Daima woke up to the smell of food.
Not just any food—MOUNTAINS of food. The kind of breakfast spread that would bankrupt a normal family but was apparently standard fare in the Son household.
He sat up slowly, his child-sized body still aching from the previous day's battle with Beerus. The futon he had been given was comfortable enough, placed in the corner of Goten's room since Chi-Chi had insisted that "all the little Gokus should sleep in the same area."
Goten's bed was already empty. The clock on the wall read 6:47 AM.
Too early, Daima thought groggily. Way too early for someone who literally fired a dimension-piercing Kamehameha yesterday.
But his Saiyan stomach had other ideas. The smell of rice, fish, eggs, bacon, pancakes, and what might have been an entire roasted boar was calling to him with irresistible force.
He stumbled out of the room and down the hallway, following his nose toward the kitchen.
What he found was chaos.
Regular Goku was already seated at the table, shoveling food into his mouth at a rate that defied physics. Goten sat beside him, trying to keep up but falling woefully behind. Chi-Chi stood at the stove, somehow cooking three dishes simultaneously while also yelling at her husband.
"—and you are NOT taking the other Goku to train before he's had a proper breakfast! He nearly DIED yesterday!"
"But Chi-Chi, he's fine! Look at him!"
All eyes turned to Daima, who stood in the doorway looking like a small, disheveled mess.
"...I need coffee," Daima said.
"You're a CHILD. You're not getting coffee."
"I'm a twenty-eight-year-old man in a child's body. I NEED coffee."
Chi-Chi stared at him for a long moment. Then, wordlessly, she poured a cup and handed it to him.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Ever. To anyone."
Daima took a long sip and felt the caffeine start to work its magic on his Saiyan cells. It wasn't the same as his old body—the effects were muted, processed differently—but it was still COFFEE, and that was what mattered.
He sat down at the table, and Chi-Chi immediately placed a plate in front of him that contained more food than Derek Thompson had eaten in a typical week.
"Eat. All of it. Saiyans need calories to recover, and you burned through more energy yesterday than I want to think about."
"Yes ma'am."
He started eating. And once he started, he couldn't stop.
Oh god, he thought as he devoured his third bowl of rice, this is what Saiyan hunger feels like. This is INSANE. I've never been this hungry in my LIFE.
By the time he finished, his plate had been refilled four times, and even Regular Goku was looking at him with impressed approval.
"See, Chi-Chi? He's eating like a proper Saiyan! That means he's healthy!"
"That means he's RECOVERING. There's a difference." Chi-Chi crossed her arms. "And speaking of recovery, he is NOT training today. He needs at least—"
"Actually," Daima interrupted, surprising himself, "I want to train."
Chi-Chi's eye twitched. "What."
"I feel... different. Stronger than yesterday, even though I'm still tired. Like my body healed and then some." He looked at his small hands, flexing them experimentally. "I think I got a Zenkai boost."
Regular Goku's eyes lit up. "A Zenkai boost! Of course! You pushed yourself to the absolute limit against Beerus and survived! Your Saiyan biology would have kicked in overnight!"
"That's not how medicine works—" Chi-Chi started.
"It's how SAIYAN medicine works!" Goku grabbed Daima's hand. "Come on! Vegeta's already waiting at Capsule Corporation! He's been there since 4 AM because he couldn't sleep!"
"Goku, I swear to Kami, if you take that child to fight before he's fully—"
But they were already gone, Goku's Instant Transmission whisking them away before Chi-Chi could finish her sentence.
Her scream of frustration echoed through the empty kitchen.
CAPSULE CORPORATION - GRAVITY TRAINING ROOM
7:15 AM
Vegeta was doing push-ups.
Not normal push-ups—one-armed, inverted push-ups in 500x Earth's gravity, with a boulder balanced on each foot. His face was a mask of concentration and barely suppressed rage, sweat pouring down his features despite the climate control.
"Four million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-eight... four million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine... FIVE MILLION."
He dropped from his position, landing on his feet with practiced grace, and immediately turned to face the two Gokus who had materialized in his training room.
"You're late."
"It's 7:15 in the morning!" Daima protested.
"Exactly. LATE." Vegeta stalked toward them, his Saiyan armor gleaming under the harsh training room lights. "Every minute you spend sleeping is a minute you're not getting stronger. Every moment of rest is a moment your enemies are preparing to surpass you."
"Vegeta, I literally fought Beerus to a standstill yesterday. I think I earned ONE night of sleep."
"And today, you need to become strong enough to WIN that fight, not just SURVIVE it." Vegeta's eyes burned with intensity. "You told us your story. You told us about Super Saiyan 3 and Super Saiyan 4. You told us about transformations that I have never achieved in this timeline."
He jabbed a finger at Daima's chest.
"You WILL help me reach those forms. Starting NOW."
Daima sighed. He had expected this, honestly. Vegeta's pride was a universal constant—the Prince of Saiyans would never accept being weaker than any version of himself, let alone a version from another dimension.
"Fine. But first, I need to test something."
"Test what?"
"My Zenkai boost." Daima dropped into a fighting stance. "Hit me."
Vegeta blinked. "What?"
"Punch me. Full power. I need to see how much stronger I got overnight."
"If I hit you at full power, you'll—"
"I fought Beerus at one hundred percent yesterday. I think I can handle one punch from you."
Vegeta's eye twitched at the implication that his punch was less threatening than Beerus's attacks. Which, to be fair, it was—but having it stated so bluntly clearly wounded his pride.
"Fine. FINE. You want to test your durability? Let's test it."
He pulled back his fist, gathering energy. His aura flared—golden, blazing, the unmistakable power of Super Saiyan Blue crackling around him.
Wait, Daima thought, Super Saiyan Blue? But that shouldn't exist yet! This is the Battle of Gods arc! Frieza hasn't even—
The punch connected.
And Daima didn't move.
Vegeta's fist slammed into his small palm—the same palm that had fired dimension-piercing Kamehamehas—and STOPPED. Dead. No movement, no knockback, no damage.
"What the—" Vegeta stared at his fist, then at Daima's hand, then back at his fist. "That's impossible. I'm in Super Saiyan Blue! You're in BASE FORM!"
"I know." Daima looked at his palm, equally shocked. "I shouldn't have been able to block that. My base form yesterday was nowhere near Blue level."
He released Vegeta's fist and examined his own body with new eyes.
"The Zenkai boost. It's... huge. Way bigger than it should be."
Regular Goku scratched his head. "Maybe it's because you pushed yourself so far against Beerus? The bigger the near-death experience, the bigger the boost, right?"
"That's... not exactly how it works," Daima said slowly. "Zenkai boosts have diminishing returns. The stronger you get, the smaller the boosts become. That's why they stopped being relevant after Namek in most timelines."
"But you're not from most timelines," Vegeta pointed out, his scientific mind already working. "You're from a dimension where power scaling operates differently. Perhaps your Zenkai boosts don't follow the same rules as ours."
"That... might actually be it." Daima thought back to what the cosmic entity had said when it sent him here. Something about dimensional frequencies. About his belief making things real.
Maybe my Zenkai boosts are stronger because I BELIEVE they should be stronger, he realized. I spent years arguing about Saiyan biology and power progression. I had very specific ideas about how Zenkais should work.
And now those ideas are REAL.
"Okay," Daima said, a grin spreading across his childish face. "New plan. Vegeta, you want to learn Super Saiyan 3 and 4? Let's train. But we're going to do it MY way."
"YOUR way?"
"I'm going to explain the theory behind each transformation, the mental state required, the physical triggers. We're going to approach this SCIENTIFICALLY." Daima cracked his neck. "And while we're doing that, you're going to keep hitting me so I can keep stacking Zenkai boosts."
Vegeta stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"I might actually like you, tiny Kakarot."
"Thanks. I think."
FOUR HOURS LATER
The gravity training room was destroyed.
Not damaged—DESTROYED. The walls had craters. The floor had holes. The gravity generator had exploded twice and been hastily repaired by Bulma's maintenance drones each time.
Daima sat in the center of the devastation, breathing hard but grinning like a madman.
His power had nearly DOUBLED since the morning.
Every time Vegeta hit him—every time he pushed through the pain and kept fighting—his Saiyan biology rewarded him with another boost. And unlike normal Zenkai increases, these weren't diminishing. If anything, they were getting STRONGER.
It's because of how I think about it, Daima realized. Normal Saiyans don't consciously understand Zenkai boosts. They just happen. But I KNOW the theory. I spent years analyzing it. And because I understand it...
I can optimize it.
Vegeta stood across from him, also breathing hard but looking less winded than Daima felt. The Prince of Saiyans had been using the training session as an opportunity to push his own limits, treating Daima as a living punching bag that hit back.
"Your power growth is absurd," Vegeta admitted grudgingly. "I've never seen anyone's Zenkai boosts stack this quickly."
"Thanks. I think my dimensional biology is weird."
"Clearly." Vegeta dropped out of his fighting stance. "But as impressive as your healing factor is, you still haven't taught me anything about Super Saiyan 3 or 4."
"Right. Right." Daima stood up, wobbling slightly. "Okay. Super Saiyan 3. Let's break it down."
He began pacing, his analytical mind kicking into gear.
"Super Saiyan 3 is achieved by pushing Super Saiyan 2 beyond its natural limits. The key is INTENSITY—not just power, but emotional intensity. You need to reach a state of pure, focused rage while simultaneously maintaining perfect control."
"That's contradictory."
"Exactly! That's what makes it so hard!" Daima gestured excitedly. "Super Saiyan 1 is triggered by rage. Super Saiyan 2 is triggered by MORE rage. But Super Saiyan 3 is triggered by rage that's so intense it loops back around to calmness. You have to be furious enough to transcend fury itself."
Vegeta's brow furrowed. "That makes no sense."
"Think of it like... boiling water. Super Saiyan 1 is when the water starts bubbling. Super Saiyan 2 is a full rolling boil. But Super Saiyan 3 is when the water gets so hot it turns to steam—a completely different state of matter."
"Hmm." Vegeta considered this. "And Super Saiyan 4?"
"That's different. Super Saiyan 4 isn't about emotional intensity—it's about primal connection. You need to tap into your Oozaru power, your Great Ape heritage, and CONTROL it instead of being controlled by it."
"I haven't had a tail since I was a child."
"You don't need a physical tail. The Oozaru power is in your DNA, your blood, your very BEING. You just need to access it mentally instead of physically."
Before Vegeta could respond, a new voice cut through the training room.
"My, my. What a fascinating training session."
Both Saiyans spun around to find Whis standing in the doorway, his staff tapping lightly against the damaged floor. The angel's smile was as enigmatic as ever, but there was a new glint of interest in his eyes.
"Whis!" Regular Goku appeared from wherever he had been watching. "Are you here to take us to Beerus's planet?"
"Eventually, yes. Lord Beerus is quite eager to continue his... observation of our new dimensional friend." Whis's gaze settled on Daima. "But first, I wanted to see something for myself."
"See what?" Daima asked warily.
"Your growth rate." Whis floated forward, circling Daima like a collector examining a rare specimen. "When you first arrived yesterday, your base power level was impressive but quantifiable. Now, after only one night's rest and a few hours of training..."
He paused.
"You're nearly twice as strong. In BASE FORM."
"Zenkai boosts," Daima explained. "My dimensional biology seems to—"
"Oh, I'm aware of the mechanism. What fascinates me is the RATE." Whis stopped circling and faced Daima directly. "Most Saiyans experience diminishing Zenkai returns as they grow stronger. You seem to be experiencing the opposite. The stronger you become, the stronger your boosts become."
"Is that... bad?"
"It's UNPRECEDENTED." Whis smiled. "And I do so love unprecedented things. They make existence less tedious."
He raised his staff, and a shimmering portal appeared beside him.
"Lord Beerus wished for you to be brought to his planet for training. However, I find myself curious about something first."
"What's that?"
Whis's smile widened.
"I want to spar with you myself. Just for a moment. To see how you handle fighting an opponent who exists beyond any power scaling you might have calculated."
Daima felt his blood run cold.
Spar with WHIS?
The angel who was stronger than Beerus? The being who could knock out a God of Destruction with a single chop? The entity who existed on a level so far beyond normal power scaling that even Derek Thompson's most ambitious spreadsheets hadn't attempted to quantify him?
"I... don't think that's a good idea," Daima said slowly. "You'd kill me without even trying."
"I won't be TRYING to kill you. I'll be testing your reflexes, your instincts, your ability to react to attacks you cannot possibly predict or defend against." Whis tilted his head. "Consider it a learning experience."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll be disappointed. And I so hate being disappointed."
The unspoken threat hung in the air. Whis was smiling, friendly, seemingly harmless—but Daima knew better. He had watched enough Dragon Ball to know that angels were on an entirely different level from anything else in existence.
And yet...
This is an opportunity, a part of him whispered. A chance to test yourself against the absolute pinnacle. A chance to gain combat experience against someone who can push you without killing you.
A chance for more Zenkai boosts.
"Okay," Daima heard himself say. "Let's do it."
Whis clapped his hands with delight. "Wonderful! Shall we step outside? I'd hate to damage Bulma's property any further."
OUTSIDE CAPSULE CORPORATION
THIRTY SECONDS LATER
Whis stood across from Daima in the empty field behind the main building. Regular Goku and Vegeta watched from a safe distance, both vibrating with anticipation.
"The rules are simple," Whis said. "You attack. I defend. The spar ends when you land a clean hit on me or when I decide you've had enough. Any questions?"
"Yeah, one." Daima dropped into a fighting stance. "When you say 'clean hit,' do you mean—"
Whis vanished.
A split second later, Daima felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around, throwing a punch at empty air. Whis was already behind him again, tapping his other shoulder.
"Too slow," the angel observed. "You're relying on visual tracking. Against an opponent of my speed, that's useless."
Another tap, this time on the top of his head.
"You need to FEEL where I am, not SEE where I am."
Daima gritted his teeth. This was exactly like the training Whis gave Goku and Vegeta in Super—overwhelming speed designed to force adaptation.
But Daima had an advantage they didn't.
He KNEW how this training worked. He had watched it happen. He understood the theory behind what Whis was trying to teach.
Feel, don't see. React before the attack lands, not after. Let go of conscious thought and trust your instincts.
He closed his eyes.
Whis paused, intrigued. "Oh? Interesting approach."
Daima breathed. In. Out. In. Out.
He felt the air currents around him. The subtle displacement when something moved through space. The almost imperceptible ripple in reality when an angel prepared to strike.
Whis attacked.
Daima moved.
His hand came up—not consciously directed, but guided by pure instinct—and his fingers brushed against Whis's robe as the angel passed by.
Not a hit. Not even close to a hit.
But CONTACT.
"Oh MY," Whis said, genuine surprise in his voice. "You actually touched me. On your second attempt."
"I've been... studying movement prediction," Daima said, breathing hard. "Analyzing how fighters at your level operate. The theory is—"
"Theories are wonderful things, but they only take you so far." Whis raised his staff. "Let's see if you can do it again. This time, I'll move at one percent of my speed."
"One percent? But you were already—"
"Moving at approximately 0.1 percent. Yes."
Daima gulped.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.
But he didn't back down. He couldn't. Every fiber of his Saiyan being was screaming at him to keep fighting, to keep pushing, to reach for the next level.
And somewhere deep inside him, Derek Thompson's analytical mind was already calculating patterns, looking for the logic in Whis's movements, searching for exploitable regularities.
"Ready?" Whis asked.
"No."
"Excellent."
Whis moved.
The next ten minutes were the most brutal of Daima's entire existence.
Whis attacked from every angle, at speeds that shouldn't be possible, with precision that bordered on prescient. Daima was hit dozens of times—glancing blows that sent him spinning, gentle taps that knocked him off balance, carefully measured strikes that hurt without causing real damage.
But he didn't give up.
Every hit made him stronger. Every failure taught him something. Every moment of overwhelming defeat pushed his Saiyan biology to adapt faster, grow stronger, evolve beyond its previous limits.
And slowly—so slowly it was almost imperceptible—he started to improve.
His reactions quickened. His instincts sharpened. His body began moving before his mind registered the threat.
On the forty-seventh attempt, his fist passed through empty air—but closer to where Whis had been than ever before.
On the sixty-third attempt, his fingers brushed the angel's sleeve.
On the eighty-first attempt, he actually grabbed a handful of robe before Whis slipped away.
And on the ninety-ninth attempt...
Daima transformed.
Not consciously. Not deliberately. His body simply... did it. Golden light exploded around his child-sized frame, his hair standing up, his eyes turning teal.
Super Saiyan.
In kid form.
And in that form, with his enhanced speed and reflexes, Daima threw one more punch.
It connected.
His small fist slammed into Whis's palm—the angel had raised his hand to catch the blow—but it had CONNECTED. A clean, solid hit that actually pushed Whis's hand back by a fraction of an inch.
"EXTRAORDINARY!"
Whis's exclamation echoed across the field. The angel stepped back, examining his palm with genuine fascination.
"You actually hit me. In Super Saiyan form, yes, but still—you hit me. On your ninety-ninth attempt, after accumulating Zenkai boosts throughout the entire session."
Daima collapsed to his knees, the Super Saiyan form fading. He was utterly exhausted—more tired than he had been even after fighting Beerus.
But he was grinning.
"I... I did it..."
"You did." Whis floated down to his level, crouching to look him in the eye. "Do you understand what you just accomplished?"
"I hit an angel?"
"You ADAPTED to an angel. In the span of minutes. Your body processed experiences that would take most warriors years to accumulate, and you grew strong enough to bridge an impossible gap." Whis's smile was warm now, genuinely pleased. "The Zenkai boosts you're experiencing aren't just physical. They're improving your instincts, your reaction time, your fundamental combat capabilities. Every fight makes you exponentially more dangerous."
"Is that... good?"
"It's MAGNIFICENT." Whis stood, offering his hand to help Daima up. "Lord Beerus is going to be very interested in this development. A Saiyan who can grow this quickly, who can adapt to any opponent given enough time..."
His eyes sparkled with possibilities.
"You might just become the most interesting mortal in existence."
Regular Goku was at Daima's side in an instant, practically bouncing with excitement.
"You hit Whis! You HIT WHIS! That was incredible! How did you do it?! Can you teach me?! I want to hit Whis too!"
"Goku, I barely hit him. His pinky finger could destroy me without trying."
"But you TOUCHED him! That's more than I've ever done!"
Vegeta approached more slowly, his expression a mixture of frustration and grudging respect.
"Your growth rate is absurd," the Prince admitted. "At this pace, you'll surpass us both within weeks."
"I don't think it works quite like that," Daima said, accepting Goku's help to stand. "The Zenkai boosts require near-death experiences or extreme exertion. I can't just train normally and expect the same results."
"Then we'll make sure every training session is life-threatening," Vegeta said immediately. "Problem solved."
"That's... terrifying."
"That's SAIYAN."
Whis cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.
"As enlightening as this session has been, we should proceed to Lord Beerus's planet. He's been waiting, and gods are not known for their patience." He created another portal with his staff. "Shall we?"
Daima looked at the portal, then at Regular Goku and Vegeta.
"We're all going?"
"Lord Beerus wants to observe multiple Saiyans. And I believe the Super Saiyan God ritual is still pending." Whis smiled. "It should make for an entertaining afternoon."
Daima took a deep breath.
Yesterday, he had died on his bedroom floor after arguing about power scaling on Twitter.
Today, he had fought a God of Destruction, trained with a Saiyan Prince, and landed a hit on an angel.
Tomorrow... who knew what would happen?
This is insane, he thought as he stepped toward the portal. Completely, absolutely, wonderfully insane.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.