Rhode watched Aira's eager expression with quiet amusement. The fierce warrior who had once bristled at any perceived slight now practically glowed at the prospect of teaching him something. It was a reversal he hadn't expected, but one he found deeply satisfying.
"Self-Evolution Technique, Self-Modification Technique, Protective Shield..." Rhode cataloged her offerings. "You've been busy."
"The Self-Modification Technique will surprise you most." Aira's eyes sparkled with barely-contained pride. "Recovery Technique plus Dr. Gero's cell modification data. The results are... impressive."
Impressive. Rhode had witnessed those results firsthand—her shattered arm regenerating in seconds, her stamina defying logic as she fought a forty-billion enemy. If the Self-Modification Technique could achieve even a fraction of true immortality...
"You've given me much to look forward to."
Metamor was a graveyard.
Their senses swept the planet, finding nothing—no Metamorian survivors, no life beyond scattered vegetation. The Fusion Technique's birthplace had been erased.
Aira's expression flickered, old memories surfacing. Planet Vegeta. Fire. Screaming. The cold void swallowing everything she had known.
Rhode felt her shift through their connection and squeezed her hand gently.
"The Fusion Technique..." he murmured. "We'll need another way."
"Namek?" Aira suggested. "Wish them back?"
Rhode considered. It was the kindest option, if not the most efficient. But kindness had its own value, and Metamor's destruction was, indirectly, his doing.
"Let's go."
Namek's green expanse welcomed them like an old friend. The Grand Elder, aged but sharp-eyed, smiled as they materialized before him.
"Rhode. Aira." His voice was warm, knowing. "You've returned—and together. The universe has a way of bringing what belongs together back to each other."
The Namekian dragon balls gleamed under the alien sky. Porunga's massive form loomed, his red eyes fixed on Rhode with what might have been resignation.
This guy again, the dragon's expression seemed to say. Always with the complicated wishes.
The first wish was straightforward enough: restore Planet Metamor to its original state. Porunga hesitated—this wasn't resurrection, it was restoration, a subtle loophole—but ultimately complied. The planet that had birthed the Fusion Technique would live again.
Two wishes remained. Rhode and Aira exchanged glances, both drawing a blank.
Then Rhode's eyes lit with inspiration. He whispered his wish to Porunga in flawless Namekian.
Light flared. When it faded, two simple bands rested on their fingers—his on the left, hers on the right. Identical, unadorned, but humming with a subtle energy.
"Your wish is granted. Farewell."
Porunga vanished with what might have been relief.
Aira examined her ring, curiosity replacing confusion. Then her eyes widened. "This... it's a gravity device? It's constantly adjusted to my maximum training threshold!" Delight spread across her face. "I'll be training all the time now!"
Rhode smiled, watching her excitement. She had completely missed the other meaning—the matching rings, placed on the traditional fingers, symbolizing something far beyond training efficiency.
One day, he thought, warmth blooming in his chest, she'll understand. And when she does...
"Come on," he said, offering his hand. "Let's go home."