Darkness was the first thing I noticed.
Not the comforting kind that came with sleep, but a dense, suffocating void—one that pressed in from all sides, heavy and unyielding. I tried to blink, only to realize I had no eyelids to move. I tried to breathe and felt… nothing. No lungs expanding. No air filling my chest.
Yet, strangely, I existed.
That was the most unsettling part.
I was aware—painfully so. Thoughts drifted through my mind in slow, fragmented waves, like echoes bouncing off the walls of a cavern. I knew I had a body. I could feel it in a vague, distant way, as if it were wrapped in layers of fog. But no matter how much I strained, I couldn't move a single muscle.
Panic threatened to rise, but it never fully took hold. Instead, it dulled, blunted by a strange calm that seemed to coat my thoughts, keeping them from spiraling out of control.
I'm… alive?
No. That didn't feel right.
Memories surfaced then—broken, incomplete. Images flashed through my mind without order or clarity. Scenes from animated battles, glowing auras clashing in the sky. Panels of black-and-white manga pages.
Fragments of stories I'd once read late into the night. Faces I recognized but couldn't name. Worlds I knew weren't real… or at least, hadn't been.
And beneath all of that was a certainty I couldn't deny.
I had died.
The knowledge settled into me quietly, without drama. I couldn't remember how it had happened—no pain, no final moment, no lingering regret. Just the undeniable understanding that whatever life I had lived before this had ended.
So why was I still here?
Only one conclusion made sense.
I had been reincarnated.
The thought felt surreal, yet oddly natural, as if my mind accepted it without resistance. Still, questions piled up immediately after. Where was I? Why couldn't I move? Had someone—something—sent me here? A god? A higher being? Or was this all some colossal mistake?
Speculating without information was pointless. I forced my thoughts to slow, focusing inward instead of spiraling outward. If reincarnation stories had taught me anything, it was this:
There was usually a system.
A cheat.
An interface.
Something to balance the absurdity of being reborn into an unknown world.
The idea lingered in my mind, half-formed but persistent.
System…
I didn't speak aloud—couldn't even if I wanted to. The word existed only as intent, a silent thought shaped by curiosity more than expectation.
Then—
Ding.
The sound was soft but unmistakable, cutting cleanly through the void.
Before I could process it, something appeared in front of me. Not physically—there was no sense of distance or depth—but conceptually, as if it were projected directly into my awareness.
A translucent screen hovered in the darkness.
-----
[Status]
Name: Not Given Yet
Age: -2 months
Relatives: Son Goku (Father), Chi-Chi (Mother), Son Gohan (Brother)
Bloodline: Half-Saiyan, Half-Human
Power Level: 45
Skill: Calm Mind Lv.7 (+75% Mental Stability)
-----
I stared at the screen, my thoughts momentarily frozen.
Two months… before birth.
That explained the immobility. The darkness. The strange sense of being enclosed yet protected. I wasn't floating in some abstract void—I was still waiting to be born.
My eyes—if I could even call them that—drifted over the rest of the screen.
Relatives.
The names hit me harder than I expected.
Son Goku.
Chi-Chi.
Son Gohan.
Recognition came instantly, followed by disbelief, then a slow, creeping realization that settled deep in my mind.
This wasn't just any world.
The fragments of memories I'd recalled earlier—those anime battles, those glowing transformations—suddenly made sense. They weren't random. They were familiar because I knew them.
And now, impossibly, I was part of them.
I was their family.
Son Goku's child.
Gohan's younger sibling.
Goten.
The name hadn't appeared on the screen yet, but I knew it instinctively, as if it were already waiting for me.
I returned my attention to the status panel.
Power Level: 45.
Low. Almost insignificant by the standards of the world I now found myself in—but for an unborn child, it was already abnormal. And then there was the skill listed beneath it.
Calm Mind Lv.7.
That explained a lot.
The fear I should have felt. The panic that never fully surfaced. The unnatural clarity with which I was able to think despite my circumstances. Whatever this skill was, it was keeping my mind stable, anchoring me in reason instead of letting emotion run wild.
I exhaled mentally—an action more symbolic than physical.
At least I wasn't completely helpless.
If there was a status screen, there had to be more. Systems never stopped at just one page.
Is there a tutorial? I wondered.
The thought had barely finished forming when the screen shifted, dissolving into a new interface with smooth, effortless motion.
-----
System Functions
Sign-In
Bloodline
Inventory
Function Details:
Sign-In:
The system grants high-level rewards on each Host's birthday. Rewards could include bloodlines, items, currency, or skills.
Bloodline:
Displays current Fused and pending fused bloodlines. It provides details about their uniqueness and effects.
Inventory:
Stores items and currency obtained through the system. Any item provided by the system is exclusive to the host and cannot be used by others.
A starter package has been placed in your inventory.
I absorbed the information carefully, reading each line more than once.
The structure was clean. Logical. No unnecessary complications—just clear functions with defined purposes. Whatever entity had created this system knew exactly what it was doing.
My attention lingered on the last line.
A starter package has been placed in your inventory.
That was rarely insignificant.
I focused on the word Inventory, and the interface responded instantly, shifting once more.
-----
Starter Package Opened
-God Ki
-Bloodline Purifier x1
-----
For a moment, I simply stared.
Not because I didn't understand what those words meant—but because I understood them too well.
God Ki.
Even without the detailed description, the name alone carried weight. Power of a different order. Something refined, controlled, fundamentally distinct from ordinary energy.
And the Bloodline Purifier…
That sounded even more dangerous.
A single-use item capable of altering something as fundamental as a bloodline wasn't just rare—it was world-altering.
A slow, controlled excitement built within me, tempered by the ever-present Calm Mind skill. I didn't rush. Didn't jump to conclusions. Systems rewarded patience as much as ambition.
Details first, I decided.
The screen obliged.
God Ki:
When used, all your Ki will transform into God Ki, turning your hair red and making this your base form. It will also convert your bloodline from Half-Saiyan/Half-Human to Super Saiyan God.
Advantages:
Zenkai Boosts triple in effectiveness.
You'll gain boosts both during battle and after healing.
Super Saiyan God will be twice as strong as usual.
Disadvantages:
You will no longer be able to access the regular Super Saiyan, Super Saiyan 2, or Super Saiyan 3 forms.
I read it slowly, carefully weighing every word.
Permanent conversion.
A base form, not a transformation.
Power refined rather than explosive.
And a clear trade-off.
No traditional Super Saiyan forms.
That would be a heavy price—if those forms were the end goal. But power wasn't just about stacking transformations. It was about control, efficiency, growth.
My gaze shifted to the second item.
Bloodline Purifier:
This one-use item purifies a single bloodline, unlocking additional potential.
No flashy description. No exaggerated promises.
Just potential.
I didn't decide anything yet. Not immediately.
I let the information settle, storing it away for later consideration. I still had time—two months of it, in fact.
And for the first time since awakening in this dark, silent place, I felt something close to certainty.
Whatever awaited me in this new life, I wouldn't be facing it unprepared.
MC's POV
The information lingered in my mind long after the system screen stopped shifting. Every word, every line, carried weight. This wasn't just a game interface handing out meaningless bonuses—each option shaped the foundation of my existence before I had even taken my first breath.
God Ki.
Bloodline Purifier.
I didn't rush to use them. Power gained too easily was often power misunderstood, and misunderstanding was dangerous. I had two months before birth—an eternity, considering I had nothing else to do but think.
I examined my current status again, letting the numbers settle in my awareness.
A power level of forty-five.
For a normal unborn child, it would have been impossible. For a Saiyan—especially one with a system—it was merely the starting point. Still, by the standards of the world I was entering, it was insignificant. I would be born into a family surrounded by fighters whose strength bent reality itself. Even without knowing exact values, I understood the gap that existed.
That gap was what the system was offering to close.
God Ki was not simply stronger ki. It was refined—calm, compressed, and controlled. I remembered how it felt in the stories I had once watched and read: quieter, heavier, more absolute. It didn't scream its presence. It commanded it.
Making it my base state meant I wouldn't rely on explosive transformations. No golden hair. No escalating tiers. Just a single, ever-present foundation of power.
There was risk in that.
The Super Saiyan forms were famous for a reason. They multiplied strength brutally and quickly, and many battles had been decided because of them.
Losing access to those forms permanently meant placing absolute faith in the path of refinement rather than escalation.
But refinement had its own advantages.
Tripled Zenkai boosts.
Growth during and after battle.
And a Super Saiyan God state that was twice as strong as normal.
This wasn't a shortcut. It was a restructuring of my growth entirely.
The Bloodline Purifier complicated things further. Its description was vague, but that vagueness was dangerous in a different way. A purified bloodline implied something closer to origin—less dilution, fewer restrictions. If used after converting my bloodline into Super Saiyan God, the result was unknown.
Unknown didn't mean bad.
It meant unexplored.
I weighed the order carefully. If I purified first, I might strengthen my Half-Saiyan bloodline—but that bloodline would soon be overwritten anyway. If I purified after converting to Super Saiyan God, the purifier would act on a divine foundation instead of a hybrid one.
The answer became clear.
There was no reason to hesitate.
I focused my intent inward, directing it toward the first item.
Use God Ki.
There was no dramatic sound effect, no blinding flash of light. Instead, warmth spread through me—slow, deep, and steady. It didn't surge violently. It settled, like molten metal flowing into a mold, filling every space it touched.
My ki changed.
I could feel it even without a physical body capable of movement. The wild, unfocused energy I hadn't even realized was there became smooth and dense, flowing in controlled currents rather than erratic pulses. It felt heavier, but not oppressive—more like gravity finally aligning itself properly.
The system responded.
-----
[Status]
Name: Not Given Yet
Age: -2 months
Relatives: Son Goku (Father), Chi-Chi (Mother), Son Gohan (Brother)
Bloodline: Super Saiyan God
Power Level: 1 Million
Skill: Calm Mind Lv.7 (+75% Mental Stability)
-----
One million.
The number didn't overwhelm me, but it grounded me. This wasn't abstract anymore. My existence had weight. Even before birth, my power had crossed thresholds that took others years—sometimes lifetimes—to reach.
I took a moment to simply exist in that state.
The God Ki didn't feel aggressive. It didn't push outward. It remained calm, circulating in quiet loops, responding instantly to my awareness. Control came naturally, as if the energy itself expected obedience rather than resistance.
Only after that did I turn my attention back to the remaining item.
The Bloodline Purifier.
If the first choice had redefined my present, this one would define my future.
Use Bloodline Purifier.
The warmth returned, but this time it was different. Sharper. More focused. It didn't spread—it cut, slicing through layers I hadn't known existed. I felt something ancient stir within me, something buried deep in my blood, responding as if awakened from a long sleep.
Instincts sharpened.
Not violently—clearly.
I became aware of balance. Of transformation. Of restraint layered atop raw potential. My tail—something I knew would be part of me—felt more than decorative. It felt integral.
The system confirmed the change.
-----
Bloodline Purifier Used
Bloodline Evolved: Super Saiyan God → Ancient Super Saiyan God
Effects:
+90% control over the Oozaru form
+50% stronger Zenkai Boosts
Tail cannot be removed
Transformations are twice as powerful and easier to achieve
-----
Ancient.
The word carried meaning beyond numbers. This wasn't just evolution—it was restoration. Something closer to what Saiyans had once been before time, dilution, and extinction had reshaped them.
Control over the Oozaru form stood out immediately. Ninety percent control meant it wasn't a mindless transformation. It was a tool. A state that could be refined, directed, possibly even harmonized with God Ki.
The tail being permanent wasn't a drawback—it was confirmation. This bloodline wasn't meant to be restrained or suppressed.
The system updated once more.
-----
[Status]
Name: Not Given Yet
Age: -2 months
Relatives: Son Goku (Father), Chi-Chi (Mother), Son Gohan (Brother)
Bloodline: Ancient Super Saiyan God
Power Level: 10 Million
Skill: Calm Mind Lv.7 (+75% Mental Stability)
-----
Ten million.
I didn't react immediately.
The number was staggering, but what mattered more was how it felt. My God Ki adjusted seamlessly, growing denser rather than wilder. There was no instability. No loss of control. The Calm Mind skill worked quietly in the background, keeping my thoughts steady and deliberate.
I let the realization sink in.
Before birth, I had surpassed thresholds that defined eras.
But power unused was power wasted.
I still had two months left—two months trapped in a body that couldn't move, couldn't train, couldn't fight. Or so it seemed.
I turned inward again, examining my God Ki more carefully this time. It responded instantly, flowing where my attention guided it. Even without muscles or nerves, I could feel it circulate, expand, contract.
If I couldn't move physically, I could still practice control.
I focused, repeating the process again and again, refining the flow, smoothing out inefficiencies. Each attempt felt easier than the last, as if my ki itself was learning alongside me.
The system reacted to that realization.
(Meditation Lv.1) Created
A small smile formed in my thoughts.
Meditation.
It wasn't flashy. It didn't increase raw power instantly. But it was perfect for my situation. A skill designed for stillness, growth through patience rather than motion.
I devoted myself to it immediately.
Time lost its meaning as I sank deeper into the rhythm of controlled breathing I didn't physically perform, guiding my God Ki through deliberate cycles. Each repetition sharpened my awareness, strengthening the connection between thought and energy.
I wasn't waiting to be born anymore.
I was preparing.
And when the time came, I would enter the world not as a helpless infant—but as something far more deliberate.
Outside the Womb
Two months passed quietly.
For the world outside, time flowed normally—days turning into weeks, routines repeating themselves—but for those gathered at West City Hospital, the hours stretched long and tense. The sterile white walls felt tighter than usual, the air heavier with anticipation.
Inside the delivery room, Chi-Chi's breathing was uneven, strained by pain and exhaustion she refused to let overwhelm her.
Bulma stood close, hands steady despite the intensity of the moment, her sharp eyes focused on Chi-Chi rather than the medical equipment around them.
"Chi-Chi," Bulma said firmly, her voice cutting through the noise, "just one more push."
Chi-Chi clenched her teeth, sweat beading along her forehead as she nodded.
"I… I'm trying!"
Outside the room,
the atmosphere was entirely different—quieter, but no less tense.
Gohan paced back and forth in the hallway, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He stopped every few steps, only to start again, unable to sit still. His face was filled with a mix of excitement and nervous energy he couldn't quite control.
"I'm going to have a little brother or sister," he said suddenly, more to himself than anyone else. "I feel so nervous right now."
Krillin, leaning against the wall nearby, smiled gently at him.
"That's normal, Gohan. Anyone would feel that way. Don't worry—everything's going to be fine."
Gohan nodded quickly, taking in a deep breath before letting it out.
"Yeah… yeah, you're right."
But the moment of reassurance didn't last long.
His gaze drifted down the hallway, unfocused, and his expression softened into something quieter—something heavier.
"I wish Dad was with us right now."
The words weren't loud, but they landed heavily.
The hallway fell silent.
Yamcha stopped leaning against the wall. Vegeta, standing with his arms crossed and eyes closed, opened them slightly. Even Krillin had no immediate response.
Everyone there felt it.
Goku's absence wasn't new—but moments like this made it sharper. He should have been there, grinning stupidly, asking questions, completely unconcerned with the tension of the situation. Instead, the space he left behind was impossible to ignore.
Master Roshi broke the silence.
"I know, Gohan," he said gently, resting his cane against the floor. "We all miss him. And we all wish he were here."
Gohan looked up at him.
"But knowing Goku," Roshi continued, a small smile tugging at his lips, "do you really think he'd want us worrying like this? He's the kind of man who would do anything for the people he loves."
Roshi's eyes softened.
"And it's not like we'll never see him again. I have a feeling we'll meet him again someday. So don't worry."
Gohan nodded slowly, holding onto those words.
Then—
A sharp cry echoed through the hallway.
The sound cut through every lingering thought, every unspoken worry.
A newborn's cry.
The door to the delivery room opened, and Bulma stepped out, her face glowing with relief and a wide smile.
"Congratulations, Gohan," she said warmly. "You have a little brother."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then everything happened at once.
Gohan rushed forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. Krillin laughed, Yamcha followed close behind, and even Vegeta took a step forward—subtle, but unmistakable.
Inside the room,
Chi-Chi lay exhausted but smiling, cradling a small bundle in her arms.
"Come here," she said softly when she saw Gohan. "Come meet your younger brother."
Gohan approached slowly, his earlier nerves returning in full force. He leaned closer, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the baby.
Bright red hair.
A small tail curled gently beside him.
Eyes that, despite being brand new to the world, seemed unusually alert.
When the baby looked up at him, his expression shifted—and then, impossibly, he smiled.
Gohan froze.
Krillin chuckled from behind him.
"Looks like he already likes his big brother."
Bulma stepped closer, hands on her hips as she examined the baby with curiosity and delight.
"He really does look like Goku," she said. "But with red hair and a tail. Plus… he's extra adorable."
Chi-Chi's smile widened as she looked down at her son.
"He's so cute. I think we'll name him… Goten."
Bulma blinked.
"Wow, Chi-Chi. Did you think of that name beforehand? It's a great name."
From the corner of the room, Ox-King scratched his head.
"I still don't understand how he has red hair when neither Goku nor Chi-Chi has red hair."
Bulma shrugged casually.
"Maybe it's a Saiyan thing. Trunks has purple hair, and that doesn't match either of us."
Krillin tilted his head, eyes drifting to the baby's tail.
"Goten was also born with a tail… do you think we should cut it for safety?"
The air shifted.
Vegeta stiffened.
His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but in something far closer to instinct. Pride.
A Saiyan's tail wasn't a weakness. It was heritage. Power. Identity.
He had felt a quiet disappointment when Trunks was born without one—a feeling he had never voiced.
Chi-Chi shook her head immediately.
"I don't want to. He looks cute with it."
Bulma nodded in agreement.
"I think so too. If there's a problem in the future, we can think about it then. But not right now."
Vegeta exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders.
Good.
For once, no one was trying to take away what made a Saiyan whole.
Goten stirred slightly in Chi-Chi's arms, his tiny fingers curling as if grasping at the air.
Unaware of the weight he carried.
Unaware of the future waiting for him.
And yet—
Something about him felt different.
Something that would soon make itself known.
MC's POV
Light.
It came all at once—violent, overwhelming, and impossible to prepare for. Sensation followed immediately after. Cold air burned against my skin. Sound crashed in without direction. Gravity asserted itself, pressing down in ways I had never experienced before.
I cried.
Not out of fear, not out of pain—but because this body demanded it.
A newborn was supposed to cry. Anything else would invite attention, and attention was dangerous.
When I stopped, it was gradual. Natural.
The world settled.
I opened my eyes.
Blurry shapes hovered above me at first, but clarity followed quickly. Chi-Chi's exhausted warmth. Gohan's wide, nervous eyes. Bulma's sharp curiosity.
And Vegeta.
He wasn't sensing anything.
He couldn't.
He was simply watching—studying posture, movement, behavior. That was how Saiyans evaluated threats when instinct alone wasn't enough.
I met his gaze briefly.
Then I smiled.
A harmless thing. Small. Innocent.
Gohan inhaled sharply. "He smiled…"
Krillin laughed. "Guess he already likes his big brother."
Good.
Let them believe that.
Time slipped.
Voices blurred. The room emptied slowly until only quiet remained. Chi-Chi slept, exhaustion finally claiming her. Gohan dozed in a chair nearby, his breathing steady.
And I stayed awake.
This body was fragile. Weak. Untrained.
But beneath that weakness lay something entirely different.
The system responded the moment my consciousness fully settled into this body.
-----
[Status]
Name: Son Goten
Age: 0 Months
Relatives:
• Son Goku (Father)
• Chi-Chi (Mother)
• Son Gohan (Brother)
Bloodline: Ancient Super Saiyan God
Power Level: 500,000,000
Skills:
• Calm Mind Lv.MAX
→ 100% Mental Stability
→ 100% Control over Oozaru Transformation
→ Learning Efficiency +50%
• Meditation Lv.MAX
→ Passive God Ki Recovery +100%
→ Ki Refinement Efficiency Increased
-----
I didn't react outwardly.
Internally, I acknowledged it.
Five hundred million.
At birth.
A number that would terrify the world if anyone could sense it.
They couldn't.
God Ki remained sealed, refined, compressed to perfection. It didn't leak. It didn't press outward. It didn't announce itself.
It simply existed.
And as long as I willed it, it would remain unseen.
I focused inward, guiding my ki in slow, deliberate cycles. No expansion. No flare. Only circulation. Control layered upon control.
This was not training.
This was refinement.
The system stayed silent—no unnecessary notifications, no prompts. It understood restraint.
Good system.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
I grew the way infants were supposed to grow. Crying when needed. Sleeping when expected. Reacting just enough to appear normal.
But patterns emerged.
"He's very calm," Chi-Chi said one evening, gently rocking me. "Gohan cried a lot more."
Bulma adjusted her glasses. "Some kids are just like that."
Vegeta said nothing.
But his eyes lingered longer than necessary.
Not sensing.
Observing.
A Saiyan trait.
One night, as city lights flickered beyond the window and the world outside slept, I felt something distant.
Not ki.
Not presence.
Alignment.
Somewhere far beyond this world, my father existed—neither alive nor gone.
Waiting.
Goku.
By the time he returned, I would no longer be helpless.
And when gods finally stepped onto this stage—
They would find me already standing.
I closed my eyes.
This was not the time for power.
This was the time for patience.