Hope you guys enjoy the first Saturday bonus chapter!
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Kyoto bristled, Saiyan pride warring with Earthling indignation. "Normal!" he blurted out, the word echoing strangely in the vast silence. "I was just a normal guy! Okay? Stuck in a cubicle, paying bills, dealing with… them." He gestured wildly, conjuring images of Bianca's fury and Jenny's sunshine. "Everyone wants love! Sex! Connection! I just… attracted the unstable ones. The wild ones. The ones who break beds and my pelvis sometimes." He met Whis's ancient gaze, defiance flaring. "And yeah, I liked it! The chaos, the fire… it felt alive. Why wouldn't that happen here too? Look at me!" He gestured at his spiky hair, his thicker frame. "I'm Saiyan now! Built-in crazy bitch magnet! It's probably already coded into my damn DNA!" The sheer absurdity of arguing his dating history to a cosmic entity hit him, but he pushed on. "So train me. Make me strong enough to handle whatever psycho goddess or alien princess decides I'm her next project. Strong enough to choose who breaks the furniture next time."
Whis remained impassive, his staff tapping softly against the obsidian. "Fascinating priorities," he murmured, his tone devoid of judgment yet somehow conveying profound cosmic boredom. "As for recent events… Lord Beerus awoke briefly. He consumed several galactic delicacies, expressed profound dissatisfaction with the Saiyan Prince Vegeta's latest diplomatic overture – something involving insufficiently fermented beetle juice – and declared his intention to destroy Planet Vegeta." Whis paused, a flicker of distaste crossing his serene features. "He then announced he required precisely three hours of sleep to recover from the… exertion of deciding planetary annihilation."
Kyoto's blood ran cold. Three hours. Three hours. He knew that timeline. Seraphina's cosmic blunder dumped him right at the precipice. "Three hours?" Kyoto choked out, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. "That's… that's thirty years for him! Planet Vegeta… Goku… everyone…" The implications slammed into him. His Saiyan heritage, the world he was supposedly reborn into… about to be erased before he could even throw a punch. Panic, raw and primal, surged through his new Saiyan veins. He wasn't ready for godhood. He wasn't ready for anything. Except maybe attracting trouble. And trouble, cosmic-sized, was hurtling towards him at the speed of a sleeping cat god's nap.
He stared past Whis at the swirling nebula, picturing the distant blue marble called Earth. Goku, right now, wasn't the hero. He was just Kakarot. A screaming infant bundled onto a tiny pod, rocketing towards a destiny Kyoto knew by heart. Bulma meeting him in the woods, Yamcha's desert banditry, Piccolo's reign of terror… none of it had happened yet. Kyoto was standing in the silent, terrifying calm before the storm. Beerus wouldn't stir for three decades. But Planet Vegeta? Its fate was measured in hours. Kyoto's newfound Saiyan instincts screamed for survival, for power. He needed leverage. Now.
Kyoto spun back to Whis, desperation overriding humiliation. "Fine! Forget the… bitches," he spat the word, acknowledging Whis's distaste. "Train me. Make me strong enough to survive Beerus waking up pissed. Strong enough to maybe… I dunno… distract him? Offer him better food? Anything!" He gestured wildly towards the void where Vegeta orbited. "You need a Super Saiyan God to fight him, right? To calm him down? Train me to be that! Make me the God!"
Whis didn't move. His serene expression remained unchanged, but his pale lavender eyes held a flicker of… pity? Amusement? Both? He tilted his staff slightly. "The Super Saiyan God," Whis murmured, his voice like chimes in the cosmic silence. "A being of transcendent power, born from the righteous fury and unified spirit of five pure-hearted Saiyans." His gaze swept over Kyoto's desperate face, his clenched fists radiating untamed aggression. "You, fledgling monkey, radiate… untamed libido and profound self-interest." He paused, letting the assessment hang. "You lack the foundation. The discipline. The ki." Whis tapped his staff lightly on the obsidian. A single, pure note resonated, vibrating through Kyoto's bones. "You possess Saiyan potential. Raw. Untapped. Like crude ore." He gestured dismissively at Kyoto's trembling form. "You cannot shape godhood from slag. You cannot even feel the energy flowing within you." Whis leaned forward fractionally, his ancient eyes sharpening. "You wish to ascend? To wield divine power? First," he stated, the word final and chilling, "you must learn to ignite a spark. You must learn to harness the ki you currently possess…" A faint, disdainful curl touched Whis's lip. "...which is, by any measurable standard, shit."
Kyoto's Saiyan pride flared, hot and defensive. "Shit? I feel… stronger!" He flexed his arms, muscles straining the gi fabric. "Faster!"
Whis merely raised an eyebrow. "A newborn whelp feels strong lifting its head. It is still weak." He gestured vaguely towards the swirling nebula. "Compared to the cosmic void? Your current power level is… negligible. Barely registering." He sighed, a sound like distant stellar winds. "Your ambition vastly outstrips your grasp. You speak of gods and planetary destruction while unable to sense the energy humming beneath your own skin." He straightened, his staff held loosely. "Sleep. Rest your turbulent mind. Perhaps unconsciousness will grant you… perspective." He tilted his staff again. With a soft pop of displaced air, a small, spherical capsule appeared on the obsidian platform beside Kyoto. It gleamed silver under the cosmic light. "Your quarters," Whis stated flatly. "Activate it. Sleep."
Kyoto stared at the capsule, then back at Whis. The casual reality-bending barely registered. His mind was locked on the ticking clock. "Sleep? Now?" Panic sharpened his voice. "But Planet Vegeta… Beerus…"
Whis's expression remained impassive. "Lord Beerus slumbers. His decree stands. Planet Vegeta has approximately…" He paused, calculating silently. "...thirty-seven standard Earth hours before its cessation."
Kyoto's breath hitched. Thirty-seven hours. Not days. Hours. Images flashed: Bardock's futile rebellion, Vegeta's apathy to the death of his race, Kakarot's tiny pod escaping oblivion. His own Saiyan blood sang with a sudden, visceral pull towards that doomed world. "Then let me go!" Kyoto demanded, pointing towards the swirling cosmos where he imagined Vegeta orbited. "Before it's gone! Just… let me see it!" He didn't know the lore perfectly – dates blurred – but the urgency was primal. "Let me stand there! Once! Before Frieza blows it all to space dust!" He needed to see the birthplace he'd never known, feel the gravity of a world about to die, maybe… just maybe… find some leverage Whis hadn't considered. His fists clenched.
Whis tilted his head, his serene expression unreadable. The silence stretched, thick with cosmic judgment. Then, a flicker of something alien crossed Whis's features – not surprise, but profound, weary understanding. "Ah," Whis breathed, the syllable soft as stardust settling. "I comprehend." He leaned forward slightly, his lavender eyes pinning Kyoto. "This sudden zealotry… it isn't Saiyan pride. Or morbid curiosity." His voice remained melodious, but carried an edge colder than the void. "You wish to descend upon a dying civilization… to plunder mates? To gather unstable females like trophies? To bring them here?" He gestured elegantly around the obsidian platform. "For training? And… other pursuits?"
Kyoto froze. The accusation, delivered with Whis's signature alien calm, sliced through his panic. Bianca's wild eyes flashed in his mind, Jenny's eager blush. The pull was undeniable. Saiyan women – fierce, powerful, volatile… perfect. Whis saw it all. Kyoto's jaw tightened, Saiyan defiance warring with Earthling shame. He couldn't lie. Not to those ancient eyes. "...Yeah," he admitted, the word rough, defiant. "Maybe. So what? It's doomed anyway! Why let good… potential… go to waste?" He met Whis's gaze squarely. "But I still want to go. See it. Feel it. Before it's gone."
Whis sighed, a sound like distant galaxies collapsing. "Mortals," he murmured, almost to himself. "So predictably… hormonal." He straightened, his staff tapping once.
The air crackled. Not displaced, but torn. Two figures materialized on the obsidian platform beside Kyoto with a soft thump. One stumbled backward with a startled gasp – petite, dark-haired, wearing a simple set of greenish blue and yellow saiyan armor with a skirt and sturdy leggings. Her wide, dark eyes darted frantically between Whis, Kyoto, and the swirling cosmic void beyond. Gine. Kyoto recognized the gentle curve of her jaw, the softness that seemed utterly unfamiliar on a Saiyan. Pure terror radiated from her trembling form.