Bunshichi, a morally questionable 28-year-old playboy who dies and reincarnates as baby Goku while retaining his adult memories and consciousness. With no prior knowledge of Dragon Ball, he must navigate growing up as the legendary Saiyan hero while...
Each night, Goku had stayed up alone, training hard beneath the stars. More than anything, he focused on his greatest weakness—his tail. He put himself through brutal conditioning, working it past its limits until he passed out at sunrise. Every morning, Mai found him collapsed outside the vehicle, barely breathing, and quietly helped him back into the car without a word.
On the final morning before their arrival, Goku lay unconscious, his head resting in Mai’s lap. Oolong kept one hand on the wheel, the other hanging lazily out the window, as the car rumbled down the long stretch of rocky road.
“Why is he so obsessed?” Oolong muttered, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Did you see what he did to his tail?”
Bulma, sitting in the front passenger seat with her cheek in her hand, stared blankly out the window, clearly bored of the endless road. “He’s a freak, that’s why.”
Oolong frowned. “Why are you like that? He’s helping you find the Dragon Balls. You could at least pretend to care about his motives.”
“Shut up,” Bulma replied flatly.
In the back, Mai said nothing. Goku remained still in her lap, drenched in sweat, his breathing shallow.
Silently, Mai reached down and gently wrapped her fingers around his tail. It was swollen, the fur patchy in places, hardened from constant impact training. She held it delicately, her expression softening as if she could feel the pain he’d endured through it. Her thumb rubbed it slowly—instinctively—trying to soothe him.
Hours passed.
The midday sun beat down on the car. A droplet of sweat formed on Mai’s collarbone, traced a line down her chest, and slid across the curve of her right breast before falling—plop—onto Goku’s nose.
His eyes blinked open.
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All he could see, at first, was the shape of her breasts blocking the light. He squinted, confused, his vision still hazy. Then Mai leaned forward and looked down at him with a small, peaceful smile.
“Morning,” she said softly.
Goku wiped his face with the back of his hand and groaned. “Sup...”
He sat up slowly, still sweating, stretching his arms with a yawn. “Why is it so damn hot?”
Goku leaned against the window, squinting at the scenery outside. Rocky trails snaked through rolling green hills, and palm trees bent gently in the wind—but in the distance, a red-orange glow distorted the horizon.
From the front seat, Oolong kept his hands on the wheel, squinting ahead. “It’s because we’re getting close to Frypan Mountain,” he said, then pointed into the distance. “Ten years ago, a flame fell from the heavens and set that whole place ablaze. Since then, the weather’s been like this—hot, dry, cursed.”
