Orange Looks Pretty Good

The wind was scorching across the northwestern wasteland.

The shattered rocks on the ground had been bleached white by the blazing sun. Piccolo lay sprawled in a steaming sandpit like a fish out of water, his lungs wheezing like bellows and bruises crisscrossing his green skin.

For the past half month, the exalted son of Piccolo Daimao had experienced firsthand what it meant to be in a living hell.

The mysterious masked man in a red-cloud cloak appeared at random every day and beat him one-sidedly, treating him like a punching bag.

At first, Piccolo thought it was simply torture. But after half a month of brutal beatings, he had finally figured out the method behind this training.

Every attack from the cloaked man precisely dispersed the ki Piccolo had just drawn up. This forced Piccolo to keep his ki locked deep inside, forming a high-density defensive circulation. He didn't dare let even the slightest bit escape.

Besides taking a beating, Piccolo had also tried to fight back. Without exception, he couldn't even touch the other man's clothes. Every energy blast, punch, and kick passed through him as if striking empty air.

At noon that day,

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

Whoosh!

A faint sound of something cutting through the air rang out above him.

"The Great Demon King's reflexes are still as slow as a rock!"

A foot in a cloth shoe came straight down toward his head, trailing a heavy gust of wind.

Piccolo rolled aside and avoided it. He glared at the cloaked man hovering in the air, his eyes blazing.

"Oh, you actually dodged?!" Son Goku floated in midair, deliberately goading him. "Demon King, you're always yelling about avenging your father, but what's the difference between you and the bug at my feet?"

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

"Did I hit a nerve? Hurt your little heart?" Son Goku folded his arms and continued to strike at his pride. "Look at those moves of yours, full of openings. You can't even touch me. Unless... you can become as big as a mountain and crush away every space I could dodge into. Too bad bugs can't become mountains!"

His words struck Piccolo's pensive mind like a heavy hammer.

As big as a mountain? Seal off every opening?

Piccolo froze. Son Goku's deliberately chosen words had awakened the Namekian instinct buried deep in his blood.

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

A fierce glint flashed in Piccolo's eyes. Instead of letting his ki flow outward, he forced it deep into his bones and muscles.

"Graaah!"

As he roared, Piccolo instinctively formed a hand seal, and an unusual sheen spread across his body. Then his body, already over two meters tall, began to swell violently!

His bones stretched and his muscles bulged. In just a few breaths, Piccolo had grown to seven or eight meters tall, looming over the wasteland like a green demon god.

His arms, each as thick as a barrel, swept through the air with a fierce gale. He brought them down from either side, slamming them together around Son Goku in midair like two massive iron gates.

He had sealed off every avenue of escape.

Son Goku raised an eyebrow. Giant Form still looked a little clumsy, but it was certainly a powerful trump card—just not against him.

Boom!

Piccolo's enormous palms slammed together in midair, and the resulting shockwave swept all the sand and dirt from the surrounding area.

Piccolo panted heavily and stared between his hands, certain he had crushed the guy into a pulp. But the sensation in his palms was as hard as if he were squeezing a piece of divine metal.

"Pretty quick thinking. You used your racial talent to increase your attack range and make up for the speed difference." The voice from beneath the red-cloud cloak came slowly.

Piccolo jolted. He slowly opened his hands and saw the detestable figure bracing himself against his enormous palms. The man wasn't even breathing hard, and his clothes didn't have a single wrinkle.

"But when you get bigger, your openings get bigger too."

The moment the words left his mouth, Son Goku became a blur. Piccolo hadn't even had time to pull back his arms before a solid kick struck him in the stomach.

"Ugh!"

Piccolo spat up a mouthful of sour liquid. His enormous body shrank back to its original size like a deflating balloon, and he collapsed helplessly to the ground.

Son Goku landed lightly in front of Piccolo. Looking down at the demon king, whose face was pale as paper, he spoke in his usual calm voice.

"Giant Form is a decent trump card, but against a true powerhouse, it just makes you a lumbering, living target." Son Goku looked down at him.

"True evolution doesn't mean making your body bigger. It means compressing inward and refining immense energy until it undergoes a qualitative change."

Piccolo clutched his stomach and glared at the face hidden beneath the hood. Gritting his teeth, he asked, "What exactly are you trying to say...?"

"You really don't know a thing about the potential of the Namekian race." Son Goku put his hands in his pockets. "You created the Dragon Balls, but all you know is how to use them to grant those pointless wishes."

Piccolo froze. "The Dragon Balls..."

"If Shenron can grant wishes, why haven't you ever thought to ask him to draw out all the potential hidden in your blood?" Son Goku watched Piccolo's pupils contract.

"Break through the shackles of your genes. Make your body as hard as steel, and let your muscles reach their absolute limit without costing you even a bit of speed... That's the path your people should be taking."

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

"Besides, your ki is too crude and incomplete." Son Goku pointed up at the blue sky.

"You feel like something's missing inside, don't you? If you get the chance, go up into the sky and have a look. Go meet that old guy at the Lookout. Maybe you'll understand who you really are."

Piccolo's breathing fell completely out of rhythm.

Potential?

Incomplete?

Someone in the sky?

This Afei didn't just overwhelm him with strength; every word he said was just as bewildering, as if he knew everything. Piccolo felt that, in front of him, his identity as the demon king's son was as transparent as a blank sheet of paper.

Watching Piccolo lie in the mud, questioning his entire life, Son Goku knew he had said enough for today.

"Remember, don't make revenge your only goal, and stop thinking about destroying the world all the time. Sometimes... helping a little kid grow up can be pretty interesting, too!"

Son Goku turned away, his cloak snapping in the wind.

"Oh, one more thing."

Son Goku glanced back, a teasing note in his voice. "That green skin of yours does get a little monotonous after a while. When you finally break through your limits someday, maybe orange will look pretty good on you."

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

Whoosh!

The wasteland fell silent once more.

Only Piccolo remained, slumped among the ruins, the words "Shenron," "the sky," and "orange" echoing wildly in his mind. The heart that had once held nothing but thoughts of revenge had been forcibly cracked open, revealing a door to a whole new world.