The moon hung heavy over Kame House, its silver light casting long shadows across the small island. Inside, the Z-fighters had long since retired for the night, exhausted from another grueling day of Dragon Ball hunting and training. The third Dragon Ball remained elusive, hidden somewhere in the vast world they were racing to search before Vegeta and Nappa's arrival.
But outside on the beach, the sound of fists striking air echoed rhythmically through the night.
Sage moved through his training kata with mechanical precision, his torn gi whipping in the salt breeze. Sweat poured down his face despite the cool night air, each movement a study in perfect form. Strike. Block. Counter. Dodge. The same sequence he'd drilled into himself over fifteen years of isolation, refined to an art of deadly efficiency.
His breathing was ragged, his legs trembling with exhaustion, but still he continued. The weight of tomorrow pressed against his shoulders like a physical thing. Not enough time. Never enough time. Vegeta and Nappa were coming, and every second wasted was another step toward catastrophe.
I won't let it happen again, he thought, throwing another combination into the empty air. I won't freeze. I won't make another mistake.
"You know, most people sleep at night."
Sage spun around, dropping into a defensive stance before recognizing Piccolo's distinctive silhouette against the moonlight. The Namekian stood with his arms crossed, cape billowing dramatically in the ocean breeze.
"Couldn't sleep," Sage managed between gasps, straightening slowly. His voice was hoarse from exhaustion.
"So I noticed." Piccolo stepped closer, his sharp eyes taking in Sage's trembling form. "This is the fourth night in a row I've sensed your energy signature out here. When exactly do you rest?"
Sage wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "When I'm strong enough."
"And when will that be?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Sage's jaw tightened, his dark eyes holding that familiar haunted look. "When I can face them without..." He trailed off, the words caught in his throat.
"Without what happened to Goku happening again," Piccolo finished quietly.
Sage flinched as if struck. Even now, weeks later, the memory of that moment burned like acid in his chest. Goku's shocked face. The sound of the Special Beam Cannon piercing flesh. Gohan's tears.
"You can't train away guilt, Saiyan."
"I can try." Sage's voice was barely above a whisper.
Before Piccolo could respond, the beach house door creaked open. Krillin emerged, scratching his bald head and squinting in the moonlight.
"What's with all the noise? Some of us are trying to—" He stopped mid-sentence as he spotted the two figures on the beach. "Oh. It's you again."
The monk's tone held less hostility than it had weeks ago, but wariness remained. Trust was a fragile thing, slowly built through shared battles and common purpose.
"How long has he been out here?" Krillin asked Piccolo, nodding toward Sage.
"Since sunset, at least. Probably longer."
Krillin frowned, studying Sage's sweat-soaked form. "That's... what, six hours straight?"
"Seven," Sage corrected automatically, then immediately looked away, embarrassed by the admission.
"Seven hours?" Krillin's voice rose slightly. "Dude, that's insane. Even Goku took breaks when he—" He cut himself off, realizing what he'd said.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Sage's fists clenched at his sides, his breathing becoming more labored. Not from exertion this time, but from the familiar pressure building in his chest. The crushing weight of failure, of loss, of a mistake that could never be undone.
"I have to be ready," he said finally, his voice cracking. "When they come... when Vegeta and Nappa arrive... I have to be strong enough to protect everyone. I have to be able to—"
His legs gave out.
Sage collapsed to one knee in the sand, his vision swimming. The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright finally faded, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion.
"Sage!" Krillin moved forward instinctively, his earlier wariness forgotten.
"I'm fine," Sage gasped, trying to push himself back up. His arm shook violently with the effort. "Just need a moment..."
"You need sleep," Piccolo said firmly. "And food. When's the last time you ate?"
Sage's silence was answer enough.
Krillin shook his head in disbelief. "This is how you've been training for fifteen years? Running yourself into the ground every single night?"
"It kept me alive," Sage said quietly, his voice hollow.
"Barely." Piccolo's voice held an unexpected note of understanding. "But you're not alone anymore, Saiyan. The burden doesn't rest solely on your shoulders."
Sage looked up at him, confusion flickering in his dark eyes. "But if I'm not strong enough—"
"Then we fight together," Krillin interrupted, surprising himself with his own words. "Look, I'm still not happy about... about what happened to Goku. But beating yourself to death isn't going to bring him back."
"And it's not going to make you stronger," Piccolo added. "True power comes from understanding your limits, not ignoring them."
Sage stared at them both, something vulnerable and desperate in his expression. For a moment, he looked less like a hardened warrior and more like the traumatized child who had watched his world burn.
"I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly.
The confession hung in the salt air between them. Krillin felt something shift in his chest—not forgiveness, not yet, but perhaps the beginning of it. This wasn't the calculated killer he'd imagined, but a broken person trying desperately to fix what couldn't be fixed.
"One step at a time," Piccolo said, extending a hand. "Starting with getting some rest."
Sage stared at the offered hand for a long moment before accepting it, letting Piccolo pull him to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he managed to stay upright.
"The Saiyans will come whether you're exhausted or not," Krillin pointed out as they began walking toward the house. "But you'll fight better if you're not falling over from hunger."
"Besides," Piccolo added with something that might have been the ghost of a smile, "Gohan's been asking about those Saiyan meditation techniques you mentioned. Hard to teach when you can barely stand."
At the mention of Gohan, Sage's expression softened slightly. The boy had become an unexpected anchor for him—a reminder of what he was fighting to protect rather than what he'd failed to save.
"He's... he's getting stronger," Sage said quietly as they reached the house.
"Thanks to your training methods," Krillin admitted grudgingly. "That energy circulation technique you taught him yesterday—I've never seen him focus his ki so precisely."
A flicker of something—pride? hope?—crossed Sage's features. "His potential is incredible. With proper guidance, he could surpass any of us."
"All the more reason to make sure his teacher doesn't collapse from exhaustion," Piccolo observed dryly.
As they entered the house, Sage paused at the doorway, looking back at the moonlit beach where he'd spent so many sleepless hours.
"The nightmares," he said suddenly. "When I sleep, I see... I see Goku's face. Gohan crying. Planet Vegeta burning. If I keep moving, keep training, I can push them away. But when I stop..."
"They catch up," Piccolo finished with understanding.
Sage nodded, his shoulders sagging with more than physical fatigue.
"We all have nightmares," Krillin said quietly. "But running from them just makes them stronger. Trust me, I know."
"The key," Piccolo added, "is learning to face them without letting them control you. Your guilt is making you reckless, and recklessness gets people killed."
Sage absorbed this in silence, following them into the darkened house. Master Roshi's snores echoed from his bedroom, and Gohan's peaceful breathing could be heard from the couch where he'd fallen asleep reading.
"Get some rest," Piccolo instructed as they reached the spare room they'd set up for Sage. "Tomorrow we continue the search for the third Dragon Ball. You'll need your strength."
Sage nodded, but as his hand touched the doorknob, he paused again.
"Piccolo... Krillin... thank you. For not giving up on me."
The two fighters exchanged a look. It was Krillin who answered, his voice gruff but not unkind.
"We're all fighting the same war, Sage. That has to count for something."
As Sage finally disappeared into his room, Piccolo and Krillin stood in the hallway for a moment longer.
"Think he'll actually sleep?" Krillin asked.
"He won't," Piccolo replied with certainty. "Fifteen years of survival habits don't break in one conversation."
Sure enough, within minutes, they could sense Sage's energy signature moving again—not the explosive training from before, but the steady, methodical kata practice of someone who simply couldn't stop. The quiet sounds of controlled breathing and precise movements filtered through the thin walls.
"Stubborn," Krillin muttered.
"Broken," Piccolo corrected quietly. "But we plant the seeds. Eventually, they take root."
Outside, the waves continued their eternal rhythm against the shore, and somewhere in the darkness, two Saiyan warriors drew ever closer to Earth. In six months, they would arrive to find a world defended by an unlikely alliance—including one tortured soul who would push himself to the very edge of destruction in his quest for redemption.
In his room, Sage had tried to lie on the narrow bed for exactly forty-seven seconds before his body betrayed him. Now he moved through silent kata forms in the cramped space, his movements barely audible but precise. His body ached with exhaustion, but fifteen years of conditioning ran deeper than logic.
Sleep meant vulnerability. Rest meant letting his guard down. And despite everything Piccolo and Krillin had said, despite the rational part of his mind agreeing with them, his survival instincts wouldn't allow it.
As he flowed through the ancient Saiyan forms his father had taught him, something stirred deep within his exhausted frame. Not just determination—something more. A power that thrummed in rhythm with his desperate need to protect, to atone, to never fail again.
The transformation was still months away from manifesting, but its foundation was being laid in moments like this—in the crucible of absolute determination forged by unbreakable will.
Six months until the Saiyans arrived. Six months to become strong enough to face his past and protect his future.