The sun had yet to rise over West City. A faint haze hovered above Capsule Corp's private training field, shrouding the grass in a silver-blue mist. The morning air was still—soft, unassuming. But within that stillness stood a boy whose eyes held galaxies of pain, hope, and questions.
Mori stood at the center of the field, bare feet sunk slightly into the dew-covered earth. He wore simple dark gi pants and a sleeveless white shirt, the kind Dr. Briefs had made to be ki-resistant. Around his wrists were weighted bands, a suggestion from Bulma after watching old martial arts videos. The sun hadn't yet touched the horizon, but Mori had already been up for hours.
Not because he needed to.
Because he wanted to.
He drew in a deep breath and closed his glowing blue-white eyes. The ki within him shimmered—quiet and tame for now, no longer thrashing like it had when he fought Goku. That day still played in the back of his mind like an echo. He didn't remember every second of it… only the feeling. That roar. That scream. That pressure between his ribs like a star trying to escape his chest.
It haunted him.
It fascinated him.
He exhaled. Slowly. Then moved.
His hands raised, fell, twisted. A stance. A shift. A kick that sliced the air. He kept it slow at first, a meditation through motion, each movement tracing the path of memory. This was not a kata from Earth. It wasn't a Saiyan technique either. It was his. Built from experience, pain, instinct, and fragments of memory buried somewhere deep within his blood.
He moved faster now. Punches sharp, legs sweeping through invisible enemies. The wind around him shifted with each strike. Dust stirred. Grass bent. Energy danced at his fingertips.
Then—without warning—he stopped.
He stood still, chest rising and falling, arms loose at his sides.
He hated it.
Not the training.
The stillness after.
It reminded him of the lab.
Of being alone.
Of the nights he spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if the stars he dreamed of were even real. Or if he'd just made them up to survive.
A bird chirped in the distance. Then another. Dawn was beginning to break, painting the horizon in soft peach light.
Mori sat cross-legged on the grass, sweat already dotting his brow. He tilted his head back and looked at the sky.
"I'm not scared anymore," he whispered to no one in particular. "Not of the dark. Not of myself. Not of what's inside me."
He paused.
"But I am scared of hurting people."
His hand moved subconsciously to his chest, right over his heart. He could still feel the beat there—steady now. But he remembered when it hadn't been. The chaos he unleashed. The pink light. The scream that wasn't his but came from his mouth anyway.
Was that what he truly was?
A monster waiting to be triggered?
No, he thought. No. That's not all I am.
He stood again.
Time for more.
By noon, Mori had taken his training indoors to the Capsule Corp simulation chamber. A wide white room with retractable panels, surrounded by machines that projected hard-light constructs of past opponents and unknown combatants for practice.
Today, it was Nam.
Then RanFan.
Then a simulated Goku, pre-tournament.
He danced around their blows, striking only when necessary. He used these simulations to refine—not dominate. He didn't want to beat them. He wanted to understand them. Their rhythms, their reasons, their flaws.
And maybe, through them, understand himself.
Each time the simulation ended, he took notes in the small capsule-sized notebook Bulma gave him. On the cover, it read:
"You're gonna be the strongest, right? So write it down when you learn something!" —Bulma
He wrote:
Don't over-rely on dodging. Use opponent's momentum. When angry, my body gets faster but I stop thinking. Goku's style is unpredictable. Playful but sharp. Must adapt.
He stared at the third line.
A smile pulled at his lips.
Goku. Just the name made something stir in his chest. Not rage. Not even competition.
Just… possibility.
Theirs had been the kind of fight you couldn't fake. It awakened something in both of them. And he knew, without question, that they would clash again. He wanted it. Needed it.
That night, after dinner with the Briefs, Mori stood atop the Capsule Corp roof. The wind was cool, tugging at his messy hair. Below, lights flickered through windows. Laughter echoed from the TV in the lounge. Mrs. Briefs' gentle humming carried through the open balcony door.
This place felt like home.
More than any planet he landed on during his space-drifting days.
He looked up at the stars.
The sky looked so different from this angle, without a window pane or laboratory glass in the way.
And yet…
He still felt watched.
It's probably nothing, he told himself.
But in the shadows of the farthest edge of the galaxy, it wasn't nothing.
The Big Gete Star pulsed with mechanical life.
Vast and cold and endless, it floated like a steel parasite between stars. Its sensors, long and far-reaching, focused on one being:
Mori.
Its artificial mind studied the data collected from the last burst of pink ki. The readings were extraordinary. Unnatural. Impossible.
And yet real.
The AI paused, almost as if in awe.
"Phase 2: Observation complete. Subject is approaching synchronization thresholds. Evolution parameters exceeded. Awaiting directive."
A small pause.
Then, deep within the Big Gete Star, a voice—not of code, but intention—whispered:
"Soon."
Back on Earth, Mori dropped from the rooftop and landed silently in the back field.
It was midnight now.
He trained again.
Not because he had to.
Not even because he wanted to.
But because he felt a sense to protect.
Family.
Each punch cracked the air.
Each kick trembled the dirt beneath him.
He was stronger now.
Faster.
More controlled.
But not complete.
He knew there were still pieces missing. Pieces he couldn't see but could feel.
Sometimes, when he stood still too long, he could almost hear something calling from within—like an echo in a cave, like a lullaby from another life.
He didn't answer it.
Not yet.
Instead, he threw another punch, harder than the last.
This was his path.
This was his time.
And as long as he had it…
He would train.
Because the next time he saw Goku…
He wanted to know.
Which of them had grown more.
"Growth... enable me to be better"