Inside the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.
As soon as Gran stepped inside, every trace of color vanished, replaced by a boundless, oppressive void of pure white. It was a world of nothingness.
The environment immediately exerted its will. The chamber possessed a natural 10x gravity, and with Gran's heavy gravity suit adding another 10x, the combined weight forced his posture to hunch significantly.
"The temperature is sitting around 50°C right now," Gran noted, gauging the air. He knew that come nightfall, the temperature would plummet to well below freezing.
To an ordinary person, these wild fluctuations would be lethal, but to Gran, they were negligible.
He had endured far worse in the Sub-World of the Destroyer's Realm. Now possessing a divine body, he barely gave the climate a second thought.
He wasn't in a hurry to begin his physical regimen. He checked the living quarters first, then made his way to the kitchen.
He recalled from the series that when Goku and Gohan entered to face Cell, they survived on little more than flour and basic rations. However, Gran found the kitchen surprisingly well-stocked—with meats, vegetables, and a variety of fresh ingredients.
"They had all this food and didn't even know how to cook it. What a waste," Gran chuckled. He shook his head and pulled a Dyno-Cap from his belt.
With a sharp pop, a small cabinet materialized in the kitchen, filled to the brim with his personal collection of seasonings. If he was going to live here for over three hundred years, he wasn't about to eat bland food.
After finishing his tour, Gran returned to the vast white expanse. Legend said this dimension was as large as the Earth itself, but Gran saw no need to explore its reaches. It was time to get to work.
His plan was simple but grueling: 100,000 push-ups, 100,000 squats, one million punches, and one million kicks—every single day.
Despite his status as a god, his method of building strength remained elegantly primitive. As Whis always said: the simplest methods often yield the greatest gains.
"Let's begin."
He started with the push-ups. Between the bulky gravity suit and the chamber's natural pull, the weight was staggering. Even for a divine being, maintaining basic movement was a struggle.
One day passed.
"99,998!"
"99,999!"
"100,000!"
Gran collapsed onto the floor the moment he finished the set. His face was deathly pale, drenched in sweat, and his arm muscles were locked in violent spasms.
This intensity reminded him of the first time he had ever donned a gravity suit. Back then, the pain had been just as agonizing, and he had failed to complete his daily goal.
But Gran wasn't discouraged. This was just the initial burden of adapting his physical form to the new gravity threshold. Only once he could finish the entire routine without a hint of fatigue would he allow himself to increase the weight.
He rested until his strength returned, then headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. That night's meal was roasted lamb. Three sheep later, full and satisfied, he went to sleep. He followed Beerus's advice religiously: train hard, eat well, and sleep soundly.
The gravity suit had built-in healing properties. By morning, Gran was fully rejuvenated. On the second day, he felt a microscopic shift in his strength.
It wasn't a massive jump, but it was evident in his performance—he finished the 100,000 push-ups and squeezed in 3,000 squats before failing. Still, that was barely a tenth of his daily goal.
He kept at it. Day three, day four...
A month passed.
"Hah!!"
Gran's fists blurred through the air, each strike generating a shockwave that tore through the chamber.
If a normal human had been standing nearby, the sheer wind pressure would have vaporized them. Gran ignored the devastation, his speed increasing until his movements were invisible to the naked eye.
"999,998!"
"999,999!"
"1,000,000!"
As the millionth punch landed, the entire Hyperbolic Time Chamber shuddered. Gran closed his eyes, then snapped them open, his gaze sharp and unwavering. He had finished the entire daily quota. No heavy breathing, no redness in his face.
"Finally. Time to increase the gravity," Gran said, stretching his limbs. Adapting meant being able to perform the routine as easily as breathing. He checked the power swelling within him.
A month of this hellish training had significantly bolstered his strength. He was now just one spark away from reaching the First Stage of the Godly Realm in his base form.
He reset his state and began the next cycle of adaptation.
Time flowed on. A year passed in the outside world. It was now Age 753. While one year passed outside, over three hundred years had vanished inside the chamber.
In Universe 1:
"How goes it? The power of Hakai shouldn't be that difficult for you," Iwan remarked.
"Lord Iwan, grasping the power isn't the issue. We've mastered the energy, but reaching the level of Divine Law is..."
"Forget about the Law level. Even if I gave you ten thousand years in the Time Room, you wouldn't reach it there. To master the Laws of Destruction, you must actually destroy things. "
"There's nothing in that room to erase. For now, mastering the energy is enough. Next, I will teach you the state exclusive to the Gods of Destruction."
"What state is that?"
"Ultra Ego!"
In Universe 12:
"Lord Giin, what is our next objective?"
"I am going to teach you Ultra Ego. It is a martial art of the will. The stronger your resolve, the more terrifying your power becomes. We must take first place!"
In Universe 5:
"Lord Arak, aside from Universes 1 and 12, the others don't concern me."
"I know that, but I want the top spot. Focus!"
In Universe 8:
"Lord Liquiir, you want me to coordinate with the other candidates to take down Universe 7 first?"
"Exactly. That skinny cat is infuriating. I want you to target his candidate ruthlessly."
"Is that really necessary? Universe 7 is ranked second-to-last. How strong can their candidate be?"
"You fool. Never underestimate a universe led by that cat. He is Beerus, after all!"
The tension of the upcoming tournament spread across the multiverse. While the gods prepared for war, the people of Earth remained blissfully unaware. They had just celebrated the 22nd World Martial Arts Tournament.
The timeline remained mostly intact. Tien Shinhan took the championship, with Son Goku as the runner-up. Soon after, King Piccolo appeared.
To defeat the demon, Goku climbed Korin Tower, drank the Ultra Divine Water, and finally pierced through the Great Demon King with his "Penetrate!" punch. As King Piccolo died, he spat out his reincarnation, Piccolo Jr.
Knowing he needed more power for the next tournament—and to defend the world—Goku ascended to the Lookout to train under Mr. Popo for three years.
"Your ki is too chaotic. Your emotions are too turbulent. Your movements are excessive," Popo chided. "Your heart must be as still as the sky, and your strike as fast as lightning."
On the Lookout, a young Goku was relentlessly attacking the black-clad attendant. No matter how fast Goku moved, Popo parried every strike with ease.
"So... so strong!" Goku panted, dropping to one knee. Popo didn't have a single bead of sweat on him.
"You rely too much on your eyes. Follow me; I will take you elsewhere to train."
Popo led Goku into the depths of the temple, down to the long corridor of rooms. As they passed the heavy double doors of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, Popo paused.
That Gran kid said he'd only be in there for a year. It's already been a year... why hasn't he come out? Is he planning to stay until the tournament starts?
"Mr. Popo? What's wrong?" Goku asked.
"It is nothing."
Popo turned toward another room. "I am going to send you to a different place. Your goal is to retrieve the Crown of Seven Colors."
Just as Popo was about to lead Goku inside...
CRACK!
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the hall. It was the sound of space itself breaking. Popo's calm eyes sharpened as he spun around. Goku followed suit, confused.
A jagged rift of purple and black energy tore open in front of the doors to the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. A figure stepped through the crack, clad in a massive, bulky gravity suit.
It was Gran.
"Lord Gran... you've finally returned," Popo whispered, observing him closely.
Gran's expression was unreadable—no excitement from a breakthrough, no frustration from a plateau.
His ki was perfectly suppressed, hidden so deeply that even Popo couldn't gauge the heights he had reached after three centuries of isolation. To Popo, Gran had become a total mystery.
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