High above Mount Paozu.
A dinosaur glided through the air, wings slicing the clouds as it hunted.
Suddenly, a flash of white light split the sky.
It struck the beast squarely in the chest.
The dinosaur's massive body convulsed; its eyes rolled back before it began plummeting toward the forest below, crashing through treetops and snapping branches in its fall.
Before it could even hit the ground, a small child with a tail leapt up from the underbrush.
He bounced from trunk to trunk, landed on the falling creature's back, and—using surprising strength—flipped down with it slung over his shoulder.
Every motion was fluid, efficient, practiced.
Moments later, smoke rose from the mountain peak. The scent of roasting meat drifted through the air.
"So good!"
"Should be ready now, right?"
The boy tore off a piece of meat from the spit and stuffed it eagerly into his mouth.
"Mmm! It's—so good! Grandpa, you've gotta try it!"
Across the fire, the old man chuckled, pulling off a piece for himself. One bite was all it took for delight to spread across his wrinkled face.
"Mmm, now that's delicious. Crispy outside, tender inside… You roasted this dinosaur perfectly!"
The boy grinned with pride.
He tore away two roasted legs and devoured them noisily. Between bites, he laughed. "Dinosaur meat is way better than fish! If only I could hunt one every day!"
The old man smiled fondly. "Slow down, no one's stealing it from you. You'll choke eating like that…"
That old man was Son Gohan, a disciple of Master Roshi.
And the boy—was the world's future savior: Son Goku, born Kakarot of the Saiyan race, given his Earth name by Gohan.
But this Goku wasn't the one we knew.
He was a reincarnator—a modern soul reborn inside Goku's body.
In his previous life, he'd watched Dragon Ball. He knew the story. He knew Goku's fate, and how many crises would one day threaten this world.
Without a powerful Goku, Earth would eventually fall.
Sure, Saiyans were gifted compared to humans, but among the vast races of the universe, Goku's natural talent wasn't that impressive—slow growth, low starting point, and unable to survive in space.
Without transformations, he could never have matched the true cosmic titans.
Over countless years, the Saiyans had produced few real prodigies—aside from Goku himself, whose pure heart led him to unimaginable heights.
Well, except for Broly, the mutant.
That guy was born broken; no one could compete with that.
After understanding his situation, the new Goku began begging Grandpa Gohan to train him as soon as he could walk and talk.
If he wanted to live, he had to grow stronger—faster. At least as strong as the Goku he replaced.
But that was the hard part.
In talent, in fighting instincts, in sheer obsession with martial arts—he was no match for the original.
He lacked that madness, that burning joy in combat. He knew he'd never match a true battle maniac like Goku.
Still, everyone has their strengths.
Before dying, he'd been a tireless modern man—always pushing harder, always competing.
School? He crammed harder than anyone.
Work? He overworked himself into an early grave.
At twenty-something, a sudden heart attack ended that life.
Then he woke up—reborn in another world.
This world. The world of Dragon Ball.
At first, he couldn't even speak. Fresh out of the nutrient pod, he was just an infant. His parents—Bardock and Gine—had already sent him away, launching him toward Earth to escape the destruction of Planet Vegeta.
Inside the pod, watching stars streak by, he'd marveled.
This world was so much more thrilling than his old one.
But he wasn't counting on any miracles.
He knew how Goku's story went—how Goku always broke limits when it mattered most. He couldn't count on that.
So he made a plan.
He would live like Vegeta—train relentlessly, grind his way upward, and become strong without shortcuts.
He didn't have a "golden finger." Only his will.
He wanted to live. He wanted to grow.
As for marriage and romance—he didn't even think about it.
Something about inhabiting a child's body kept his mind oddly calm, detached.
Even knowing that one day Bulma would show up looking for the Dragon Balls, he couldn't feel anything improper toward her. Maybe it was just hormones—or lack thereof.
Didn't matter. Strength came first. Survival came first.
Besides, the first time they met, she'd literally shot him a few times.
He should at least become bulletproof before worrying about love.
Once Goku learned to talk and walk, he begged Gohan to train him.
The old man couldn't refuse.
For more than ten years, Gohan taught him everything he knew—especially Ki control, the essence of Turtle School.
As for the Kamehameha, that was simple; young Goku had already mastered it.
In this world, the body has limits, but Ki does not.
The stronger the Ki, the greater the Kamehameha.
He understood that deeply, and devoted himself to mastering it.
His power now far surpassed what the original Goku had at the same age.
That was why this Goku—without ever meeting Master Roshi—could already blast a dinosaur out of the sky with a Kamehameha.
After finishing the meal, Goku rubbed his stomach.
"Ahh, I'm stuffed!"
Gohan laughed while cleaning up the dishes. "Then go train, my boy. I'll tidy up here."
"Thanks, Grandpa!"
With that, Goku strapped a weighted turtle shell to his back and took off running around the mountain.
Watching him go, Gohan's expression turned complicated.
"This child… he trains like a madman. That's not the Turtle School way. I can't tell if this will make him stronger—or destroy him."
Once he'd cleaned up, Gohan carried the dishes inside—
and froze.
The Four-Star Ball on the shelf was glowing.
It had never done that before.
"Huh?"
"Why is this thing shining?"
He turned toward the window and shouted, "Goku! Goku, come quick!"