Kami's Lookout

Clouds churned beneath his feet like a vast, roiling sea.

Son Goku landed on the jade-paved plaza, steadying his stance as his tail swayed slowly behind him. He looked up.

A towering palace stood before him. Constructed entirely of pristine white jade, it possessed no visible seams, as if it had grown directly out of the clouds themselves.

The curves of the roof were simple yet solemn; devoid of carved dragons or phoenixes, the structure exuded a sanctity that transcended the mortal realm.

Sunlight pierced through the billowing sea of clouds, refracting off the jade surface to cast a pale golden halo. The entire lookout seemed to float suspended between light and mist.

The ki within his body flowed with remarkable smoothness in this environment, as if every meridian had been cleansed by warm water.

"This is... Kami's Lookout."

He took a deep breath, his heart rate quickening involuntarily.

He stood in the center of the plaza and turned to survey his surroundings. The jade plaza stretched all the way to the edge of the cloud sea, surrounded on all sides by surging white waves. Standing here felt like standing at the pinnacle of the world.

Just as he stood dazed, staring out at the clouds, a voice—aged and majestic—reached him from behind.

"You have come."

Son Goku turned around.

Standing before the palace gates was an old man.

His skin was a deep green, and two antennae rose from his forehead, twitching slightly as if detecting fluctuations in the air imperceptible to mortal senses. A snow-white robe draped down to his ankles, the hem fluttering gently in the breeze of the Heavenly Realm.

His expression was kind yet profound. The pitch-black eyes set deep within his sockets fixed upon Goku, calm as a thousand-year-old well, yet they gave Goku a strange sensation—that before this gaze, nothing could remain hidden.

Son Goku immediately stopped his tail from swaying, brought his legs together, and bowed ninety degrees with his hands at his sides.

"Lord Kami!"

Kami approached with slow, measured steps. Each stride seemed to fall in rhythm with an invisible cadence; his footsteps were light, yet they felt synchronized with the heartbeat of the entire palace. He stopped three paces from Son Goku, his dark eyes scanning the twelve-or-thirteen-year-old boy from head to toe.

"You are Son Goku." It was not a question, but a confirmation. "That ki from earlier—was that yours?"

"Yes." Son Goku straightened his back, meeting Kami's gaze unflinchingly. "I drank the Ultra Divine Water, which unlocked some of my potential and increased my combat power."

"...Some?"

The corners of Kami's mouth twitched slightly.

"Are you aware that the Ultra Divine Water is highly toxic?" Kami asked in a deep voice, his antennae trembling. "Nine out of ten who drink it perish on the spot."

"I know." Son Goku nodded, his voice calm.

"If you knew, why drink it?"

Son Goku did not answer immediately.

This question was nearly identical to the one Korin had asked, but Kami's tone was different. Korin had been trying to dissuade him; Kami was inquiring. It wasn't a challenge or an attempt to stop him—it was a search for an answer. An answer worthy of opening the gates of the lookout.

He remained silent for a moment. Countless images flashed through his mind: Grandpa Son Gohan standing before the small cabin on Mount Paozu with his wooden staff; Bulma screaming in terror in the desert; Krillin panting on the beach at five in the morning at Kame House, refusing to stop; Master Roshi taking off his sunglasses and saying "Go," his old eyes suddenly clear...

Then, the images shifted.

The cold, mechanical beep of the scouter on Raditz's face. The arrogant sneer on Vegeta's lips. The purple-red death beam igniting at Frieza's fingertip. Cell standing on the tournament stage, his black carapace reflecting the cold light. Majin Buu's pink body reforming from the smoke, giggling as if playing a pleasant game.

And Krillin, dying for the first time at the tournament, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open as if he had wanted to say something brave but ran out of time. Dying a second time on Namek, the last word he shouted before his body exploded into a mist of blood—"Go—"

"I don't want to lose anyone else."

He looked up, his black eyes staring directly into Kami's. This time, he didn't need to switch masks between "simple mountain boy" and "transmigrator." Because this statement required no disguise. It belonged to Sun Haoyu, and it belonged to Son Goku; the two overlapped perfectly in this sentiment: "Because... I don't want to lose anyone else."

Kami was stunned.

In those eyes, which held a thousand years of wisdom, a flicker of reminiscence, shock, and... understanding passed through.

"Very well."

He turned slowly, his white robe fluttering in the wind. He raised a hand and pointed toward the depths of the palace.

"Follow me. I will have Mr. Popo guide you."

Son Goku's eyes lit up instantly. It wasn't just because of the name "Mr. Popo"—as a transmigrator, he knew exactly who Mr. Popo was. The most loyal servant of Kami, a man whose martial arts prowess was so high it defied official power levels, a mysterious existence who could fight on par with Super Saiyan Goten and Trunks while maintaining a fixed smile and a monotone voice.

The reason Son Goku's eyes lit up was that he knew the true door to the heights was opening; Kami had accepted him.

"Mr. Popo has followed me for hundreds of years," Kami said, turning back with a profound look. "He knows every essence of the martial arts that I know. In some aspects—even more than I do."

His tone dropped slightly, as if tucking a warning into a gift: "However—Mr. Popo's training is unlike anything you have experienced before. He does not teach techniques. He only teaches 'perception.' Whether you can learn anything does not depend on him—it depends on how still you can make your own heart."

Son Goku clenched his fists, a grin spreading across his face: "The harder, the better!"

The Turtle School's training forced potential out through limits; Korin Tower's training honed intuition through combat. Mr. Popo—he was about finding "motion" within "stillness." This was a higher dimension, unrelated to combat power, but entirely about one's state of being.

Kami glanced at him and said nothing more.

Deep within the palace, in the courtyard.

Son Goku followed Kami through long corridors and past several side halls, neither of them speaking a word.

Finally, they stopped before a courtyard.

This place was a stark contrast to the splendor of the outside world. There were no gilded or ornate decorations, only simple stone tables and stools. An ancient pine tree of unknown age coiled and stretched from the center of the courtyard, its branches swaying, its needles a deep, blackened green that shimmered with a gentle luster in the morning light.

Everything here was silent. It was so quiet that one could hear their own heartbeat, so quiet that even breathing felt like a disturbance.

"Lord Kami."

A voice drifted from the shadows of the pine tree, devoid of any inflection.

Son Goku followed the sound, his pupils slightly constricting.

It was... a humanoid figure, pitch-black from head to toe.

His entire body was as dark as ink, with round eyes like two white pearls embedded in that obsidian face, revealing no emotion whatsoever. He wore a simple white robe, his hands folded before him in a posture that was neither intimate nor distant.

Mr. Popo.