A week passed after Vittli's return.
In that week, the atmosphere in the Brief estate subtly changed.
Vittli seemed determined to make up for his three-day disappearance. Apart from his unwavering morning gravity training, he spent almost all his remaining time glued to Bulma.
They went to the cinema holding hands, exchanged carefully chosen gifts, drove to scenic mountaintops to watch sunrise and sunset together.
At night, Bulma even set up romantic candlelit dinners on the estate's terrace.
It was sweet, and warm—but a full week of nothing but dates, and then being dragged by Bulma to "busy work" half the night afterward…
On a new morning, Vittli woke early and carefully propped himself up, afraid to disturb Bulma sleeping beside him.
Her blue hair spread across the pillow, face peaceful.
He slipped out of bed like a thief, dressed quietly, and tiptoed out.
The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, he exhaled like a man freed from chains.
Next second, he bolted for the gravity room like a runaway horse, leaving a blur in the morning mist.
Clack.
He locked the thick alloy door from inside.
"Training! I need training!"
Leaning against the cold metal, he felt the familiar pressure and grinned with relief.
Dating was mentally harder than doing ten thousand squats at 500x gravity. No contest.
Inside, he loosened up, eyes sharpening. He inhaled and willed a transformation—
Gold light burst out. A dense golden aura wrapped him; hair spiked into shining gold; green eyes gleamed calmly.
He intended to train in Super Saiyan state, hardening strength and mastering control, maybe even reaching "Full Power" where the aura was calm and the cost low.
But reality was cruel.
Five hundred times Earth's gravity poured down—
And in Super Saiyan form, it felt like… a mildly heavy jacket.
Not pressure. Not even warm-up.
Vittli clicked his tongue. The golden aura receded; hair returned to black.
"Yeah, no. Totally no pressure compared to base."
He reverted to normal, standing at center to feel the true mountain-crushing weight again. The familiar tightness, blood rushing, slow micro-growth—made him hum in satisfaction.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom.
Bulma's eyes opened quietly.
She listened to the faint, sneaky footsteps scurrying away… then the dull lock of the gravity room door.
"Pfft…"
She smothered a laugh into her pillow, shoulders quivering.
After a while, she rolled her eyes at the ceiling and muttered softly:
"Hmph. Stinky man. Training addict. Blockhead."
Then she snuggled down, satisfied in the warm bed that still held his heat, and drifted back to sleep with a faint smile.
Life returned to its rhythm: training, eating, Bulma.
But there was now a fixed extracurricular activity—regular visits to the Lookout.
To thank Popo for his crucial guidance last time, Vittli went all out. He had West City's top 2D craft master build an exquisite Shenron model from special alloy.
When he handed the shimmering gift to Popo on the plaza, the servant's dark, deadpan eyes seemed to brighten a fraction.
He still didn't say a word, but the way he accepted it carefully and traced its scales, then refused to let it out of his hands, showed absolute delight.
Kami watched this scene, then looked at Vittli—who had brought nothing for him.
Kami's wrinkled green face tightened.
He let out a heavy "Hmph!" and stalked away into the Lookout's depths with obvious irritation.
"Uh… what's with Kami?" Vittli asked Popo, baffled. (In his past life he'd just graduated college; this life, his brains had mostly become muscle.)
Popo hugged the dragon model, only shaking his head silently.
Vittli didn't dwell on it. He had another purpose.
"Mr. Popo, I want to keep training with you. I feel like my fine control still has a lot of room to grow."
Popo finally raised his head and gazed at him.
"What I can teach, I already taught last time. Clarity of mind. Harmony of power. Stability of foundation. The rest is your road to walk. For now, I have nothing new for you."
Then he turned and left, still cradling the model.
Vittli stood alone on the empty plaza, high wind cutting past him. After a long pause, he sighed.
"Looks like in the end… training can only rely on myself."
Time passed again—another quiet, full year.
One sunny afternoon, Bulma reclined under a parasol in summer clothes, flipping through a tech magazine.
Then a lively voice called from above:
"Hello! Is Vittli and Bulma here?"
Bulma looked up to see a golden cloud floating overhead, with Son Goku sitting on it.
He'd grown a little taller; his childishness had faded a bit. But his eyes were still clear as ever, smile broad and bright.
"Goku!" Bulma sat up in delight, waving. "What brings you here? Come down!"
Goku guided the Nimbus to the grass, then looked around curiously.
"Bulma! I finally found you!" he greeted eagerly, then craned his neck. "Does Vittli not live here? I can't sense his ki."
Hearing that he'd come for Vittli, Bulma didn't even get up. She flopped back lazily and pointed toward the huge metal building in the backyard.
"You're looking for Vittli? He's got a pretty cool new hairstyle now—his hair's gold. He's in there training. Just ring the bell."
"Golden hair?" Goku scratched his head, curious, and walked over.
He pressed the doorbell. "Ding-dong."
"Vittli! You in there?"
Inside, Vittli was in Full-Power Super Saiyan form, sitting cross-legged and hovering slightly. His golden aura burned gently like a tame flame, ki so calm it nearly merged with the room.
He opened his eyes when the bell and Goku's voice reached him through the alloy wall.
"Kakarot?" Vittli muttered, puzzled. "What's this kid doing here?"
He willed the aura away and walked to the door. The heavy metal slid aside.
"Goku? Why'd you come?"
Goku's eyes lit up like searchlights. He felt the abyss-deep pressure of Vittli's ki—just standing there made his body shiver instinctively.
"Whoa, you're so strong, Vittli!" Goku yelled, thrilled rather than scared. "Just standing in front of you makes me shake! That's awesome! How did you do that?"
Vittli reached out and pinched Goku's cheek hard. "Spit it out. Since when did you learn to flatter people?"
"Flatter?" Goku struggled, confused. "Is that some kind of horse meat?"
Vittli: "…"
He let go, rubbing his forehead. "Whatever. Say it. What's the real reason you came? Don't tell me you trekked over just to praise me."
Goku rubbed his reddened cheek, grinned, and clenched his fist full of battle spirit.
"I'm here to get you to join the World Martial Arts Tournament! Last time we didn't get to fight. I'm gonna beat you this time!"
Vittli looked him up and down with a crooked smile.
"Confident, Kakarot. But…" He tapped Goku's forehead. "With your current strength? Still far away, kid."
He pretended to pinch Goku again.
"Hey! Don't pinch my face!" Goku hopped back, pouting.
Vittli laughed, then said seriously, "I'm not entering this one."
"Ah? Why not?" Goku's excitement collapsed into disappointment.
"Because you guys are too weak," Vittli said with infuriating matter-of-factness. "Fighting you feels like bullying kindergarteners."
Seeing Goku's eyes dim, Vittli's tone shifted and a mischievous glint appeared.
"But since you're so motivated, I can help you get stronger. Want to try?"
"Huh?! I can get stronger?!" Goku's eyes flared back to life. "How?!"
Vittli turned and walked back into the gravity room, tossing the words over his shoulder:
"Wanna know? Follow me."
That evening, Bulma saw Vittli come out of the shower, hair damp, looking refreshed.
"Hey, why are you here alone? Where's Goku?"
"Goku?" Vittli dropped into a beach chair beside her, grabbed her half-finished juice, and gulped it. "He's in the gravity room training like his life depends on it. Tell the chef to make dinner for triple my usual appetite—otherwise that kid's gonna starve."
Bulma drew out her words with a teasing grin. "So if Goku's occupying your precious gravity room, what are you gonna do? Want me to haul out the first-gen one Dad made for you? It's old, but better than nothing."
Vittli leaned back comfortably, watching the sunset blaze across the horizon.
"No need."
His voice was calm, almost absolute. "At my level now, having or not having the gravity room doesn't matter much."
Bulma caught a faint stiffness in his words. She looked at him sharply.
"Hmm? What happened?"
Vittli met her gaze openly. "I… hit another bottleneck."
Bulma's face paled a little. She sat up, worry snapping tight. "Another bottleneck?! You're not going to vanish for days again, are you?!"
Vittli squeezed her cool hand gently, trying to reassure her with a smile.
"For now… probably not."
Then he added uncertainly, "But honestly… breaking bottlenecks sometimes needs a… trigger."
He paused, then told her his plan:
"Help me tomorrow."
"What do you need?"
"Call in some famous chefs and pastry masters. Bring them to the estate."
"Chefs?" Bulma blinked, then realized what he meant. She puffed her cheeks in mock annoyance.
This training maniac… thinking about food again instead of her?
But then she remembered how much he'd always indulged her, and the tiny irritation turned into helpless devotion.
She sighed, hooked her fingers through his, and said like she was resigning to fate:
"Fine, fine! Since you're my man. If you want to eat, eat. I'll make sure you're fully fed!"
Vittli chuckled, pulling her into his arms. "Not me eating—just an experiment. I'll tell you once it works tomorrow."
"Hmph." Bulma huffed, still pouting as she buried into his chest.
They lay together on the wide chair, watching the gold-red sky.
Vittli rested his chin on her hair, green eyes reflecting sunset and a quiet spark of anticipation.
"Hopefully tomorrow…" he murmured, voice dissolving into the soft sea breeze, "everything goes smoothly."