Mr. Popo's Training

"Mr. Popo," Kami's voice drifted from the corridor, "this is Son Goku. From today on, you will guide his training."

Mr. Popo's white eyes turned toward Son Goku, sizing him up from head to toe.

"Understood." Just two words. Then, he fell silent.

Kami nodded, his white robes vanishing at the end of the hallway, leaving only the two of them in the courtyard.

Son Goku stood where he was, sensing the aura—or rather, the ki—emanating from Mr. Popo. He instinctively expanded his senses, only to freeze. He felt nothing. It wasn't that it was weak; it was non-existent.

Mr. Popo stood there, yet his ki seemed to have merged with the entire Lookout, the vast sea of clouds, and every corner of the Heavenly Realm. It was omnipresent, yet impossible to isolate.

Mr. Popo finally spoke. His voice was as flat as if he were commenting on the weather: "Have you... consumed the Ultra Divine Water?"

"Yes."

"And your potential has been unleashed?"

Mr. Popo fell silent, blinking those white eyes. Then—

"Too weak."

The three words were uttered slowly.

Son Goku was so taken aback he nearly choked.

"Follow me."

Mr. Popo turned and walked away, his white robes dragging against the stone floor with a faint rustling sound.

They passed through the shadows cast by the pine trees, traversed another narrower corridor, and finally stopped before an open plaza.

In the center of the plaza, there was nothing. No training equipment, no targets, no wooden stakes, no turtle shell weights. Only the wind and the churning sea of clouds overhead.

"This," Mr. Popo stopped and turned around, his white eyes fixed on Son Goku, his tone utterly indifferent, "is where you will spend the next two years of your training."

"Two years..." Son Goku looked around; the emptiness made his skin crawl.

[In the original story, Goku trained at the Lookout for three years. I've arrived early, so the timeline is more generous, but Mr. Popo's meaning is clear—no matter who comes, the required time cannot be shortened by a single day.]

"Think it's too long?" Mr. Popo tilted his head, a faint, almost imperceptible... smile? flashing in his white eyes.

"No!" Son Goku clenched his fists. "I never think training takes too long! The longer I train, the stronger I become!"

"Very good."

Mr. Popo raised his hand, his pitch-black fingertip pointing toward a boulder at the edge of the plaza. The rock was at least three meters tall, its surface rough and radiating an ancient, heavy aura.

"The first task," Mr. Popo's voice remained as flat as ever, "is to move it."

Son Goku blinked.

Move a rock? That's it?

He didn't say it out loud, but he couldn't help but grumble inwardly. His combat power had already surpassed a thousand; a single punch could blast a crater the size of a swimming pool into the beach at Kame House. A rock, even a large one, how hard could it be? The first day of Turtle School training had been moving rocks—that was nearly three years ago.

He strode toward the boulder. Up close, it looked even more massive, the shadow it cast swallowing him whole. He spat into his palms, rubbed them together, grabbed a protrusion on the rock face, braced his feet, and channeled power from his waist—

"Hah!"

He let out a low growl, the muscles in his arms tensing instantly, veins bulging beneath his skin as his feet cracked the jade floor tiles with a dull thud.

The boulder didn't budge.

No, it moved—his hands did. The skin on his knuckles scraped against the rough surface, stinging with pain. Goku stepped back, glaring up at the rock as if it were something utterly unreasonable.

How is this possible?! With my current strength—forget a three-meter rock, even a mountain shouldn't be this immovable!

"Mr. Popo, is there some kind of mechanism under this rock?"

"No," Mr. Popo's voice came from behind him. "It is just an ordinary rock."

"Then how can I not move it—" Son Goku refused to accept it and tried again, this time unleashing his ki. A white aura erupted from his shoulders and arms. But the result was the same—the boulder sat firmly in place, like a block of iron nailed to the earth for thousands of years.

"It is not about brute force." Mr. Popo walked over slowly.

"Your ki is too chaotic."

Son Goku turned around. Mr. Popo stood before him like a black mirror without a ripple. Those white eyes watched him, devoid of criticism or comfort, merely stating a fact.

"Like a pot of boiling water. Like a tangled mess of thread blown by the wind. Strong, but disordered. Earth-shattering when it erupts, yet full of holes when you try to contain it."

He raised his hand. That pitch-black hand, with five fingers like withered branches soaked in ink. Then, a single finger tapped gently against the center of Son Goku's brow. The touch was ice-cold, not like skin, but like something that transcended physical existence.

In that instant—

The world spun.

It was as if the world had been stripped of its outer layer. Son Goku felt his consciousness being ripped from his body and dragged into a space without direction. And then, he saw it.

White flames.

They erupted from the center of his chest, so bright they nearly scorched his pupils.

But it wasn't a uniform flame; it was a storm, churning madly and without method. Tongues of fire lashed out in every direction, colliding with one another; some surged left, others charged right. Energy constantly exploded and collapsed at the outer edges, wasted into the void.

The ki flowing through his body was like a riverbed overflowing with a flash flood; the current hit the bends and didn't turn, instead spilling over the banks and flooding everywhere.

Is this... my ki?

"It is." Mr. Popo's voice echoed through the void. "The Ultra Divine Water has unlocked your potential, but it has also thrown your ki into this state. With every punch you throw now, less than thirty percent of your power actually lands on the target. The remaining seventy percent—it cancels itself out within your body and dissipates uselessly into the air."

Thirty percent. Son Goku looked at that white flame frantically consuming itself in the void and suddenly understood why he hadn't been able to move that boulder earlier. It wasn't because he lacked the strength—it was because his strength hadn't been focused in a single direction at all.

"What you need to do is not make it stronger, but make it... obedient."

Those two words sank like stones into a deep pool.

Son Goku snapped his eyes open.

The plaza was still the plaza, the boulder was still the boulder, and Mr. Popo was still Mr. Popo.

But something had changed; he couldn't quite put his finger on it, only feeling that the voice from a moment ago was still echoing in his mind.