Welcome, everyone!!
So, I’m giving this a try on Kanzenshuu. For something a bit different, I’m offering a Dragon Ball sequel focused on the younger generation (Oob, Pan, Bra…).
My English isn’t very strong (I’m French), but I hope there won’t be too many mistakes. I’m open to any and all feedback (good or bad) about the story, characters, writing, or anything else.
SYNOPSIS
Twelve years had passed since Son Goku left with Oob. Earth had seen its share of threats, but its protectors had risen to the occasion. Peace had been restored once more. But what would come next?Planned Chapter Count
Roughly sixty in total.
Release Schedule
Every Friday, then every other Friday (starting June 2026, since I already began posting on another forum and I’d like to catch up here so I can post chapters simultaneously). There will be special chapters; I might make a separate thread for those, if that’s permitted here (i.e., multiple topics in the same “universe”).
Canon
The 519 chapters of the Dragon Ball manga, plus elements I enjoy from related works (GT, Super, Daima, video games, fan works).
Summaries
Spoiler:
Chapters 1–11
Goten reflects on Goku’s repeated absences, and Trunks suggests entering the next day’s Tenkaichi Budokai to take his mind off things. They also mention Vegeta’s likely presence (and therefore Bra and Pan), which motivates them even more.The 32nd Tenkaichi Budokai opens with the heroes arriving under Mister Satan’s flashy show-style organization. Qualifiers use a new trial: breaking tiles. A group of “unknown” fighters draws attention (Tara, Guma, Dinner, Aya), leaning into the mystery surrounding their identities. Tile scores soar as soon as the main characters step up. The draw and the win conditions set the tournament’s rules.
FIRST ROUND
• Match #1: Marron faces Shark, mocks him and ring-outs him. After this bout we learn Tara failed to qualify, unlike the others.
• Match #2: Goku faces Dinner, who reveals a sneeze-triggered form change. Dinner shows strong technique and unveils a third eye, but the power gap remains large. The match ends with Dinner’s forfeit and Goku’s victory.
• Match #3: Pan then faces Oob. She tries to turn the tide with a mouth blast and then a Masenko, but Oob ultimately wins.
• Match #4: Guma faces Lady Star the model, who uses psychokinesis to control him and force him out of the ring.
• Match #5: Aya faces Gotenks. Despite Super Saiyan 3, she exploits the fusion’s instability, leaving Goten and Trunks separated and weakened, and the fight swings her way.
• Match #6: Finally, Bra faces Vegeta, powers up (Super Saiyan 2), yet Vegeta finishes with an afterimage and a chop to the neck. He’s declared the winner and carries her off the ring, reminding her she still has progress to make.
Chapters 12–22
After round one, the ring is repaired and the referee announces the six semifinalists: Marron, Goku, Lady Star, Oob, Vegeta, and Aya.• Semifinal #1: Marron surprises Goku with a tactical approach and a technique of slicing orbs, but Goku identifies the trick and neutralizes it. Marron doesn’t get up before the count, letting Goku reach the final.
• Semifinal #2: Oob faces Lady Star, trying to avoid her gaze and psychokinetic control. He endures, capitalizes on her exhaustion, and ring-outs her to qualify.
• Semifinal #3: Vegeta vs. Aya. The match plays out mostly as a mental projection, Aya exploiting Vegeta’s past before he regains the upper hand. Vegeta refuses any rest before the final.
The three-way final begins with a blisteringly fast clash between Goku and Vegeta, then Oob cuts in and sets the pace.
A Kamehameha is deflected toward Vegeta, and Goku is blasted toward the participants’ hall (by an explosive ki sphere), rebounding off a cornice. The referee enforces the rule: Goku touched an element outside the ring and is eliminated (disqualification).
The fight continues as a Vegeta vs. Oob duel, turning into a test of endurance, power, and discipline.
Meanwhile, Goten enters the women’s locker room to speak with Aya; touching her scars triggers a traumatic reaction and Aya attacks him. Tara and Guma intervene and manage to calm Aya.
Vegeta becomes champion (Oob concedes), refusing the prize money. The referee takes the opportunity to announce his retirement. Aya apologizes for injuring Goten. The heroes are joined by Tenshinhan and his group, then head off to celebrate the victory with dinner at the Delicious.
-----------------------------
Prologue
Spoiler:
According to legend, anyone who gathers the seven Dragon Balls can summon the divine dragon Shenron and have any wish granted.
The Saiyan warrior Son Goku and his friends protected these magical orbs from sorcerers, gods, galactic tyrants, and demons—defending Earth at the risk of their lives. Along the way, they developed new techniques and transformations to see their mission through.
After many battles, Earth earned a long stretch of peace. Son Goku trained a successor: Oob, the reincarnation of the mighty Majin Boo. He trained tirelessly to become a worthy defender of Earth and its people. Now, he’s embarked on his own journey.
Twelve years have passed since his training began.
The Saiyan warrior Son Goku and his friends protected these magical orbs from sorcerers, gods, galactic tyrants, and demons—defending Earth at the risk of their lives. Along the way, they developed new techniques and transformations to see their mission through.
After many battles, Earth earned a long stretch of peace. Son Goku trained a successor: Oob, the reincarnation of the mighty Majin Boo. He trained tirelessly to become a worthy defender of Earth and its people. Now, he’s embarked on his own journey.
Twelve years have passed since his training began.
-----------------------------
Chapter 1 – The Adventure Continues
Spoiler:
A few kilometers outside the city, at the base of a lone plains tree, a man lay on his back with his eyes closed. Light gusts of wind tousled the strands of his unruly black hair. He looked to be in his early thirties. He wore a white tee, jeans, and white lace-up sneakers. A pretty standard city-guy outfit, except for the blue sports wristbands at his wrists: proof that he practiced a sport—specifically a combat sport, judging by his well-defined muscles.
But he was clearly doing something else. Headphones on, fingers tapping along to steady variations in rhythm, quietly humming. He was listening to music. He didn’t hear the birds, nor the wind rustling the leaves of his tree. The outside world had faded away… so he also didn’t hear the newcomer approaching.
The newcomer stepped up and took the headphones off his ears.
— There you are, Goten, the new arrival exclaimed.
— Trunks? What are you doing here?
— I came to talk to my buddy.
Trunks was about Goten’s age and build. His short lavender hair fell in a few strands across his face. He wore a light-gray, rolled-sleeve shirt, fitted enough to show the outline of his muscles, along with jeans and red sneakers. He sat next to his friend and they chatted about nothing in particular: girls, work, music, movies, and so on.
Then a long silence settled in. Goten found himself thinking about how often his father was absent—even when it mattered: birthdays, graduations, family dinners. The times he needed the great Son Goku the most.
And for what? Just to fight. It was like a drug for him. Didn’t he get his fill back when he was dead? Father of the year, he was not. His thoughts grew gloomy. Trunks sensed the mood souring and cut that train of thought short.
— Thinking about your dad?
— Yeah… He hasn’t been back to Earth in a while, he sighed.
— He always disappears for long stretches, you know. But I’m sure if a strong enemy showed up, your dad would be back in a flash, Trunks joked.
— Yeah…
— …
Another long silence. The atmosphere got heavy again… honestly, kind of a drag.
Trunks kicked things back into gear:
— Come on, I know how to cheer you up.
Goten shot him a puzzled look.
— How about we enter the tournament tomorrow?
— What for? We haven’t trained in years.
— Boo isn’t entering anymore, he declared. We’ve got a real shot!
— Meh…
— Oh, c’mon! I’m sure there’ll be plenty of girls there.
Like a jolt, Goten sprang to his feet, hands on his hips.
— Fine, a little exercise won’t hurt.
Trunks grinned.
— That said, it might not be a walk in the park. If we enter, you can bet my dad will, too, he added.
— Anyway, Pan and Bra wanted to enter, so Vegeta was a given.
It’d be nice if his own father entered, the black-haired young man thought.
— By the way, Goten— I’ve cooked up a plan to beat my old man, Trunks said with a wide grin and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.
Goku’s son looked genuinely curious about his friend’s strategy.
Capsule Corporation, the world-famous company behind Hoi-Poi Capsules. In its grand gravity chamber, a fierce battle was underway.
On the chamber’s red tiles stood a man around one-sixty tall, arms hanging loosely. He looked young, but old scars and white strands in his flame-like black hair spoke to his advanced age. More surprising than his tight blue combat suit pants and extraterrestrial-looking boots with yellow-ridged toe caps was his build. For someone in his sixties, he was impressively well-muscled. Bare-chested, sweat beaded across his torso. He faced two young women who were looking worse for wear.
The first, sprawled on the floor and drenched in sweat, seemed to be in her early twenties. Athletic and well-proportioned—the mark of regular training. Her blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail with a blue band, with two thick forelocks framing her face. She wore a long-sleeve, form-fitting khaki top that ended just above her navel, showing a toned midriff, along with black leggings and white sneakers.
The second, younger girl was also covered in sweat. She sat on the ground, leaning back on her arms. Her physique was light but well-defined. Her lavender ponytail was set unusually on the right side of her head. She wore a fitted blue athletic set: a sleeveless sports bra and tight cycling shorts that ended just above the knee, paired with boots similar to her opponent’s and a watch on her right wrist.
— Pathetic! That all you’ve got? the man taunted. Instead of watching your stupid anime, you’d be better off training.
The two teammates got back up and took their stances.
— Let’s go, Bra! Just like in Dragov Fall! the blonde shouted.
— Okay! Bra answered.
Despite her exhaustion, the lavender-haired girl clenched her fists and cried out. An intense aura flared around her; her hair stood up and turned golden: Super Saiyan—a legendary transformation of her ancestors (well, not so legendary anymore). Her partner was surprised she still had anything left in the tank. The shout faded; calm returned. Only the ticking of a watch could be heard. On both sides, the fighters were ready to clash.
At the final tick, Bra dashed at her opponent. The girl in the khaki top pointed her fingers like pistols, closed one dark eye for better aim, and fired ki blasts shaped like donuts at the man’s legs, making playful laser-gun sounds with her mouth. His legs pinned, he now faced Bra.
— Take this! Pan Pan Neko Smaaaash! she cried.
Arms crossed, she slashed forward, her hands wreathed in blade-like energy that covered her fingers like a cat’s claws ready to rend its prey—attempting a cross-slash.
But just as the attack would have landed, the sixty-year-old dropped low with startling speed and slammed a fist into the girl’s gut. Right in the liver!
Dropping to her knees, she reverted to normal, clutching her stomach. The assailant turned to his second opponent, thrust out his palm, and unleashed a shockwave. The poor girl didn’t even have time to guard, or finish her curse before she was already embedded in the chamber wall.
— You won’t beat me with tricks like that.
Bra staggered back up; the blow still had her reeling. She headed to her partner.
— Marron, you okay?
She helped her friend out of the wall.
— Yeah… yeah… she panted.
— Come on, let’s go again!
— Two minutes, Dad! Marron’s not a Saiyan, y’know?! Control your strength next time! the lavender-haired girl snapped.
Her tone reminded him of his wife, Bulma the genius inventor and head of Capsule Corporation. Apparently their daughter inherited more than just her looks. He recalled how, when he wanted to train their son Trunks at the age of three, Bulma had chewed him out, saying he was too young to work that hard. On Planet Vegeta, the world that bore his name and of which he was prince, it was normal to begin training once you were out of the incubation chamber at that age. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
Remembering that, he smiled.
— That’s enough for today. No point entering tomorrow if you’re going to end up in pieces.
Vegeta’s daughter served as Marron’s crutch as they left the chamber to rest.
Another battle raged far from there, very far, and very high. In the sky, hundreds of kilometers above the ground. Near the combat zone, a gigantic platform floated, with two figures watching the spectacle.
— Pan’s improving, one of them remarked.
He had green skin, two antennae, pointed ears, and no eyebrows. Nothing like an Earthling. A long blue cape draped over a white tunic marked with a red symbol denoting his title as God of Earth. Pink, layered muscle plates ran across his forearms, biceps, and triceps. He held a tall staff in his four-fingered hand. All typical traits of Namekians, a peaceful extraterrestrial race that originally created the Dragon Balls.
— Mr. Popo thinks so too, the other replied in his genie-like attire. Piccolo trained her well.
The fight was in full swing. A medium-height man nearing his forties wore a sleeveless blue gi, a red belt, and black martial-artist boots, with red sports bands at his wrists and ankles. Opposing him were a young girl and a very tall individual.
The girl was about sixteen, a bit over one-sixty in height. Her gi was purple, with a belt tied around her waist, white socks over black martial-arts slippers, and red sweatbands. Her black hair was tied in a low ponytail, loose strands falling toward her eyes and ears, leaving a determined face uncovered.
The other fighter was a two-meter-tall Namekian wearing a purple gi as well, a blue belt at his waist, and traditional pointed-toe leather boots folded back at the tips.
The man in the blue gi flashed between the two of them, and thinking he was coming straight for them, they both raised their guards.
— He went back to the palace, Pan! the Namekian shouted to the girl, who had already noticed.
Both flared their ki to fly faster. Pan used even more and arrived first. She grabbed someone and glanced at her partner.
— Piccolo! Attack him! she cried.
But she saw her opponent at her ally’s side.
— Dad? What are you doing over there?
She quickly looked at whom she’d grabbed and started blushing with embarrassment. It was a slightly muscular, dark-skinned boy with a medium-length mohawk. He wore a moderately dark teal-green gi, orange boots with laces at the ankles, and yellow sports bands with a yellow belt. The “Go” symbol, yellow within a white circle with a yellow border, sat over his heart and on his back.
— I’m happy to see you too, Pan, the newcomer exclaimed, scratching the back of his head.
She let him go.
— Oob? You’re not with Grandpa? she asked, changing the subject to hide her embarrassment.
Right then, the grandpa in question, with the wild hair, appeared. He wore a gi with a blue top and yellow-orange bottoms, black martial-arts boots, and red sports bands, with a white belt and white bands around his ankles as well.
— Son, Piccolo said with a smile.
— Dad! Pan’s father cried happily.
— Goku, welcome back, said the second Namekian.
— Gohan—everyone—it’s been a while! Goku exclaimed.
He turned to his granddaughter and opened his arms for a hug. She turned on her heel.
— You’ve been gone for months, she began. Did you really think I’d just leap into your arms?
Not knowing what to say, he scratched his head, a bead of sweat at his temple. She went on:
— And you didn’t even let me come with you.
— You know your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to skip school.
He’d hit the mark. She had no quick comeback. Piccolo broke the silence.
— How’d the fight go? he asked Oob.
— I won this time!
— You beat Grandpa?
— Yeah, he got me, Goku admitted.
— But I got lucky.
— Luck is part of a fight, Piccolo noted.
They chatted about the tournament. Oob and Goku confirmed they’d enter. Piccolo and Gohan, meanwhile, preferred to come as spectators.
— Well, I’m heading back. My family’s waiting for me. See you tomorrow, guys.
Goku stepped forward and the two men shook hands.
— Take care, God of Earth. You too, Mr. Popo.
Oob teleported back to his village with a wave.
— We’ll head home as well, Gohan announced, putting his glasses back on.
— Bye-bye, Dende, Mr. Popo, said Goku.
— See you tomorrow, Pan added.
The three took off toward home.
— Still mad? the Saiyan asked Pan—who ignored him completely.
Goku thought for a second and came up with a solution. Catching his son’s eye, he grinned.
— Last one home runs a lap around the Earth!
He burst into aura and shot off at top speed.
— That guy… she grumbled. Wait for me!
— Hey, I never said I was racing! Gohan protested, trying to catch up.
The trio raced beneath a gorgeous sunset.
But he was clearly doing something else. Headphones on, fingers tapping along to steady variations in rhythm, quietly humming. He was listening to music. He didn’t hear the birds, nor the wind rustling the leaves of his tree. The outside world had faded away… so he also didn’t hear the newcomer approaching.
The newcomer stepped up and took the headphones off his ears.
— There you are, Goten, the new arrival exclaimed.
— Trunks? What are you doing here?
— I came to talk to my buddy.
Trunks was about Goten’s age and build. His short lavender hair fell in a few strands across his face. He wore a light-gray, rolled-sleeve shirt, fitted enough to show the outline of his muscles, along with jeans and red sneakers. He sat next to his friend and they chatted about nothing in particular: girls, work, music, movies, and so on.
Then a long silence settled in. Goten found himself thinking about how often his father was absent—even when it mattered: birthdays, graduations, family dinners. The times he needed the great Son Goku the most.
And for what? Just to fight. It was like a drug for him. Didn’t he get his fill back when he was dead? Father of the year, he was not. His thoughts grew gloomy. Trunks sensed the mood souring and cut that train of thought short.
— Thinking about your dad?
— Yeah… He hasn’t been back to Earth in a while, he sighed.
— He always disappears for long stretches, you know. But I’m sure if a strong enemy showed up, your dad would be back in a flash, Trunks joked.
— Yeah…
— …
Another long silence. The atmosphere got heavy again… honestly, kind of a drag.
Trunks kicked things back into gear:
— Come on, I know how to cheer you up.
Goten shot him a puzzled look.
— How about we enter the tournament tomorrow?
— What for? We haven’t trained in years.
— Boo isn’t entering anymore, he declared. We’ve got a real shot!
— Meh…
— Oh, c’mon! I’m sure there’ll be plenty of girls there.
Like a jolt, Goten sprang to his feet, hands on his hips.
— Fine, a little exercise won’t hurt.
Trunks grinned.
— That said, it might not be a walk in the park. If we enter, you can bet my dad will, too, he added.
— Anyway, Pan and Bra wanted to enter, so Vegeta was a given.
It’d be nice if his own father entered, the black-haired young man thought.
— By the way, Goten— I’ve cooked up a plan to beat my old man, Trunks said with a wide grin and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.
Goku’s son looked genuinely curious about his friend’s strategy.
* * * * * * *
Capsule Corporation, the world-famous company behind Hoi-Poi Capsules. In its grand gravity chamber, a fierce battle was underway.
On the chamber’s red tiles stood a man around one-sixty tall, arms hanging loosely. He looked young, but old scars and white strands in his flame-like black hair spoke to his advanced age. More surprising than his tight blue combat suit pants and extraterrestrial-looking boots with yellow-ridged toe caps was his build. For someone in his sixties, he was impressively well-muscled. Bare-chested, sweat beaded across his torso. He faced two young women who were looking worse for wear.
The first, sprawled on the floor and drenched in sweat, seemed to be in her early twenties. Athletic and well-proportioned—the mark of regular training. Her blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail with a blue band, with two thick forelocks framing her face. She wore a long-sleeve, form-fitting khaki top that ended just above her navel, showing a toned midriff, along with black leggings and white sneakers.
The second, younger girl was also covered in sweat. She sat on the ground, leaning back on her arms. Her physique was light but well-defined. Her lavender ponytail was set unusually on the right side of her head. She wore a fitted blue athletic set: a sleeveless sports bra and tight cycling shorts that ended just above the knee, paired with boots similar to her opponent’s and a watch on her right wrist.
— Pathetic! That all you’ve got? the man taunted. Instead of watching your stupid anime, you’d be better off training.
The two teammates got back up and took their stances.
— Let’s go, Bra! Just like in Dragov Fall! the blonde shouted.
— Okay! Bra answered.
Despite her exhaustion, the lavender-haired girl clenched her fists and cried out. An intense aura flared around her; her hair stood up and turned golden: Super Saiyan—a legendary transformation of her ancestors (well, not so legendary anymore). Her partner was surprised she still had anything left in the tank. The shout faded; calm returned. Only the ticking of a watch could be heard. On both sides, the fighters were ready to clash.
At the final tick, Bra dashed at her opponent. The girl in the khaki top pointed her fingers like pistols, closed one dark eye for better aim, and fired ki blasts shaped like donuts at the man’s legs, making playful laser-gun sounds with her mouth. His legs pinned, he now faced Bra.
— Take this! Pan Pan Neko Smaaaash! she cried.
Arms crossed, she slashed forward, her hands wreathed in blade-like energy that covered her fingers like a cat’s claws ready to rend its prey—attempting a cross-slash.
But just as the attack would have landed, the sixty-year-old dropped low with startling speed and slammed a fist into the girl’s gut. Right in the liver!
Dropping to her knees, she reverted to normal, clutching her stomach. The assailant turned to his second opponent, thrust out his palm, and unleashed a shockwave. The poor girl didn’t even have time to guard, or finish her curse before she was already embedded in the chamber wall.
— You won’t beat me with tricks like that.
Bra staggered back up; the blow still had her reeling. She headed to her partner.
— Marron, you okay?
She helped her friend out of the wall.
— Yeah… yeah… she panted.
— Come on, let’s go again!
— Two minutes, Dad! Marron’s not a Saiyan, y’know?! Control your strength next time! the lavender-haired girl snapped.
Her tone reminded him of his wife, Bulma the genius inventor and head of Capsule Corporation. Apparently their daughter inherited more than just her looks. He recalled how, when he wanted to train their son Trunks at the age of three, Bulma had chewed him out, saying he was too young to work that hard. On Planet Vegeta, the world that bore his name and of which he was prince, it was normal to begin training once you were out of the incubation chamber at that age. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
Remembering that, he smiled.
— That’s enough for today. No point entering tomorrow if you’re going to end up in pieces.
Vegeta’s daughter served as Marron’s crutch as they left the chamber to rest.
* * * * * * *
Another battle raged far from there, very far, and very high. In the sky, hundreds of kilometers above the ground. Near the combat zone, a gigantic platform floated, with two figures watching the spectacle.
— Pan’s improving, one of them remarked.
He had green skin, two antennae, pointed ears, and no eyebrows. Nothing like an Earthling. A long blue cape draped over a white tunic marked with a red symbol denoting his title as God of Earth. Pink, layered muscle plates ran across his forearms, biceps, and triceps. He held a tall staff in his four-fingered hand. All typical traits of Namekians, a peaceful extraterrestrial race that originally created the Dragon Balls.
— Mr. Popo thinks so too, the other replied in his genie-like attire. Piccolo trained her well.
The fight was in full swing. A medium-height man nearing his forties wore a sleeveless blue gi, a red belt, and black martial-artist boots, with red sports bands at his wrists and ankles. Opposing him were a young girl and a very tall individual.
The girl was about sixteen, a bit over one-sixty in height. Her gi was purple, with a belt tied around her waist, white socks over black martial-arts slippers, and red sweatbands. Her black hair was tied in a low ponytail, loose strands falling toward her eyes and ears, leaving a determined face uncovered.
The other fighter was a two-meter-tall Namekian wearing a purple gi as well, a blue belt at his waist, and traditional pointed-toe leather boots folded back at the tips.
The man in the blue gi flashed between the two of them, and thinking he was coming straight for them, they both raised their guards.
— He went back to the palace, Pan! the Namekian shouted to the girl, who had already noticed.
Both flared their ki to fly faster. Pan used even more and arrived first. She grabbed someone and glanced at her partner.
— Piccolo! Attack him! she cried.
But she saw her opponent at her ally’s side.
— Dad? What are you doing over there?
She quickly looked at whom she’d grabbed and started blushing with embarrassment. It was a slightly muscular, dark-skinned boy with a medium-length mohawk. He wore a moderately dark teal-green gi, orange boots with laces at the ankles, and yellow sports bands with a yellow belt. The “Go” symbol, yellow within a white circle with a yellow border, sat over his heart and on his back.
— I’m happy to see you too, Pan, the newcomer exclaimed, scratching the back of his head.
She let him go.
— Oob? You’re not with Grandpa? she asked, changing the subject to hide her embarrassment.
Right then, the grandpa in question, with the wild hair, appeared. He wore a gi with a blue top and yellow-orange bottoms, black martial-arts boots, and red sports bands, with a white belt and white bands around his ankles as well.
— Son, Piccolo said with a smile.
— Dad! Pan’s father cried happily.
— Goku, welcome back, said the second Namekian.
— Gohan—everyone—it’s been a while! Goku exclaimed.
He turned to his granddaughter and opened his arms for a hug. She turned on her heel.
— You’ve been gone for months, she began. Did you really think I’d just leap into your arms?
Not knowing what to say, he scratched his head, a bead of sweat at his temple. She went on:
— And you didn’t even let me come with you.
— You know your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to skip school.
He’d hit the mark. She had no quick comeback. Piccolo broke the silence.
— How’d the fight go? he asked Oob.
— I won this time!
— You beat Grandpa?
— Yeah, he got me, Goku admitted.
— But I got lucky.
— Luck is part of a fight, Piccolo noted.
They chatted about the tournament. Oob and Goku confirmed they’d enter. Piccolo and Gohan, meanwhile, preferred to come as spectators.
— Well, I’m heading back. My family’s waiting for me. See you tomorrow, guys.
Goku stepped forward and the two men shook hands.
— Take care, God of Earth. You too, Mr. Popo.
Oob teleported back to his village with a wave.
— We’ll head home as well, Gohan announced, putting his glasses back on.
— Bye-bye, Dende, Mr. Popo, said Goku.
— See you tomorrow, Pan added.
The three took off toward home.
— Still mad? the Saiyan asked Pan—who ignored him completely.
Goku thought for a second and came up with a solution. Catching his son’s eye, he grinned.
— Last one home runs a lap around the Earth!
He burst into aura and shot off at top speed.
— That guy… she grumbled. Wait for me!
— Hey, I never said I was racing! Gohan protested, trying to catch up.
The trio raced beneath a gorgeous sunset.
