A/N: Nothing like uploading a chapter during a tornado outbreak!
The moment Cellera stepped through the Chamber's doors, colors assaulted her senses with almost painful intensity. After a year of nothing but white emptiness stretching in every direction, The Lookout's marble tiles and carefully tended gardens felt surreal - a feast for eyes that had been starved of anything but void. She blinked rapidly, adjusting to a world that somehow felt both familiar and strange.
"Sorry to keep you all waiting," Trunks said, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over the gathered group.
"Hey, it's good to have you back!" Kakarot's warm welcome carried his usual cheerful energy.
Cellera watched as Kakarot's bright smile lit up his face, so different from her father's perpetual scowl. The thought barely had time to form before Gohan's voice drew her attention.
Across from where Cellera stood, Gohan's eyes widened as he took in Trunks' transformation. The future warrior's lavender hair now fell past his shoulders, and his entire frame had filled out with lean muscle.
"Wow Trunks, you've really changed!" Gohan exclaimed, clearly impressed by the physical transformation.
As Gohan's gaze shifted to Cellera, his breath caught slightly. She had grown taller, though the change was subtle compared to Trunks' more dramatic transformation. Her features had matured ever so slightly, wisps of her hair had escaped her blue ribbon, framing her face in a way that drew attention to these newly refined angles.
But something felt off. As Gohan studied Cellera, he noticed the usual spark in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by shadows of exhaustion. While she had always carried herself with careful composure, there had always been an underlying energy to her presence - a vitality that made her seem more alive than anyone else in the room. Now she stood slightly apart from the others, her usual poise marked by an unfamiliar hesitation. Most concerning to Gohan was her ki signature - it felt weaker than he had ever sensed from her, even during their earliest days training together on Namek.
Goku seemed to notice as well, tilting his head in that characteristic way that made him look more curious than concerned. "Hey Cellera, you feeling okay? You look a bit under the weather." His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on her diminished ki.
A flash of embarrassment crossed Cellera's face at having her condition so easily noticed. Before she could respond, Trunks stepped in to explain.
"There was a bit of a hiccup," he said carefully. "Cellera collapsed after pushing herself too hard."
The worried look that crossed Gohan's face made Cellera want to protest that she was fine, but she knew her current state would make such claims obviously false. Instead, she remained silent, frustrated by her own weakness.
"I must say, I'm impressed," Mr. Popo said, his perpetually calm voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. "Even with that setback, you three managed to last an entire day. I've never known anyone who could endure the chamber for so long."
"We might have come out sooner," Trunks admitted, "but Father insisted on staying until he was absolutely certain he'd done everything possible." He began to elaborate further on their training, but Vegeta's sharp voice cut him off.
"Be quiet, boy," Vegeta snapped. "It seems you can't control your tongue any better than your sister can control her ki."
Cellera turned to fix her father with a fierce scowl. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to her weakened state - especially not with Gohan about to enter the chamber himself. He needed to focus on his own training, not worry about her condition.
Trunks released a weary sigh at their father's cutting remark, but Goku seemed more amused than concerned. A knowing smirk played across his features as he turned to Vegeta.
"So, did you do what you planned?" he asked, his casual tone carrying an underlying challenge that only those who knew him well would recognize.
Vegeta matched Goku's expression with his own confident smirk. "You'll find out soon enough." He folded his arms across his chest, pride radiating from every line of his posture. "Though if I were you, I wouldn't waste time training in that room. I'll destroy Cell and those androids with my bare hands before you even step inside."
Cellera fought the urge to roll her eyes at her father's declaration. She didn't even bother correcting his use of "androids" instead of "cyborgs" - his pride and arrogance had doubled the moment he'd laid eyes on Kakarot. She knew from experience that trying to reason with him in this state would be as productive as attempting to punch through The Lookout's marble floors with her bare hands.
From where he stood slightly behind his father, Gohan watched the familiar dynamic unfold between Goku and Vegeta. But his attention kept drifting back to Cellera, noting how she seemed to be conserving every movement, as if each gesture required careful consideration of her limited energy. The observation only deepened his concern about whatever had happened during their year in the chamber.
"I don't know how strong you think you've become," Piccolo's gruff voice cut through the tension, "but you're underestimating our enemy."
"He's right," Goku added, his usual cheerful demeanor giving way to something more serious. "Cell's become incredibly powerful. I got to see for myself after he absorbed Android 17."
The words froze the air in Cellera's lungs. "He absorbed 17?" Her voice emerged rough, as if the very question scraped against her throat.
Tien nodded grimly. "17 didn't stand a chance against him. After the absorption..." He paused, the memory clearly troubling him. "Piccolo and I nearly died trying to stop him. His power is beyond anything we've faced before."
Cellera's hand drifted up to her lip as she processed this development. "Then our safest option is clear," she said slowly. "We need to find 18 and eliminate her before Cell can complete his evolution."
The words felt bitter on her tongue. Their discovery in Gero's underground lab haunted her thoughts - the clinical documentation of how he'd kidnapped two young siblings, Lapis and Lazuli, transforming them into weapons against their will. 18 wasn't just a machine to be destroyed, but a human who'd had her life stolen from her. The realization made Cellera's stomach twist - how different was their current plan from Gero's original intentions? They were treating 18 as nothing more than a component to be eliminated, just as Gero had viewed her as merely raw material for his twisted ambitions.
Yet the tactical reality remained unchanged. Every moment they hesitated increased the risk of Cell achieving his perfect form. It was the most logical solution, one that would prevent catastrophic consequences. But for the first time, Cellera found herself questioning whether the most efficient strategy was necessarily the right one. The memory of those laboratory documents made it impossible to view 18 as simply a threat to be neutralized.
"Hmph." Vegeta's derisive snort drew her from her moral dilemma. "Maybe in your pathetic, weakened state, that's the only solution you can see." His lips curled into a predatory smile that held no warmth. "But I intend to savor testing my new power against Cell. And once I'm finished with him..." His eyes blazed with barely contained hatred. "I'll deal with her myself."
Cellera didn't miss how her father's hands clenched at his sides, or the way his ki flickered erratically for just a moment. She recognized the signs - he was reliving his humiliating defeat at 18's hands. That battle had wounded more than just his body; it had struck at the very core of his pride. Now that same pride was driving him toward what could be another catastrophic mistake.
Gohan watched the exchange with growing unease. Something in Cellera's expression when she'd suggested destroying 18 had caught his attention - a fleeting shadow of doubt that seemed at odds with her usual certainty.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" A familiar voice rang out across The Lookout, cutting their discussion short.
Cellera's eyes brightened at the sound. "Bulma!" After a year in the chamber's isolation, just hearing her voice lifted something heavy from her shoulders. She moved quickly toward the front of The Lookout, the others following behind, curious about this unexpected arrival.
"How'd you know where to find us?" Goku asked as Bulma came into view.
"Krillin filled me in," Bulma replied, scanning the gathered group. When her eyes landed on Trunks and Cellera, she rushed forward, maternal instincts taking over.
"Oh my goodness, look at your hair!" She ran her fingers through Trunks' lavender locks, which now fell well past his shoulders. "Cellera was absolutely right about half-Saiyan hair growing unlike pure Saiyans'."
"Huh, that explains why I've never needed a haircut," Goku mused, running a hand through his own perpetually spiky hair.
Bulma turned her attention to Cellera, her eyes softening. "And you've gotten taller too," she noted, glancing between the siblings. "Both of you have." She continued fussing over them, straightening Trunks' jacket and brushing Cellera's stray hair from her face.
The familiar mothering brought an unexpected lump to Cellera's throat. She hadn't realized just how much she'd missed Bulma's presence. A year in the chamber's isolation—where days blended into each other in an endless white void with only her father and brother for company—had made her crave these simple expressions of care. During their three years of preparation for the androids, Bulma had been their voice of reason - particularly when it came to moderating their training intensity. She'd had no qualms about disabling the gravity chamber's functions when she felt they were pushing too hard, a safety feature Cellera herself had suggested to Dr. Briefs during the capsule's development.
That collaboration had come shortly after another of Cellera's proposals - raising the gravity chamber's maximum capacity to 600 times Earth's gravity. She'd known her father would quickly surpass the original 300-times limit, and the modification had proved essential to their training. But it had been Bulma who'd ensured they couldn't completely destroy themselves in pursuit of greater strength, something Cellera had come to appreciate more with each passing year.
Standing here now, watching Bulma fret over them both, Cellera felt a familiar warmth spread through her chest. No matter how much time passed - even if it was only a day in the outside world - Bulma's maternal instincts never wavered.
Bulma's maternal inspection wasn't finished. Her eyes narrowed as she grabbed Cellera's chin, turning the young Saiyan's face from side to side with gentle but insistent fingers. "What's wrong? And don't try telling me it's nothing."
Cellera avoided meeting Bulma's searching gaze. That "mother's intuition" Bulma was so proud of had only grown sharper since having Trunks, and she'd clearly detected something amiss - even without the ability to sense ki. The scrutiny made Cellera feel like a child again, caught trying to hide an injury after training.
"She'll be fine," Vegeta's sharp voice cut through the moment. "What did you come here for? We don't have time for pointless chatter."
Bulma released Cellera's chin, rolling her eyes at Vegeta's typical brusqueness. After years of dealing with the Saiyan prince's attitude, his harsh tone barely registered. "Actually," she said, pulling out her capsule case with casual confidence, "I brought something important. The battle armor is finally complete."
Cellera turned to her stepmother in surprise. "You finished it?"
"Sure did!" Bulma's pride was evident in her voice. "It turned out so well, I made enough for everyone." She selected a capsule, clicked the release, and tossed it. A green box materialized in a puff of smoke.
As Goku and Gohan eagerly opened the container, pulling out perfect replicas of Saiyan battle armor, Bulma cast an appraising eye over Trunks, Vegeta, and Cellera. Their current armor and apparel bore the obvious marks of their year in the chamber - scuffed, chipped, and torn in places. "Looks like I got here just in time," she observed. "You three definitely need a change of clothes."
Cellera collected her new armor and ducked into a small side room to change. When she emerged, she found Gohan adjusting the white combat boots, and suddenly time seemed to blur. The image overlapped perfectly with her memories of Namek - Gohan in nearly identical armor, both of them barely five years old yet facing battles that would have broken most adults. Had it really only been six years ago? The time dilation from the chamber made it feel simultaneously closer and more distant, as if that lost young girl and the warrior she'd become existed in parallel.
The sight stirred something deeper than simple nostalgia. They'd both changed so much since those desperate days on Namek, yet here they were again, preparing to face another seemingly impossible threat. But this time, they weren't helpless children, they were stronger - not just in power, but in their understanding of themselves and each other.
Kakarot was examining his battle jacket with obvious appreciation. "This is incredible - it's so light!" he exclaimed, testing the material's flexibility.
Cellera glanced toward her father, watching as he pulled the jacket over his blue compression suit with characteristic precision. As he adjusted his gloves, his eyes flickered briefly toward Bulma, who stood engaged in conversation with Piccolo and Tien. The look lasted barely a heartbeat before returning to his task, but Cellera caught it. While Bulma would understand that her father's lack of complaints meant approval, Cellera decided a more direct confirmation might be warranted later.
She made her way to where Gohan stood, and he greeted her with a warm smile that made her momentarily forget her exhaustion. "It feels strange wearing this again," he said, gesturing to his armor. "Like reuniting with an old friend from Namek."
"Indeed," Cellera replied, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "The universe's most powerful Saiyan good guy makes his triumphant return."
Gohan's face flushed brilliant red. "Can we please forget I ever said that?" he groaned. "I was five!"
His embarrassment drew a genuine laugh from her - a sound that had become rare during their year in the chamber.
As the color slowly faded from his cheeks, Gohan's expression grew more serious. "What did Vegeta mean about not controlling your ki?" he asked softly. "Is that connected to why you collapsed?"
Cellera released a weary sigh. There was no point hiding it anymore, especially not from him. "I pushed myself too far during training," she explained, choosing her words carefully. "There was a technique I was determined to master—something from my mother's combat style."
She described what happened after her collapse, including her rather undignified attempts at basic flight. "The simplest maneuvers felt impossible," she admitted, the words coming with difficulty. "Skills I've known almost my entire life..."
When she described falling from the air like a novice, Gohan couldn't contain his snort of laughter. She fixed him with a glare, arms crossing over her chest.
"Sorry, sorry!" he said quickly, though his eyes still sparkled with amusement. The humor faded as concern took its place. "But are you really okay now?"
She uncrossed her arms, her expression softening at his genuine worry. "I'm still tired and sore," she admitted, "and while I can manage flight now, ki attacks are beyond me at the moment." Her voice gentled further as she added, "But I'll be fine."
Gohan smiled in response, but Cellera could see the worry hadn't left his eyes. Even after all these years, he still couldn't quite hide his emotions from her. Then again, she thought, she'd never really wanted him to.
"Aren't you two going to try some on?" Bulma asked, turning to Piccolo and Tien.
Piccolo's arms remained firmly crossed as he replied, "I can't stomach the idea of wearing the same armor as Vegeta and Frieza's soldiers." He cast an apologetic glance toward Cellera and Gohan. "No offense."
Cellera shrugged, privately thinking that the Saiyan battle armor required a certain... presence to wear properly. As if reading her thoughts, Gohan smiled up at his mentor. "Your current style is way cooler anyway. I can't imagine you wearing anything else."
His words sparked a memory of their early training sessions, when Gohan had first appeared proudly wearing his own miniature version of Piccolo's weighted clothing. The image of that eager child still shone through in moments like these, despite everything they'd faced since.
"Hey, don't be so picky," Goku said, twisting to test the armor's range of motion. "It's actually a lot more flexible than it looks."
"Hmph." Vegeta's dismissive sound drew their attention. "It doesn't matter what you wear, Kakarot. You won't get the chance to fight anyway."
"That would be the ideal solution, wouldn't it?" Kakarot replied, his cheerful tone belied by the challenging glint in his eyes. They held each other's gaze for a moment, and Cellera recognized that look - a promise between warriors to settle their eternal rivalry once this crisis had passed.
As Vegeta turned to leave, Goku called after him. "Want me to teleport you there?"
Cellera couldn't suppress her smirk at Kakarot's ability to needle her father while maintaining his helpful demeanor. The underlying taunt was subtle but unmistakable.
"Don't be an idiot," Vegeta snapped. "I don't need your help." Without another word, he launched himself from The Lookout, his ki trail blazing against the sky as he headed toward Cell's location.
"Geez," Bulma groaned, hands planted on her hips as she watched Vegeta's form disappear into the distance. "Why can't he ever accept help from anyone?"
"He accepted your armor," Cellera pointed out. "And seemed quite pleased with it."
Bulma's expression softened. "Well, I couldn't have done it without your help." A fond smile touched her lips. "Those design modifications you suggested made all the difference."
"You helped make these?" Gohan turned to Cellera with surprise.
She nodded, a hint of pride showing through her exhaustion. The project had given her a welcome break from training during their three years of preparation. Plus, she enjoyed assisting Bulma in the lab.
"I don't understand," Trunks interjected, looking between Cellera and Bulma. "What does training armor have to do with Father?"
"In Saiyan culture," Cellera explained, her voice taking on the careful tone she used when sharing aspects of their heritage, "gifting one's mate with something to wear holds special significance. It's a symbol of commitment."
"Like a ring?" Gohan asked, catching on quickly as always.
"Precisely." Cellera couldn't help but admire how Gohan's eagerness to learn extended far beyond his academic studies. Whether it was understanding Saiyan customs, mastering new fighting techniques, or discovering something fascinating in nature, his genuine curiosity never wavered. It was one of the traits she'd always appreciated about him - that pure desire to understand everything around him.
Cellera glanced in the direction her father had vanished before turning to Trunks. "We should go if we want to catch up to Father."
Trunks nodded, but before Cellera could move toward the ledge, Gohan's voice stopped her.
"Wait!" When she turned back, she saw conflict written across his features. "Are... are you sure you'll be okay?"
She tilted her head, a teasing smile playing at her lips. "I collapse once and suddenly you think I can't fend for myself?"
Gohan completely missed her playful tone, his arms flailing in panic as words tumbled out. "No! That's not- I mean- it's just that I'm worried because you can't use your ki and-" His cheeks flushed as he stumbled over his explanation, and Cellera found herself thinking how endearing his flustered state was. The thought surprised her, bringing a slight warmth to her own cheeks.
Finally, Gohan's nervous energy settled into something more subdued. His eyes dropped to the ground as his voice grew quiet. "I felt how strong Cell is. He almost killed Piccolo and Tien." He swallowed hard before adding, "I know you can take care of yourself, but..."
The words trailed off, but Cellera understood. The fear of losing Piccolo was still raw in his mind, and now she was heading toward that same danger. Something softened in her chest at his concern.
She stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she stood directly in front of him. "Don't worry about me," she said, forming her right hand into a fist. With gentle deliberation, she bumped her knuckles against his chest, right over his heart—a gesture that felt both playful and strangely intimate. "I'll be just fine."
A moment passed before Gohan's hand came up, hesitating briefly before wrapping around her fist. His fingers curled around her smaller hand, warm and steady, neither pulling away nor holding too tightly—simply connecting. The gesture was somehow both protective and seeking reassurance at the same time. When their eyes met, Cellera felt her breath catch slightly at the intensity of emotion in his gaze.
"You promise?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.
A warm smile spread across her face, genuine and unguarded in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. "I promise. Have I ever broken one to you?"
"No," he whispered, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile that made her heart flutter in an unfamiliar way.
Only then did awareness seem to dawn on them both. Their eyes simultaneously dropped to where his hand still enclosed her fist against his chest. Color rushed to their cheeks as they quickly pulled away, the moment breaking like a soap bubble.
Cellera cleared her throat, willing her voice to stay steady. "Just focus on coming out of that room stronger - and as a Super Saiyan."
"You really think I can do it?" The uncertainty in his voice made her heart ache.
"Of course I do," she replied without hesitation. "You're stronger than you think, Gohan." The way his eyes brightened at her words sent another unfamiliar flutter through her chest.
Spotting Trunks deep in conversation with Kakarot, she caught her brother's eye and tilted her head toward the direction their father had taken. Understanding passed between them with the ease of siblings who'd spent a year learning each other's signals.
"I'll see you in a year," Gohan called as she turned to leave.
She glanced back with a small smile. "See you tomorrow." The echo of his earlier words made his face light up in a way that almost made her forget about leaving.
"Be safe and don't overdo it!" Bulma called after her maternal worry evident in her voice.
Cellera paused at the edge of The Lookout, offering Gohan one final piece of advice. "Don't think too much about the vastness."
Confusion crossed his features as she took to the air, but that expression quickly shifted to concern as he watched her departure. Her speed was noticeably slower than usual - clear evidence of her still-recovering condition. A strange feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach as her form grew smaller against the sky.
The intensity of his worry confused him. He knew Cellera was more than capable of handling herself, even in her current state. She'd given him her promise - something that had always been enough to ease his fears before. Her words carried weight that even his father's sometimes didn't match. So why did this feel different? Why did watching her leave create this hollow sensation in his chest that he couldn't quite name?
The answer hovered just beyond his understanding, like one of the complex equations they sometimes worked on together. But this wasn't something he could solve with his mind. This feeling was new, undefined, and somehow both wonderful and terrifying at the same time.
Gohan turned to see his father handing Trunks a senzu bean. "Do your best out there," Goku said, his usual cheerful tone carrying an edge of seriousness, "but don't do anything reckless. If things get too dangerous, retreat."
"Thanks for everything," Trunks replied earnestly. He looked between father and son, adding, "Good luck with your training, both of you."
As Trunks turned to leave, Gohan felt the words burst from him before he could stop them. "Wait!"
Trunks paused, turning back with a questioning look. "What's up?"
Gohan approached him, tension evident in every line of his small frame. "About Cellera..." The words stuck in his throat as he stared at the ground, trying to organize the jumble of emotions into coherent thought. Finally, he managed a soft, "Make sure she comes back safe."
A knowing smile touched Trunks' lips. "Don't believe in my sister this time around?"
Gohan shook his head quickly, recognizing the gentle teasing in Trunks' tone. "That's not it..." But he couldn't seem to find the right words to explain the unfamiliar worry churning in his chest.
After a moment of charged silence, Trunks reached out and ruffled Gohan's hair affectionately. "Hey, there's nothing to get worked up about. She won't be alone - Father and I will be right there with her." His voice softened with understanding. "I'll make sure she comes back in one piece."
He dropped his hand from Gohan's hair and walked toward the edge of The Lookout, pausing briefly as Bulma called out her own worried farewell. At the very edge, he turned back one final time.
"Gohan."
Their eyes met across the distance, and something passed between them - an understanding that transcended timelines and ages. "I promise," Trunks said, the words carrying the same weight his sister's always did. With a small wave, he launched himself from The Lookout, racing to catch up with Cellera.
As Trunks flew through the crisp air, a quiet chuckle escaped him. The scene he'd witnessed on The Lookout remained fresh in his mind.
His sister and Gohan's interaction had been painfully familiar - the same obvious connection he'd witnessed in his timeline, though these younger versions remained adorably oblivious to their own feelings. He supposed their age explained the innocence of it all. They'd figure it out eventually, and he hoped for their sake it would be sooner rather than later. He'd already watched one version of them dance around their feelings for far too long.
Their exchange on The Lookout had drawn quite an audience, though neither had seemed aware of anything beyond each other. Even Piccolo, usually stoic and detached, had shown interest - right until Gohan had covered Cellera's fist with his hand. The Namekian had rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering something about "sappy displays," but Trunks hadn't missed the slight upward twitch of his mentor's lips.
The scene had stirred memories Trunks usually tried to keep buried. His timeline's Cellera had used that same gentle tone when reassuring Gohan, knowing exactly what words he needed to hear. Gohan's expression had mirrored the one Trunks had seen countless times when Cellera would return from supply runs with minor injuries. But when Gohan had wrapped his hand around Cellera's fist... Trunks had been forced to look away, the gesture too painfully reminiscent of how he'd found them in death - hands still reaching for each other through the rain.
Cellera's form grew larger as he gained on her, her usually graceful flight noticeably labored. Gohan's anxious request echoed in his mind, and Trunks felt his resolve harden. Don't worry, Gohan, he thought. I won't let anything happen to her.
His sister had never broken a promise to Gohan, and Trunks intended to honor his word with the same dedication. After their conversations in the time chamber, he understood the weight such promises carried between them. This wasn't just a vow to Gohan - it was a promise to himself as well. His sister had sacrificed everything to protect him in his timeline; now it was his turn to protect her. He wouldn't stand by and watch them suffer the same fate they had in his world. This time would be different.
This time, they would all survive.
Gohan watched Trunks' form grow smaller against the sky. He's right, he thought. Cellera would have both her father and brother watching over her. He needed to channel this nervous energy into his own training. His hand drifted to his chest, touching the spot where she'd pressed her fist against the battle jacket. She believed he could become a Super Saiyan - he wouldn't let that faith go unrewarded.
"Time to start our training, Gohan," Goku announced.
"Right!" Gohan's enthusiasm propelled him toward the chamber doors, but his father's voice stopped him short.
"Wait a minute, son."
Before Gohan could ask what was wrong, a loud growl echoed across The Lookout. Goku laughed awkwardly, hands pressed against his rumbling stomach. "Think we could eat first? I'm kind of hungry."
Gohan's shoulders slumped, his earlier determination deflating into exasperation. "Aw... right now, Dad?"
Tien's warm laughter filled the air. "Even with everything that's happening, Goku never changes."
Piccolo released a long-suffering groan that spoke volumes about his years dealing with Goku's appetite.
"I'll prepare something for you both," Mr. Popo offered, gesturing for them to follow. He led them to a simple room furnished with a circular wooden table and two chairs. Sunlight streamed through multiple window cutouts, creating patterns across the polished floor.
The scene felt oddly peaceful given the crisis they faced - just another meal with his father before training. Yet as Gohan settled into his chair, he couldn't quite shake the lingering concern about what lay ahead, both for himself and for those who had just left to face Cell.
Mr. Popo began setting out dishes, and Goku wasted no time attacking the food with characteristic enthusiasm. Gohan glanced between his own bowl and the three his father had already demolished. The sight wasn't entirely unfamiliar - he'd watched Cellera consume impressive amounts during their study sessions together. She'd explained once how their Saiyan genetics demanded higher caloric intake, their accelerated metabolism burning through energy at an astounding rate.
But his father's appetite existed in a category all its own. Bowl after bowl disappeared as if by magic, prompting Mr. Popo to return with four more. Goku beamed at their host with genuine gratitude before diving back in. The stark contrast between his father's enthusiastic consumption and Cellera's more refined approach struck Gohan as amusing. Despite matching Goku's pace, she somehow managed to maintain the kind of table manners that earned Chi Chi's approval.
"Ah, that was great!" Goku released a contented sigh. "Thanks so much, Mr. Popo!" He turned to Gohan with eager anticipation. "Ready to start training?"
Gohan looked down at his half-finished bowl, coming to a decision. If he was going to spend a year training with his father, he'd better start embracing his Saiyan appetite - especially if he wanted any chance at seconds. Setting aside his usual careful eating habits, he began shoveling rice into his mouth at a rapid pace. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, knowing the gesture would have earned disapproving looks from both his mother and Cellera.
The thought of their reactions almost made him laugh. He could picture Cellera's exact expression - that particular mixture of horror and royal dignity she got whenever someone violated her sense of proper behavior. It was the same look she'd given him once when he'd suggested using chopsticks to measure the distance between stars during one of their astronomy discussions.
Mr. Popo guided them from the dining area to the massive doors that had swallowed Cellera, Trunks, and Vegeta just yesterday. He turned to face them both. "I hope you're ready."
Gohan stared up at the towering entrance, anxiety and excitement warring in his chest. He wasn't sure which emotion had the upper hand, but it didn't matter. With a firm shake of his head, he steeled his resolve. They had a clear purpose - both he and his father - and only one year to achieve it. Mr. Popo's hand settled on the golden handle, the door creaking open to reveal what would become their home for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.
Gohan's first steps into the living quarters left him awestruck. As he moved toward what appeared to be the bedroom area, the environment's effects hit him immediately. "Everything feels... heavier," he observed, his breath coming in short gasps. "And it's so hot..."
His father's hand settled on his shoulder, steadying him. "Easy there, son. I know the air's thin, but try taking a deep breath."
Gohan followed the instruction, drawing in as much oxygen as he could manage before releasing it slowly. The simple act required more effort than he'd expected.
"I know it's overwhelming," Goku said, his usual cheerful tone carrying an edge of seriousness. "But you'll need to adjust quickly. Once that door closes, we're completely cut off from the outside world." He paused, looking at his son carefully. "Have you noticed? We can't sense Vegeta, Trunks, or Cellera's energy anymore."
The realization hit Gohan harder than the chamber's increased gravity. His father was right - their ki signatures had vanished completely. The thought of not being able to sense if they were safe made his stomach twist uncomfortably. But before he could dwell on it, his father was already leading him deeper into the chamber.
As they reached the front, Gohan stopped short. "Wow..." The endless expanse of white stretched before them, seeming to go on forever. Cellera's cryptic warning about "the vastness" suddenly made perfect sense.
Goku laughed at his son's amazement. "This is why I could barely last a month in here as a kid."
"But... I thought this was supposed to be a room," Gohan said, unable to tear his eyes from the infinite white void. "It looks endless."
"It's actually about the size of Earth," his father explained. "But don't wander too far - I don't want you getting lost out there."
Gohan nodded quickly, still trying to process the chamber's impossible dimensions. As his father detailed the environment's challenges - the wild temperature swings, crushing gravity, and thin atmosphere - that familiar whisper of self-doubt began creeping into his thoughts.
Goku stepped out into the white expanse and turned to face him. "First things first - we need to get you caught up to Super Saiyan. We can't really start our serious training until you transform."
The words "Super Saiyan" sparked something in Gohan's memory. Cellera's voice echoed in his mind, clear and confident: "You're stronger than you think, Gohan." The doubts that had been gathering dissolved under the warmth of that remembered faith. His resolve hardened.
Goku noticed the change in his son's expression and nodded approvingly. "Once you become a Super Saiyan, you'll be a huge help with training. I want to push beyond Super Saiyan's limits and become stronger than anyone - but what I really want is for you to grow stronger right alongside me."
"Really?" Gohan looked up at his father in surprise.
"Of course!" Goku's trademark grin spread across his face. "I know you can do it - and so does Cellera."
"Alright!" Gohan's enthusiasm carried in his voice. "Let's get to work!"
The moment his foot touched the white floor beyond their living space, his body crumpled under its own weight. He found himself on hands and knees, struggling against the crushing gravity. Though he'd known to expect increased pressure, the reality still caught him off guard. A new respect for Cellera washed over him as he realized she trained under forces far greater than this on a regular basis.
As he struggled to push himself upright, his father's amused voice came from above. "Oh yeah, should've warned you - that first step's a doozy." Despite his playful tone, understanding filled his eyes. "I know it's tough, but trust me, you'll get used to it!"
Finally regaining his feet, Gohan felt his father's hand ruffle his hair affectionately. "Just so you know," Goku said, "I'm going to be an even stricter teacher than Piccolo. Think you can handle that?"
"Yes!" Gohan's response came without hesitation, his determination burning through the chamber's oppressive atmosphere.
His father's face broke into a warm smile. "Good! Then let's get started. First thing we need to do is get you adjusted to this gravity."
Cellera flew through the crisp air, trailing behind her father's determined pace. Her eyes drifted to her right hand, the one Gohan had held so gently, as if it were something precious. Heat crept into her cheeks as memories surfaced unbidden - grabbing his hand to keep him away from baby Trunks' surprisingly strong grip, his steady support when she'd nearly slipped from that cliff face. Why was she dwelling on these simple moments? They were just natural reactions between friends, weren't they?
"Are you feeling alright?" Trunks' voice startled her from her thoughts as he pulled alongside her. "Your face is all red. You're not getting sick again, are you?"
The smugness in his expression told her he knew exactly why she was blushing, but she refused to acknowledge it. "I'm not ill."
Seeking to change the subject, she studied her brother's appearance in his new armor. "It suits you," she said honestly. "You look like a true Saiyan warrior." A slight smirk touched her lips. "We really are the only ones who can properly wear this style."
"I still can't believe you and Mom made all of these," Trunks replied, adjusting one of his gloves. "And enough for everyone."
"It took considerable effort," Cellera admitted, "but nothing Bulma's genius and my input couldn't handle."
A familiar mischievous glint entered Trunks' eyes - the same look she'd seen countless times on his infant counterpart when spotting something forbidden. "So," he drawled, "since you helped with the armor, does this mean you and Gohan are mates now? Officially committed?"
The question caught Cellera so completely off-guard that her ki control slipped entirely. She flailed in the air for a moment, concentration shattered by his outrageous suggestion, before Trunks steadied her with a barely contained grin. This momentary lapse only added to her indignation, her dignity thoroughly offended by both his teasing and her body's betrayal. Trunks' laughter echoed across the sky as he clearly enjoyed her distress, taking full advantage of this rare opportunity to see his composed sister so thoroughly flustered.
"We are NOT mates!" The words came out closer to a shriek than her usual composed tone, her face burning crimson.
"Are you sure?" Trunks' shoulders shook with barely contained mirth, his voice carrying the gentler teasing tone they'd developed during their year together. "That moment you two shared suggests otherwise." He raised his voice slightly, mimicking her earlier words with affectionate humor rather than mockery, "'Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine.'"
Cellera launched a punch at him, but her weakened state made it easy for him to catch her fist. He had to steady her again as the movement threatened her precarious flight.
"Why are you so focused on my friendship with Gohan?" she demanded, torn between annoyance and embarrassment.
Trunks' expression softened, though the teasing glint remained in his eyes. "Because after all your lectures to me about father's pride, it's refreshing to see you flustered about something," he admitted. "Besides," his smile widened, "your reactions are adorable."
Cellera's scowl deepened. She thought she'd finally escaped that cursed word years ago, but apparently not.
"I'll stop teasing... for now," Trunks added with a wink.
Their sibling banter died instantly as a booming voice echoed across the sky. "Android 18! Can you hear me? Show yourself, or I'll destroy these islands one by one!"
Cellera recognized the voice as Cell's, though she'd never heard his new one directly before. He continued his threat, his words carrying a twisted logic: "You might think I won't kill you since I need you for my perfect form. You're wrong. I'd like to obtain it... but as I am now, no one can equal my power."
"His new voice is horrid," Cellera said flatly, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Though at least now we know where-"
A massive ki signature suddenly flared to life before vanishing just as quickly.
"He's already following through on his threat," Trunks said, tension evident in his voice. "We need to hurry."
Ahead of them, their father's aura blazed golden as he transformed into a Super Saiyan, his speed increasing dramatically. Trunks began to follow suit but caught himself, dropping back to match Cellera's slower pace.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Go with Father. Cell is the priority - I can catch up."
But Trunks maintained his position beside her, showing no intention of increasing his speed. When she gave him a questioning look, his response came with quiet firmness. "I'm not leaving you."
The resolve in his eyes told Cellera any argument would be pointless. She recognized that expression - it was the same unyielding determination she'd seen in his future self's face when he'd first arrived to warn them. In that moment, despite his playful teasing from earlier, she caught a glimpse of the warrior her brother had become within the chamber.
The siblings caught up to find their father and Cell facing off on a solitary island. As they descended, Cellera scanned the terrain below, searching for any sign of 18, but the female cyborg remained frustratingly hidden. Landing beside her father, she studied Cell's new form with poorly concealed revulsion. While marginally less insect-like than his previous incarnation, the improvement was negligible at best.
"It seems you've brought help," Cell observed, his new voice grating on Cellera's nerves.
"They're just here to watch," Vegeta replied with characteristic arrogance. "I'll handle this myself."
Cell's laughter echoed across the island. "You're strong enough to beat me, are you? Strong enough to tear me limb from limb?"
A predatory smirk spread across Vegeta's features. "That's right. Take a good look, Cell. I'm about to wipe that ugly mug off your face."
Power erupted around Vegeta as he transformed, his muscles swelling slightly as his ki skyrocketed. Unlike the standard Super Saiyan form, this Grade 2 transformation brought significantly more power, though Cellera knew from her own experience that it came with a cost—increased stamina drain that would become problematic in a prolonged battle. Still, if her father could finish Cell quickly, the drawback wouldn't matter.
"He's transforming already?" Trunks asked, surprise evident in his voice.
"Perhaps it's for the best," Cellera replied. "We can end this quickly and remove one threat from the equation." She could sense the disparity in their power levels - Cell's ki signature fell well below her father's Grade 2 form. Relief washed through her at the realization, though she kept her guard up. They still had to account for Cell's cunning nature and prevent him from reaching 18.
But as she watched her father's confident display, a familiar unease settled in her stomach. She recognized the dangerous pattern unfolding - the way his ki fluctuated with barely contained excitement, the prideful set of his jaw. His newfound power would prove too tempting, as Cell represented the perfect opportunity to test its limits. Their greatest obstacle right now might not be Cell at all, but her father's own tendency toward self-sabotage. She'd witnessed his pride be his own downfall too many times not to prepare for the worst.
Her eyes swept the island again, searching for any trace of 18 or 16, but their lack of detectable ki signatures made them impossible to locate. She silently cursed Dr. Gero's thorough engineering.
A realization hit her with crushing force - even if she could sense the cyborgs, what could she even do? Her ki control remained tenuous at best, every moment of flight requiring far more concentration than normal just to stay airborne. She couldn't even form a basic energy blast - she would be little more than a liability in direct combat, an assessment that she found more frustrating than frightening.
Turning her attention back to the confrontation before them, she noted the shock written across Cell's features. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated this level of power from her father. Vegeta's trademark smirk flashed across his face before he vanished - moving faster than Cell could track. His fist drove deep into the creature's gut, doubling him over. Before Cell could recover, Vegeta followed with a brutal uppercut that sent him skidding across the ground, ending with him flat on his back.
Cell pushed himself up from the ground, frustration evident in his features despite his attempt to mask it with a smirk. "I didn't expect you to fight so well," he said, his new voice still grating on Cellera's nerves.
The creature launched a punch at Vegeta, who dodged it with insulting ease, simply leaning to the side. In one fluid motion, her father caught Cell's extended arm and used the momentum to throw him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground. Without hesitation, Vegeta followed up with a devastating kick that sent Cell crashing into a distant plateau, disappearing in an explosion of rock and debris.
As Vegeta strode toward the settling dust where Cell lay embedded in the rubble, Cellera sensed another ki signature approaching. She recognized it immediately as Krillin's, but something felt off about his presence. While she respected his abilities, this battle far exceeded his capabilities, and Krillin was too experienced a warrior to recklessly insert himself into such a situation. There had to be another reason for his approach - but what?
Her attention snapped back to the fight as Cell emerged from the broken plateau, dust falling from his armored form. "It seems I'll have to get serious," he announced.
"Oh? I thought you already were," Vegeta taunted, that familiar arrogant smirk playing across his features. "Go ahead - show me your full power. I won't bite."
Cell's answering smirk sent a chill down Cellera's spine. His ki began to rise as he powered up, but something wasn't right. She had braced herself for a dramatic surge in power, yet the increase seemed almost negligible compared to the transformation she'd expected.
"It looks like Father has won," Trunks voiced her thoughts, though she noticed he maintained his guard despite his words.
From their vantage point, they watched as Cell's fist connected with Vegeta's jaw, the impact snapping his head to the side. A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of Vegeta's mouth as he slowly turned back to face his opponent, that infuriating smirk still firmly in place.
"Is that the best you've got?" Vegeta taunted, wiping the blood away with his thumb. "It seems I've become too strong for you."
Fear flickered across Cell's features as he stumbled backward. "Impossible... you can't be Vegeta."
"Not exactly." Vegeta's laughter held a dangerous edge as he jabbed his thumb toward his chest. "I am Super Vegeta!"
Cellera rolled her eyes at her father's theatrical declaration, but the familiar gesture sent ice through her veins. Memories of Namek flooded back - her father making that same pose before facing Frieza's final form, his broken body afterwards, and then... her throat tightened as she remembered watching Frieza's death beam pierce his heart. The parallels made her skin prickle with growing dread.
"What's wrong?" Trunks asked, noticing the change in his sister's demeanor.
"I have a bad feeling," she replied, tension evident in her voice. "And Father playing with his food isn't helping."
They watched as Vegeta continued his one-sided assault. Cell attempted a flurry of punches, each one missing its target as Vegeta weaved between them with fluid precision. The prince's newfound speed made him appear almost ghostlike, his afterimages confusing Cell's targeting. When Cell overextended with a desperate lunge, Vegeta sidestepped and drove his elbow into the back of the bio-android's neck with such force that the ground cracked beneath Cell as he face-planted into the dirt.
"Pathetic," Vegeta sneered, stepping back to allow Cell to rise. "And to think I actually trained for this."
Cell pushed himself up, green blood seeping from a split in his perfect features. His composure was cracking along with his confidence. In a desperate gambit, he leapt backward and began charging energy between his palms.
"Kamehame-"
Vegeta appeared before him before he could finish, driving his knee into Cell's stomach with such force that the energy Cell had gathered dissipated harmlessly into the air.
"Stealing Kakarot's techniques won't save you," Vegeta said, his tone dismissive as he grabbed Cell's spotted crown and delivered a punishing headbutt that shattered part of Cell's facial carapace.
When Cell's tail whipped toward him, Vegeta caught it almost lazily, using it to hurl the creature skyward before intercepting him with a brutal kick that sent him plummeting into the waters below. The impact created a massive geyser that temporarily obscured their view.
"Why isn't he finishing Cell off?" Trunks asked, frustration creeping into his tone.
"He wants to flaunt his superiority," Cellera replied through gritted teeth. Her fist clenched at her side as she added, "If he keeps this up, his stamina will give out before he can end this fight."
Cell hauled himself from the water, fingers digging into the rocky ledge as water cascaded from his armored form. His chest heaved with labored breaths while Vegeta looked down at him, disappointment etched in every line of his face.
"Is that all you've got?" Vegeta asked, lip curling in disgust. "How disappointing. So this is your limit - what a waste of my time and power."
Raw fury contorted Cell's features as he threw his head back, his scream of frustration echoing across the island. "Damn it! This cannot be happening!"
"Seems Cell throws bigger tantrums than your infant counterpart," Cellera remarked to Trunks, but the attempt at levity died in her throat as Cell's next words cut through the air like a blade.
"If only I had my perfect form... then you'd never defeat me, Vegeta!"
Ice flooded Cellera's veins as she watched the shift in her father's expression. That dangerous glint in his eyes, the slight tilt of his head - she'd seen this exact moment play out too many times before. Her father's endless drive to prove his strength would never let him resist such temptation.
"No," Trunks whispered beside her, horror dawning in his voice as he recognized the same signs. "Father wouldn't..."
"We both know he absolutely would," Cellera replied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
Movement caught Cellera's eye - Krillin hovering overhead, the remote control clearly visible in his hand. Understanding dawned as she met his gaze and noted his slight nod toward a plateau shrouded by trees. He'd found 16 and 18.
"Trunks," she said urgently, keeping her voice low. "Krillin has Bulma's remote. I'm going with him." Her eyes hardened with determination as she watched their father's growing interest in Cell's claims. "Do whatever you have to keep Father from letting Cell find 18 before we can reach her."
"You can't fight the cyborgs in your condition!" Trunks' protest carried genuine fear for her safety.
"There's no other option!" Cellera snapped, frustration bleeding into her voice. The admission of her own limitations stung her pride, but there was no time for ego. "I'm useless here anyway."
She took in Trunks' stance - the protective posture he'd adopted, ready to pull her back if needed. This was the same brother who'd stayed by her bedside during her fever in the chamber, who had quietly shown such fierce protectiveness toward her since she insisted on going with him to Gingertown. His strength had grown immensely over their year together, his newfound confidence in hand-to-hand combat evident in the way he'd left his sword behind. More importantly, he approached the situation with careful assessment rather than the reckless pride that often clouded their father's judgment. If anyone could handle their father right now, it was Trunks.
"You're nearly as strong as Father now - you're the only one who can stop him from making a terrible mistake."
Trunks bit his lip, hands clenched at his sides as he visibly wrestled with the decision. After a moment, he closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. "Fine. But don't engage if you don't have to."
"Of course," Cellera replied, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. They both knew if it came down to it, she would do whatever necessary to prevent Cell from achieving his perfect form. Without another word, she slipped away to join Krillin as he descended, both of them moving carefully toward where 16 and 18 waited.
Time flowed strangely in the Room of Spirit and Time, but Gohan's progress remained steady. The crushing gravity that had initially forced him to his knees gradually became manageable. After two weeks, he no longer struggled just to remain standing. By the end of the first month, he moved through their light sparring sessions as if the increased pressure didn't exist at all.
His father's training regimen evolved with his growing abilities. What began as basic endurance exercises - push-ups, sit-ups, and short-distance sprints - expanded into complex combat scenarios that tested both his body and mind. Goku would create challenges that required split-second decision making: dodging ki blasts while solving mathematical equations aloud, maintaining perfect form through temperature fluctuations that ranged from scorching heat to bitter cold, or sparring blindfolded to develop his other senses.
The chamber's endless void provided unique training opportunities. Sometimes his father would have him chase after small ki spheres that darted unpredictably through the white expanse. Other times they would venture further from their living quarters, where the air grew thinner and gravity increased, pushing Gohan's limits further with each session.
His power had grown tremendously. Techniques that once drained him completely now came easily. His Masenko had nearly doubled in strength, and he could maintain the Kamehameha for three times as long as when they'd entered. His speed had increased to the point where he could occasionally surprise his father during their sparring matches.
But Super Saiyan still remained frustratingly out of reach.
Now he stood in the endless white void, chest heaving from another failed attempt to transform. His father's patient guidance had helped him increase his power significantly, but that final threshold remained uncrossed.
"You're just making your ki larger," Goku explained, his usual cheerful demeanor tempered by focus. "To transform, you need to tap into your anger. Get really mad." He paused, studying his son carefully. "The power comes in response to a need, not a desire. You have to create that need within yourself."
Gohan stared down at his hands, frustration evident in his features. "I... I can't get angry like that." He understood the theory perfectly - that raw fury that had always triggered his hidden strength, the same power that had helped him survive against Nappa, Frieza, and so many others. But those bursts had always come from watching his friends suffer, from feeling helpless as those he cared about were hurt. He couldn't manufacture that kind of rage from nothing.
Across from him, his father fell silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered how to help his son. Gohan could almost see the different approaches being weighed in his father's mind.
"Try using the pain of loss," his dad finally said, his voice gentler than before. "Imagine Cell destroying me, all your friends..."
"But I've never even seen Cell," Gohan pointed out, frustration evident in his voice. "It's hard to imagine someone I've never faced."
"Then use Frieza instead," Goku suggested.
Gohan nodded and closed his eyes, drawing up memories of Namek. They came in a flood - vivid and overwhelming. Frieza's cold voice whispering "die" as his death beam struck Dende. Piccolo collapsing with a smoking hole in his chest from that same attack. Krillin, suspended in the air before being torn apart by an almost casual gesture. The entire Namekian village, obliterated in an instant. His father, broken and barely alive.
Then another memory surfaced - a single tear falling onto his cheek as Cellera knelt above him, her face twisted in grief while Frieza gleefully recounted murdering her mother. Each memory stoked the embers of his rage higher and higher.
A scream tore from Gohan's throat as his power surged. For just a moment, his hair stood on end, a golden light flickering around him - but then it faded, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath in the thin air.
His father crouched beside him, a comforting hand on his back. "You were closer that time," Goku said encouragingly. "Don't be too hard on yourself - even Vegeta struggled with it at first."
"Thanks, Dad." Gohan's voice came out ragged but determined. "Should I try again? I think I'm starting to get the hang of it..."
"No, that's enough for today. We don't want you burning yourself out."
Exhaustion crashed over Gohan in a wave. The last thing he heard before consciousness slipped away was his father's gentle voice: "Rest now, son."
The exhaustion of multiple failed transformation attempts finally caught up with Gohan, and he collapsed onto his small bed in the living quarters. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, his mind still churning with determination even as consciousness faded.
In his dreams, Gohan found himself back in the white void of the chamber, his father's voice encouraging him just as it had during their training sessions.
"Now Gohan, try it again! You can do it!" His father's voice echoed through his dreams, filled with unwavering confidence.
Gohan felt his power building as he concentrated, drawing on everything he'd learned. "That's it!" His father's encouragement carried through the haze of sleep. "You're doing it! Push on through!"
Just as he felt that surge of power, that moment of transformation finally within reach, Gohan's eyes snapped open. He shot upright in bed, chest heaving, his hands clutching the sheets. The dream had felt so vivid, so real - as if he'd truly been on the verge of achieving Super Saiyan. For a moment, he wondered if his father's training could somehow reach him even in his dreams.
The thought made him glance toward his father's bed, only to find it empty. Concern pushed him to his feet, and he began searching their living quarters. His father's voice eventually drew him toward the chamber's entrance.
The sight that greeted him took his breath away. The endless white void had transformed into a frozen wasteland, with ice and snow swirling in an impossible blizzard that seemed to materialize from nowhere. Through the whiteout conditions, Gohan watched his father drop into a familiar stance.
"Ka... me... ha... me... HA!"
The blue energy beam cut through the storm, obliterating multiple mountains of ice in its path. The destruction triggered an avalanche, and chunks of ice began raining down on his father. Gohan started forward as the debris buried Goku completely, but before he could take more than a few steps, golden light erupted from beneath the pile.
Ice scattered in every direction as his father's ki exploded outward, his Super Saiyan aura blazing against the stark white landscape. Gohan could only stare in amazement. No matter how many times he witnessed the transformation, its raw power never failed to inspire him. Watching his father train with such intensity, even in these harsh conditions, only strengthened his own resolve to master the form.
Goku turned at his son's presence. "Hey, something wrong? Did my training wake you?"
Gohan shook his head, excitement and disappointment warring in his voice. "I almost did it, Dad. I almost became a Super Saiyan..." His shoulders slumped slightly. "But it was just a dream."
"Hey." Goku's hand ruffled his hair affectionately. "You're getting closer every day. It's only a matter of time until you break through." His smile carried absolute certainty. "Besides, you're already way stronger than I was at your age. Don't be so hard on yourself."
"I'll try..." Gohan's voice trailed off before surging with renewed determination. "But I'm ready to start training again! I'm done resting - I feel fine!"
Meeting his father's evaluating gaze, Gohan pressed on. "There was something about that dream, Dad. It felt so real - I could actually feel the transformation starting!" His hands clenched at his sides as he pleaded, "Please, let me continue!"
The words carried all the urgency building inside him. He was so close - he could feel it. Everyone else had already achieved this legendary power: his father, Vegeta, Trunks, even Cellera had mastered it years ago. He was the only one still struggling to catch up, still unable to cross that threshold. For years he'd watched them grow stronger while he remained behind, relying on sporadic bursts of power he couldn't control. But now, finally, that gap was starting to close. He couldn't stop, not when he was on the verge of joining them, of proving he could stand as their equal.
Cellera's final words to him rang in his ears: "Just focus on coming out of that room stronger - and as a Super Saiyan." She'd said it with such certainty, such unwavering belief in his ability. He couldn't let that faith go unrewarded. He had to prove he was worthy of it.
"You know what your mother would say if she were here-" his father began with a sigh.
Gohan could almost hear his mother's voice: 'My sweet little Gohan needs his rest!'
"-but since she's not," Goku continued, "I guess it's my call." A few moments of silence passed before he turned his head, a knowing smirk playing across his features. "Alright, let's train!"
"You're the best dad in the whole world!" Gohan cheered, practically bouncing with excitement.
Goku's warm laughter filled the chamber. "The best dad in the whole world would probably make you stay in bed. But instead, I'm going to ask you for one hundred push-ups..."
"Right!"
"One hundred sit-ups..."
"Got it!"
"And ten Kamehameha waves."
"Yes sir!"
As Gohan dropped into position for his push-ups, his purpose remained crystal clear. Unlike his father's pure love of battle or Vegeta's endless drive for supremacy, Gohan's motivation came from a different place entirely. Though Cellera had helped him understand and embrace his power years ago, showing him that he could use it to protect those he cared about, their approaches still differed. While she balanced her warrior's spirit with her drive to protect, enjoying the thrill of combat without letting it endanger others, Gohan's heart remained solely focused on defending those precious to him. He wasn't seeking power for its own sake or even the satisfaction of victory. His drive came from something deeper - that first lesson Cellera had taught him when she had first arrived on Earth. He had the power to protect, and he would use it. Each push-up brought him one step closer to that goal, to ensure no one he cared about would ever have to suffer while he stood helplessly by.