Soul Transmigrates to Sun Wukong

Dragon Ball world, Mount Paozu, early morning.

"Ugh..."

Sun Haoyu slowly opened his eyes. He shook his slightly dizzy head, his lips parched.

"Water... water..."

He struggled to prop up his upper body, reaching out to grab the water glass nearby, but suddenly froze—these hands, fair, delicate, and tiny, were clearly the hands of a child!

"Wh-what is going on?!"

His heart gave a violent jolt. He rolled over to sit up and looked down at himself—a small body wearing a faded blue martial arts uniform, tied at the waist with a hemp rope. Most bizarrely, he felt as if... something extra was behind him.

"A tail?!"

He reached back to touch it and truly felt something furry. The sensation was terrifyingly real, and it even twitched instinctively.

"Am I still asleep? Is this a dream?"

Smack! Smack!

Two crisp slaps echoed through the silent wooden cabin. The stinging pain on his face was incredibly real. Sun Haoyu gasped, his heart beginning to race.

It wasn't a dream.

Just then, with a creak, the old wooden door was pushed open. A hunched old man with a long white beard walked in. Seeing Sun Haoyu sitting on the bed, the old man's cloudy eyes lit up instantly, his white beard trembling with excitement.

"Goku! You're finally awake!"

The old man rushed to the bedside in two strides, his rough hands carefully cupping Sun Haoyu's face. He looked him over, his eyes turning red. "Does your head still hurt? It's all Grandpa's fault for not watching you, letting you fall off the cliff... Thank goodness you're alright, truly thank goodness!"

Sun Haoyu was stunned.

Goku? Grandpa? Cliff?

These three words struck his mind like lightning. He stared blankly at the old man before him—the white beard, the kind face, the frame that was still sturdy despite his age, and that iconic, simple martial arts uniform... He had seen this face countless times in the anime!

Son Gohan! Master Roshi's prized disciple! The man who adopted the Saiyan Kakarot and named him Son Goku!

"Old... Grandpa..." Sun Haoyu swallowed the word "geezer" back down, his voice raspy. "You called me... Goku?"

Son Gohan's movements paused, the smile on his face gradually freezing, replaced by deep concern. He held up his fingers and waved them quickly in front of Sun Haoyu's eyes. "Goku, how many is this?"

"Two...?" Sun Haoyu's vision blurred; he couldn't tell how many fingers there were. Inside, however, a storm was raging—

Did I really transmigrate? Transmigrated into the world of Dragon Ball?

And... I became Son Goku? The Son Goku who would eventually save the Earth, and even the entire universe, time and time again?!

"Oh dear!" Son Gohan slapped his thigh, his white beard bristling with anxiety. "It seems your brain really was damaged in the fall! You can't even count? It's over, it's over, the child wasn't very bright to begin with, and now..."

"Grandpa!"

Sun Haoyu spoke suddenly, his voice calmer than he had expected.

"I'm fine," he said. "My head is just a little muddled."

Son Gohan stared at him blankly, feeling that the Goku before him was somehow different from before.

Those eyes, which had been innocent, ignorant, and occasionally wild, were now like a deep pool of water, as steady as someone far older than a six-year-old child.

"R-really, you're okay?"

"Really." Sun Haoyu forced a smile. "Grandpa, let me drink some water, I'll be fine after a rest!"

"Good, good!" Son Gohan nodded repeatedly, quickly bringing the water glass from the table to Sun Haoyu, his rough hand gently patting his shoulder. "You rest well at home, Grandpa will go hunt some game and make you something delicious to build up your strength!"

"Thank you, Grandpa."

Son Gohan smiled with relief and turned to leave. Just as the wooden door was about to close, he poked his head back in and urged earnestly, "Don't go running around! If you fall again, this old heart of mine won't be able to take it!"

The wooden door closed softly.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded away.

Sun Haoyu sat alone on the bed, sunlight filtering through the window lattice, casting mottled shadows on the floor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

In his mind, memories of his past life flashed by like a revolving lantern.

His name was Sun Haoyu, an ordinary office worker and a veteran Dragon Ball fan.

From the World Martial Arts Tournament to the Tournament of Power, from kid Goku to Super Saiyan Blue, and from Blue to Perfect Ultra Instinct—a full twenty years of following the series.

Sun Haoyu had watched almost every spin-off of Dragon Ball; this passionate anime had accompanied him through countless days and nights.

He recalled the events of yesterday—

No, it should be the night of "yesterday" in his past life.

He had been curled up in his cramped rental apartment, the screen playing Super Dragon Ball Heroes.

At the time, the plot was reaching its climax: Dark King Fu had appeared with his parents, and standing opposite them was a luxurious lineup consisting of two Vegitos and Demon God Demigra. Five world-destroying auras collided and surged in the cosmic void; a battle capable of rewriting history was on the verge of breaking out.

His pupils constricted as he watched, his fists clenching subconsciously. He leaned forward, but his elbow accidentally knocked into the glass of water on the table.

The glass wobbled twice, tipped over, and the entire contents poured onto the power strip. Before he could reach out to steady it, he saw wisps of blue smoke rising from the gaps in the power strip, followed by the screen suddenly going black.

He instinctively reached out to pull the plug—the moment his fingertips touched the plug, his entire arm went into a violent spasm, as if an invisible giant hand had gripped his heart.

A hum sounded, and the world shattered into snowflakes before his eyes. A wave of numbness washed over him, and his final conscious thought was the eerie, frozen smile of Frieza on the screen just before it went black.

Then, darkness swallowed him whole.

He opened his eyes to find a bronze mirror on the table, reflecting a youthful face—black, spiky hair, round black eyes, and chubby, baby-faced cheeks.

This was Son Goku.

No, to be precise, this was the young Son Goku who had yet to experience those battles, had yet to meet Bulma and Krillin, and had yet to shout "Kamehameha."

"The world of Dragon Ball..."

He murmured to himself, a surge of indescribable, complex emotions rising in his heart—the disorientation of transmigration, the excitement of arriving in a dream world, and, even more, a heavy sense of responsibility.

Seven Dragon Balls, capable of granting any wish.

The World Martial Arts Tournament, an arena teeming with masters.

King Piccolo, Raditz, Vegeta, Frieza, Cell, Majin Buu...

And—the Super Saiyan!

At the thought, his heart began to beat uncontrollably, his blood feeling as if it were burning.

The scenes he had watched in his past life flashed rapidly through his mind: the rage and sorrow of Son Goku's first transformation into a Super Saiyan; the determination when he and Son Gohan unleashed the Father-Son Kamehameha against Cell; the Ultra Instinct that broke his limits against Jiren at the Tournament of Power...

That world, so passionate it could bring tears to one's eyes!

"Wait, hold on—"

He suddenly furrowed his brow and scratched his hair. "In the original story, didn't Son Goku hit his head when he was three? And Grandpa Son Gohan... he was supposed to pass away shortly after that, when Goku turned into a Great Ape..."

He looked down at his palms, clenching and unclenching them.

"This body I'm in now looks at least five or six years old. And Grandpa is still alive..."

Has the plot changed?

Or is this not the Dragon Ball world I'm familiar with?

"Goku? Goku!"

Son Gohan's voice drifted in from outside, interrupting his thoughts. The old man pushed the door open, carrying two plump mountain rabbits, his face beaming with a wide smile. "Look what Grandpa caught! I'll stew some rabbit soup for you tonight, it'll be good for your health!"

Sun Haoyu looked at him—at this old man who only existed in memories in the original story, at his aged yet kind face, and at the unreserved love in his eyes.

Regardless of whether the plot had changed...

"Grandpa," he suddenly spoke up.

"Hm?"

"Teach me how to train."

Son Gohan froze, the mountain rabbits nearly slipping from his hands. "Tr-train?"

"Yes." Sun Haoyu hopped off the bed, tilted his head up, and looked at Son Gohan with burning intensity. "I want to become strong."

"Why the sudden..."

"I don't want to fall off a cliff ever again." Sun Haoyu's voice was calm, yet it carried an unquestionable seriousness. "If I am strong enough, I won't let myself get hurt. If I am strong enough, I can protect the people I want to protect."

Son Gohan stared blankly at the small figure before him.

This child... he really was different from before.

The Goku of the past, though born with divine strength, was just an innocent, carefree tot who only knew how to eat and play. But now... there was something in those eyes that even he couldn't name.

It was resolve.

It was willpower.

It was a kind of light... one that only appears after someone has seen through many things.

"Good!"

Son Gohan suddenly burst into hearty laughter, his white beard twitching with excitement. "That's my grandson! You want to train, do you? No problem! Grandpa will teach you all his best techniques!"

He tossed the rabbits onto the table, rolled up his sleeves, and struck a stance. In that instant, the frailty of age seemed to vanish from him, replaced by the dignity of a martial artist tempered by the passage of time.

"But before that, you need to get your body in shape! The Turtle School's training isn't child's play!"

Sun Haoyu nodded, the corners of his mouth slowly curling upward.

Since I am here...

He walked to the window and gazed out at the rolling peaks of Mount Paozu. The morning mist had dissipated, golden sunlight bathed the forest, the roars of wild beasts echoed from afar, and the shadows of pterosaurs swept across the sky.

This is the world of Dragon Ball.

Dangerous, cruel, yet the paradise of every martial artist.

Those tragedies, I will not let them repeat.

Krillin, Yamcha, Tien Shinhan, Chiaotzu... and Vegeta and Piccolo.

Those who were once enemies can also become comrades-in-arms.

Frieza, Cell, Buu... I will become stronger than all of you.

He clenched his small fists, feeling the dormant power within his body. It was the bloodline of the Saiyans, the instinct of the universe's strongest warrior race. Though still faint, it was undeniably there—a craving for battle, a pursuit of strength.

"Starting tomorrow—"

"Starting today." He corrected himself, his eyes igniting with a fierce fighting spirit. "I will train!"

"What was that?" Son Gohan poked his head out from by the stove.

"Nothing, Grandpa." Sun Haoyu—no, Son Goku—turned his head and flashed a brilliant smile. "I was just thinking that I need to have a few extra bowls of rabbit stew today."

"Hahaha! That's the spirit!" Son Gohan stroked his beard and laughed heartily. "You need to be full to have the energy to train!"

The aroma of stewed meat drifted through the kitchen, mingling with the smoky scent of burning pine. The morning on Mount Paozu felt exceptionally warm amidst the laughter of the grandfather and grandson.

Son Goku sat on the threshold, his tail flicking gently behind him. He looked up at the blue sky and white clouds, saying silently in his heart:

Little Goku, I shall be the one to continue writing your magnificent life.

From this moment on—

I am Son Goku!

As soon as the words fell, he suddenly felt a heat between his brows, as if something were trembling deep within his soul. A warm and pure power surged from his limbs and bones, slowly merging with his consciousness—it was a lingering trace of the "Son Goku" belonging to this world, innocent and naive, yet containing the Saiyan's innate craving for battle.

"Get stronger... get stronger..."

A faint thought echoed in the depths of his heart before dissipating.

Son Goku slowly opened his eyes. His mind was clear, the slight barrier in controlling his body had vanished, and his five senses seemed much sharper than before. He could hear a squirrel gnawing on a pinecone fifty meters outside the window and smell every wisp of scent belonging to these mountains that permeated the air.

"So this is a Saiyan's body..."

He clenched his fist, the corners of his mouth curling upward involuntarily.

This is amazing!!!