Gohan has spent countless hours training Tatsu to channel his primal aggression and protective instincts into more positive behaviors. He taught Tatsu to control his ki, to defend rather than just destroy, and to show a different kind of care for his "pod neighbor," Goku. Tatsu's behavior toward the moon showed he could learn and adapt, and his sharing his drumstick was a sign of his growing, albeit rough, affection.
But Tatsu's reaction to the baby bird would be a true test of whether Gohan's lessons in coexistence had any real depth, or if they only applied to things Tatsu considered part of his "pack."
The unexpected reaction
Tatsu is walking alone through the forest, a territory he instinctively knows like the back of his hand. He moves with his typical predatory grace, a low and silent stalk that Gohan has worked hard to temper. Suddenly, he stops. His senses, far more acute than any human's, pick up a tiny, pathetic sound. He follows it to the base of a large oak tree and finds a helpless baby bird, fallen from its nest.The bird is small, pink, and mostly featherless. It chirps pitifully, a sound of utter vulnerability. A typical predator, and certainly Tatsu in his un-trained state, would see this as an easy meal.Tatsu's response is, however, something else entirely:
No kill instinct: There is no flash of predatory hunger in his eyes. He is not interested in eating the bird. This is not prey. His food comes from the vegetables Gohan provides, and his "prey" are the strong opponents he can pit himself against in sparring, not weak, helpless things.
Curiosity and caution: Tatsu approaches the bird with a mixture of curiosity and extreme caution. He circles it, sniffing and peering at it. He's not sure what to do. It's a new variable in his carefully managed territory. It's small, it's vulnerable, and it's making a noise that is vaguely similar to Goku's occasional pathetic whimpers.
Empathy by proxy: Tatsu's brain does something he hasn't been trained for: it draws a connection. The high-pitched, helpless chirping reminds him of a young, defenseless Goku. Tatsu knows instinctively how to take care of a helpless Goku—by solving his problem directly.
The retrieval: With a sudden, forceful movement that belies his gentle intentions, Tatsu scoops up the baby bird. He doesn't hold it delicately, but roughly, in the large, calloused palm of his hand. He's trying to get it back to its nest. The bird flutters and chirps in protest, but Tatsu holds it securely, if clumsily.
A broken branch: When Tatsu reaches the tree, he doesn't attempt to climb. That is too complex. He simply uses his immense power to leap up to the branch where the nest is, holding the bird like a delicate flower. The landing is not gentle. The branch cracks under his immense weight. Tatsu, surprised, simply shoves the baby bird back into the nest with a large, meaty finger, much as he put the drumstick in Goku's mouth.
The aftermath and Tatsu's lesson
Tatsu lands silently on the ground, his mission complete. He looks at the nest, a strange and powerful sense of satisfaction welling up in his chest. He doesn't know why, but he felt a drive to help this weak, small thing, and he succeeded.
This was not Gohan's doing. This was Tatsu's own independent, instinct-driven decision, influenced by the complex mix of his Saiyan nature and Gohan's gentle influence.
Tatsu's protective instinct, initially territorial and aggressive, has expanded to include something weak and helpless that is not part of his immediate "pack."
He returns from his walk not with a new skill, but with a new, unspoken understanding of his own strength, and a deeper, more profound, and utterly bewildering, form of Saiyan empathy. He doesn't need to be told how to act; he's beginning to act on his own.
(One day, Tatsu's possessive, territorial protectiveness expands to include a new daily ritual: the forest walk).
Hand-holding for safety
Tatsu leads the way, but his pace slows to match Goku's shorter, more clumsy steps. Gohan observes from a distance, understanding that Tatsu's grip on Goku's hand isn't about affection. It's a pragmatic safety measure.
In Tatsu's mind, a small, weak creature like Goku must be kept close to prevent the same kind of trouble the baby bird had found itself in.
Tatsu's grip is firm, almost a vise-like hold, but not painful.
He is acutely aware of the creatures in the forest and will adjust his speed or direction to steer Goku away from potential dangers he senses.
The hand-holding is silent, a nonverbal act of dominance and protection that speaks louder than any word.
Tatsu's attention remains fixed on his surroundings, his senses on high alert, his fierce gaze missing nothing.
Goku's precocious smiles
Goku, on the other hand, is completely oblivious to the brutal nature of Tatsu's protectiveness. For him, a walk with his larger, stronger cousin is an adventure.
A trusting smile: When Goku stumbles, Tatsu's grip simply tightens, and Goku, instead of wincing, laughs. He trusts Tatsu completely, perceiving the strong grip as a sign of security and affection.
A reassuring smile: When Tatsu growls at a distant rustle in the bushes, Goku simply looks up at his cousin with a wide, reassuring smile. He doesn't understand the danger Tatsu is warding off; he only sees a strange, big, and powerful playmate.
A happy smile: The constant, gentle pulling of Tatsu's hand as they walk becomes a game for Goku. He giggles, and his infectious laughter is the only sound that can occasionally soften the intensity in Tatsu's eyes.
Gohan's silent pride
Gohan watches this entire scene, a mix of concern and profound pride swelling in his heart.
Concern: He knows that this isn't normal brotherly affection. He knows that Tatsu's protectiveness is still wild and untamed.
Pride: Yet, he sees the signs of a deeper change. Tatsu is learning to care, in his own rough, Saiyan way. He is learning to protect, to provide, and to tolerate the innocence and vulnerability of a creature weaker than himself.
The path forward: Gohan realizes that his training is slowly working. He is not fighting Tatsu's nature but rather shaping it. Tatsu's path to becoming a protector, though far from conventional, is unfolding right before his eyes, one held hand and precocious smile at a time. The walk, like all of Gohan's lessons, is less about fighting and more about learning to coexist, a brutal lesson in a peaceful forest.