Deep in space, in the Realm of the God of Destruction, time seemed to flow more slowly.
The air was so saturated with pure energy that even breathing felt like a massage.
The Oracle Fish floated lazily in its tank above a grassy field, enjoying rare peace.
It was secretly chewing snacks it had hidden so Whis wouldn't swipe them.
"Whis actually went out? That's a surprise…"
It smacked its lips contentedly. "Every time I hide something tasty, he still finds it! Whis, you big bully. Hmph!"
Just as it grumbled, a gentle, teasing voice appeared beside it like a ghost.
"Oh? Oracle Fish-san… so this is what you say about me when I'm not around?"
"Pfft—!"
The Oracle Fish nearly spat its snacks everywhere.
It stiffly turned.
Whis was already standing there, smiling serenely, purple eyes locked on the not-yet-hidden snack bag.
The fish froze, sighed in defeat, and fished out a nicer pack from nowhere, trembling as it handed it over.
"Here. Don't hold a grudge, okay? That's my last one!"
Before he could respond, it flicked its tail—
whoosh—gone.
"Ho ho ho~"
Whis chuckled, pocketed the snacks, and turned to Vitelli behind him, who looked awestruck.
"Fast, isn't it? Destruction Realm creatures are quite something."
Vitelli nodded sincerely. "Even a fish here is terrifying."
Whis cleared his throat, wearing a teacher's seriousness now.
"Alright, Vitelli-san. Welcome officially to the Realm of the God of Destruction. This will be your main training ground for some time. Now…"
He tapped the staff on the grass.
"Are you ready?"
Vitelli's eyes sharpened. His muscles tensed, aura rippling as he braced for some grand trial.
Whis only smiled faintly. The staff's crystal flickered.
A pressure beyond imagination crashed down on Vitelli.
It wasn't from outside. It felt like every cell, every bone, every drop of blood in his body had been multiplied in weight countless times.
Vitelli had no time to react. He groaned, knees buckled, and slammed face-first onto the grass.
He couldn't lift even a finger.
His skeleton creaked under strain. Blood felt thick. Breathing became agony.
His white aura sputtered out like a candle. Even flaring his ki was impossible.
This was thousands—millions—of times more brutal than Bulma's gravity room. A straight dimensional crush.
"Don't worry," Whis said warmly, as if it were nothing.
"This is only the most basic adaptation training. It isn't a fixed multiplier—it's automatically tailored to your current limit. Now…"
He tapped again. A plain gray stone the size of a washbasin appeared in front of Vitelli's head.
"I need you to adapt to this state, then lift this stone and move it freely."
Whis pointed casually. "You may begin."
Then he turned away, conjured an elegant tea set, and sat at a stone table not far off, sipping tea while watching like he'd queued up a show.
"Wh… Whis…"
Vitelli forced sound through clenched teeth. Sweat poured from his forehead, neck, back, soaking his outfit.
"How many times gravity is this?! I… can't even move…"
Whis poured water into the teapot, not looking up.
"Multiplier? Hmm… I don't know. I told you—it's tailored to your limit. Don't worry about details. The result matters, Vitelli-san. Ho ho ho~"
Vitelli wanted to scream. His body could barely think.
He tried to gather the tiniest shred of strength to move the stone.
He couldn't even raise a finger a millimeter.
To him now, that stone was a mountain.
He stopped wasting strength on the stone and chose the dumbest—yet most effective—method.
Start with raw bodily adaptation.
He clenched his teeth, poured all remaining controllable power into his arms and core.
"Hngh…!"
A guttural roar escaped him. With everything he had, he lifted his chest a few centimeters off the ground. His arms shook violently.
But he didn't stop.
Once. Twice. Three times…
Every lift felt impossible; every drop made his blood churn. Sweat pooled into a puddle on the grass.
Whis took a sip of tea, watching with a pleased smile.
"Vitelli-san is clever. You found the right direction quickly."
Vitelli nearly choked.
He turned his head with a tortured stare.
"Whis… I'm not three years old. You don't have to praise me so sarcastically!"
"Ah, ah," Whis waved earnestly.
"I'm serious. You know, long ago when I trained Lord Beerus, he…"
Whis looked nostalgic—and amused.
"He spent three whole days trying to 'deal with' a stone like that. Every trick. Even tried to blow it apart. He exhausted himself and the stone didn't budge. Only after collapsing did he realize that when your foundation isn't there, trying to leap over obstacles in one step is foolish."
Vitelli could see the scene vividly—Beerus raging at a rock for three days. It was too beautiful.
He said nothing more. He swallowed Whis's words, lowered his head again, and returned to the most primitive, punishing basics.
One. Two…
Ten thousand.
Thirty thousand.
Every lift tore muscle fibers and rebuilt them anew.
Time lost meaning. Only sweat dripping and Vitelli's bellows of breath filled the calm realm.
Back on Earth, West City, at the Briefs' estate:
First day without Vitelli—miss him.
Second day without Vitelli—miss him more.
Third… Bulma had lost count.
She sat alone in a wicker chair in the backyard. The tea on her table had gone cold long ago.
Her gaze was unfocused, fixed on the old first-generation gravity room Dr. Brief had built years ago.
Its scuffed metal shell glinted dully in the sunset.
In her mind, a scene kept playing:
The thick alloy door would hiss open.
Vitelli would step out fresh from a shower, towel over one shoulder, rubbing his spiky, wet hair, wearing that lazy, slightly roguish smile as he walked toward her…
She shook her head hard, snapping herself out of it.
"Idiot…"
She murmured, not sure who she was scolding.
"It hasn't been that long. He can't possibly be back already."
Her reason knew he was in the Destruction Realm, training. He couldn't just pop back.
But longing twisted around her heart like vines.
Right then—
A real hiss sounded from the gravity room.
The door slid open.
Bulma's heart dropped and soared at once.
She shot up, eyes locked on the doorway, joy bursting in her chest—
Then the person stepping out was not Vitelli.
It was Dr. Brief, messy blue hair, a huge wrench in hand.
"Dad?"
Bulma's joy froze into disappointment and confusion.
"What are you doing in there?"
Dr. Brief pushed his glasses up, wandered over, and chugged her cold tea in big gulps before sighing.
"Whew… tired. That new gravity room you built for Vitelli got wrecked, didn't it?"
He pointed his wrench at the old machine.
"I'm upgrading this one, seeing if I can push the gravity higher. Otherwise when Vitelli comes back and finds nothing to train with, he'll complain again."
Bulma remembered then—the gravity room she'd poured her heart into had been destroyed in that beam clash, along with the estate.
Mixed feelings surged.
Then something in her clicked.
She sprang up, hands on hips, eyes blazing with fresh, scientific fire.
"Don't upgrade the old one, Dad!"
Her voice rang with certainty.
"The old design is outdated! The ceiling is too low, efficiency too poor! I'm redesigning it. I'm building Vitelli a brand-new, era-defining gravity room. Stronger. Higher gravity. More stable energy. Real-time vitals monitoring and extreme-limit safety systems. Yes—exactly that!"
She grew more excited by the second, blueprint already forming in her head.
Dr. Brief blinked, then smiled in proud approval at the familiar genius spark in his daughter's eyes.
"Mm. Sounds good. Let me know what materials or tech you need."
In his mind, his thoughts drifted:
Tights is off in space collecting material for her novels again—something about submitting to a publisher named Tomato on another planet. Now Bulma's the only daughter left at home… When is Vitelli going to propose? My wife and I have been waiting for grandkids forever…
With her father's support, Bulma dashed into her lab.
The huge holographic screens lit up. Equations, structural diagrams, energy models poured like waterfalls.
She plunged in—forgetting time, fatigue, even… longing.
She had one goal:
Build the strongest gravity room in the universe worthy of that training maniac.
Time flowed.
In the Destruction Realm, beneath crushing pressure and sweat.
In Bulma's lab, under sleepless lights.
As if in a blink, three months had passed since Vitelli left Earth.
The 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai arrived on schedule at Papaya Island.
Without Vitelli, the tournament returned to being a peak clash among mortals.
Bulma got the notice from Goku and the others, but with Vitelli gone, attending alone felt hollow.
She watched the whole thing by live broadcast in her cozy living room.
It was still exciting. Fighters showed off their skills.
Tien and Chiaotzu's Crane School looked formidable. Krillin had improved fast.
But the champion, unsurprisingly, was Son Goku—who had been sneaking to the Briefs' estate to train in gravity, rocketing in strength.
Tien pushed himself in the finals, even unveiling the Tri-Beam.
Yet he still lost to Goku's power, speed, and Kamehameha—accepting defeat sincerely.
The tournament's noise faded and the world seemed calm again.
But beneath that calm, an evil dormant for centuries began to stir.
A month later, on a desolate beach far from civilization:
Emperor Pilaf, Mai, and Shu stood frowning around a battered rice cooker plastered with fading talismans.
"Emperor Pilaf!" Mai cried, trembling.
"You have to think this through! That thing seals the Demon King Piccolo—the monster who nearly destroyed the world! You can't peel that talisman! If he gets out, we're doomed! We haven't even conquered the world yet—don't get us killed first!"
"Mai, you're too timid!" Shu argued.
"This is our chance! If we free him, we can negotiate! Let him conquer the world for us, then bargain for our share! That's way faster than hunting Dragon Balls! It's now or never!"
"Shu, you're playing with fire!" Mai stomped.
"Mai, you're blocking our emperor's destiny!" Shu snapped back.
"Enough!!!"
Pilaf's head was about to explode.
He threw both hands out to stop them.
"Both of you—QUIET—!"
In his flailing, his fingertip snagged the frail talisman—
Rip.
It tore free.
BZZZ—!!!
The rice cooker shook violently.
Blinding purple light burst from the lid seam.
A tidal wave of evil, suffocating destruction rolled across the beach.
"AAAH!! Emperor Pilaf!!"
Mai screamed in despair. She snatched Pilaf in one hand, Shu in the other, and sprinted at top speed.
BOOOOM—!!!!!
A colossal blast detonated.
The purple shockwave caught them instantly, hurling all three into the sky like meteors.
Their screams trailed into the horizon.
Smoke and purple energy dissipated.
A gaunt, ancient green figure stood calmly in the crater.
He stared at his wrinkled hands, then at the long-lost sky.
After a stunned beat, ecstasy and hatred erupted like a volcano.
"Uwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!"
King Piccolo's laughter rolled like thunder.
"I'm out! I'm finally out!!"
He spread his arms wide.
"Mutaito! You rotten old trash! You thought sealing me could kill me? Dream on!!"
"And YOU!"
He glared upward as if piercing the heavens.
"You coward who wouldn't die with me!!"
"I, King Piccolo, have returned!!"
His aura surged, stirring the clouds into chaos.
"Tremble, Earth! Soon the whole planet will kneel at my feet! I'll make you all taste despair deeper than my centuries of imprisonment! Hahahahahaha!!"
High above Korin Tower, in the cloud-wrapped Lookout:
The aged Guardian stood at the edge, staff in hand.
His cloudy gaze "saw" the scene of Piccolo's escape.
His face held no fear, no rage—only calm relief.
Even a faint, freeing smile.
"So… the day has come."
His voice was thin, ancient.
"Sooner than I expected."
He turned to Mr. Popo behind him.
"When I die… the position of Guardian will pass to Vitelli."
"Guardian!"
Mr. Popo's usually unreadable face cracked with visible emotion—worry, and something like sorrow.
He wanted to object. Re-sealing Piccolo wasn't impossible. The Guardian didn't have to die.
But the Guardian lifted a hand gently, stopping him.
"No more, Popo."
His eyes were deep and unwavering.
"This is fate. Piccolo and I are two halves of one whole. His existence is my greatest sin. Only my death can end his evil for good and bring true peace. Sealing was only a stopgap. This day was inevitable."
He closed his eyes.
Vitelli… I hope my choice is right. Earth's future needs strength… I'm counting on you.
Recently, the Guardian had tried to sense Vitelli's ki again and again.
But it was gone—vanished without a trace.
That left a gnawing worry.
Has he left Earth? Or gone somewhere even I cannot sense?
If Vitelli wasn't here—or refused the role—then…
"Popo," the Guardian said sternly, opening his eyes again.
"Go to the Briefs' estate in West City. Find Miss Bulma. Ask if Vitelli is still on Earth, or where he went. Tell him he must come to the Lookout—this concerns Earth… and the future of his girlfriend's family."
"Yes, Guardian."
Popo bowed deeply and departed on his flying carpet toward West City.
In the Destruction Realm, Vitelli was still "sparring" Whis—
But really, it was brutal one-sided dodge training.
Whis moved like a phantom. His staff flicked, poked, swept at angles that sealed every escape.
Vitelli compressed his ki, body a streak of light, struggling through the web of staff afterimages.
"Achoo!"
Vitelli sneezed hard, out of nowhere.
That tiny lapse created a minuscule opening.
"Ho ho ho~"
Whis chuckled. "You were careless, Vitelli-san~"
Tap!
A crisp knock landed on Vitelli's head.
Pain flashed. He stumbled.
"Gah!"
He clutched his head, glaring mournfully.
"Whis! Sneak attack! No honor! Bullying a young man mid-sneeze!"
Whis covered his mouth, laughing.
"You're getting more amusing by the day. No wonder a woman as brilliant as Bulma is so devoted to you."
That set Vitelli off instantly.
"You dare bring that up, Whis?! Last week we finally went back to Earth and brought all that incredible food Bulma made. You said you'd keep it safe so we could share it later. Then when I finished training—not even a wrapper left! You ate everything! You bastard!"
Whis, for once, looked faintly awkward.
"Now now… don't mind the details. I teach you, spar with you, and show you the method to reach the realm of gods. Taking a little food as a modest storage and tuition fee is perfectly fair, is it not?"
"Storage fee? Tuition fee?"
Vitelli nearly died of indignation. "That's robbery. Whatever—"
He waved weakly, already knowing lectures wouldn't work on this gentle-faced, black-hearted glutton.
"Fine, take it all. I'll live on Senzu Beans. Shut up and keep training!"
He popped a Senzu Bean into his mouth, restoring his stamina.
But Whis didn't resume training.
He tilted his head as if listening, then smiled knowingly.
"Not just yet, Vitelli-san."
He flicked his staff. The crystal projected a light screen.
Bulma's face appeared.
"Bulma?"
Vitelli blinked, irritation replaced by confusion. She misses me already? It hasn't been long…
Bulma spoke quickly the moment she saw Whis.
"Mr. Whis! Let Vitelli talk to me—there's something urgent!"
"Ho ho ho~ Sounds urgent."
Whis handed the staff to Vitelli and went back to tea.
Vitelli looked into the screen. "Bulma? What happened?"
"It's not me looking for you! It's him!"
Bulma stepped aside.
Mr. Popo stood beside her.
"Mr. Popo?!"
Vitelli's surprise deepened. "Why are you there? What do you need?"