I was supposed to be sleeping in my bed.
Instead, I found myself facedown on the ground. I couldn't feel my legs, and panic started to set in. I lifted my head—and there he was, standing in front of me.
My mind screamed at my body not to reach for his hand. I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
Helpless. That's what I was. Helpless like a newborn.
Just as I got lost in the fear, it ended—snuffed out by a cold ki blast from Vegeta.
Deep down, I knew I deserved it. But not like that. Not from him.
I never realized how delusional I had become. I should've known what kind of man he was. The moment he found me lacking, I was disposable. We were never friends. To him, I was just a tool—a little more useful than a Saibaman, maybe, but just as expendable.
And just like that, I woke up.
Sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat, I felt warm tears running down my cheeks. That memory—the helplessness, the betrayal—I'd never forget it. I never wanted to feel like that again.
That's when I made up my mind: after school tomorrow, I'd go to the gym. It might not have what I truly needed, but it was a place to start.
Since I couldn't fall back asleep, I picked up a Dragon Ball manga volume from my shelf. I'd started collecting them as a hobby—not just out of nostalgia, but to see what happened after my death.
I got lost in the pages, reading how Kakarot finally met Frieza. I only made it to the part where Vegeta lay broken and begging on the ground—pathetic. For some reason, seeing him like that... made me feel something close to satisfaction.
The alarm blared beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts. Morning already.
I had to hurry to get ready for school. I didn't know what would happen now that I'd told my parents about becoming a hero—but worrying wouldn't help. What mattered was that I needed to get stronger. And I needed to learn how to control my ki better.
Just as I expected, the school gym wasn't built with superheroes in mind. There were no gravity chambers, no reinforced equipment, just the usual weights and machines. But that was fine.
It wasn't much—but it was a start.