Mount Paozu's night sky had no light pollution, and the Milky Way was as clear as a spilled ribbon of paint.
Gohan sat cross-legged in the open space outside the house, clutching an empty can of soda. He was not looking at the stars. He was looking at his own hand.
Before transmigrating, he had been a corporate drone, squeezing onto the subway every day, attending meetings, eating takeout, revising proposals. It had been as dull as plain boiled water, but at least everything had been predictable. He knew what he would do tomorrow, what he would do before retirement. The path of his life had already been drawn; all he had to do was walk along the line.
And now?
He had transmigrated into the world of Dragon Balls. He had Goku, who was called Dad, as his father, Vegeta as a rival, and Piccolo as an uncle—these were still within the scope of his "script." After all, he had read the original work and had been cheating with that knowledge all along.
But Perfect Cell was not in his script. In the original, Cell had had his chest punched through by him, his core shattered. There had been no Super Saiyan 2, no ultimate lifeform, none of that. Those learning vessels, that main node taking the initiative to attack... these were things outside the script.
His cheat had stopped working.
"You're zoning out."
Gohan turned his head. At some point, Goku had walked over and plopped down beside him. Dad handed him a can of soda.
"Thanks." Gohan took it, but did not open it.
Goku tipped his head back and took a gulp, looking at the Milky Way. "You've been sitting here since you came out of the Gravity Chamber. It's been half an hour. What are