Hokage's Tower…
"Such a hectic day!"
Kakashi was inevitably a victim of regret. If he had known he would have to deal with all this, he would have turned back and taken a different route with his team, escorting the old Tazuna safely home to the Land of Waves and avoiding any encounter with the pair of Saiyans.
The thought was brief, fleeting. Of course, it wasn't really an option. Having them in Konoha was preferable to them being in Sunagakure or Kumogakure, despite all the consequences that had come with it so far. The problems seemed greater than the benefits.
Still, nobody believed it, but he felt a twinge of guilt when the Hokage so shamelessly lied to the newly arrived ANBU squad and to the parents of the genin.
Sakura's father took it well enough. The problem was that he started cracking bad jokes about earthquakes, claiming the epicenter was in the Forest of Death, according to the Hokage's fabricated announcement. That didn't explain the other things… like the massive flash of light that engulfed the fragile planet and knocked it off its axis by several meters, making that day a few seconds shorter.
On the other hand, Shibi Aburame seemed deeply irritated, even if he kept silent. You couldn't blame him—an analytical shinobi like him could never accept such an absurd explanation. The problem was that it came from the Hokage. He had no choice but to stay quiet and accept it.
Tsume Inuzuka, however, didn't hesitate to throw a barrage of questions and complaints. Kakashi barely remembered what she said—he was far too distracted staring Hana, Kiba's sister, up and down. From what he heard, she was already of age. She looked so…
"That's why I'll leave it in your hands."
The old man's words yanked Kakashi out of the indecent thoughts struggling to surface in his unfathomable little mind. Those kinds of fantasies were more common than anyone would imagine, but that was his secret.
Asuma nearly went pale. Though he had argued for keeping his team together, he didn't feel capable of fully dealing with something this complicated—especially after hearing his father resign from handling the matter further.
"I was too stubborn. Regardless of any reasons they might have had—" he fixed a sharp gaze on his son, "—it's clear they were more correct than I was. No matter what we do, it's impossible to hide them from the others. I only pray things don't spiral out of control."
"But if hiding them is impossible, why give such an explanation to the ANBU? It won't stay secret for long. All the genin saw what happened—they'll tell their parents, and confusion will spread through the village. Worse, most of those kids are children of Konoha's most powerful and prestigious clan leaders."
Asuma was right. His father thought the same.
"That's why the two of you will go to the hospital and ask Trunks a few questions." The old man finally took his pipe, ready to ruin his lungs even more. "This time, leave nothing out. Ask him anything you want or think is necessary. With the right information, it'll be easier to decide what to share. That includes with the clan leaders, the ANBU, and…" He hesitated a moment before naming him. "Danzo. Though knowing him, Root is already moving heaven and earth to act as his eyes and ears."
Asuma never thought such responsibilities would one day fall on him. He was beginning to take on duties more suited to ANBU than to a jonin instructor of Team 10. He had the same thought as Kakashi—that it would have been better to speed up his team's journey or spend one more day in the Land of Hot Springs to avoid running into Trunks. Again, it hadn't been an option.
There are no coincidences, as his father said. It was his fate to meet Trunks. Only time would reveal why.
"Alright, you may go. I'll leave it to your judgment what information to gather."
Kakashi felt like he was about to lose it. He wasn't paid nearly enough to put up with all this. He just wanted to go home, take a bath, grab Icha Icha, swap the novel's heroine in his mind for Kiba's sister, and… well, that was private. Nobody else needed to know.
Even so, he was a Konoha shinobi. If these were the tasks assigned to him, he would carry them out without complaint. He would give his life for his village without hesitation.
"So, you're saying you can concentrate your ki in one spot and release it that way? Was that what happened up there?"
Trunks only nodded at his "sensei." His expression was downright demonic, making him look far more like his father than anyone could have imagined.
A nurse kindly adjusted his bed so he was sitting upright. He couldn't stand lying down any longer, but he had orders not to leave the room. In fact, Asuma and Kakashi were the first visitors allowed in. The genin were ruled out immediately.
His torso was completely bandaged, his ribs shattered. His arms and legs were wrapped in countless dressings that would surely leave new scars. They'd even cut his hair to clean and stitch the wounds on his head. Now he was stuck with a bowl cut like when he was a kid. He'd definitely get teased for it.
"And you were aware of the danger that carried?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you do it?"
He was about to answer that they just felt like it, that they couldn't hold back, that for them it was a thrill—but Kakashi finally decided to speak.
"How much damage can those techniques cause?"
Trunks raised an eyebrow. The question came so abruptly he didn't know where Kakashi was going with it. The jounin pushed off the wall and stood firm in front of the bed, his lone eye fixed sternly on him. He repeated the question.
Trunks hesitated. He wasn't sure how much worse things could get if he told the truth.
"I don't want to answer that. Ask me something else."
"Could the village have disappeared? The Land of Fire? The whole planet?" Kakashi stressed the last part. The way Trunks's eyes widened gave him his answer. He'd struck the nerve he wanted. No need to ask further.
Asuma sighed heavily. That question wasn't meant for now. Unlike Kakashi, he was more relaxed, sitting in a chair beside the bed, taking notes in a small notebook.
"And the seeds?"
Trunks looked at him with thinly veiled disdain.
"Even if I'd given them to you, you couldn't grow them. Only an old hermit knows how to produce those seeds, and they're very hard to come by. You'd have ended up with useless ones."
"Maybe Yamato…"
"I think they have magical properties. They're grown on Sacred Land. Besides, I wasn't about to leave Lee like that—I had to help him."
Asuma dropped it. Clearly, Trunks didn't like the topic. He knew the old man wanted the seeds to heal shinobi on the battlefield, to give them an edge. Again, the kind of war logic is foreign to him. Humans seemed to use knowledge mostly to gain power and crush their enemies. The shinobi world revolved around that.
In the end, he didn't learn much about the seeds, though half the genin who had eaten them were probably discussing them with their parents right now.
"How's Goten? No one's told me anything. They won't let me see him."
Asuma smiled. Maybe answering that would cut the heavy tension in the room.
"His physical exam showed he's in better shape than you. Just a lot of bruising. He has multiple muscle tears, but nothing massive. Doctors think the loss of consciousness was from burning too much energy."
He chuckled, remembering the confusion over their blood tests. Trunks's were identical to Goten's. Some values differed from a normal human's—probably the physiology of their warrior race.
It was also astounding how composed Trunks remained despite his state. Anyone else would've been writhing in agony. He'd flat-out refused painkillers or anything for the pain. No fever either. Cruel as it sounded, every inch of their bodies was built for fighting—to dish out punishment and endure whatever came back.
"Good. I hope he wakes up soon. Once he's ready, we'll leave. Neither the old man nor you wants us here."
Stubborn as ever. To bring that up now, of all times.
"Trunks… the Hokage has reversed his decision. You'll be able to stay on the teams as normal." Asuma almost laughed. He was still just a kid, after all. The flash of joy in his left eye gave him away, even if the right was so bloodshot its blue iris barely showed.
"W-well, in that case, I guess we can stay a little longer. Goten probably wants… not that I care, it's all the same to me, but I know he…"
Asuma raised a hand, shaking his head with a smile.
"Trunks, there's nothing wrong with it. When you're better, I want to see you training with the others. Also—" he turned his eyes away, feigning indifference—"I promised Choji I'd take him to his favorite restaurant as a reward for entering the exam. You're the only one missing, so we'll wait until you recover."
Without knowing it, he was making the biggest mistake of his life—basically flushing his whole bank account down the toilet in blissful ignorance.
"N-no, it's fine. You can go before. I don't want…"
"No, impossible. Even Choji agreed you had to come too. They'll wait as long as it takes. My students are very united."
Trunks couldn't hold it in. He grinned like a fool, not caring how it looked.
"Well, what else do you want to know?"
His demeanor shifted completely. His piercing stare remained, but his posture eased. He was more willing to cooperate now.
"Who gave you all those wounds?" Kakashi lacked tact. He just wanted to get home and start his ICHA ICHA/Hana Inuzuka fantasy mix. "You say you're thirteen. I know about these things, and I'd swear those scars are four or five years old. Not just anything can hurt you two. So who did it?"
Trunks bowed his head, nervously fiddling with the sheets. Clearly, he didn't want to go there. Asuma was about to tell him to take his time, but the question mattered. It could shed light on their past, maybe even their psychology. No need to press—he started talking.
"The first time Goten and I had to fight, we were about seven. Majin Buu appeared, a demon created by magic millions of years ago by an evil wizard. He destroyed hundreds of stars like nothing, killing and destroying for fun. He was sealed away for a while—I don't know how—but he was freed on Earth much later. My father died in the fight, and Goten's was already gone. He and I were forced to fight."
Silence fell. He said it all quickly, without pause, just to get it over with. If they saw Majin Buu's true form, they'd be speechless.
But it was his powers that were most terrifying. His regeneration, the fact that even inside his body was another dimension, his magic and telepathic abilities to reshape matter. He could tear time and rip space apart with his power. Most terrifying was his mind—a twisted, violent simpleton with no empathy or love, incapable of feeling them. That made him lethal. Angering him could trigger a universal tragedy, one their parents barely avoided while fused when he went berserk.
"There was also Broly." He laughed. It had been deadly serious back then, but remembering it now, he could even smile. "That guy was insane. I remember I pissed myself from the pain when he tried to tear me in half."
"In conclusion," Asuma cut in, awkwardly leaning down to pick up the pencil he dropped, "you two saved your world? That's the second reason you fight?"
"Goten's brother helped us." He seemed to ignore the question. "We couldn't defeat Majin Buu. In the end, it was our parents who handled everything—especially Goten's father." Seeing their stunned faces, he clarified. "The fight was in the Other World. Then they came back thanks to the Dragon Balls, the ones I mentioned before. Although I think a Supreme Kai revived Goten's dad."
"I'm going to get something to drink." Kakashi sighed heavily, rubbing his head like it was pounding. He took two steps toward the door, then stopped. He couldn't deny it—they never ceased to amaze him. Even their parents had met the so-called "supreme gods," something he'd thought was impossible. He turned back, giving up on caffeine. Better to finish this now.
"So why is Goten like that? Does he just pretend nothing happened and move on?"
"I don't know." Trunks shrugged at Hatake's question. "He's like his father, I guess that's why. But that doesn't mean he backs down in a fight—he goes all the way if he has to. You've seen it yourselves, he's not so innocent when it comes to fighting."
The jounin were still processing all of it. Those two kids, despite their age, risked their lives against a monster just because no one else could. Children were supposed to play, worry about school, not fight in place of adults, all because they were born so powerful.
Most would think being born a Saiyan was a blessing, a privilege. But it wasn't. Because they were different, they were the first sent out to face any threat to Earth, to give their lives if necessary. That was the burden they carried.
"I think that's enough for today, we'll—"
"Ino saw it…"
Asuma looked at him like he'd lost his mind. He had no idea what the boy meant.
"During the written exam, Ino used her jutsu to get into my mind and feed me answers. She got so scared, she got stuck and couldn't move." He gripped the sheets tightly. That moment had brought them closer, but he hated seeing her like that. The poor kunoichi had nearly died of fright.
"I had to help her out. Afterwards, she asked questions… I'm sorry for telling her, but I had no choice! She was a wreck, and I hated seeing her cry. I thought it might make her feel better if I explained…"
"You don't have to apologize, Trunks. You did the right thing." Asuma stopped him with a gesture. Now he understood the drastic change in the blonde's attitude toward him. The experience must've been rough, though he couldn't imagine just how terrible. "Ino's very perceptive—it's in her clan's nature. Don't think she pities you. More likely she felt guilty for judging you without knowing anything."
He stood abruptly, leaving Trunks to rest. It was late, and they could continue tomorrow. Kakashi followed, not as relieved as he should've been. In truth, what he'd heard unsettled him, even stirred a bit of empathy—and maybe admiration—for the young saiyans. They still had a lot of growing up to do.
"We'll continue tomorrow." Asuma lit a cigarette the moment he stepped out. "By the way, Ino insisted on seeing you. She even brought a flower." He glanced up at the ceiling, hiding a smirk at the boy's furious blush. "You'd better get some sleep. She said she'll come first thing in the morning before opening the flower shop with her mother. You don't want to keep her waiting."
He waved a casual goodbye and left with Kakashi, closing the door behind them.
Trunks waited a moment, glanced at the clock—11:00. He got up right away, wincing as the floor sent a "friendly" jolt up through his battered ribs. He ignored the chill on his backside from the hospital gown and hurried to the switch by the door, turned off the light, then practically leapt back into bed, pulling the sheets over himself.
He took it seriously. He didn't want to oversleep and miss her visit.
But it was no use. He tossed and turned, restless and anxious in a way he couldn't remember feeling before. In fact, it was a kind of anxiety he'd never experienced.
"Damn it! Just sleep already!" he cursed in his head after two hours of failure, pressing a pillow over his ears because every tiny sound bothered him.
Yes—Ino was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. He still didn't fully understand just how much he liked her.
That same night, north of the Valley of the End…
"Magnificent," murmured the voice of lust from the shadows.
The serpent-like eyes of that snow-white demon glimmered faintly in the darkness. Only the dim light of a few candles lit that grim, stone-walled laboratory, yet the features of that repulsive being still shone with sadism. His long, disgusting snake tongue licked his lips as he flipped through old, dusty scrolls.
Orochimaru looked good as new. After the savage beating he took from that monkey child, he regenerated his body just as snakes shed their skin.
Kabuto was unsettled by the strange excitement, the twisted joy overflowing from his master, despite having already told him everything. Instead of being thrilled, Orochimaru should be afraid. What Kabuto saw in the forest was horrifying. He'd thought it was enough when he retreated to Orochimaru's hideout—until the earth itself trembled in fear, and with it, the Sannin's assistant.
Even miles away, the lenses of his glasses shattered, shards nearly cutting into his eyes. He fell flat on the cracking ground, tiny and defenseless, and just when he thought it was the end, a blinding white light engulfed him. Kabuto truly believed it was the end of the world.
"Lord Orochimaru… what do you find so magnificent?"
If there was something Orochimaru loved, it was learning. He had experienced firsthand the terror of facing that little monster who had crushed Manda as easily as one crushes a cockroach.
Now that his cold brain had regained composure, he was ecstatic at the thought of learning, gathering information, and seizing the chance to study that destructive energy: ki.
"From what you've told me, the power of those children is monstrous…" He licked his lips again like a deranged man as he pored over brittle, yellowed scrolls, filled with old, forgotten battles he never thought would be useful. "Before chakra… Do you know what existed before chakra?"
The boy did not answer.
"It's hard to say, but there are records that suggest there was once a time when humanity had no chakra, when our ancestors slaughtered each other in cruel, pointless wars with swords and spears." His search through the papers grew frantic, his frustration mounting at the vague, imprecise scraps of information. "That's where the myths and legends begin. Nobody really knows when we gained the ability to manipulate chakra, or when the shinobi world was born."
Indeed, the chakra defined the shinobi world, no matter how or when it had come into existence.
"Tell me, Kabuto, if in a brutal battle you exhausted every last drop of chakra in your body, what would happen?"
The boy smirked nervously, doubt and fear mixed in his expression. Sometimes it was easy to believe Orochimaru had truly gone insane. What kind of stupid question was that?
"Well… I'd die, of course."
"And if what I said about chakra was true, then how did humans of that ancient age survive? What gave them the energy to breathe, for their hearts to beat, for their cells to function?"
It was a fair question, though not an impossible one. Kabuto cleared his throat.
"If chakra is the vital energy born of mixing physical and spiritual energies, then I suppose people back then simply lacked the knowledge to combine them. But that doesn't mean—"
"Then why do we have a chakra circulatory system?" Orochimaru's twisted smile widened at the look of doubt on his subordinate's face. Doubt—the oxygen that kept the Sannin's curiosity alive. "If we once had no chakra, why would our bodies need an entire system to circulate it?"
"Evolution?"
"In such a short time?" He smiled again, savoring Kabuto's silence. "Records suggest that when writing first appeared, humans had no chakra. An evolutionary leap of that scale would take thousands—millions—of years of natural progress."
"Th-then what are you getting at?"
Orochimaru rose suddenly from the table, irritated at the lack of worthwhile discoveries. He paced the room before stopping at a shelf, where he plucked a jar filled with liquid and floating eyeballs. He shook it slightly, amused by the way the eyes knocked against each other and the glass.
"Ki…"
Kabuto blinked, now completely confused. Before he could ask, Orochimaru's eyes gleamed, and he continued with a sick grin.
"The boy's energy—ki. I'd heard of it in my research, mentioned in ancient myths whispered by the elders of Iwagakure." He set the jar back, raising his arms as if to embrace the ceiling, laughing like a madman. "But it's real! That boy proved it—it's real! No genjutsu could ever affect him!"
He calmed slightly, lowering his arms. Running his pale fingers across a massive crack in the cavern wall—left by the apocalyptic clash of those two children miles away—he continued.
"Ki. It seems incredibly destructive, yet far less versatile, and extremely hard to control." His viper eyes locked onto Kabuto again. "At least, that's what the stories say. But thanks to your report, we know it's true. Despite its power, their techniques seem limited. According to legend, ki was so difficult to wield that humans relied on weapons to fight, as if they barely possessed that energy at all. Only great masters could use it at all, and even then, just to harden their bodies, hit harder, or strengthen their minds… not to unleash blasts like that boy…"
He recalled how the child's ki warped the air, compressing it into a crushing wave with nothing more than a raised palm. And that small golden sphere—it had split a tree in two as if it were nothing. It was so fast his eyes barely caught the flash of light.
"My theory is that humans did possess ki, but they couldn't wield it properly. Somehow, we replaced it with chakra, which I find fascinating. But…" His eyes gleamed with the thrill of discovery. "Why could they manipulate ki when we couldn't? What do they have that we lack? The answer lies in their tails!"
He broke into shrill, deranged laughter, his cries echoing off the cavern walls until Kabuto had to cover his ears.
"They're not from here! After so many ages, there's no way humans with ki should still exist—yet they appear out of nowhere, with no records of their origin! And they wield ki like no being in history, and they're just children!"
"You mean…?"
"Kabuto, do you really think we're alone? Among millions of stars and things we can't even imagine, do you truly believe we're the only ones whose planet harbors life? That no other beings could exist out there?"
The thought was terrifying. If true, they were nothing. Kabuto was overcome with misery, smallness, and absolute fragility.
If they knew nothing of other possible life, then Earth was just a grain of sand in a desert. If they vanished, no one would ever know. Their existence itself was questionable.
If a leaf falls from a tree and no one sees it, can one prove it even existed? One of mankind's oldest obsessions—besides the fear of death—is the need to leave proof of existence.
"They're just a couple of kids," Orochimaru muttered, sitting back down and leaning against the chair. "I don't know what they are or where they came from. But if the children are like that… imagine the adults of their species."
Kabuto was doubtful. Orochimaru's words sounded insane—but what Kabuto had witnessed was just as insane, and it was real. Those two boys didn't use chakra. They used something else. Something far more dangerous, though seemingly less flexible—or so he believed. In truth, ki had its own terrifying usefulness, with abilities that defied logic, chakra, even reality itself. It was not bound the way the chakra was.
"Power attracts power." Orochimaru's grin spread wide, though Kabuto swore he saw fear in his eyes. "Get ready—the shinobi world as we know it is about to change completely."
And he wasn't wrong. Unbeknownst to them, the presence of those boys had already drawn the gaze of beings from out there.
In just two weeks, Earth would face an alien invasion.
Two weeks later…
Goten opened his eyes. He didn't even blink. The room was dark—it was two in the morning.
He was startled to find himself in an unfamiliar place. It even scared him a little. Anyone would be uneasy waking up in the middle of the night somewhere strange, with no memory of how they got there.
As his pupils adjusted and he took in his surroundings, he realized he might be in a hospital. A shiver rattled him to his core.
"NOOO! NO INJECTIONS!"
His brain nearly burst from the scream inside his head. He bolted to the window, ready to jump out into the cool, moonlit night.
GRRR~
But his stomach stopped him as one foot touched the window ledge. He was starving.
"Food or injections?" He rubbed his chin, pacing in circles while his tail swished back and forth. "Food!"
He ran straight to the door and yanked it open without hesitation. He didn't look like someone recovering from a brutal fight. In fact, the doctors were shocked at Trunks' recovery rate. The boy was expected to take two months to heal, yet by tomorrow, he'd already be discharged.
In his haste, Goten completely ignored the flowers Sakura had brought every single day of his two-week coma—fourteen in total. Nor did he notice the neat stack of instant ramen cups Naruto had left for him on the nightstand.
Hinata's sweets hadn't survived. Naruto had convinced her to give them up so they wouldn't go to waste, and ate them all on the spot in Goten's room. Sakura also "helped" out with false politeness, making sure no candy was left for when he woke up.
By the time Naruto was licking his fingers and thanking Hinata loudly, the poor girl needed a stretcher just to recover her strength.
The hallway was empty. Goten quickly sensed his friend's ki in the next room. Easy. He walked over and pushed the door open without knocking.
"Trunks, I'm hungry."
The young Saiyan nearly jumped out of bed. He didn't usually sleep lightly, but with no training to exhaust him, his rest had been deep. That had changed now.
"Goten? You're awake!"
The tailed boy flicked on the light and shut the door behind him. Both of them blinked, their eyes stinging from the sudden glare.
"Yeah, I don't know how long I was out. I'm starving. How do you order food here? I'm scared a nasty doctor will come stick me with a needle and—"
"Relax, I feel the same. The food's not bad, but they give so little! They never let me have seconds—I think I'm dying of hunger!"
"Then let's go find some." Goten waved a hand casually, grinning ear to ear with that same reckless smile as his father. Whenever Goten smiled like that, Trunks felt he could do anything. "There's gotta be a kitchen somewhere."
"Are you sure you're okay? If they catch us, they'll drag us back to bed."
"Of course I'm fine—look!"
Goten dropped into one-handed pushups, using only his index finger. Then he shifted his entire body's weight onto that finger alone and continued with headstand pushups. Trunks facepalmed as Goten's hospital gown slipped, giving him a full view of his bare backside while he carried on.
"Yeah, I've seen enough. You're perfectly fine…"
Goten flipped into the air, spun three times, and landed gracefully on his toes.
"If I don't eat soon, I'll pass out, and then I won't be fine." He gestured for Trunks to follow and started out the door, but Trunks stopped him.
"Goten… I'm sorry for grabbing your tail. I didn't know it would hurt that much…"
Goten scratched his head, trying to remember. Relief washed over Trunks when his lifelong friend simply grinned widely, pressing a finger under his nose.
"Doesn't matter, I'd already forgotten, haha." His cheerful tone softened as he looked at Trunks a little shyly. "And… I'm sorry for hitting you so hard."
"Are you crazy?" Trunks clenched his fists, almost offended. "You were amazing, you don't have to apologize! Once I'm out of here, I'm training like mad. I'll reach Super Saiyan 2, and I'll never use that inefficient form again. The mistake was mine."
Goten stopped laughing. He closed his eyes and focused.
Flash!
The room blazed with golden light, spilling out the window and shining across the hospital grounds with a fierce brilliance. And then—just as suddenly—it was gone.
Sakura couldn't sleep that night. She felt something—not unpleasant, just unfamiliar—that stirred an odd anxiety in her chest. She stood on her balcony, letting the breeze brush her skin as she gazed at the moon, round and bright as a platter.
Her pajamas were nothing more than a red nightgown patterned with cherry blossoms, falling just above her knees. The chill of the wooden floor bit at her bare feet, but she paid it no mind.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would be like to see the moon up close. A silly, dreamy smile crept across her face. If Goten were there, she would've begged him to fly her closer, as near as possible to the full moon—even if it meant staring it down face-to-face.
"Cha! You're so stupid, Sakura! See the moon up close? What nonsense! Cha, cha!" She bit at her thumbnail in frustration, hating to admit that she'd been thinking about Goten more often lately. "I should be worrying about Sasuke. Ever since he left to train with Kakashi-sensei, I haven't heard from him. Tomorrow he's supposed to be back for the final rounds."
Yes—tomorrow. Sunagakure had pushed hard to move the date forward, arguing it was unfair that Konoha's genin had so much rest when their own had finished the second exam and preliminaries in top condition. The truth was, they expected the Saiyans to still be bedridden—unaware that Trunks was fully recovered and that Goten was awakening that very night.
Sakura still struggled to believe half of what she'd learned about him. That's why she found herself thinking of him more these past few days. Naturally, the news of Kakashi and Asuma interrogating Trunks had reached her ears.
The jōnin had been forced to brief the clan leaders, though strictly under secrecy. No need to stir up the civilians. And as Kakashi's student, Sakura was informed as well. He'd gathered his team one morning just to tell them—late, as always.
Sakura remembered the look on Sasuke's face. His reaction worried her. The blow to his pride, seeing himself so far beneath them, had cut deeply. It was as if all his hopes of ever catching up had vanished.
Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it meant his chances of succumbing to the curse mark—or following Orochimaru—would fade away like a bad dream.
But nights like this always dragged back that bitter memory: the night she had scolded Goten so unfairly.
She hadn't gotten over it. The more time passed, the heavier it weighed on her conscience. Because everything she had said to him was wrong. Completely wrong. Goten had been fighting to save his world since he was seven years old. Every scar across his skin was proof of that—etched reminders of the monsters he had faced.
"You idiot…" she cursed under her breath. She hated how guilty he made her feel. Sometimes she even convinced herself he did it on purpose—that he acted innocent and naïve to draw pity. Because surely, someone with a past like his couldn't be so kind. He should have been bitter, violent by nature.
She tried to scrub the image of his smile from her mind—that smile so perfectly like his father's. She tried to hate it, to push it away, just to feel better about herself.
But she couldn't. It was too genuine. Always, at the last moment, her resentment faltered, and she gave in. That's why she ended up walking, almost unconsciously, to Ino's flower shop, buying something under the excuse of "he's my teammate," when really, deep down, she was hoping that when she stepped into his hospital room, he'd be awake—smiling at her with that same easy, radiant grin.
"Hi, Sakura!" She could already imagine his words, his expression, as if he were standing right there. Of course, that would be the first thing he'd say.
Flash!
It was faint—so faint she thought she imagined it. From her balcony, Sakura saw a golden glow flicker in the distance, coming from one of the top-floor hospital rooms.
She knew. Somehow, inexplicably, whatever caused that light pierced straight into her chest, warming her blood. As if she could feel his ki—his, and no one else's.
"Goten?"
She shook her head. Ridiculous. She was tired, letting her thoughts run wild. She must have been imagining things.
"I get it now, it makes sense. The good thing is we can start training this way right away. But… you're saying even while sleeping? Are you sure?"
Goten nodded proudly, hands planted on his hips.
"Yes, I'm sure. I think…"
He didn't quite remember what his brother Gohan had told him years ago, about the time he trained like that with their father, to eliminate the stress and draining effects of the transformation. It was nothing more than an ordinary Super Saiyan form, but refined to overcome its weaknesses and side effects.
"...Whatever."
Flash!
Trunks followed suit. He let his aura fade, and now the two of them looked like a pair of platinum blondes, their hair raised in wild, jagged spikes.
"Alright, let's eat!"
They stumbled out of the room, not caring in the slightest that their hospital gowns were gaping open in the back.
"I figure the kitchen has to be on the ground floor. I saw them once use the elevators to bring food up."
Goten nodded as he ran, stopping at the first corner. He gestured for Trunks to follow without even looking back. They looked like two spies sneaking through enemy territory.
"I sense two presences across the hall."
Two night-shift nurses, chatting away in the records room.
The Saiyans exchanged a look and nodded. All they had to do was sprint past without being seen. They were so fast they'd be invisible. Child's play—just like Krillin and Master Roshi used to pull off in the martial arts tournaments.
They rushed past the two women without the faintest breeze giving them away. Even an ANBU stepping out of the bathroom to resume his post near the boys' rooms didn't notice a thing—despite Trunks flipping him off as he passed.
They went down every floor using the deserted stairwell, avoiding the elevator for obvious reasons.
Too easy. In the blink of an eye they were on the ground floor, the kitchen conveniently placed right in front of the stairs.
They opened the door without a care. At that hour, nobody would be inside. The light came on, and their eyes went glassy at the sight. It was paradise—five enormous refrigerators lined up in a row. They rushed to open them, eager to devour everything inside.
"Damn it! We have to cook the meat!"
Thankfully, it wasn't frozen. The cooks always moved it from the freezer to the fridge a day in advance. Trunks scooped up as much as his arms could carry, barely balancing under the towering stack of food. He dumped it all onto the counter at once and fired up the massive griddle beside him.
He was so desperate, he didn't even bother with a knife. He sliced the meat apart with rapid, imperceptible chops of his hands—sharp as blades. It was like watching little Gohan chopping firewood back in the day.
He nearly lost it when he realized his friend wasn't helping at all. Instead, Goten was munching on a massive block of cheese, biting straight into it without even cutting it up.
"Damn it, Goten, leave me some!" Trunks shouted, slicing through kilos of meat at insane speed, each cut paper-thin and precise. The thinner the slices, the faster they'd cook. He tossed everything onto the griddle haphazardly, then rushed to salvage what was left in the fridge.
There was still plenty, but he was panicking. Goten had already devoured the entire block of cheese and was reaching for apples, his green eyes glowing like polished jade with excitement.
Trunks went for a gigantic bowl piled high with carrot purée. He didn't give a damn if it was cold—he had to eat something or Goten would leave him nothing. He plunged his hands in like a desperate beggar, scooping with his palms as though they were spoons.
"Sothin buning" (Somethings Burining), Goten mumbled through a mouthful, spitting apple seeds between words. The idiot was eating them whole, even shoving his hands in with the apples and only pulling them out just before biting down on them.
They had understood "mouth-full language" since they were babies, before any other tongue. Trunks bolted in terror back to the sizzling griddle and flipped the steaks, relieved to see they hadn't charred yet.
He tossed the now-empty bowl aside and turned back to the fridge. Not a damn apple left. He had to settle for cold vegetable soup—not that he could complain much, since the bastard Goten was now guzzling down bottle after bottle of milk, each a liter, as if they were shot glasses.
"Th Met! Th Met!" (The meat, the meat!)
That much Son had been keeping an eye on. Both boys charged the griddle like starving dogs. Trunks shut off the stove and, without even looking for plates or utensils, grabbed the sizzling slices with his bare hands, showing no signs of being burned. He tilted his head back and shoved them whole into his mouth. Goten mirrored him perfectly. They didn't even seem to chew.
Each bite was almost ecstasy, a near-orgasm with every strip of steak they devoured like the rude little savages they were. It wasn't that Saiyans had lousy taste—it was just that hunger overpowered everything else. One hadn't eaten in fifteen days, and the other had been eating like a normal human.
The place was a disaster. Within an hour, the two platinum-haired boys had eaten everything. They even had the audacity to haul out a couple of giant pots and cook up all the rice they found, snacking on whatever else they could chop up along the way.
The inconsiderate brats left the rest of the poor hospital patients with nothing to eat the next day.