr. Schweinorg," Bulma spoke, drawing the mage's attention. "Based on the nature of your arrival, you're here to look for someone to take this Fujimaru Ritsuka's place - is that right?" The mage nodded. "Then, I'm afraid you've come to us at an inopportune time. I mean, you must be aware of what went down just over a month ago."

The mage nodded. "Indeed. The abomination that was Cell. Back in my universe, he would have been quite the menace. A juggernaut that would have been near unstoppable."

"Near unstoppable?" Bulma echoed archly. "He very nearly, and would have definitely, destroyed the entire planet. And one of the guys he was cloned from, Frieza, was definitely no pushover."

"Compared to the powers in my multiverse, he would have only been slightly inconvenienced," Schweinorg admitted. "That is, if he wasn't facing those with any authority."

"Authority?"

"There are beings that are similar in role to the Kais where I am from," Schweinorg explained. "They have authority over certain aspects of reality. While the Age of Gods has long since passed and magic has declined, there are still those who exist that have retained their power. Cell would have been made short work of by these forces, provided Alaya would even care to intervene."

"Who's Alaya?" Gohan asked, inwardly shocked and amazed that there were people that were strong enough to take care of Cell. Schweinorg chuckled, bringing a finger up to his lips.

"Perhaps for another time." The elderly mage then shared a look with Piccolo, a silent understanding between them. "Well, Son of Katas, who do you recommend?"

Piccolo remained as still as a statue as he seemed to ponder the matter. While he was still highly suspicious of the man and his motives, for it would be the height of stupidity not to be, he understood more than anyone else that he was not the type to lie where it counted. Schweinorg was a man who had humanity's best interests at heart in every endeavor he undertook, and he remembered more and more of their past when the man had served as a mentor of sorts to him when he was a mere novice. It was he who had helped him study magic, and it was he who had expressed his disgust at his suggestion to split his good and evil halves. A decision he had long regretted. A decision that led to the unnecessary suffering and death of countless people, all for his selfish reason of becoming Earth's Guardian.

But that was in the past, and this was the present, and he was the one with the proverbial ball in his court. "Schweinorg," Piccolo started, his tone brooking for no interruption. "If, let's say, you have your champion. What guarantee do I have that they will be returned here."

Schweinorg's smile could have shaken the devil himself. "Oh? Do you not want them to be safe and sound?"

"In one piece," Piccolo shot back. "I don't expect this to be a walk in the park. Whatever bullshit they go through, they take it like a champ." Schweinorg chuckled.

"Then, I must ask once more," Schweinorg said coyly, his head leaning forward. "Who do you recommend?"

Silence flooded the atrium as soon as those words left the mage's lips. Gohan, Krillin and Bulma exchanged uncomfortable glances. After the defeat of Cell, Earth was still recovering from the effects of the Bio-Android, and because of the Dragon Balls, many of the monster's victims had been wished back to life. But their victory came at the cost of Goku's life. Though it was his own choice to sacrifice his life, it could have been avoided if they had handled the fiasco more sensibly.

However, loathe as some of them were to admit it, Cell had been undone by the very thing that had led to his rise in power - his genetics.

There was just something about Saiyans that wanted to do things the hard way, and considering that Cell had Saiyan DNA in his biology, that trait applied to him as well. It was funny in a way, because the self-proclaimed perfect being had made such tactical mistakes that were clear as the morning sun in retrospect. Had he tapped into Frieza's, or even Piccolo's cunning, a little more, he would have been done with everyone and everything, simply wiping them off the face of the planet, as well as the planet itself.

Piccolo, locking eyes with the man as if he had already come to his decision, gave a single name. "Yamcha."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

Bulma looked at her watch. "Sorry guys, but I still have work to do." She turned on her heel, not even looking back as she waved. "You know how it is. Time is money."

Krillin adjusted his cap. "I have some deliveries to make."

As soon as the two left the atrium, Piccolo let out a gasp and looked down at his hands as if they were now soaked in the blood of thousands. "Oh God, did I almost..."

"Doomed everyone to certain annihilation?" Schweinorg finished for him. "Yes. Yes, you almost did. So who is it really going to be?"

"Let's think about it some more," Piccolo said, looking more exhausted than he had ever been in the years Gohan had known him. Understandable.

A few hours later, Bulma and Krillin returned. Vegeta was also there, looking satisfied after a long day of training and wearing more casual clothes. Piccolo had filled him in on what he had missed from their conversation, and the only reason he wasn't aching for a fight with the wrinkled old goat was that there was no bloodlust in the man. Or rather, he was the same empty presence as before, as if he didn't really exist. He saw the man sitting idly, reading a book, one leg draped over his knee, but to his confusion, it was as if the chair he was sitting on was empty. Instead of following his instincts as he normally did; and hasn't that gotten him into some serious hot water before, his more pragmatic side dictated his restraint.

"So, Trunks is now working for a Supreme Kai?" Vegeta said with a touch of pride. "I would have thought he'd stay in that rathole of a future of his to help in rebuilding efforts."

"Schweinorg mentioned that they were already in the middle of rebuilding," Gohan said, standing to the side. "Oh, and that he killed the Cell of his timeline after he disposed of 17 and 18 there."

Vegeta grinned, his pride swelling at just the thought of his son, his blood obliterating that miserable mutant for the cockroach he really was. "Hmph." His eyes then darted to the old mage. "And what's your angle in all of this?

Schweinorg, seemingly absorbed in his reading, addressed the Saiyan prince, "Angle? Whatever do you mean, Vegeta IV?"

"None of us were born yesterday, old man," Vegeta said in a guttural tone, ignoring the looks he received from the mention of his full name. "Trunks was at least up front when he asked for our help, and you expect to just waltz in and rip a page out of his book? You should be so lucky.

Schweinorg rested his eyes on the prince, who was now relaxing on a wooden lawn chair opposite of him. "I have already apologized for how I conducted myself prior to the negotiations."

"You would have to be the stupidest man alive to pull a stunt like that and expect us not to vaporize you on the spot," Vegeta sneered. "That you would take such a risk on the fly tells me that you are no ordinary fool."

Schweinorg snorted, already growing fond of this version of the Saiyan prince. "My intentions are only to protect humanity, my good prince. And that includes the humanity of this universe."

Vegeta's glare tightened, his blatant distrust of the man refusing to abate any time soon.

In a corner, Bulma was arguing with Piccolo. "Are we sure this guy is on the level? He could just be pulling a fast one."

Piccolo grunted. "It wouldn't be the first time, believe me. Schweinorg can be unpredictable at times, but that's only because of the things he deals with on a regular basis. Besides, as much as I would like to dismiss him for being in contact with Chronoa, you do not throw her name around lightly without some serious consequences."

Bulma blinked, a cold chill cloying at her. "Is this...Supreme Kai really all that?"

"To be perfectly honest, she can be a bit of a brat," Piccolo replied bluntly, not even trying to be tactful. "But there is a reason why someone like her can be appointed to the job of overseeing time."

"Then," Bulma said with some hesitation, "are we really going to…"

"Bulma, when Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg comes to you with a problem he can't seem to solve himself, it's either A) some serious, world-ending shit," Piccolo said with his usual bluntness, "or, and stop me if you've heard this, B) he's bored out of his mind and wants something to get the old blood pumping again. Or C) All of the above."

Bulma massaged her forehead. "Can't we just say no?"

"Then we'll just be passing the buck to another timeline of ours," Piccolo told her. "I doubt this is the first stop he's made."

The young president pinched the bridge of her nose as she groaned, "How the hell does this keep happening? Why us? First my alternate timeline son, and now this geezer?"

"Hey, you're the guys who decided to be a bunch of pompous do-gooders when all I ever wanted to do was kill Goku," Piccolo quipped with a grin.

"Don't even start with that," Bulma shot back at the Namekian. She let out a deep sigh. "So, do you have anyone in mind other than he-who-has-already-been-mentioned?"

"Tien and Chiaotzu are out of the lineup," Piccolo put out first. "And I know Krillin would bail the second I so much as look in his direction."

"...Vegeta?" Bulma suggested.

There was a long pause of silence, with Piccolo looking directly into the human woman's eyes and answering her with a simple, "No."

"Yeah, you're right," Bulma conceded, rubbing her chin in thought. "If only we could wish Goku back."

Piccolo blinked. "Have we really become that dependent on that guy?"

Bulma shrugged. "Hey, if it ain't broke."

"But it is broken," Piccolo pointed out. "Into tiny little atoms when he took the brunt of Cell's early New Year's."

The two shared one last look before coming to a conclusion.

"You've talked with my dad?" Gohan said, now midway in his chat with the wizened old wizard.

Schweinorg nodded. "Oh, yes. Several alternates of his, but most of them were more or less the same."

Gohan beamed. "Well, yeah, that's my dad for you." His smile then faltered when a thought came to him. "Have you ever…met any versions of him that were…different?"

Schweinorg rested his gaze on the boy after the inquiry and said, "Different in what way?"

Gohan's own gaze traveled downward. "I mean, I wouldn't trade my dad for anything, but, I can't help but be curious how…different things could be."

"If he was a better father?" Schweinorg suggested.

Gohan frowned. "I'm not blind to my father's faults, Mr. Schweinorg, and neither is he, but I still look up to him as someone I aspire to be."

Schweinorg chuckled. "That's good. I have indeed met alternate versions of your father, and yours as well." Gohan nodded in agreement. "Many of them have more or less the same relationship. Some...well, I guess you can make your assumptions."

The boy's face furrowed. "Then there's..." Schweinorg trailed off, as if about to say more on the subject, when his thoughtfulness gave way to a smile. "I am afraid I cannot reveal much, my boy. There are only so many things that are better left alone."

The young Half-Saiyan conceded with a wry smile. "That's okay, Mr. Schweinorg. I can understand that."

Having stood next to the wizard, he sensed the approach of Piccolo and Bulma, the two looking stone-faced. The Namekian was the first to speak. "We've come to a decision, Schweinorg."

"Have you now?" The old mage lifted up his book with one hand to clap it shut. "Then, who's the lucky candidate?"

Namekian and human exchanged unreadable looks before the latter answered. "We don't know."

Schweinorg cocked a brow, though his smile never wavered. "Explain."

"We can't just offer up anyone, Schweinorg," Piccolo told the old wizard. "From recent experience, we can't even trust ourselves too much after nearly dooming the entire world. We were hanging by a thread when Cell regenerated and came back to finish the job. And," he turned to Gohan, his expression softening a bit, "we ended up putting it all on Gohan's shoulders."

Rather than challenge his mentor, Gohan hung his head in acceptance, his eyes closed in reflection of that tumultuous time. He could still remember the single moment that began his descent into such reckless mistakes, how his arrogance had nearly cost them everything. If he had just finished off Cell much, much sooner, he could have...

He clenched one hand into a fist.

He just...couldn't. Never in his life had he felt so... invigorated, so liberated. Letting such a primal, practically inherent nature overtake his way of thinking was just so cathartic, and his subsequent torture of Cell was therapeutic after he ruthlessly murdered 16 right in front of him. And had he not gone over the edge, his friends and family would have followed.

When he slept, 16 would be there, waiting for him. They would talk, enjoying the forest and its beauty as they had not so long ago during the downtime, only for Cell to come along and smash him into the dirt as if he were nothing but garbage. Through the android that was human in all but body, he came to remember another friend, for he was truly a friend during another hellish point in his life.

C-6. Not long after the Cell Games, when everything had settled down, he went out and flew to where he had last been with the old robot. To his relief and happiness, he found him in the old ruins, just as he had left him, though he would have preferred to bury him in a proper grave. But perhaps the ruins served as an adequate resting place. Remembering that time in his life had brought back memories that he had filed away as things he was done with, a point in his life that had come and gone, but perhaps part of it were the tragedies that came after that eventually supplanted them. It would be when he was allowed a moment with his thoughts, that he had come to a kind of epiphany. His memories, his experiences, his bonds, the things that made his life meaningful were all precious and needed to be protected. It was a large part of what Cell; in all his so-called 'perfection', was missing that contributed to his defeat.

Closing his eyes, Gohan came to a decision. "I'll go."

All eyes silently fell on him, none of them betraying anything. Bulma, however, still had her doubts. "We could just wait for the Dragon Balls to become active again," she suggested. Gohan shook his head.

"His final request was that we go on without him, take on the responsibility of defending Earth, helping those in need. Besides, we can't just keep depending on him forever, on just one person to solve all our problems. It's unhealthy, and we'd become complacent, no better than how Cell still managed to get the better of us even after all the training we did. You all remember what Trunks told us about his future, right? The androids were only able to go as far as they did because we weren't as prepared."

Gohan let his words sink in. "What do you think will happen when, not if, another crisis comes along?"

Vegeta's demeanor was his usual stern frown, arms crossed as he continued to recline on the lawn chair, but inside he was seething. From his future son's account of why their alternate selves had fallen to the androids, he found it simply absurd that he had allowed himself to fall behind in his training. There was simply no way for him to do so, if only because of his obsessive drive to surpass Kakarot. Intellectually, however, he could make a guess as to what might have happened, further diminishing their chances.

His stubbornness, his nonexistent willingness to cooperate, and every other flaw he was conscious enough to admit to himself. With Kakarot succumbing to the virus, that left only him as the strongest, with Piccolo a close second. If they had probably; ugh, 'worked together' (and he had to stop himself from cringing to let that even enter his train of thought), then perhaps the outcome of their war could have gone either way. It wasn't like he had no experience leading a squad.

Then again, he never cared to supervise those who didn't even have the stones to crush a child's head with their boot or thought they were hot shit. He was never one for holding anyone's hand.

Bulma bit her lip, doubt crawling up her skin. "Are you sure, Gohan? I mean, nobody is actually forcing anyone to step up. R-Right?" She threw a hopeful glance at Schweinorg, who nodded. "What even brought this on?"

Gohan hung his head. "You all know that... even though I have Saiyan heritage, I... don't really like to fight, and I still don't." Saying that out loud, he half expected Vegeta to scold or even mock him for such an admission. The first time the prince learned of what might be considered an abnormality to their people, he had done just that. Still, perhaps it was justified, considering how he had choked during the penultimate battle with Cell, how his own merciful nature had clashed treacherously with what had to be done. Sure, his father had irresponsibly put him up to it, but with the potential he had hidden, it would have been a waste. And in retrospect, if even he couldn't stop Cell, who or what else had a chance? "I think it's safe to say that I'm not as into it as my father, Vegeta or any other Saiyan we've met so far. Maybe I could have been. Maybe I was just a late bloomer or... I'd just grow into it." Gohan sighed. "But during the Cell Games, I realized that I would never be that dedicated. But then...I just had to screw up."

Bulma blinked with a start. "What do you mean?"

"Had…" He felt a tight knot in the pit of his stomach as he replayed the scenes in his head. "Had I finished Cell off when I needed to, or…reached Super Saiyan 2 much earlier-"

"What happened to 16 wasn't your fault, Gohan," Bulma interrupted him in a rueful tone. "It was mine. Maybe if I hadn't removed the bomb from his chest…"

"You only did that because it was a dangerous hazard," the young man argued back. "Had 16 kept the bomb-"

"But that's just it," Bulma cut him off even more guiltily, twiddling her fingers together. "I did it because I thought I was doing him and everyone else a favor, but-"

"16 still would have blown himself up, Bulma," Krillin chimed. "That bomb might have even been the death of us had it been left alone. There was just no way for you or any of us to know that-"

"No, Krillin, we did," Bulma retorted. "My father and I had an idea it would come to that, so we thought we'd take the necessary precautions. What's worse, we did it without his consent, without telling him. We might as well have been the ones who condemned him to his death. If we had just told him..." The Capsule Corp President turned away, wiping at her eyes.

Gohan closed his eyes, blaming no one but Cell... and himself. He looked down at his hands and stared at his palms, seeing the callouses that had accumulated over the years of his relatively young life. He couldn't remember the last time he found them smooth and unblemished from when he was a toddler. What he could remember was the searing pain during the early days of his training with Piccolo in preparation for the Saiyans.

His sullen expression gave way to a determined scowl, and he clenched his hands into fists. "I'll go."

This drew shock from Krillin. "Wait, Gohan, wh-what are you…?"

Schweinorg hummed. "I would prefer that you choose wisely, Son Gohan. This mission will be fraught with dangers and unknowns. You might just find yourself overwhelmed."

Gohan steeled himself. "That is to be expected when the fate of mankind is at stake. I'll go, Mr. Schweinorg. If you'll have me."

Piccolo hid a frown of his own. It was you he wanted from the start, Gohan. The subtle look the old wizard threw his way more than confirmed it.

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Schweinorg conceded, grabbed the cane that had been resting against the armrest of his chair next to him, and tapped the bottom of it against the floor. "Very well, Mr. Son. But first, preparations are rather in order."

And so, over the next two days, Gohan coordinated with the others to prepare. Later that very day, he flew back to his home to inform his mother of his decision, at first worried about how she would react, but to his surprise, Chi-Chi was more agreeable than he expected. Since the Cell Games and the death of her husband, she had come to understand that no matter what she did, no matter what opposition she had, she would never be able to stop her family from doing what they needed to do. The only truly unfortunate thing was that she would be all alone to raise their newest addition, Goten. It was only then that Gohan began to consider things, worried about how his absence might affect his little brother.

"Go," Chi-Chi insisted. "I'll hold the fort while you're gone."

Gohan's expression faltered. "Are... you sure, Mom?"

Chi-Chi smiled weakly, her eyes not even meeting his. "If Goku were here, he would have jumped right into whatever you're getting yourself into, and if he couldn't, he would have volunteered you."

"But, I'm still leaving you alone," Gohan pointed out sadly.

His mother shook her head. "I'm not alone. There's your grandfather, all our friends. We'll be fine." They sat at the kitchen table, facing each other. The woman placed her hand over her son's. "If this is what you must do, then do it. Don't let me or anyone else stop you from doing good. If things are as bad as they are, I trust you will come through. Just like you and your father always do."

Hearing such words from his mother was reassuring, but at the same time poignant, as the two shared a hug afterwards. He spent the next few hours packing his things and whatever else he might need. He was not worried about bringing too much, as it would all be stored in Hoi Poi capsules. On the day of his departure, Schweinorg had requested that he change into the standard Chaldean uniform, known as the Mystic Code. Bulma had been allowed to run tests beforehand to understand how the clothing worked and to make sure it was safe for Gohan. It consisted of a white shirt with a zipper, a black strap across the chest that bridged the shoulders, and a black leather belt around the waist. Between the collar was the zipper head in the shape of two intertwined diamonds. Black pants and shoes completed the set. When Gohan slipped into the uniform, he looked at himself in the mirror and already had the feeling that he was staring at a stranger. The strange thing was that this 'Mystic Code', unlike all the other formal clothes he had worn before, didn't restrict his movements as much. Not as comfortable as the Gi he was used to wearing, but breathable.

His family and friends were there, all gathered in the open courtyard of Capsule Corp. Tien and Chiaotzu could only send their greetings, their time consumed by the new ownership of the Crane School after the previous master retired. Yamcha had only been signed to a baseball team in West City a week ago and was busy practicing, but also wished the boy good luck. Present were his mother, little brother and grandfather, Bulma and her parents, the infant Trunks, Vegeta, Piccolo, Krillin and; to his surprise, Android 18. "Hey, uh, 18," he greeted her. The blonde android wore a black letterman jacket with the SC logo of the newly christened 'Satan City' in honor of Mr. Satan for his 'defeat' of Cell, and blue jeans. On her head was a baseball cap that belonged to the same delivery company Krillin worked for, where they had both applied to earn some money.

She looked at the young man with a critical eye, mostly at what he was wearing. "You look silly in that getup."

Gohan scratched the back of his head and replied with a chuckle, "It's not bad. Takes some getting used to."

"So, what, are you going to fight some alternate androids or something?"

"Not exactly?" Gohan countered in an uncertain tone. "I'm not even sure, but it's better to be prepared."

"Speaking of prepared," Krillin stepped forward and handed Gohan a small brown bag filled to the brim with Senzu. "Stopped by Korin's earlier. Try not to use it all in one place and make sure you don't lose 'em." Gohan nodded, the two of them sharing confident smiles.

"Got it." With that, he turned to his mother. "Well, this is it." With a few tears in her eyes, Chi-Chi smiled proudly at her son before giving him a hug.

"Be careful," she told him, then broke the embrace, running her eyes all over him as if this was to be the last time for them. "Come back safe."

Gohan nodded, fighting back his own tears. He then heard the familiar gurgling sounds of his little brother, Goten, being held by his grandfather, the Ox King. "Hey, you take care of mom while I'm gone, okay?" As if he understood him, little Goten made an unintelligible chirp, with some saliva bubbling out of his lips.

Bulma stepped forward next and handed him a case in which all his Hoi Poi were stored. "You'll find everything you could ever need tucked away in here. I took special care to pack it with the essentials, including a house with a fully stocked kitchen and running water."

"Thank you, Bulma," Gohan said gratefully, taking a moment to weigh the case. "Wow, looks like you're putting out all the stops with this one."

Bulma winked at him. "I added in a few surprises." She then gave him a hug of her own. "Knock 'em dead, okay?" Her smile vanished, replaced with a flat look. "No, seriously, whoever it is, put the boots on them."

"I will," Gohan nodded after he pulled away from the hug. He spared a nod to her parents and then to Vegeta, who rolled his eyes in clear disinterest. After saying his goodbyes, the boy went to a waiting Schweinorg and stopped before the man. "I'm ready."

The old magus smiled and grabbed his shoulder as he locked eyes with him, and only then did Gohan come to note how they were a striking shade of red under the morning light. "Now then, you are to be the protagonist of this story, Son Gohan. The hero, if you will."

Gohan blinked. "Protagonist? Hero? I... don't really think of myself as either of those, Mr. Schweinorg, sir."

Schweinorg, or as he would have preferred to be addressed, Zelretch, chuckled. "I see. Still, it is an admirable trait that you and your father tend to share." A faint glow began to surround them as he spoke, wisps of energy that cascaded in tones of purple, blue and red, which congealed into a dome that encompassed the two of them.

"Wh-What?" Gohan said in worry, jerking his head about.

"Calm yourself, my boy," Zelretch said, his voice echoing around them as the backdrop blurred and twisted to Gohan's amazement. He looked back to where his loved ones stood and his jaw dropped as their images began to distort before his very eyes. Bulma's purple hair seemed to take on a light blue hue. Krillin's bald head began to show hair, which came and went with each distortion. Some disappeared, only for others to appear or take their place, others looked older or younger, and he very nearly ran back when he saw his own father, alive and standing right next to his mother; no, Bulma, his mother again, or some other woman he couldn't place.

But what truly gave him pause…was 16, alive, standing just beside Bulma's family. It was the briefest of moments as everything seemed to slow down. Instead of his armor, the android was in a baggy green jumpsuit with the Capsule Corp logo sewn proudly on the left bicep.

He was smiling, giving him a nod that conveyed more than what words ever could.

Even the world, the background, seemed to shift in tandem with them. The Capsule Corp building painted a different color or built differently, the blue sky overhead switching to night or splotched in twilight. "What you are witnessing is my magic. The Second Magic, named after myself, Zelretch. But most tend to go with the more memorable...Kaleidoscope." Soon enough, Gohan found himself in a...space, if he could even call it that, composed of colors that twisted, expanded and converged endlessly.

Like a...kaleidoscope.

It would be moments before Gohan steadied his breathing, his frame quaking with each thrumming of his heart. "Th…That was…"

"Those, Gohan, were worlds parallel to your own," Zelretch explained as he was marching toward a throne that seemed to come with the room. "Different outcomes and possibilities. All that could have been, should have been, never was, always was, all the tiny little constants and variables. Here and there, now and then."

Gohan did not answer, his attention was more on the room he was now in, shuffling in awe as he looked up, or down, right, left, he wasn't sure anymore. Numerous stars dotted the wall above the colors, almost like an observatory. The only place he could draw a comparison to this place was the Room of Spirit and Time. He continued to be captivated until he remembered where he was and why. Turning to Zelretch, who was now sitting in a rather luxurious chair, the man smiled at him and motioned to a table where an empty wooden chair was waiting for him. There, Gohan noticed some things that were already on the table.

A rather old-looking tome, the cover a vivid purple with intricate gold patterns embossed, the pages robust and alluring to his academic mind. A hand was about to reach for it, but his senses kicked back in to deter him from the discourteous action.

Taking his seat, Gohan's gaze wandered again, soon landing on Zelretch's chair and retracting his earlier assumption that it was lavish, with the only ostentatious feature being the extremely high backrest. Other than that, it couldn't really be called luxurious. Returning his eyes to the table, Gohan noticed the second object next to the tome. From his studies, he could recognize it as an old-time candlestick phone. It was ancient compared to the smartphone he had in his pocket, but no less fascinating.

"Welcome, Son Gohan. Welcome to my observatory" Zelretch said to him from his chair. "It is here that I can observe alternate worlds safely without needing to interfere, for if I were to do so unprompted, it would cement whatever that possibility might be into reality."

Gohan traced his eyes over the room once again. "Reality?"

Zelretch beamed, always fond of students hungry to learn. "A lesson for another time. Comfortable?"

Gohan nodded. "I gotta say, this place is amazing."

"Oh please," Zelretch waved off modestly. "It's where I come to relax and have tea. You should come and see my office back at the Clock Tower."

Gohan hummed. "So, what are we doing here, Mr. Schweinorg?"

Zelretch made a motion with his hand, and the tome rose from its place, hovering through the air before being caught by the man. "We are here to set the correct coordinates of the timeline you're entering. It is the only safe way to do so without triggering Alaya's protocols."

"Yes, you mentioned an Alaya," Gohan recalled. "Who is she, exactly?"

"'She'?" Zelretch repeated with a low chuckle, as if the boy had asked him a strange question. "Alaya is not a person, my boy, but a metaphysical, intangible force that exists throughout the universes. For those who are more aware, Alaya is the collective, unconscious will of humanity."

"Unconscious will?" Gohan repeated that part in an inquisitive tone.

"What do you believe drives humanity, Mr. Son," Zelretch asked, the boy unwittingly taking the role of a student. "Or really, any sapient species."

Gohan's brows crinkled in thought. What drove sapient beings like humanity? "Survival?"

Zelretch's grin would have split the room they were in clean in two. "Really? Of all the things that drive a species, that's the first thing that came to mind? Not money? Not religion? Patriotism? Food?"

A growling sound echoed through the room as soon as the last one was mentioned, causing a nervous Gohan to rub his stomach. "Oh boy." He looked up at the man apologetically. "Sorry, I thought I ate enough at breakfast."

Zelretch blinked before he let out a soft chuckle that turned into a laugh. He snapped his fingers and Gohan saw a glow out of the corner of his eye. The glow soon faded and to his delight, the salf-saiyan found a familiar column of bamboo steamers resting neatly on the table. Opening the top one released a cloud of steam that dissipated to reveal freshly baked pork buns.

"Wow," Gohan marveled as his mouth watered, unquestioning of the conjuring of such a meal. "Itadakimasu!" He happily bit into one he eagerly plucked out, followed by the other hand grabbing another. When he finished, he patted his now full belly in satisfaction. "Thank you for the food, Mr. Schweinorg."

Zelretch let out a good-natured huff. "You're welcome, Gohan. Now, what exactly pointed to 'survival' being the priority of a sapient species?"

Gohan shrugged. "Shouldn't that be obvious? I mean, living things would do everything in their power to survive. Animals do it practically by instinct." He should know, having hunted dinosaurs that put up quite a fight before he could take them down with a punch or two.

Zelretch nodded. "Indeed. Thus, this inherent drive for survival has manifested itself into an unconscious, autonomous will for humanity to avoid extinction. It has no real will of its own, only that it operates by seeking the most optimal way to preserve humankind and its natural progress."

"That sounds incredible," Gohan said in awe. Zelretch, however, wagged a finger.

"Do not presume, however, that Alaya operates by any kind of moral compass," the old magus continued. "For it is simply concerned with the preservation of human life. Irrespective and indifferent to anyone on how to go about it."

"What?" Gohan asked, genuinely confused. "If it's there to help keep humanity alive, then how can it be indifferent at the same time?"

"To put it simply, Alaya sees humanity as a collective, not as individuals," Zelretch replied. "If the humanity of a world is dying, reduced to a mere handful, or practically extinct, Alaya will abandon that timeline without a second thought. There's really nothing left of its charges, so why bother?"

Gohan was stunned. "But that is not to say that Alaya is merely passive. Far from it," Zelretch implied ominously. "It occasionally employs heralds, emissaries known as 'Counter Guardians'. These beings serve as measures to combat threats that pose a categorical danger to humanity. What those threats are varies, but to put it in perspective, natural disasters do not qualify as necessitating any of its protocols."

"So," Gohan stroked his chin as he ran the information through his head, "this Alaya seems to function no differently than a computer. More specifically, a program or AI." Zelretch nodded, impressed by the boy's comparisons. "If something doesn't meet its parameters, or if it considers something unnatural, only then will it act accordingly. You could say it has the characteristics of an immune system. Namely, the autonomous functions of an organism to fight disease. It doesn't care if humanity dies out naturally like the breaking down of cells. It works to preserve the body for as long as is naturally possible."

"Bravo, Mr. Son. Bravo," Zelretch applauded, the half-saiyan flushing from the praise. "That is more or less what Alaya is. An autonomous system that responds to unnatural threats to humanity."

Gohan then realized. "Wait, if Alaya's function is 'protecting' humanity, why does Chaldea exist? Why do you even need me?"

"Well, Alaya isn't exactly a perfect system," Zelretch admitted. "Or perhaps Chaldea is simply a part of Alaya's grand design. Not the first time it would steer events and even people to its own favor in order to draw out what it believes to be the best outcome for humankind to continue thriving. Though, results may vary, mind you."

Gohan mildly frowned. The more he learned about this Alaya, the more he was reluctant to confront it. This...thing might have the survival of humanity in mind, but only to the extent that there was enough of humanity around. It didn't care if a large number of people perished in a tsunami or an earthquake. And it certainly didn't seem to care about saving a single life if it meant that the greater collective would live another day. So long as 'humanity' existed, it would consider the barest minimum a success. Granted, he probably shouldn't expect much from such an entity, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth that the pork buns from earlier couldn't usurp.

"Then-"

RING RING - RING RING - RING RING

The sudden ringing of the phone on the table interrupted Gohan's next question, the old antique vibrating heavily on its perch. The half-Saiyan glanced at the old wizard, who gestured for him to answer the call. Hesitantly, Gohan reached for the device and pulled it closer, wondering to himself on who it could be, the vibrations rattling his fingers. He positioned the mouthpiece inches from his lips and brought the receiver to his ear. "Uh, hello?"

No answer came. "H-Hello?"

"Who is this?"

The boy pulled the receiver away from his ear with a start, the tone of the voice concise and direct.

"Who is this?"

Gohan grew nervous, unsure of what and how to answer as the voice demanded. "I...G-Gohan..." He winced, scolding himself before stringing together a more coherent, "This is Son Gohan, sir. How may I help you?" The voice was definitely male, or deep enough to be.

There was another period of silence, and Gohan was about to speak again before, "Put Zelretch on."

"Eh?" Gohan turned his head to look at the receiver, then at the wizard. "I-It's for you, Mr. Schweinorg." The old man motioned with his hand, and the phone flew from the boy's hands to his, the half-saiyan swearing he heard what sounded like a snort coming from the receiver.

"Yes, Caubac," Zelretch spoke into the mouthpiece as he leaned back in his chair, "what is it?"

"Who was that?"

"He just told you."

"I'm gonna need more than a name. Ridiculous, by the way."

"Caubac isn't quite as common as one would like," Zelretch countered, and grinning as he felt Caubac Alcatraz's frown on the other line. "But let's have a riveting discussion on names over tea next time. Now, to what do I owe this call?"

"...Snowfield."

Zelretch clicked his tongue, sounding mildly annoyed. "Ah, yes, that. Something always comes up. I'll be right with you, but as you already heard, I have a guest."

"Just hurry. I already have someone in mind."

Zelretch perked up, grinning mysteriously. "Do you, now? Very well." Gohan was sitting back patiently, listening intently before the old wizard hung up the call.

"Who was that, Mr. Schweinorg?"

Zelretch snickered. "Just a great big idiot that I know. You needn't concern yourself with that. Speaking of which, I believe it is time for you to depart."

Gohan, his hands on his lap, said nothing more and prepared himself as he sat up straighter. He watched as the book that had been with Zelretch began to levitate, cracking open and the pages turning rapidly. As it rose higher and higher, the room itself lit up, the colors spinning, the stars streaking like tiny meteors. Gohan slowly rose from his seat, mesmerized by the sight of a cosmic storm in such a deceptively enclosed space, his eyes keeping up with the rotation until they began to lag behind as the seconds passed.

He felt his chest tighten as the air quickly became shallow, causing him to clench his teeth. It was another thing that reminded him of the Room of Spirit and Time, slightly uncomfortable, but nothing he wasn't used to. Soon the spinning stopped at the same time the pages ceased flipping.

"Yes," Zelretch hummed, strumming the strands of his beard. "This is the one." He too stood from his throne, stepping next to his short time protege. "Are you ready, Mr. Son?"

Gohan raised his head to peer up at the man, for he was quite tall. "Uh, ready."

"You don't sound like it," Zelretch teased.

Instead of rebutting him, Gohan let out a flustered chuckle, scratching his scalp. "I guess I'm just nervous. I mean, I'm about to go to an alternate universe."

"As opposed to Namek?"

"Well, it was another planet," Gohan pointed out. "It had its own novelty, but this is an entirely different Earth if I'm to understand. I don't think there can even be a comparison."

Zelretch hummed and looked forward...when his smile disappeared. Noticing this, Gohan followed the man's gaze, and to his unbridled shock, the room was no longer there.

What took its place was an empty black void, leaving absolutely no trace of the once hypnotic colors.

All but one.

Red