Training Begins

Ji Ming lay facedown on the ground, his back burning with pain.

When Son Goku's thumb-sized Ki Blast exploded against his back, he'd nearly thought he was going to die all over again. Fortunately, the layer of white aura that had just awakened had absorbed most of the impact, leaving only a large patch of scorched skin and a few groans from his bones, pushed beyond their limits.

It really hurt.

But he hadn't passed out.

That was enough.

"Hey, Gohan, are you okay?" Son Goku crouched beside him and poked the back of his head, sounding as though he were prodding a fledgling that had accidentally fallen out of a tree.

"Stop poking me." Ji Ming's voice came muffled from the dirt. "It hurts."

"Oh, right." Son Goku sheepishly pulled his hand back, then scratched his head. "But I think you might be right. When I hit you with the Ki Blast just now, I felt your ki gather at your back and block it on its own. Your body's learning by itself. It learns faster than your brain."

Ji Ming slowly pushed himself upright. His training clothes were stuck to the skin on his back, and peeling them away felt like tearing his skin off. He sucked in a sharp breath, gritted his teeth, and sat up, then looked down at his arms.

The thin white glow was still there, even more stable than before. It no longer flickered, but shone steadily and evenly, like a transparent flame wrapped around his skin. After his first brush with death, his ki had finally begun to radiate outward reliably.

"Your ki's probably around three or four hundred now." Son Goku tilted his head, studying him, and poked the white glow on his arm. "Yeah, about that. It's more than doubled since this morning. You're getting stronger fast. But you're still nowhere near the burst you had when Raditz showed up... How did you manage that?"

Ji Ming didn't answer.

He couldn't. That day, he'd just crossed into this world and awakened on the brink of death. Fear and anger had set off his Saiyan blood all at once, giving him a fleeting burst of power in exchange for his life. That kind of power couldn't be reproduced, and it wasn't what he needed to pursue now.

What he needed wasn't a burst of power. He needed a foundation.

A foundation that could make that burst his new normal.

"Dad." Ji Ming spat the blood from his mouth, raised his head, and looked at Son Goku. "I need someone who can teach me the basics from the ground up. You can't do it."

"Hey, hey, that's harsh." Son Goku scrunched up his nose.

"Then teach me the basic theory behind controlling ki."

"Uh... You just, like, put some strength into it, then whoosh—ha!" Son Goku mimed firing a blast.

Ji Ming stared at him without expression.

Three seconds later, Son Goku gave in first. He sighed, crouched down again, and scratched his head. "I can't really explain it, okay? Master Roshi never taught it properly back then, either. Every time he finished a demonstration, he'd ask, 'Did you feel it?' How was I supposed to feel it? I just watched him practice a hundred times and picked it up."

"So," Ji Ming said calmly, "I need someone who knows how to teach."

Son Goku thought for a moment, then clapped his fist into his palm and grinned. "Then that's settled! I'll take you to see Master Roshi tomorrow! He's great at teaching. He taught me when I was little, too. You'll just have to put up with him handing you pinup magazines while you're training with weights... And..." His grin faded. He pointed into the distance. "We should bring that person along, too."

Ji Ming followed his gaze.

Chi-Chi was rushing out of the house, still wearing her apron and gripping a spatula. Her face was a mix of fury and heartache. She stared at the burnt hole in Son Gohan's training clothes, her eyes red as if she'd been the one who'd been hit.

"Stop hitting him!" Chi-Chi ran over and pulled Ji Ming into her arms. The spatula nearly jabbed Son Goku in the face. "Look what you've done! He's just a child! You blasted him with a Ki Blast! In the back, no less! Are you even his real father?"

"He asked me to hit him..." Son Goku jumped back a step, his voice growing quieter.

Chi-Chi held Ji Ming so tightly that his ribs ached. His nose brushed her apron, and he smelled flour and scallions. He stiffened, unsure what to say, and managed to force out a stiff, "Mom, I'm okay."

"What do you mean, you're okay? Your back—Oh, God, it's burned!" Chi-Chi held her hand above his back, wanting to touch him but not daring to. Tears fell one after another. "That's it. From now on, you're staying home to recover. You're not going anywhere!"

"I'm going to train with Master Roshi tomorrow."

Chi-Chi's expression was like someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water over her. She looked down at her son, and he looked up at her. His little face was smeared with blood and dirt, but his eyes didn't look like those of any four-year-old. There was no pleading, no tantrum, no fear of pain—only a calm, unwavering light. That light was unfamiliar to Chi-Chi, even a little frightening. But she didn't back down. She bit her lip and held him tighter.

"Then I'm coming, too."

"Chi-Chi—"

"Shut up, Son Goku." One icy glare pinned Son Goku in place. Chi-Chi turned back to Gohan. "Last time that alien kidnapped you, you came back covered in blood, with three broken ribs and fractures all over your leg. I didn't sleep for three days. I was afraid you'd get a fever in the middle of the night, that your wounds would get infected, that you'd never wake up again. You want to get stronger? Fine. I don't understand Saiyan stuff, but I want to keep my eyes on you. I can't let you go alone again."

Her voice dropped for those last two sentences, growing so hoarse it was almost inaudible. She buried her face in Gohan's hair and breathed heavily and quickly, like a mother beast carrying her cub back to its den.

Ji Ming froze for a long time.

Suddenly, he felt a sting at the bridge of his nose. The unfamiliar ache spread from his nostrils to his eyes. He clenched his jaw and forced it down, then mumbled into Chi-Chi's arms, "Okay. We'll go together."

Son Goku stood watching them, scratching his cheek. He was quiet for a few seconds, then turned and walked toward the window that had just opened in a distant tree. He'd spotted Piccolo standing in its shadow.

Piccolo's right arm had fully healed. He still wore the same white cape, and his headpiece was back in place. He watched Goku approach without expression.

"What are you planning to do about the kid going to Master Roshi's tomorrow?" Goku asked, looking up at him.

A faint but unmistakable curve appeared at the corner of Piccolo's mouth. "I'll teach that little brat who claims to know everything myself."

Son Goku blinked, then broke into a bright grin. "Good. You can't beat me right now anyway, so some extra training will do you good."

A muffled groan came from the tree. The branches shook a few times, and Piccolo was gone.

Before dawn the next morning, Chi-Chi bundled Ji Ming up in layer after layer and tucked him into the Flying Nimbus to fly to Kame House. She barely spoke the whole way, just holding him tightly around the shoulders and occasionally checking his back. The skin scorched by the Ki Blast had already formed a thin scab. The speed of his Saiyan healing both relieved and worried her. Son Goku sat cross-legged at the front, guiding them, and for once, he wasn't grinning foolishly.

Kame House was just as it had always been. It stood crookedly on a small island in the middle of the sea, with a coconut tree in the yard, a few turtle shells tossed beneath it, and starfish and seashells drying by the door. Master Roshi stood waiting outside in a training uniform printed with the words "Martial Arts." The moment he saw Gohan, his expression changed. It wasn't the scrutiny of before, but the patient look of someone reassessing him.

"Goku told me all about the crazy stuff you've been doing these past few days." Master Roshi approached with his cane and crouched in front of Ji Ming, peering over his sunglasses with dark brown eyes. "You say you're from another world, that you know the future, and that Piccolo confirmed it. So tell me—does my Kamehameha circulate the ki three times or five times in the palm?"

"Three times. But the latest version adds an inward rotation, making it four. You came up with it twenty years later." Ji Ming answered without hesitation. "In the future, Goku modifies it on King Kai's Planet to use two and a half rotations. It's more powerful and faster. Krillin only uses two rotations, favoring a higher firing rate."

Master Roshi blinked twice. His sunglasses nearly slipped off his nose. "I thought of the inward rotation last year while walking on the beach in the middle of the night because I couldn't sleep... I've never told anyone."

"In the future, you'll put it in a textbook." Ji Ming's lips moved slightly.

Master Roshi stood, walked around twice with his cane, then nodded firmly. "All right. I'll take you on as my final disciple."

Ji Ming lowered his head and held out both hands.

"Then start by firing a Kamehameha at me. Use the inward rotation. Right now."

Ji Ming looked up at that. His arms were still trembling, and the burns from the night before hadn't fully healed, but there was no hint of insincerity in Master Roshi's voice. Ji Ming took a deep breath and brought his hands to his waist, imagining the inward-rotating method he'd only read about in his "reference material." The little ki he had began to move in its proper pattern.

A blue point of light glowed in his palms.

It was tiny, but steady. Its shape slipped through the gaps between his fingers without wobbling.

"Ka-me-ha-me-ha!"

He thrust both hands forward. A pale blue Ki Blast about the size of a baseball shot toward the sea, trailing a clear, bright tail of light. It flew about twenty meters before its edges quivered and dispersed, sending a small ring of ripples across the surface before vanishing without a trace.

Chi-Chi's eyes were as wide as teacups. Son Goku whistled.

"He can fire one? At four?" For once, Goku couldn't hide his shock. "I didn't manage my first point of light until I was six..."

Master Roshi didn't praise him. He fell silent for a moment, removed his sunglasses, and wiped the lenses on his clothes. His fingers trembled slightly.

"With your level of ability, you need to improve your muscles, your mind, and your reflexes across the board." Master Roshi put his sunglasses back on, his voice steady once again. "Put on that biggest turtle shell."

Ji Ming walked beneath the tree and hoisted the heavy turtle shell onto his back. Its edges were worn smooth, and the character for "turtle" had been painted on the front. The moment he lifted it, his knees nearly buckled. But he didn't say a word. He braced himself with both hands, got back up, and straightened his back.

"First, run ten laps around the island. We'll work on anaerobic training when you get back." Master Roshi waved him off.

Ji Ming ran onto the beach with the shell on his back. Each step landed with a dull thud, sinking deep into the sand before the waves immediately washed away his footprints. Seabirds scattered in alarm, beating their wings. His breathing fell out of rhythm once, but he gritted his teeth and got it back under control.

By the ninth lap, Ji Ming's consciousness had begun to blur. His limbs wouldn't obey him, and his muscles were repeating the motion of lifting his legs by sheer force of habit. But he saw a white, even aura. This time, it didn't fade away. It clung tightly to his skin, flickering steadily.

His ki had stabilized, and its outward release was becoming constant.

When he reached the finish line at the end of the tenth lap, he saw Master Roshi's expression. It wasn't just satisfaction. It was a complicated mix of disbelief, relief, and some profound premonition.

"Keep the shell on. Do another two hundred squats. Then eat a Senzu Bean, and we'll alternate between hot and cold training."

As he spoke, Master Roshi tossed him a set of keys. "After dinner, I'll take you to try out the Gravity Chamber. Bulma had someone deliver it overnight."

"Her team works that fast?" Ji Ming nearly failed to catch the keys.

"Piccolo went straight to Bulma for the people who built the Gravity Chamber. He suddenly showed up in West City yesterday afternoon and gave her quite a scare." Goku offered an unusually serious explanation.

Ji Ming gripped the keys and looked at the Capsule Corp logo printed on them. An indescribable feeling welled up inside him. Piccolo never said much, but every step he'd arranged was at least three weeks ahead of what Ji Ming had expected.

He bent down, hoisted the turtle shell onto his back again, and began to squat and stand, squat and stand, over and over, until the setting sun gilded the entire island.

The Gravity Chamber had been set up on a wide patch of flat ground behind Kame House, taking the place of the coconut trees that had once grown there. The silver-gray, domed structure gleamed coldly in the setting sun, like an alien object lifted straight out of a science-fiction movie.

Ji Ming stood at the door of the Gravity Chamber, looking up at the entrance, which was three times his height. Bulma had stuck a note to the control panel beside the door. It showed a smiley face and read, "Ten times should be enough to make him fly! Don't mess with the settings—or he'll turn into meat paste!"

He pressed the button to open the door.

The moment it opened, a crushing pressure, completely unlike anything outside, hit him. Ji Ming walked in and set the gravity to three times normal. The air suddenly tightened around him. It was like an invisible hand pressing him down, and his knees bent for a moment. His old chest wound began to ache, and every muscle in his body protested the sudden increase in weight.

Three times normal gravity was nothing. In the original story, Goku had trained at three times normal gravity before going to King Kai's Planet, gradually increasing it to ten times. After going to Namek, he spent a period training in a chamber at a hundred times normal gravity. But for his current four-year-old body—

Ji Ming gritted his teeth and started doing push-ups in the Gravity Chamber.

One.

Two.

Three.

Sweat didn't drip down. Under the threefold gravity, it was slammed straight onto the floor, leaving tiny splashes. His hands trembled. They never stopped trembling.

After finishing the tenth push-up, he ate his second Senzu Bean of the day.

Then he continued.

The Gravity Chamber's control panel automatically recorded its logs. When Bulma saw the numbers on the remote monitor, she spat her coffee all over the keyboard.

"He trained for a full thirty minutes under three times normal gravity? And no one's even taught him how to control his ki yet?" She turned to Piccolo, seated beside her. "Are you sure this is a four-year-old?"

Piccolo didn't answer. He stared at the lines of data appearing on the screen, the curve of his mouth slowly deepening. A moment later, he stood up and left the room.

Late that night, Ji Ming lay in bed. Moonlight streamed through a small window in Kame House, illuminating the bandages on his arm. Chi-Chi sat by the bed, holding one of his hands. She hadn't fallen asleep. She was much quieter than she'd been during the day. The panic in her eyes had faded, replaced by a worry that was slowly settling in. She reached over and touched the blisters on his palm, then parted her lips as if to say something. In the end, she simply tucked his hand back under the blanket.

"Mom's really scared."

After a long silence, Chi-Chi finally spoke. Her voice sounded as if it had been carried a long way on the sea breeze.

"...But Mom will learn to accept it."

Ji Ming closed his eyes and pretended he was asleep. In truth, he was going over tomorrow's training plan from beginning to end in his head. He caught his breath, then remembered the crushing pressure he'd felt under three times normal gravity.

Too light.

Too light for what lay ahead.

Vegeta. Frieza. Cell. Majin Buu. Beerus. The Grand Priest. Zeno.

Three times normal gravity was just the first comma.

Outside, the sea rose and fell, its waves coming and going like the breathing of the world. Ji Ming buried his face in his pillow and clenched his fists.

He'd already taken the first step.

He had no way back, and he didn't want one.