"My, my, what an impressive little boy!" Mrs. Briefs clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Your grandfather taught you martial arts, right? He must be an incredible master!"
Son Goku nodded seriously. "Yeah, Grandpa's super strong! His name's Son Gohan!"
"......"
Dr. Briefs and his wife exchanged a glance. The cigarette dangling from the doctor's lips nearly fell. This kid... might have some serious connections.
"Alright, I'm leaving for real this time!" Son Goku waved—now that Bulma's parents had found her, his job was done.
"Hey! Little monkey! What's your name?" Bulma called out from beside her mother.
Without turning, Son Goku shouted back: "I'm not a monkey! I'm Son Goku!"
"Son Goku..." Bulma muttered under her breath before huffing. "Still a monkey. You've even got a tail." Remembering how he'd gone completely limp when she grabbed it, she smirked. "Weird little monkey."
Her gaze dropped to the blue shirt tied around her waist, and her face flushed again. Looking up, she caught her mother's knowing smile and squeaked:
"MOM! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"
Mrs. Briefs simply chuckled.
Meanwhile, Dr. Briefs stared in the direction Son Goku had disappeared, murmuring, "Son Goku... So, the legendary Son Gohan really does have descendants?" As the disciple of his family's ancient master, this piqued his interest.
"Let's go, Little Pants," Dr. Briefs said, turning away.
"I HATE THAT NAME!" Bulma stomped her foot.
"But you said you didn't like 'Bulma' either," her father pointed out, confused.
Bulma wrestled internally over whether "Pants" or "Bulma" was worse before finally snapping: "THEY'RE BOTH TERRIBLE! YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AT NAMING THINGS AS GRANDPA!" She stormed off, fuming. Even "Son Goku" sounds better than this!
"This kid..." Dr. Briefs sighed.
---
Elsewhere...
Beneath a palm tree, Son Gohan stood motionless, his cat-faced mask shielding his identity. Passersby couldn't help but stare at the strange old man basking in the sunlight like some kind of martial arts hermit. But to him, the heat was nothing—just a soothing warmth that eased the flow of ki through his body.
Rooted like an ancient pine, he meditated, refining his martial essence in silence.
Then—
A shadow stretched across the ground beneath him, growing larger. The hum of machinery filled the air. Son Gohan smiled and looked up to see a sleek private aircraft hovering above the palm tree.
Crowds gasped. There was no landing space here—what was this thing doing?
The aircraft didn't land. Instead, its hatch slid open, and a stunning woman with long violet hair leaned out, her locks tousled by the wind. The mere glimpse of her flawless profile had men below drooling.
With a graceful motion, she pressed a button on the aircraft's exterior.
"That's a Capsule Corp flyer! What's she doing? This is dangerous!" someone shouted.
"Is she gonna fall?!"
BOOM!
The aircraft exploded into smoke, and in the blink of an eye, the woman's hand snatched the Capsule mid-air. Then—two figures descended gracefully, landing beneath the palm tree as if gravity meant nothing.
The crowd gawked at the silver-haired man holding the violet-haired beauty.
"Who's that guy? How'd he land a woman like that?"
"Probably some rich playboy!"
"Or maybe a gold-digger? Look at her clothes—you couldn't afford one of her heels in your lifetime!"
"Are you blind? That man just FLEW down with her! You think a martial artist like that needs money?!"
"Gohan, that mask... afraid someone might recognize you?" Hathaway teased, still arm-in-arm with Taro.
Behind the mask, Son Gohan chuckled. "Just here to show Goku the world's strongest fighters. Didn't want distractions."
"Tch. Troublesome." Taro shook his head. Muttering an incantation, he pressed his palm against the mask. After a few seconds, his fingers clenched—and the mask disintegrated into dust.
He flicked Son Gohan's forehead. "Hiding your face from your master? Disrespectful. Punishment deserved."
Son Gohan knew his master had cast a spell—no one would recognize him now. Glancing around, he confirmed it. Though some onlookers glared at Taro for disrespecting an elder. (Little did they know...)
"Since when does Master care about formalities?" Son Gohan stroked his beard, amused.
"Oh-ho... Been too long since we sparred, I see. Getting bold, aren't you?" Taro's grin turned dangerous, making Son Gohan sweat. "N-No, no! I wouldn't dare!"
Hathaway laughed at the exchange.
Just then, a self-righteous young martial artist pushed through the crowd, scowling at Taro's "disrespect." (Despite his silver hair and beard, Taro's youthful face made him seem like a rebellious punk.)
"Hey, you—"
Before he could finish, Taro turned and locked eyes with him, commanding:
"Turn around."
The words carried an irresistible force. The young man's expression went blank, and he mechanically turned and walked away, leaving the crowd stunned.
"...What kind of sorcery was that?" A short fighter in a white gi whispered to his companion. "Should we intervene?"