The sun rose high above the rocky wastelands, burning away the mist that clung to the jagged cliffs. The land was silent except for the clash of fists and the sound of sharp winds splitting apart under the weight of combat.
Piccolo's cape fluttered as he charged, his arms folded behind his back at first, testing the small boy before him. Gohan stood with his fists trembling, sweat dripping down his brow. His legs shook, but his determination burned fiercer than ever.
"Come at me, boy!" Piccolo barked, his sharp eyes glinting. "If you hesitate for even a second, you're finished."
Gohan gulped, his heart hammering inside his chest. His father's face flashed in his mind—the smile, the gentle encouragement. But then he remembered Piccolo's harsh words, the endless shouting during training. Still… deep down, he knew Piccolo wasn't being cruel for the sake of cruelty. This was preparation.
"Y-Yes, Piccolo!" Gohan shouted, rushing forward. His small feet pounded the earth as he swung a wild punch at Piccolo's midsection.
Piccolo easily tilted his body aside, letting the fist pass harmlessly. He sneered. "Too slow." With a flick of his leg, he swept Gohan off his feet.
The boy rolled across the dirt, coughing, but quickly jumped back up. His knees stung, but he clenched his fists tighter.
"Again!" Gohan yelled, dashing forward.
This time, Piccolo didn't move. He waited until the boy was nearly upon him before raising one finger and flicking Gohan's forehead. The small Saiyan stumbled backward with a cry, clutching his head.
"Your attacks have no weight behind them," Piccolo lectured, his voice booming across the battlefield. "If you cannot focus your energy, you'll never land a blow."
Gohan's lip quivered, but he didn't cry. He refused to. Instead, he tightened his stance, copying what he had seen his father do. His breathing slowed, his eyes narrowed.
Piccolo raised a brow, impressed. So, he's learning to observe… good.
The boy darted forward again, this time using a feint—swinging his right arm but aiming a kick from the left.
Piccolo actually had to block, his forearm meeting the child's leg with a sharp crack. Gohan stumbled from the impact, but Piccolo gave a rare grin. "Better."
Encouraged, Gohan threw another flurry of punches, each one faster than before. Piccolo dodged most of them, but one fist grazed his chest.
For a moment, both paused in surprise.
"I-I hit you!" Gohan exclaimed, panting heavily but smiling wide.
Piccolo crossed his arms, hiding his satisfaction. "Don't get too excited. That was nothing." But in truth, the boy's growth was shocking. In just a few days, his instincts are sharpening… his body adapting. He's more like his father than he realizes.
The spar continued. Every strike, every tumble hardened Gohan. His small frame was bruised, his gi torn in places, but his eyes held fire. He no longer simply took hits—he learned from them, moving quicker, predicting Piccolo's motions, even if only slightly.
At one point, Piccolo launched a barrage of rapid punches. The boy stumbled, but then… he ducked, rolled to the side, and avoided a crushing blow that would've sent him flying.
Piccolo smirked, his cape whipping behind him as he stopped. "You're beginning to dodge. Not bad, runt."
Gohan, gasping for air, smiled faintly. "I… I told you, Piccolo… I'm not going to give up."
Piccolo narrowed his eyes, remembering the terrified boy who had once cried at every shadow. Now, standing before him was someone different. Still fragile… but with a growing flame inside.
"Good," Piccolo muttered. "Then I won't hold back anymore."
With that, the Namekian vanished in a blur, reappearing behind Gohan. The boy barely sensed it in time, spinning around and raising his arms. Piccolo's kick slammed into his guard, sending him skidding across the dirt but not toppling him over.
The boy's feet dug trenches into the ground as he stopped himself. His body hurt all over, but he refused to fall. His fists trembled, but he raised them high.
"Come on, Piccolo!" Gohan shouted, his voice echoing with unexpected courage.
Piccolo felt something stir inside him—an old hatred, a plan for revenge against Goku—but it was drowned out by a reluctant respect. The child was not his father. No… Gohan was carving his own path.
The clash continued until the sun dipped low, painting the skies orange. Gohan's body screamed for rest, but his spirit kept burning. Each exchange taught him something new. Each bruise hardened his will.
Finally, as night began to settle, Piccolo called an end to the day's training.
"That's enough for today." His voice was calm, almost approving.
Gohan collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his small frame. He looked up at Piccolo with tired but determined eyes. "Did… did I do okay today?"
Piccolo stared at him for a long moment before looking away. "…You survived. That's more than I expected."
Gohan chuckled softly, then closed his eyes, drifting into an exhausted sleep.
Piccolo folded his arms, standing silently under the stars. He's still weak… but if he continues like this… he may become Earth's greatest weapon against what's coming.
And though he'd never admit it aloud, Piccolo felt something else stirring within him—something unfamiliar. Watching over the boy as he slept, he muttered under his breath:
"Rest well, kid. Tomorrow, we begin again."