Awakening

Consciousness slowly rose from the depths of darkness.

Like a drowning man being dragged toward the surface by an invisible hand gripping the back of his collar, inch by inch. The light went from blurry to clear, and sounds went from distant to close at hand.

Ji Ming opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a face—Son Goku's face. The face that always wore a goofy grin was now scrunched up with worry, confusion, and something indescribable. It took Ji Ming two seconds to realize that face was less than twenty centimeters away from his own.

Too close.

Close enough to count the hairs in his nostrils.

"You're awake!" Son Goku's eyes instantly lit up, his voice as loud as firecrackers going off beside Ji Ming's ear. "Great! Chi-Chi! Gohan's awake!"

Ji Ming's eardrums rang. Before he could speak, another face squeezed into view—a young woman with red, swollen eyes and tears still staining her cheeks. Yet the instant she saw him, the light that burst from her eyes was like a bonfire igniting in the night.

Chi-Chi.

His mother.

The next second, she pulled him into a crushing embrace. Agonizing pain flared from his fractured ribs, but Ji Ming clenched his teeth and made no sound. He could feel Chi-Chi trembling and hear her suppressed sobs rising from deep in her throat, only to be forcibly swallowed back down.

"It's okay, it's okay. Mommy's here."

Chi-Chi repeated those words over and over, her voice trembling like leaves in the wind. Her fingers clutched Gohan's clothes tightly, her knuckles white, as though the moment she let go, her son would turn into a wisp of smoke and drift away.

Ji Ming stiffened in Chi-Chi's embrace.

No one had ever held him like this.

His parents in his previous life had divorced when he was twelve. His father had run off with all the money, while his mother remarried and left him with his grandmother in the countryside. From middle school onward, he had been alone—eating alone, going to school alone, studying Dragon Ball's power-level system alone in front of a computer screen in a rented room. He had poured all his emotions into a fictional world, because emotions in the real world had been too much of a luxury for him.

But now, a woman from a manga was holding him with all her strength, as if he were the most precious treasure in the world.

This didn't belong to him.

This love belonged to "Son Gohan."

Yet he was the one receiving it now. The feeling was strange, like stealing warmth from someone else's home. His chest felt sour and hot, and he couldn't tell whether it was gratitude or guilt.

"Chi-Chi, be gentler. Gohan's still injured..."

Chi-Chi's glare cut Son Goku off. "Shut up! If you hadn't taken Gohan to that kind of place, how could he have been hurt this badly?! I haven't even settled the score with you yet!"

Son Goku shrank his neck, looking like an eggplant wilted by frost.

Watching this scene, Ji Ming couldn't help imagining a scrolling comment: Wife-fearing husband, S-rank passive skill. Ignores power-level gaps. Permanently effective against Chi-Chi.

He nearly laughed, but a sharp pain in his chest turned the laugh into a cough.

"Cough—cough, cough—"

Chi-Chi immediately released him and frantically checked his injuries. "Does it hurt? Where does it hurt? Do you want some water? Are you hungry? Mommy will go make you some porridge—"

"I'm fine."

Ji Ming spoke with difficulty, his voice hoarse as if his mouth were full of sandpaper. His gaze passed over Chi-Chi's shoulder and settled on the doorway.

Piccolo stood there.

Green skin, a white cape, bandages wrapped around his broken arm—and a pair of eyes fixed on Ji Ming, filled with scrutiny and suspicion.

Ji Ming's heart tightened.

He remembered clearly. Before losing consciousness, he had used Ji Ming's mind and Son Gohan's body to scare off a Saiyan with a power level over a thousand using just a few words. No four-year-old child could possibly do that. Piccolo wasn't stupid. On the contrary, he was one of the sharpest minds in Dragon Ball.

This wouldn't be easy to get past.

Piccolo stepped into the room, each footfall landing on the floor like a nail being driven in. He said nothing, merely stared down at the child on the bed. Something churned deep in his pupils.

Ji Ming did not avoid his gaze.

He knew that looking away now would be an admission of guilt.

"Kakarot." Piccolo finally spoke, his voice like sandpaper scraping across stone. "Get out."

"Huh?" Son Goku scratched his head. "But—"

"Get out."

The two words were squeezed through clenched teeth. The atmosphere suddenly turned cold.

Chi-Chi sensed that something was wrong. She looked back and forth between them, her brow knitting. "Piccolo, what do you want to do to my son?"

"He won't hurt Gohan." Son Goku's voice suddenly turned serious. He looked at the small face on the bed, then at Piccolo's grim expression. After a moment of silence, he stood and put an arm around Chi-Chi's shoulders. "Come on. Let's go outside first."

"But—"

"It's okay."

The door closed.

Only the two of them remained in the room. It was so quiet that they could hear the ticking clock on the wall. Dust drifted slowly through the afternoon light, like countless watching eyes.

"Who are you?"

Piccolo went straight to the point, without preamble or pleasantries.

Ji Ming sighed inwardly. Here it was. There was no avoiding this question. Although Piccolo's mind-reading ability required direct contact with someone's forehead, his vigilance alone was enough for him to sense that something was wrong with this child's soul. Lying would be useless. He could only go along with it and reveal some "truth."

He took a deep breath and looked up at Piccolo.

His voice was steady, his expression open. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Piccolo's eyes narrowed to slits.

"I only remember dying in my previous world, then waking up in this body." Ji Ming paused, carefully adopting a tone that was "mature yet plain" in a way no four-year-old should have possessed. "The other world I remember was the real world. In that world, this place existed in a manga called Dragon Ball."

Piccolo's expression froze.

A manga?

Those two words were like iron nails, pinning his feet to the spot. He had imagined countless possibilities—possession by a demon god, a body taken over by some ancient power, even replacement by an entity from a parallel dimension—but he had never imagined the answer would have anything to do with a "manga."

"You're messing with me." His voice was low, a dangerous note.

But Ji Ming merely watched him calmly, drew a deep breath, and began taking control of the conversation's pace.

"Raditz's tail is his weakness. Grab it, and his whole body goes limp. I saw it. That weakness is exactly as you know it."

Piccolo's body stiffened.

"You haven't used your Special Beam Cannon yet. But in the other world, I saw the whole process—you'll use that move to pierce straight through both him and Goku, killing them together. Both Raditz and the Kakarot standing before you will die. Your original plan was to eliminate both Saiyans, wasn't it?"

Silence.

Piccolo remained silent for a long time.

The wind outside blew in through the window, lifting a corner of his cape. His expression did not change, but the muscles at the corners of his eyes twitched faintly. It was shock—shock he was suppressing with practiced control.

He had indeed considered that plan. Before his final battle with Raditz, he had already calculated it. The Special Beam Cannon could pierce defenses that even the battle power scouter could not account for. If the angle was right, he could skewer Kakarot and Raditz together like candied hawthorn, eliminate two threats in one stroke, and kill two birds with one stone.

He had kept that plan entirely in his own mind and never told anyone.

"How do you know all that?" Piccolo's voice had gone hoarse.

Ji Ming raised his head. He was frail, like a cloud that could scatter at any moment, but what he needed to convey mattered more than his strength.

"I told you, I'm from another world. In that world, there are stories about all of you. The past, the present, and the future."

"The future?"

"In one year, two stronger Saiyans will arrive on Earth. Vegeta and Nappa. Nappa's battle power is four thousand, and Vegeta's is eighteen thousand. Their target is the Dragon Balls—they want eternal life. When that time comes, even if you and Goku join forces, you won't be able to defeat them." Ji Ming finished in one breath, then collapsed back against the pillow, panting heavily. "After that, the emperor of the universe, Frieza, will appear. His battle power is five hundred and thirty thousand, while yours are only a few hundred at most right now. He was responsible for destroying Planet Vegeta—the true culprit behind the Saiyans' extermination."

Frieza.

The culprit behind their extermination.

Five hundred and thirty thousand battle power.

Each word weighed more heavily than the last, like massive boulders crashing into Piccolo's mind.

It was not as though he had never seen powerful opponents. King Piccolo had once proclaimed that he would rule the world, only to discover after meeting Kakarot that there was always someone stronger. But now, every word spoken by this severely injured four-year-old was shattering the "ceiling" of his understanding to pieces.

"Enough." Piccolo cut him off.

He needed time to process it. Ji Ming knew an impact of information like this required time for the mind to cool down, and he truly could not hold on any longer. Breathing was becoming harder and harder; every sentence felt like running a kilometer.

"I know you might not believe me." Ji Ming closed his eyes, his voice growing softer. "But time will prove everything. You can keep watching me, keep monitoring me. Anyway, as I am now, I couldn't even beat a cat."

He meant that sincerely.

That conversation had nearly drained every bit of strength he had managed to gather. He was now as weak as a sheet of paper, and even lifting his eyelids took effort. Forget battle power—even the strength to eat felt borrowed.

Piccolo looked at his weak, pale face and remained silent for a long time.

At last, he turned and walked toward the door.

"If you are an enemy, I will kill you with my own hands."

The door opened, but Piccolo paused. His profile cut down like a blade, and his voice became even lower.

"If you're a friend... then stay alive. Those Saiyans and Frieza you spoke of—we'll deal with them one by one."

The door shut.

Ji Ming lay flat on the bed, staring at the mottled ceiling as he let out a breath. He had passed this hurdle for now. But Piccolo's vigilance had been fully awakened. From now on, he could not make a single wrong move under Piccolo's watchful eye.

He had to recover his body as soon as possible.

He had to begin training as soon as possible.

His store of knowledge was his trump card, but without a body capable of playing that card, no amount of intelligence would convince anyone. Raditz would return, and Vegeta and Nappa would come sooner or later as well. Frieza, the Androids, Cell, Majin Buu, the God of Destruction, Zamasu...

He did not have much time.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Chi-Chi pushed it open, carrying a steaming bowl of porridge with such care that it seemed she were holding a priceless treasure.

"Gohan, come on, have some porridge. Mommy cooked it for a long time."

She scooped up a spoonful, blew on it again and again, then brought it to his lips.

Ji Ming opened his mouth. The porridge slid down his throat, and its warmth spread from his esophagus through all four limbs and every bone in his body. Whether it was the porridge or something else, his eyes stung a little.

"This child... you scared Mommy to death yesterday..." Chi-Chi murmured on and on, tears falling again. "You're not allowed to go fighting anymore, understand? Mommy only wants you to be safe..."

At that moment, Ji Ming suddenly understood something.

He lowered his head and looked at his tiny hand, wrapped all over in bandages.

These hands would one day clench into fists to face the strongest beings in the universe. But for now, all they could touch was the soft fabric of a blanket and the warmth of a bowl of hot porridge.

He had to grow stronger.

He wanted strength more fiercely than in any fantasy he had ever had while reading manga.

Not to conquer the universe, nor to become the greatest under heaven.

But for these living people. The woman before him wiping away her tears, the father outside who loved to grin foolishly, and the friends who would appear in his life one by one in the future.

He would protect this world.

The world of Dragon Ball.

His world.