Orange Looks Good

In the northwestern wasteland, even the wind was scorching.

The gravel on the surface was baked bone-white by the blazing sun. Piccolo lay sprawled in a searing sand pit like a dehydrated fish, his lungs wheezing like a bellows. His green skin was covered in a crisscross of bruises.

Over the past half-month, this noble son of Piccolo Daimao had truly experienced what a living hell felt like.

The mysterious masked man in the red-cloud robe appeared at random every day, treating him like a punching bag for a one-sided beating.

At first, Piccolo thought it was mere torture, but after half a month of brutal thrashings, he finally grasped the method behind this training.

Every attack from the cloaked figure was precise enough to shatter the ki he had just gathered. This forced Piccolo to lock his ki deep within his body, forming a high-density internal circulation for defense, not daring to let even a sliver leak out.

Beyond just taking hits, Piccolo had tried to fight back, but without exception, he couldn't even touch the hem of the man's robe. Any ki blast or strike he launched felt like hitting thin air, finding no point of impact.

It was noon that day.

Piccolo sat cross-legged in the ruins, eyes closed, focusing all his attention on the flow of his cells and ki.

Swish!

A faint sound of air being torn apart echoed above his head.

"The Daimao's reflexes are still as slow as a rock!"

A foot clad in a cloth shoe descended with heavy wind pressure, aiming straight for the top of his head.

Piccolo rolled aside to dodge. He glared at the cloaked figure in mid-air, fire burning in the depths of his eyes.

"Yo, you actually dodged it?!" Son Goku hovered in the air, intentionally provoking him. "Daimao, you shout every day about avenging your father, but what makes you any different from the bugs crawling by my feet right now?"

"You're asking for death!" Piccolo gritted his teeth.

"Struck a nerve? Hurt your little heart?" Son Goku crossed his arms, continuing to strike precisely at his pride. "Look at your moves, full of holes; you can't even touch me. Unless... you could become as big as a mountain and crush all my room for evasion with a single slap. Too bad, bugs can't turn into mountains!"

These words hit like a heavy hammer, smashing into Piccolo's contemplative mind.

As big as a mountain? Seal off all space?

Piccolo froze. The Namekian instincts sealed deep within his bloodline were thoroughly awakened by Son Goku's deliberate words.

"Fine! If I can't hit you, I'll crush you with my size!"

A flash of ruthlessness crossed Piccolo's eyes. He stopped releasing his ki outward and instead forced it deep into his bones and muscles.

"Hraaaah!"

Amidst his roar, Piccolo naturally formed hand seals, and his body began to glow with a strange luster. Immediately after, his two-meter-tall frame began to swell violently!

His bones elongated and his muscles surged. In the span of just two or three breaths, Piccolo had forcibly grown to seven or eight meters tall, standing on the wasteland like a green demon god.

His arms, thick as water vats, swept through the air with a gale, slamming toward Son Goku from both sides like two heavy iron gates.

He had completely sealed off all paths of retreat.

Son Goku, suspended in mid-air, raised an eyebrow. Although this giant form was still somewhat clumsy, it was indeed a powerful weapon—just not against him.

BOOM!

The two massive palms slammed together in mid-air, the resulting shockwave blowing away all the surrounding sand and dirt.

Piccolo panted heavily, staring fixedly between his hands, thinking that guy had been flattened into a meat patty. However, the sensation against his palms felt as hard as if he were clamping down on a piece of divine iron.

"Your brain works fast. Using a racial talent to expand your strike zone to force a compensation for the speed gap." The voice from beneath the red-cloud robe drifted out slowly.

Piccolo was shocked. He slowly opened his hands to see that detestable figure bracing against his millstone-sized palms, not even out of breath, his clothes without a single wrinkle.

"But, when your size increases, your openings grow just as large."

As soon as he finished speaking, Son Goku turned into a blur. Before Piccolo could even retract his arms, he took a solid kick to his massive abdomen.

"Gah!"

Piccolo spat out bile. His giant body deflated like a punctured ball, instantly shrinking back to its original size as he collapsed powerlessly to the ground.

Son Goku landed lightly in front of Piccolo. Looking at the pale-faced demon king, his voice returned to its calm tone.

"The giant form is a decent trump card, but in front of a true powerhouse, it's just a bulky, living target." Son Goku looked down at him.

"True evolution isn't about expanding the body, but compressing it inward, training that vast energy until it undergoes a qualitative change."

Piccolo clutched his stomach, staring at the face hidden beneath the hood, and asked through gritted teeth, "What exactly are you trying to say..."

"You really know nothing about the foundations of the Namekian race." Son Goku shoved his hands into his pockets. "You created the Dragon Balls, yet you only know how to use them to satisfy those boring wishes."

Piccolo was stunned. "Dragon Balls..."

"Since Shenron can grant wishes, why haven't you ever thought about having that dragon help you unlock the potential hidden deep within your bloodline?" Son Goku watched Piccolo's pupils constrict.

"Breaking the shackles of your genes, making your body as hard as steel, allowing your muscles to expand to their limit without losing a shred of speed... that is the path you should be taking."

Before Piccolo could digest these words, Son Goku dropped another bombshell.

"Besides, your ki is too crude right now, and incomplete." Son Goku pointed toward the blue sky above.

"You always feel empty inside, right? If you get the chance, go up to the sky and take a look. Go meet that old guy in the Lookout; perhaps then you will understand who you really are."

Piccolo's breathing became completely erratic.

Potential?

Incomplete?

People from the heavens?

Not only did Afei crush him in terms of raw power, but every word he spoke was incomprehensible, as if he understood everything. Piccolo felt as though his identity as the Demon King's son was nothing more than a blank, transparent sheet of paper in front of him.

Watching Piccolo question his entire existence in the mud pit, Son Goku knew he had pushed him just enough for today.

"Remember, don't make revenge your only goal, and stop obsessing over destroying the world. Sometimes... watching a kid grow up is actually quite interesting!"

Son Goku turned around, his cape snapping in the wind.

"Oh, and one more piece of advice."

Son Goku tilted his head, his tone laced with a hint of teasing, "This green skin does get a bit monotonous after a while. Maybe when you truly break through your limits, turning orange might look pretty good on you."

With that, Son Goku pressed two fingers to his forehead.

Whoosh!

The wasteland returned to silence.

Only Piccolo remained, slumped in the ruins, his mind frantically echoing with the words "Shenron," "heavens," and "orange." The heart that had once been filled only with vengeance had been forcibly pried open, revealing a doorway to a new world.