A week had quietly passed since Whitley's return from the Lookout.
During this week, the atmosphere within the Briefs' estate had undergone a subtle change.
Whitley, as if trying to make up for the guilt of his three-day disappearance, spent almost all his time glued to Bulma's side, aside from his non-negotiable morning training in the gravity room.
They were like any ordinary couple in love, holding hands at the movie theater to watch the latest sci-fi blockbuster, exchanging carefully selected small gifts, and driving to a picturesque mountaintop to watch the sunrise and sunset nestled together.
In the evening, Bulma would even set up a romantic candlelight dinner for Whitley on a terrace she had meticulously decorated in the estate.
It was sweet, and it was very warm, but after a week of doing nothing but going on dates every day, not to mention being pulled away by Bulma for the latter half of the night after the dates were over...
"Hah..."
Whitley, waking up early in the new day, carefully propped himself up from the warm, comfortable bed, afraid of disturbing Bulma who was still fast asleep beside him.
The girl's blue hair was spread across the pillow, her sleeping face serene.
He tiptoed out of bed, put on his battle suit with almost silent movements, and then, like a thief, slipped out of the bedroom door on his tiptoes.
Only after closing the bedroom door, shutting out the tranquility within, did Whitley let out a long sigh of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The next second, like a wild horse breaking free, he bolted towards the gravity room in the backyard! He was so fast he left an afterimage in the early morning mist!
Click! With a dull sound, the heavy alloy door of the gravity room was firmly locked from the inside.
"Train! I must train!"
Whitley leaned against the cold metal door, feeling the familiar, oppressive space, a relieved and somewhat "survived-a-disaster" smile on his face.
Heaven knows how much of a mental toll this week of dating had taken on a training maniac like him!
He felt that accompanying his girlfriend shopping, traveling, and sightseeing was more mentally taxing than doing ten thousand squats under five hundred times gravity!
Inside the gravity room, Whitley stretched his limbs, his eyes once again becoming sharp. He took a deep breath, and with a thought.
"Ha!"
A golden light flashed! A violent and condensed golden aura instantly enveloped his entire body. His hair stood on end, turning a brilliant gold, and his turquoise pupils shone with a calm light in the golden glow.
He planned to try training under gravity directly in his Super Saiyan state. This would not only temper his strength but might also help him adapt to and master this form faster, perhaps even touching the threshold of the "Full Power" state, which was characterized by a restrained aura and extremely low energy consumption.
However, the ideal was plump, but reality was bony.
Five hundred times Earth's gravity pressed down like a tide, but when it landed on the Super Saiyan Whitley... it felt like wearing a slightly noticeable... coat?
Forget pressure, this didn't even count as a warm-up!
"Tch!"
Whitley pursed his lips in resignation. The golden aura quickly dissipated like a receding tide, and his hair returned to black.
"As I thought, it's useless. There's no pressure compared to my normal state."
He had no choice but to honestly revert from his transformation and stand in his normal state in the center of this high-pressure area, once again feeling the heavy, mountain-like pressure.
Soon, the feeling of his muscles tensing, the accelerated rush of his blood, and the sense of fulfillment from the minute increase in strength under extreme pressure returned, making him let out a satisfied hum.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom.
Bulma, who should have been fast asleep, quietly opened her eyes.
She listened to the almost inaudible but somewhat frantic footsteps outside the door gradually fade away, until the dull sound of the gravity room door closing and locking came from the backyard.
"Pfft..."
She couldn't help but let out a laugh, burying her face in the soft pillow, her shoulders shaking slightly.
After a while, she lifted her head, rolled her eyes beautifully at the ceiling, and muttered under her breath:
"Hmph! Stinky man, training maniac! You blockhead!"
After muttering, she wrapped herself tightly in the blanket, turned over, and contentedly fell back asleep in the warmth left by Whitley.
Sunlight streamed gently through the gap in the curtains, landing on the corner of her smiling mouth.
Life seemed to have returned to its familiar track: training, eating, and spending time with Bulma.
But in Whitley's regular three-point routine, a fixed extracurricular activity had been added—regular visits to the Lookout.
To repay Mr. Popo for his crucial guidance on power control, Whitley went to great lengths this time.
He specifically found West City's top-tier 2D craft master and had a lifelike, incredibly detailed model of Shenron meticulously crafted from special alloys and materials.
When he presented this mysteriously glowing gift to Mr. Popo on the plaza of the Lookout, the perpetually expressionless divine attendant's dark eyes seemed to brighten slightly.
Although he still had his usual blank look and said nothing.
But the way he carefully took the model, his fingers gently stroking the dragon's scales, and the way he almost never let it out of his hands, all silently declared his extreme satisfaction with the gift.
Beside them, Kami watched Mr. Popo's fondling of the model, then looked at Whitley, who was empty-handed and clearly had no intention of bringing him a gift. His wrinkled green face tensed slightly.
Finally, he let out a heavy "Hmph!", flicked his sleeve, and with steps that clearly carried a hint of displeasure, turned and disappeared into the depths of the Lookout.
"Uh? What's... what's with Kami?"
Whitley was a bit baffled by this sudden cold shoulder and asked Mr. Popo in confusion. (He had just graduated from college in his past life, and in this life, his brain was mostly muscle.)
Mr. Popo, holding the Shenron model, just shook his head silently, still not speaking.
Whitley didn't press the matter. He had another purpose for this trip. "Mr. Popo, I came this time to continue my training with you. I feel there's still a lot of room for improvement in my fine control over my power."
Mr. Popo finally looked up, his vacant eyes looking at Whitley for a while before slowly speaking, his voice still flat and emotionless:
"What I could teach, I have already taught last time. The clarity of the mind, the harmony of power, the stability of the foundation... the rest of the path, you must walk on your own. For now, I have nothing new to teach you."
After speaking, he held his beloved model, turned, and also left the plaza to attend to his own matters.
Watching Mr. Popo's short, stout but seemingly profound figure disappear down the corridor of the Lookout, Whitley stood on the empty plaza, feeling the biting high-altitude wind. After a long while, he let out a long sigh:
"It seems, in the end, I can only rely on myself for training..."
Time flew, and another peaceful and fulfilling year passed.
One afternoon, the sun was just right.
Bulma, wearing cool summer clothes, was leisurely lying under a large parasol in the courtyard, flipping through the latest tech magazine.
Suddenly, a vibrant voice came from above:
"Hello! Are Whitley and Bulma there?"
Bulma looked up at the sound and saw a golden cloud hovering over the estate. Sitting on it was Son Goku, whom she hadn't seen in a long time.
He had grown a little taller, and some of the childishness had faded from his face, but his eyes were still clear and bright, and his face wore the familiar innocent smile.
"Huh? Goku!"
Bulma sat up in surprise and waved at the sky.
"What are you doing here? Come on down!"
Goku steered the Flying Nimbus and landed lightly on the lawn, looking around the exquisite estate with curiosity.
"Bulma! I finally found you!"
He greeted her happily, then looked around, craning his neck.
"Doesn't Whitley live here? I can't sense his ki."
Hearing that he was looking for Whitley, Bulma didn't even bother to get up.
She lazily lay back down on the beach chair and languidly pointed to the huge metal building in the backyard.
"You're looking for Whitley? He's got a pretty cool new hairstyle now, his hair's turned golden. Yep, he's in there training. Just go and ring the doorbell on the door."
"Golden hair?"
Goku scratched his head and walked towards the gravity room with a curious look on his face.
He rang the doorbell, and the clear "ding-dong" was particularly loud in the quiet courtyard.
"Whitley! Are you in there?"
Inside the gravity room.
Whitley, maintaining his Super Saiyan Full Power state, was levitating cross-legged in mid-air.
The golden aura around him burned quietly like a gentle flame, his ki restrained to the extreme, almost blending in with the surrounding environment.
He had his eyes closed, immersed in the subtle flow of his power and the perfect coordination of his body.
The doorbell and Goku's familiar voice penetrated the heavy alloy door and reached his ears.
"Kakarot?" Whitley slowly opened his turquoise eyes, a hint of confusion in them. "Why did this kid come here?"
With a thought, his body landed lightly, and the golden aura surrounding him instantly receded without a trace.
He walked to the door, and with a "hiss," the heavy alloy door slid to the side.
"Goku? Why did you come looking for me?"
Whitley looked at his little Saiyan brother at the door, who seemed to have grown a bit and whose ki had also become more condensed.
The moment Goku saw Whitley, his eyes lit up like searchlights!
He keenly sensed the abyss-like, terrifying ki from the other. Just standing in front of him, his body's instincts made him tremble slightly. It was the uncontrollable physiological reaction of the weak in the face of the strong!
"Wow! you're so strong, Whitley!"
Goku shouted excitedly, not a trace of fear on his face, only pure fighting spirit and excitement.
"I can't help but tremble just standing in front of you! You're amazing! How did you do it?"
Whitley looked at him and, exasperated, reached out and accurately pinched Goku's still slightly chubby cheek, giving it a good squeeze. "If you have something to say, just say it. When did you learn to flatter people?"
"Flatter?" Goku winced from the pinch and asked in confusion as he struggled, "What's that? Is it a kind of horse meat you can eat?"
Whitley: "..." He was completely defeated. He simply let go and facepalmed.
"Ugh... you kid... never mind. Just say it, what's up? You didn't come all this way just to praise me, did you?"
Goku rubbed his reddened cheek and grinned, his fighting spirit high. "I came to ask you to join the World Martial Arts Tournament! I didn't get to fight you in the last one, it was such a shame! I will definitely defeat you this time!"
He clenched his fists, his eyes burning with fighting spirit.
"Oh~?"
A playful curve appeared on Whitley's lips as he looked Goku up and down.
"Very confident, Kakarot. But..." He reached out a finger and lightly tapped Goku on the forehead.
"With your current strength? You're still far from it, you little brat!" As he spoke, he pretended to pinch his cheek again.
"Ah! Damn it! Stop pinching my face!" Goku agilely jumped back and protested indignantly.
Whitley smiled, retracted his hand, and said seriously, "I'm not participating in this year's tournament."
"Huh? Why?" The excitement on Goku's face instantly collapsed, replaced by disappointment.
"Of course, it's because you guys," Whitley spread his hands, his tone annoyingly matter-of-fact, "are all too weak. Do you even need to ask? It feels like bullying children."
Seeing the instant dimming of Goku's eyes, Whitley changed the subject, a look of amusement in his eyes.
"But... seeing as you're so motivated, I can help you get stronger. Want to give it a try?"
"Huh?! Get stronger?!" Goku's eyes instantly lit up again. "What's the method?!"
Whitley turned and walked straight back into the gravity room, tossing over his shoulder, "Want to know? Keep up!"
"Huh? You came back alone? Where's Goku?"
In the evening, Bulma asked curiously as Whitley, fresh from a shower and his hair still damp, appeared beside her.
"That kid Goku?" Whitley plopped down on the beach chair next to Bulma and, without any ceremony, took a sip of the half-finished juice she was drinking.
"He's in the gravity room, training like his life depends on it. Tell the chef to prepare more for dinner. Uhm... triple my usual amount. Otherwise, it definitely won't be enough for that kid."
"Oh~~"
Bulma drew out the sound, a mischievous smile on her lips as she teased, "Since Goku has taken over your precious gravity room, what are you going to do? Should I bring out the first-generation one my dad built for you from the warehouse? It's a bit old, but it's better than nothing, right?"
Whitley leaned back comfortably in his chair, looking at the brilliant sunset, and slowly shook his head. "No need."
His tone was calm and certain. "For me now, it doesn't make much difference whether I have a gravity room or not."
Bulma keenly caught a barely perceptible halt in his words and turned to look at him. "Hm? What happened?"
Whitley turned his head and met Bulma's concerned gaze, saying frankly, "I... have hit another plateau."
"Huh?!" Bulma's expression changed slightly. She immediately sat up straight, her tone tense. "A plateau?! You're not going to disappear for several days without a word again, are you?!" The last time Whitley "disappeared" had left a lingering fear in her.
Seeing Bulma's instant tension, Whitley's heart warmed, and he reached out to hold her cool little hand. "That... probably won't happen for now."
He smiled, trying to reassure her, but then added with some uncertainty, "But... it's hard to say this time. Breaking through a plateau sometimes requires... an opportunity."
He paused, looked at Bulma's still-worried eyes, and told her his plan. "How about this, you can help me with something tomorrow."
"What kind of help?"
"Gather some famous chefs and pastry chefs to the estate."
Whitley's eyes became serious, and there was even a hint of... anticipation?
"Chefs?" Bulma was stunned, then seemed to understand something. She snorted, her little mouth pouting slightly, as if she wanted to throw a little tantrum.
This training maniac is thinking about eating instead of spending time with me?
But on second thought, thinking about how Whitley usually accommodated and tolerated her, the little bit of dissatisfaction in her heart instantly melted into helplessness and indulgence.
She sighed, squeezed Whitley's hand in return, and said with resignation, "Alright, alright! Who asked me to choose this man! If you want to eat, then eat. I'll make sure there's enough!"
Whitley looked at Bulma's "I-can't-do-anything-about-you" cute expression, gently pulled her into his arms, and said with a smile, "It's not for me to eat. I just want to do an experiment. I'll tell you after it's successful tomorrow."
"Huh?" Bulma complained coquettishly and snuggled into his arms. The two of them nestled in the large beach chair, watching the sky dyed golden-red by the sunset.
Whitley's chin rested lightly on the top of Bulma's head. His turquoise pupils reflected the brilliant sunset, and also a hint of contemplation and anticipation for the unknown.
"I hope tomorrow..." he whispered to himself, his voice dissipating in the gentle breeze, "everything goes smoothly."