The sun filtered softly through the trees, casting golden beams across the mountainside. Birds chirped overhead, and the rhythmic thud of an axe echoed through the clearing.
Goku stood near a tree stump, swinging the blade with practiced ease. The wood split cleanly, but he didn't smile. He stacked the pieces in silence, sweat running down his brow. His tail flicked once, tiredly.
Nearby, Gohan stirred a pot over the fire. His eyes followed Goku with quiet concern. Weeks had passed since that night — the destruction, the monster, the crater. The boy hadn't spoken much about it. But he carried it in his shoulders, his slower laugh, and how he looked at his hands.
Goku paused, staring at the axe in his hand too long.
Gohan noticed. "Something on your mind?"
Goku's tail twitched. "The night everything happened… I don't remember much. Just pieces. Noise. Screaming."
He hesitated.
"Was it me?"
Gohan didn't answer right away. He stirred the fire, then said quietly, "There's something you need to know."
They sat in the clearing, the flames between them flickering.
"The full moon," Gohan said. "It changes you. That night… You looked at it, and something took over. You lost yourself."
Goku swallowed. "So… I did become that monster?"
Gohan nodded. "You must never look at the full moon again. No matter what."
Goku stared into the fire, voice low. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I did."
"That's why your training has to change," Gohan said gently. "Not to grow stronger… but to gain control."
Goku clenched his fists. "I want that. I don't want to be afraid of myself. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."
At dinner, they sat cross-legged on the grass, steam rising from their bowls. Goku ate quietly, eyes on the fire.
"Grandpa," he said suddenly. "Back then… I couldn't stop it. I didn't even know what I was doing."
Gohan looked up.
Gohan set down his bowl. "You can't undo the past, Goku. What's done is done."
Goku's eyes dropped.
"But," Gohan added, "you can choose what kind of man you want to be next."
There was a beat of silence. Goku's jaw tightened.
"Is there anyone… who can help me?" he asked. "Someone who can teach me not to lose control again?"
Gohan's face softened.
"There might be," he said. "An old friend. He lives far from here but knows something about turning strength into discipline."
Goku looked up, the firelight flickering in his eyes.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Let's go."
The sea stretched endlessly in all directions, calm and blue. In the center of it sat a tiny island, no larger than a city block. At its center stood a bright pink house, the words "KAME HOUSE" painted proudly across the front.
A small boat docked at the shore, and Goku leapt out, looking around in awe. "Whoa! This place is awesome!"
Gohan followed behind, adjusting his hat against the sun.
From the porch, an older man in sunglasses, a loud Hawaiian shirt, and sandals sipped from a coconut. He raised a hand lazily. "Well, well. Look who decided to drop in after twenty years."
"Still drinking before noon?" Gohan called.
"Still lecturing like it's the Stone Age?" Roshi shot back, chuckling. Then he turned to Goku. "So, this is the kid, huh?"
Goku bowed. "Nice to meet you, sir!"
Roshi stood, eyeing Goku head to toe. "Skinny arms. Wild hair. Weird tail. Not much to look at."
Before Gohan could speak, Goku grinned and casually lifted the boat they came in with one hand.
Roshi's sunglasses slid down his nose slightly. "…Okay."
Gohan smirked, lowering his voice. "Don't let the shirt fool you. He's fought monsters that would make the Guardians hesitate."
Goku blinked. "Really?"
Roshi shrugged. "That was a few lifetimes ago." He cracked his neck. "These days, I just read Playboy and nap hehe."
Inside, after some catching up, Roshi leaned back in his chair. "So you want to train, huh? Think strength is all about punches and power?"
Goku nodded enthusiastically.
Roshi pointed outside. "Great. You'll be delivering milk tomorrow. Sunrise. And plowing the field after that. Don't be late."
Goku blinked. "…Milk?"
"And dig trenches after that," Roshi added, yawning. "With your bare hands."
Goku looked at Gohan, confused. "Is this training?"
Roshi stood, serious now. "You want power without control? That's not strength — that's chaos."
Goku frowned. He looked down at his hands, remembering the destruction from the night he transformed.
He nodded.
"I'll do it."
When Roshi's whistle pierced the salty morning air, the sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon.
"Up! Let's go, monkey boy!"
Goku stumbled out of the house, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He blinked at the metal milk crates waiting at the island's edge.
"Deliver these to the mainland," Roshi said. "And run."
"Wait, run? Across the water?!"
"No, smartass. There's a boat. But once you hit land, you run. No flying, no shortcuts."
Goku grinned. "Easy!"
An hour later, he wasn't grinning.
He bolted down a narrow dirt road, crates balanced on his arms, and promptly tripped over a root, sending bottles flying. One shattered. He froze. "Oops…"
Roshi's voice echoed from the walkie-talkie clipped to Goku's belt. "One more bottle lost and you start over!"
By noon, Goku was drenched in sweat, huffing through the fields Roshi had him plow with a hand hoe. But every tool he grabbed snapped in his grip. He groaned in frustration. He stood there for a moment, the broken handle in his hand. His eyes lowered.
"I'm supposed to be strong… so why can't I do this right?"
He kicked the dirt, jaw clenched. Strength was supposed to help people, not make things more complicated.
Roshi's voice snapped him out of it.
"Because you're not focused," Roshi said from a shaded chair nearby. "Strength isn't about smashing things. Try using less."
Goku sighed and picked up another hoe, gripping it like a bird's neck. Gently.
Roshi gave him a heavy wooden turtle shell to strap on by the third day.
"It'll build endurance," he explained. "Try not to drown."
Goku beamed. " I love swimming!"
And then he sank knee-deep into mud with every step. "Okay, not like this!"
But despite the struggle, something started to shift.
When a baby turtle was caught in a fishing net near the rocks, Goku untangled it carefully, whispering encouragement as he helped it back to sea.
When an injured crane limped through the fields, he carried it to shelter and fed it fruit until it could fly again.
One night, soaked in dirt and exhaustion, Goku accidentally knocked over the dinner pot and spilled everything.
He stared in horror. "I'll make more!"
Roshi just laughed. "Relax, kid. It's just rice."
Despite it all, Goku smiled more. His steps grew steadier. His punches are slower and more deliberate.
Roshi noticed.
"You've got the heart for it," he said one evening as they watched the sunset. "That's what makes a real martial artist."
Goku looked up at him, surprised.
Then he smiled again, tired but proud.
The wind was calm, the ocean gentle as Roshi stood facing a small boulder near the island's edge.
Goku sat cross-legged in the sand behind him, chewing on a rice ball. "So what're you gonna show me now, Master Roshi?"
The old man adjusted his sunglasses and stretched his arms. "Something special. Not strength. Not speed. Technique."
He placed his hands together, fingers curled inward, and began to chant softly.
"Ka… me…"
Goku tilted his head.
"Ha… me…"
A glow began to form in Roshi's palms — swirling blue energy, growing brighter with each syllable.
"HAAAAA—!"
With a sharp thrust of his arms, the blast fired from his hands. It shot forward like a compressed wave of energy, smashing into the boulder and vaporizing it with a small explosion.
The air sizzled.
Goku's rice ball dropped out of his mouth.
"WHOA! That was awesome! What was that?!"
Roshi smirked, dusting off his hands. "The Kamehameha. Took me fifty years to perfect it."
"I wanna try!"
"Knock yourself out."
Goku jumped up, mimicking Roshi's stance. He furrowed his brow, every muscle in his body tensing with focus.
"Kaaa… meee… haaa… meee…"
A faint flicker of energy sparked between his hands — small, but real.
"HAAA!"
The spark fizzled into the sand with a soft pop.
Goku blinked. "Huh…"
Roshi, who'd been sipping his coconut drink mid-laugh, slowly lowered it.
He leaned forward, shades slipping down his nose.
"You… you got a spark?"
Goku scratched his head. "Kinda! It felt like I almost had it."
Roshi stood there for a moment, just watching him.
"…Took me fifty years to get that technique right," he said. "You got further on your first try than I did in my first decade."
Goku's eyes widened. "Really?!"
Roshi quickly waved it off, snapping back to cool. "Don't get cocky. A spark's not a beam. You've got the instincts, sure — but instinct without discipline is like giving dynamite to a baby."
"Anyone can throw energy. Knowing how to shape your energy, not just blast it out, separates a brawler from a martial artist."
Goku grinned widely. "So that means I can do it?"
Roshi sighed. "It means you've got work to do."
But beneath the sunglasses, Roshi was already thinking.
Who is this kid…?
Goku nodded slowly, staring at the boulder's charred remains. A quiet determination lit up behind his eyes.
"I'll get it right," he muttered to himself. "No matter how long it takes."
Just then—
SMACK.
A piece of paper slapped across his face, sticking awkwardly to his cheek.
"Bwah!" Goku flailed, peeling it off. "What the—?"
He held it up. It was sun-bleached and wrinkled from the wind, but the bold text was still clear:
WORLD MARTIAL ARTS TOURNAMENT — ENTRY OPEN
Goku's eyes lit up.
"What's this?! A fighting tournament?!"
Roshi smirked behind his shades.
"Now that," he said, "is your next real test."
Goku's eyes lit up. "Can I join?!"
Roshi chuckled. "You can try. But you'll have to train."
Goku grinned, then paused. His smile faltered.
"…You think I'm ready?"
Roshi looked at him for a beat. Then, simply.
"No."
He stood, stretching his arms behind his head.
"But you will be."
Goku clenched his fist and grinned.
"Let's get started!"