Three Million

The heavy stone door ground shut behind him with a dull clatter of meshing gears. The Hyperbolic Time Chamber was completely sealed.

As the last sliver of the gap closed, the colors of the outside world, the sound of the wind, even the faintest noise of moving air were instantly cut off completely.

Son Goku looked up.

There was no horizon, no color; even the concept of space itself was blurred. Other than the solitary living quarters behind him, his vision contained nothing but suffocating, pure white emptiness.

The air was so thin it felt as though it were draining his lungs dry.

The moment he stepped out of the living quarters' shadow, the temperature abruptly soared. Scorching waves of heat rushed at him, and every breath brought a searing pain to his lungs.

Gravity ten times stronger than Earth's bore down on him. Compared to Capsule Corporation's gravity chambers, which could reach over a hundred times normal gravity, this number seemed insignificant. Yet this gravity carried an eerie viscosity. It did not merely crush his bones and flesh—it was like an invisible net cinching tightly around his consciousness, wildly magnifying the instinctive loneliness and despair within the absolute silence.

"Air pressure, gravity, extremes of ice and fire... and sensory deprivation bad enough to drive someone insane."

Son Goku took off his jacket and casually draped it over the steps. Bare-chested, he strode into that lifeless expanse of white, fervor blazing in his eyes.

"It feels harsher than it did in the original story, but it really is a perfect place to temper the very source of life."

He sat cross-legged several dozen meters from the living quarters, slowly closed his eyes, and began to meditate.

His true training to achieve a leap in battle power had begun.

By day, the heat could squeeze every drop of moisture from the earth.

By night, the temperature would plunge below freezing without warning, until even his blood seemed to sting with frost.

Son Goku did not use ki to resist the temperature shifts. Instead, he completely dropped his body's defenses and let the extreme environment scour every inch of his flesh.

As his body repeatedly teetered on the verge of collapse, the survival instinct buried deep within his Saiyan genes fully awakened. His cells were reborn amid destruction, growing greedier and tougher with every cycle.

Yet within that white purgatory, where even the coordinates of time had lost meaning, the most agonizing thing was never the body—it was the mind's descent into disorder.

Earth's martial arts traditions emphasized cultivating the mind, and now their edge finally showed.

The more extreme the world around him became, the clearer his mind grew. The vast ki within him became invisible hands, meticulously crushing and sorting through the frenzy and brutality produced by his Saiyan genes as they reorganized, before refining them into his newborn bones and blood.

With no alternation between day and night, time became an absurd concept. Son Goku forgot exhaustion, his entire body seeming to turn into a silent stone statue that completely merged with this void.

Who knew how long had passed before the physiological alarm of surpassing his limits forcibly interrupted his meditation.

The extreme reconstruction of his body brought terrifying consumption. His stomach convulsed as though knives were carving through it. The overwhelming hunger rising from the depths of his cells, nearly devouring his sanity, made even lifting his eyelids feel difficult.

Son Goku slowly opened his eyes. His once-full cheeks had sunken deeply inward, and his cracked lips were bleeding, but his black eyes shone with startling brilliance.

Unable to rise, he tremblingly reached into the coarse cloth pouch at his waist and pulled out a plump Senzu Bean. He did not even have the strength to bite it apart, so he slowly swallowed it whole.

Not long afterward.

A vast, pure life force surged into his dried-up limbs and bones like sweet rain after a long drought.

His bleeding organs instantly reformed, and his shriveled muscles swelled again as though inflated, regaining their resilient contours. At the same time, the hunger vanished completely, replaced by a deep feeling of fullness.

All traces of fatigue were gone. He was restored to full strength.

Hoo—

Son Goku let out a long breath, casually wiped the blood scab from the corner of his mouth, then closed his eyes again. He allowed his body to become a cold stone statue and continued sinking into the boundless void.

At the same time, outside—Kami's Lookout plaza.

The stone door had been closed for less than half a day, but to Kami standing outside it, every second was torment.

Kami collapsed weakly onto the white marble steps, his staff of authority tossed aside. He looked up at the peaceful sky, but his gaze was terrifyingly hollow.

"Mr. Popo, did this old man make the wrong choice?" Kami's voice was hoarse, unable to conceal his exhaustion.

Mr. Popo stood quietly nearby, compassion showing in his jade-like eyes. "Lord Kami, you had no room to choose. That Saiyan's strength has already exceeded the limit this planet can bear."

"Saiyan..." Kami painfully closed his eyes, ancient records about that warrior race surfacing in his mind.

"Brutal by nature, delighting in slaughter and conquest—the most unreasonable bandits in the universe."

"But that young man seems different." Kami abruptly opened his eyes, a complicated light flickering in his clouded pupils. "He acts domineeringly, yet he has not harmed the innocent. He released the Demon King, yet only used him as a whetstone for Earth's martial artists..."

Kami clenched his withered fist, his nails digging into his palm.

"If what he said about the coming era is true, if there really are monsters that even he finds troublesome..." Kami's body trembled slightly.

"Then Earth truly has no ability to resist at all."

Mr. Popo stepped forward and gently placed the staff back in Kami's hand.

"My lord, since fate has been placed in his hands, all we can do is trust him." Mr. Popo's voice remained calm.

"Though he is very strong, I do not think he has any desire to destroy this planet. Besides, his girlfriend is an Earthling."

Kami accepted the staff and shakily rose to his feet, casting one long look at the tightly closed stone door.

The lower world.

A barren canyon shrouded in wind and sand year-round, where not a single blade of grass grew.

Bang!

A berserk Tyrannosaurus as large as a heavy truck let out a miserable wail. Its enormous body crashed to the ground, making the earth tremble. In the center of its skull was a bloody hole punched clean through from front to back, its edges scorched black.

Amid the billowing dust, a green-skinned youth clad in tattered cloth slowly withdrew two fingers still trailing smoke.

Only a few days had passed since he hatched, yet thanks to the absurd cell division speed of the Demon Clan, his body—supposedly that of an infant—had already grown to the size of a human child of seven or eight.

The Demon King's son—Piccolo.

He panted heavily as purple-black blood dripped from the backs of his hands, which were covered in sharp nails. This was the tenth ferocious beast he had hunted alone today, every battle a brush with death.

Looking at the fallen behemoth, Piccolo had wanted to throw back his head and roar in victory. But the instant he opened his mouth, the shadow branded deep into his soul by his bloodline surged forth without warning.

That black-haired youth who had stood amid raging wind and rain without so much as a wrinkle in his clothes.

With nothing but the backlash of his aura, he had crippled his father's right arm, then ended everything with a casual kick.

"Urgh—!"

Piccolo's roar caught in his throat, turning into a pained groan. His legs began trembling uncontrollably. It was fear rooted in the deepest level of his genes—the terror of facing an absolute apex predator.

Cold sweat soaked through his clothes in an instant.

"No... I can't be afraid! I am a noble Demon Clan member! I came here for revenge!"

Piccolo bit his lip hard until blood seeped out, forcibly driving away that suffocating shudder with pain. He abruptly turned and walked over to a massive rock baked scorching hot by the sun, then sat cross-legged atop it.

If fear could not be erased, then he would crush it and turn it into nourishment for becoming stronger!

Piccolo shut his eyes tightly and forced himself to recall the scene of his father's tragic death, allowing that helpless despair to rage through his body. He continuously compressed and refined the emotion until it became demonic energy filled with destruction and venomous hatred, rampaging wildly through his meridians.

The wild wind across the wasteland lifted his purple turban. This Demon Clan sapling, carrying the hatred of a bygone era, was undergoing a frenzied transformation into a monster at a terrifying speed.

Kami's Lookout, plaza.

As the sun rose and set, only a single day had passed in the outside world.

Kami and Mr. Popo stood guard before the stone door without leaving so much as a step. As the agreed time drew near, cold sweat seeped into Kami's palm around his staff.

Rumble—

A dull sound of turning gears came from within the heavy stone door.

Kami instinctively stepped back half a pace, every muscle taut to the limit. He had no idea what peerless fiend would emerge from behind that door.

The pressure valve opened, and a murky wave of scorching heat blasted out through the crack.

The mist dispersed.

Son Goku walked out of the shadows with steady steps.

He still wore the same martial arts uniform he had entered in, though the fabric had become tattered from the brutal tempering. His body had not become bulging and muscular as Kami had expected; instead, it appeared even more slender and well-proportioned.

But as a god, Kami's instincts screamed a warning. Beneath that shell lurked a vast, boundless ocean of power that filled him with despair!

"Y-you... your strength now..." Kami's voice trembled.

Son Goku stopped and slightly raised his right hand, glancing at his evenly proportioned palm.

This year of torment had been far crueler than expected. Yet under the deathly tempering of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, where there had been no way out, the Saiyan bloodline had been squeezed again and again, thoroughly forcing his current combat power to its absolute limit.

Son Goku did not answer Kami's question. He merely curled his five fingers into a fist.

He did not release any aura, yet the instant he clenched his fist, the space within several meters of him made a series of faint cracking sounds, as though unable to bear the strain.

Three million!

He had crossed an entire, despair-inducing tier. This was also the combat power Son Goku possessed when he fought Frieza on Namek in the original story. And only one final opportunity remained before the golden legend known as the Super Saiyan.

"Thank you for the place, Kami. I'm very satisfied!"