The quiet after Razor's battle with Beerus hung in his mind like a heavy echo. Even after returning home, he couldn't shake the feeling of that defeat—not bitter, but humbling. Standing outside his house under the starlit sky, his crimson tail swayed gently, his sharp eyes locked on the night sky.
Inside, 18 laid Rizze to bed. When she returned, Razor was still motionless, lost in thought.
"You've been staring at the sky since we got home," she said, leaning against his arm.
Razor didn't respond. His gaze was fixed upward. "I've seen the power of a god, 18. Even with everything I've gained, I'm still behind."
"Yeah, no kidding," she teased. "But I can tell that's not what's really bothering you."
He frowned. "There's no one left who can challenge me. If I can't find a way to push myself harder, I'll stagnate."
18 sighed, rolling her eyes. "You Saiyans and your obsession with strength…" When Razor didn't reply, she smirked and pinched his arm sharply.
Razor jolted back, looking at her with surprise.
"Good, you're listening," she said sweetly.
18 tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… You know, Bulma once complained to me about how Vegeta practically lives inside his gravity chamber. Maybe you should ask her to build one for you."
Razor raised a brow. "Ask Bulma for help? Why would she agree?"
18 smiled faintly and slipped her hand into his. "Because she's our friend. And because you saved the Earth from Frieza. Trust me, she won't say no."
The next morning,
At Capsule Corp, the trio found Bulma and Jaco in the middle of an argument.
"I told you, Jaco," Bulma said, waving a wrench. "I'm not putting a mini-fridge in your ship!"
"But how will I keep my sweets cold?!" Jaco protested dramatically.
18 cleared her throat. "Bulma."
Bulma turned—and froze when she saw Razor. "Well, I'll be damned. The Wrathful Saiyan himself shows up!"
"Morning," Razor said plainly.
After the greetings, 18 explained their purpose.
"You want a gravity chamber?" Bulma repeated, tapping her chin. "That's actually great timing! I was working on one before Vegeta started training with Whis. I can finish it for you."
"How strong can it go?" Razor asked.
"Up to five thousand times Earth's gravity," Bulma said proudly, smirking.
18 blinked. "Five thousand? How are you supposed to power that?"
"Oh, please," Bulma scoffed. "Remember Duragon's massive city-sized ship? I reverse-engineered its power source. This thing will run for a long time."
Razor nodded approvingly. "Impressive. How long until it's ready?"
Bulma frowned, thinking. "A month. I need to build it from scratch and make it more durable, also fine-tune the systems."
Razor's excitement faded just a bit. "A month huh…"
"Patience, muscle man," 18 teased, elbowing him. "Good things take time."
Meanwhile, Rizze had already run off into the garden. She spotted Trunks and Goten playing near the pond and waved excitedly.
"Trunks! Goten!" she shouted.
Both boys turned and waved back. "Rizze!"
They ran up to her, grinning from ear to ear. For them, she was like a little sister they'd grown up around.
"Wanna play tag?" Goten asked eagerly.
"Of course!" Rizze grinned.
They darted across the field, their movements so fast they blurred. The air filled with laughter and bursts of ki as they zipped around the garden.
After a while, as they collapsed onto the grass, Rizze asked curiously, "Hey, why didn't you guys come to help fight Frieza's army yesterday?"
Trunks groaned. "Ugh… don't remind me. Mom grounded us!"
"Grounded?" Rizze blinked.
"Yeah!" Goten pouted. "She said if we didn't stay put, she'd burn all of Trunks's video games!"
Trunks threw his hands up. "And she meant it! She even told Gohan she'd tell Chi-Chi if he tried sneaking out—then he'd be forced to study forever!"
Rizze shivered, eyes wide. "Studying… all day?"
All three of them went silent for a moment, as if sharing the same horror. Then, almost in perfect sync, they burst into laughter and started sparring again, their "play" turning into a mini martial arts battle that shook the garden.
18 and Razor found them a few minutes later.
"Rizze! Time to go!" 18 called.
"Aww, okay!" Rizze waved goodbye to her friends before running back.
As they flew home, Razor's mood had quieted again.
18 glanced at him. "Still thinking about your training?"
"Always."
"Then go see Piccolo," she said simply. "He trained Gohan once. He might have a way help you."
Razor thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're right."
He changed direction mid-flight, heading toward Piccolo's ki.
At a large house surrounded by trees, Razor found Gohan sitting in the garden with Piccolo. A tiny baby giggled in Gohan's arms as he made funny faces.
"Never thought I'd see the day you act like this," Razor said as he landed.
Gohan turned, grinning. "Man, I thought some universe-ending threat appeared. Razor visiting anyone is basically an emergency signal."
Razor ignored Gohan's remark as he stated his purpose for the visit.
Piccolo folded his arms. "You're here for training."
Razor nodded. "I need a new method to push my training."
Piccolo thought for a moment before saying, "I can create weighted clothes using my technique. But if you don't want to rely on me, there's another way."
Razor tilted his head. "Another way?"
"You can infuse ki into your own clothes," Piccolo explained. "Control how much energy you put in—more ki means more mass. But it takes precision. Too much and…" He gestured vaguely. "…you'll blow your clothes off."
Gohan snorted, covering his mouth. "That would be awkward."
Razor gave a deadpan look. "Yeah, not the training result I want."
Still, he was intrigued. "I'll give it a try."
Piccolo nodded. "It's effective if done right. It'll build your ki control and physical strength at the same time."
"Thanks," Razor said, genuinely impressed. "You're smarter than most of us Saiyans combined."
Piccolo shrugged. "Just don't vaporize your pants."
That evening, Razor stood outside his home, his aura steady. He began channeling ki into his black wrist bracers. They grew heavier instantly. Sweat formed on his brow as he extended the same control to his waist cloth, pants, and boots. Each layer added more pressure.
Within minutes, even moving felt hard.
"Perfect," he grunted. Dropping into a push-up stance, he started training—each repetition slow, deliberate, controlled.
The ground beneath him cracked faintly under the weight. His breathing stayed calm, rhythmic.
It was working.
And so, day after day, Razor trained like this—never stopping the ki that weighted his clothing, except when sleeping. Even then, he planned to master his control enough to keep it active during rest.
Each morning, he and Rizze trained side by side. She could now outpace him in lighter exercises, giggling every time she beat him in a set of sit-ups or squats.
"Too slow, Papa!" she'd tease.
Razor would smirk. "Wait till I take these off, then we'll see."
Afterward, Rizze would leave to study with 18, while Razor continued pushing his limits—hours of push-ups, squats, strikes, and ki control training until sunset painted the horizon red.
Days passed like that. Quiet, simple, but filled with resolve.
Each drop of sweat, each moment of strain—All of it bringing Razor one step closer to surpassing even the gods.