The sky above King Kai's planet was, as always, a motionless sea of deep blue—no stars, no moon, no sun. And yet, an odd luminosity floated through its atmosphere, as if the light itself was born from the ground below. Everything was serene. Silent. Heavy.
And there, in the midst of that strange little world where gravity weighed ten times more than on Earth, a single warrior raised his hands toward the sky, fingers spread, eyes half-closed.
"Haaah… haaah… come on… just a little more!"
Son Goku.
Standing over the emerald grass, his body glowed with a faint blue-white aura. His boots sank several centimeters into the ground under the pressure of his surrounding ki, and his face—usually cheerful—was now tense with effort.
His hands trembled. Sweat ran down his temples. His brow furrowed like cracked stone.
Above him, floating in midair, shimmered an unstable sphere of energy.
The Spirit Bomb.
It was about the size of a watermelon, pulsing like a living heart, trembling as if it might fall apart at any moment. Not perfect. Not yet. But real.
"King Kai! I've got it! Hehe—I've actually got it!" he shouted triumphantly without lowering his arms.
A few meters away, comfortably seated on his floating chair, King Kai observed in silence, joined by Bubbles—the brown-furred monkey who watched the scene while holding a half-peeled banana.
King Kai didn't reply right away. His sunglasses gleamed with the sphere's light. One antenna quivered faintly.
And in his expression… there was no celebration.
Only focus. Calculation. And a trace of sadness.
"Not bad," he finally said, slowly lowering his teacup. "But it's still vibrating with imbalance."
Goku tilted his head.
"Huh? What do you mean, 'imbalance'?"
"Your energy isn't completely in sync with that of the Spirit Bomb," the master answered, folding his arms. "And that, Goku… isn't a matter of technique."
The Saiyan looked down. Sweat now dripped from his chin. The sphere still hovered above his palms, trembling like a fragile bubble on the verge of bursting.
"Then what is it…?" he asked, voice lower.
King Kai stood from his chair, walking toward him with his hands clasped behind his back. Bubbles followed, chewing noisily.
"Your heart is in conflict."
"Huh?"
"You're good, Goku. Pure, even. Perfect for what the Spirit Bomb needs. But inside you… there's a crack." His voice softened a notch. "Something unhealed. Something you've carried for years."
The Spirit Bomb flickered violently for a moment.
Goku clenched his teeth.
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
"I've heard fragments of your story," King Kai went on, circling him slowly. "I know you lost your wife shortly after your son was born. That she died from an illness you couldn't fight."
Goku's eyes shut.
And for a second, the Spirit Bomb's light dimmed.
"I know you never speak of it. You joke. You train. You smile…" King Kai paused. "But you can't fool the Spirit Bomb. You can't fool your own heart."
Silence dropped like a stone slab.
The wind on the tiny planet stopped.
Goku opened his eyes slowly. No tears—but a shadow behind them.
"I… tried," he whispered. "Tried to find help, a cure, asked Bulma, asked Kami, even the Dragon Balls… but…"
"They couldn't do anything," King Kai finished softly.
Goku nodded.
"And then… right before she passed away, Gohan was born. I swore I wouldn't fail again. If I couldn't protect her… I'd protect him."
The Spirit Bomb trembled once more. Tiny sparks scattered from its surface. Bubbles stepped back nervously.
"But that's part of the problem too," King Kai said. "You can't carry the future if you haven't made peace with the past."
Goku frowned, holding the sphere steady though the pressure made him sweat as if running through boiling rain.
"But I won't forget her!" he shouted. "I can't!"
King Kai didn't answer right away.
He just looked at him—with an expression more human than Goku had ever seen.
"And who's asking you to forget?"
Goku blinked.
"It's not about forgetting," King Kai continued, voice low, almost paternal. "It's about accepting that even though she's gone… you're still here. And so is your son."
"Chi-Chi died, beyond any chance of return. But you're still standing."
"And if she truly loved you, as I believe she did…" King Kai sat back down, "…she wouldn't have wanted you frozen in the past like a statue. She'd have told you to move forward."
Slowly, Goku lowered his arms.
The Spirit Bomb descended softly, dissolving into brilliant particles that drifted away like fireflies before vanishing into the starless sky.
The warrior dropped to his knees—not from physical exhaustion,
but something deeper.
"You think… someday I'll…"
"Be happy again?" King Kai finished, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe with someone else, or just with your son and friends…"
Goku bowed his head. His hair swayed gently in the warm breeze.
"I don't know," King Kai said, sipping his tea again. "But what matters isn't whether you'll love again… it's that you don't deny yourself the chance."
"Your path isn't over yet, Goku."
"And Gohan's has only just begun."
Goku clenched his fists into the grass.
"Sometimes… when I look at him, it hurts."
"Why?"
"Because he has her eyes." He looked up, a sad smile breaking through. "Every time Gohan gets angry… every time he protects something… she's there."
King Kai closed his eyes.
"Then carry her with you—not as a chain, but as a star."
"Pain doesn't vanish, Goku. But it can become your guide."
Silence.
The wind returned, carrying away the last glowing remnants of the dissolved Spirit Bomb.
Goku stood.
He inhaled deeply. Very deeply.
And for the first time since arriving on that planet, he smiled—not as a warrior. Not as a father.
But as a man finally beginning to release the invisible weight on his back.
"Thank you, King Kai."
The master shrugged.
"Bah. Don't mention it. Comes with the title, you know—'wise master,' all that."
Bubbles chirped mockingly. Goku laughed under his breath.
"All right… let's try again. This time, I'll make a bigger Spirit Bomb—and this time, it won't shake."
King Kai smiled.
"That's the spirit."
Goku raised his hands to the sky once more.
And this time, the light forming above… did not waver.
⸻
Deep Space – Near Jupiter
Darkness reigned—vast, endless, absolute. Dotted here and there with distant embers of stars that would never touch Earth's daylight. Beyond the asteroid belt, beyond the breathing atmosphere of the blue planet, Jupiter turned in silence—its colossal storms swirling without witnesses, save for two small metal capsules cutting through the void at supersonic speed.
Saiyans.
Two chrome-plated spheres, their gravity thrusters pulsing with residual heat, crossed the gulf of space like bullets aimed straight at Earth's heart.
Inside one of them, someone snored.
Inside the other… someone dreamed.
Suspended within her cryogenic chamber, Princess Vegetta II—the last heir to the royal bloodline of her race—floated in a fetal position, immersed in a brilliant blue solution. Her long, black hair drifted softly, like a shadow trapped inside light.
The glass around her was cold.
Her mind was not.
She was dreaming.
And her dreams… were far from gentle.
⸻
Years Ago – Planet Vegeta
The red light of the native sun poured down on a stone arena half-buried in volcanic rock. They stood in the lower training levels of the royal palace—an open-air coliseum surrounded by black columns carved with emblems of war.
There, a little girl with spiky hair—no more than seven years old—was breathing hard. Her battle armor was torn, her face smeared with a thin line of blood across the corner of her lip.
In front of her lay three bodies.
Children. Saiyans like her.
One of them—Raditz, taller, with a wild mane—clutched his arm in pain. Another, Peparus, was unconscious. The last, Chardel, was crawling weakly, unable to rise.
High atop one of the columns, watching with crossed arms, stood King Vegeta III—his gaze as cold as the core of a dead world.
"Three minutes," his voice boomed, heavy with royal gravity. "Not bad... but you're starting to take too long."
The little girl—the princess—barely caught her breath. She walked toward Raditz, looked down at him without expression, and spoke flatly:
"Get up."
Raditz spat blood, but didn't move.
Not out of defiance.
But because he couldn't.
"Get up," she repeated, lower this time, voice laced with threat.
When he didn't, she raised one foot—and slammed it into his stomach. The young warrior curled up in pain.
"Useless," she muttered.
Above, the King snapped his fingers.
An elite guard descended, surrounded by a violet aura. He knelt before the princess.
"Shall we execute them, Your Highness?"
The small Vegetta lowered her gaze for a moment. Her brows, delicate but sharp, furrowed slightly.
"No."
"Pardon?"
"I won't waste time on trash. Heal them. If they survive, they can serve as training dummies."
"As you command, Princess."
She turned and walked toward the exit, her ki still crackling violently. The King followed her descent with his eyes. Then, descending himself, he walked beside her through a torch-lit corridor of stone, where the flames needed no oxygen to burn.
"You're growing quickly," he said, without warmth.
"That's what's expected."
"You've surpassed your instructors, your attendants, your squadmates. Soon even your royal guards."
She didn't answer.
The King glanced down at his daughter. His armor weighed heavily on his shoulders—but not as much as his crown.
"And yet… you never smile."
Vegetta stared straight ahead.
"Because I haven't found anyone yet who can make me try."
Her father's eyes glinted faintly.
"You wish to lose?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I wish to fight seriously."
A pause.
"With whom?"
The girl stopped walking. Her gaze—unyielding even at eight years old—carried the pride of generations.
"With one of my own kind. A Saiyan."
"Destroying lesser races isn't enough for you?"
"No."
She turned to face him.
"I want a rival."
The King stared at her for several seconds.
Then simply turned away and said:
"Then you'll wait for him on an empty throne."
"Our race produces no equals—only superiors… and refuse."
⸻
Now – Inside the Capsule
The pod shuddered faintly as it crossed Jupiter's gravitational field.
Inside the cryogenic fluid, Vegetta's fingers twitched. Her brows tightened. Her breathing quickened.
And then…
Her eyes snapped open.
The blue solution bubbled for a moment. Internal alarms registered the spike in her biological activity. A sharp tone echoed through the pod's interface. Yet Vegetta gave no command to awaken.
She floated there, conscious. Silent.
Her pupils locked on the distant sight of Earth—a small, blue, living world.
Her next hunting ground.
Her voice—unspoken, but razor-sharp—cut through the quiet of her mind:
Kakarot. Third class. A miracle of filth. A genetic error.
You defeated Raditz. Was it chance… instinct… luck?
Or maybe… are you the one I've been waiting for since I was eight years old?
Her fists clenched inside the fluid. Ki trembled. The pod vibrated faintly.
Her gaze darkened.
Will you be the rival who forces me beyond my limits?
Or just another disappointing insect—begging through broken teeth?
In the secondary capsule, farther back, Nappa snored so loudly the system automatically increased the soundproofing.
Vegetta didn't look his way. She didn't need to.
Far ahead, Earth turned slowly—innocent. Unaware.
A blue sphere waiting to be defiled.
And she…
She wanted only one thing.
Not glory.
Not conquest.
Not revenge.
A rival.
Someone who would bleed with pride.
Roar when struck down.
Someone who would remind her that battle still meant something.
She closed her eyes again.
And once more, she dreamed.
But this time…
She dreamed of a faceless opponent—
whose ki burned just like hers.
⸻
Southern Wilderness – At the foot of a solitary mountain range.
The sky was clear that night. Strangely clear.
The clouds had retreated, as if something greater demanded full visibility. The wind barely whispered through the hills. The stars gleamed sharp and cold—but none more commanding than her:
the full moon, round and blazing, hanging in the firmament like an open eye watching the world.
Gohan was alone.
Seated at the edge of a rocky rise, legs dangling, a half-eaten apple in hand, he chewed in peace. His breathing was calm, his cheeks rounded with food, his eyes drowsy after a long, exhausting day of training.
He wore the usual clothes Piccolo had allowed him to use: a weighted cloak, a light tunic underneath, and wrappings around his arms and ankles. The boy looked more like a young monk than a student of combat. Beside him, a half-empty basket of fruit rested near a small fire.
"Tomorrow's the final test…" he murmured with his mouth full. "I wonder what Mr. Piccolo's gonna make me do this time…"
He turned his head, searching for his master.
Nothing.
Piccolo had left a few minutes earlier, saying he needed to "prepare something special." Nothing more.
Gohan took another bite of his apple, then… his gaze drifted upward.
And he saw it.
The moon.
Immense. White. Unavoidable.
He stared at it first with simple, childlike curiosity. Then… something else.
He didn't know why, but his body began to tense.
The bite froze halfway to his mouth. The fruit slipped from his fingers, rolling down the rock and disappearing into the dark below.
"Wh-what's happening…?" he whispered, clutching his chest.
His heart raced.
His breathing quickened.
Cold sweat trickled down his brow, even though the night was cool.
Then he felt it.
A tingling.
At the base of his spine.
He looked down—his tail was moving on its own. Rigid. Upright. Vibrating like an antenna.
"My… tail? But I almost never—"
His pupils dilated. The air seemed to grow heavy.
"I… I don't understand…"
Then—
CRACK!
A sharp snap burst from within his body, like a joint dislocating violently. Gohan screamed, collapsing to his knees.
"AAAH—AAAHHH! Wh-what's happening to me?!"
His cloak tore apart at the back. A dark aura began to rise around him. His ki flared wildly—untamed, explosive. Bushes quivered. Stones split beneath his feet.
The boy's eyes turned red—glowing, feral.
And his face…
began to change.
⸻
A Few Kilometers Away
Piccolo flew silently through the air, carrying a hollow boulder the size of a house. It was part of the final test—a trap, an obstacle course, a controlled ki challenge. Everything ready to push Gohan beyond his limits.
Then he stopped dead.
A pressure.
Brutal. Familiar. But long forgotten.
His pupils narrowed.
"What the hell is that?!"
He dropped the boulder—it crashed into the forest below like a meteor. Spinning midair, he shot off like a green bullet, cutting through the clouds.
Gohan's ki… had vanished.
In its place—something else.
A presence. Savage. Immense. Animal.
And when he reached the ridge—
He saw it.
⸻
The Creature
A massive, fur-covered giant—nearly thirty meters tall. Its body was thick and powerful, its chest heaving like a war drum. Veins bulged under its arms. Its eyes burned crimson, blazing with primal fury.
A great ape.
Gohan.
"It can't be…" Piccolo whispered, stunned.
The creature roared—an earth-shaking bellow that shattered trees, sent birds screaming into the sky, and triggered minor avalanches.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"
Piccolo recoiled instinctively, his cape snapping in the violent updraft of ki.
"Gohan?! Is that you?!"
The Oozaru turned. Those burning red eyes locked onto the tiny floating figure.
And without a thought, it unleashed a beam of energy straight from its mouth.
"GRUUUUAAAAHHHH! FOOOOOSH!"
A torrent of scorching ki swept across the sky like a wave of fire. Piccolo barely dodged it—the blast struck a nearby mountain, vaporizing it in a storm of dust and molten rock.
"He's not conscious!" Piccolo snarled, landing on the ground. "He's just a beast now!"
The ape slammed both fists into the earth, cracking it open in a thunderous quake. Then it lifted its gaze to the moon—and howled like a demon set free.
Piccolo frowned, analyzing the scene.
"That… that form…"
He looked up at the moon—the same light the beast seemed enslaved to.
Then realization hit.
"Of course! That's what Goku turned into during the World Tournament! The 'monster' Jackie Chun fought… it was Goku all along! This is… what Saiyans can do!"
The moon hung above them—silent witness to chaos.
And Gohan howled again, smashing trees, crushing boulders, firing wild bursts of ki into the night.
"I have to stop him! If he keeps this up… we're doomed!"
But then…
Piccolo hesitated.
He looked at the monster.
And thought:
What if… he could control this? What if this power could be harnessed?
He closed his eyes. The air thundered with raw energy. The boy's roars echoed like the wrath of a god.
But there was no time for experiments.
Gohan was lost to instinct.
Then Piccolo spoke—not shouting, not commanding—just speaking.
"Gohan."
The beast froze for an instant.
Its eyes flickered.
"It's me."
Piccolo floated up to face the creature's enormous eyes.
"You're a Saiyan. That, you can't change. But you're also a child. A student. My student."
The beast growled. It didn't strike. But it didn't calm either.
Piccolo sighed.
"I'm sorry, kid."
He raised his hand.
And with a flash—
ZAAAAS!
A blade of energy sliced the air.
The moon shattered in an instant.
Light faded.
The creature's body shuddered violently. Muscles contracted. Bones cracked like snapping wood. The fur receded, burning away. The roar turned into a scream. The form collapsed.
And the child fell—naked, unconscious, wrapped in trembling breath.
Piccolo landed silently. His cape settled around him once more.
He approached the boy lying among uprooted trees and broken stone.
He lifted him carefully into his arms.
Then, without a word, he extended two fingers toward the tail—
and cut.
One swift stroke. Precise. Final.
The severed tail fell like a dead serpent.
"Don't worry, Gohan," Piccolo murmured, wrapping him in his cloak. "This time… we won't let that monster out again."
But deep inside,
he knew he had seen something more.
A power he didn't fully understand.
A power that, if mastered…
could either save them—
or destroy them all.
⸻
Kami's Temple – Midnight
The wind blew gently through the heights.
Up here, where the weight of the world faded and the sky stretched below one's feet, the Sacred Temple floated—an island of white stone suspended among the clouds. The full moon that had shone only hours before was gone now. The heavens had changed… and with them, something deep within the world's consciousness had awakened.
Kami was alone.
He walked in silence along the temple's outer corridor, hands clasped behind his back, robes drifting softly with each step. At this altitude, the night was perfectly still—no crickets, no wind, no life. Only the vastness of the sky in every direction.
He stopped at the edge of the platform, where the railing curved like a crescent moon. From there, he could see beyond the atmosphere itself: the Earth asleep beneath a blanket of clouds.
He sighed.
"They're resting…"
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"They've pushed themselves harder than anyone expected."
His eyes shifted slightly to the left. From that angle, he could see the temple's lower terrace—where, under simple blankets and using sacks for pillows, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, and Yajirobe slept lined up like exhausted soldiers after a long campaign.
Krillin snored softly.
Yamcha muttered something in his sleep—perhaps the name of an old lover.
Tien remained upright, still meditative even in slumber, while Chiaotzu clung to his arm like a child seeking warmth.
Yajirobe, of course, had a hunk of meat in his mouth, sleeping with his feet propped on a stolen pile of meditation cushions.