The morning air was thick with humidity, the usual chorus of cicadas already buzzing in the distant trees. I stood in the clearing, my bare feet on the cool, damp earth, watching Dad. He stood facing a mossy boulder, his back to me, the classic gi a vibrant slash of orange against the green.
It had been a week since I asked, and today Dad was actually going to teach me it.
"The Kamehameha isn't just about throwing energy," he said, his voice surprisingly serious. He cupped his hands together, slowly bringing them to his side. "Think of your Ki like water inside you, and your hands are a cup. You gotta fill the cup up first."
He showed me the slow, deliberate motion, his hands vibrating faintly as the air around them shimmered.
"You pull all that water from inside you, right here." He said as small, glowing sphere of blue energy pulsed in his cupped palms. "Once it's full... you just let it go."
With a sudden shout of "Kamehameha!", he thrust them forwards, a focused beam of blue light shot from his hands, striking the boulder with a concussive boom. The rock was vaporized. A perfect, clean hole was left in its place, steam rising from the ground.
It was one thing to see it on a screen; it was another to see it in person.
"See?" Dad turned back to me, his grin as wide as ever. "It's all about focus. You're not just throwing something at your enemy; you're pushing a part of yourself out, too."
He was explaining the physics of it. He understood the intent. He wasn't focused on the "how," but the "why." He was showing me what he was feeling, not just what he was doing.
Simple, but appreciated. People tended to get lost in the specifics of the how and not the why.
I took a deep breath, cupped my hands, and focused. I imagined my Ki as a river flowing from my core to my arms and pooling in the basin that was my cupped hands. I could feel it gather, a warm, buzzing sensation growing more intense with each passing second.
"Kamehameha," the words came out, a simple statement of intent yet the result was the same.
A small, but focused blue beam of energy shot from my hands. It hit a tree trunk with a sharp thwack, carving a small, smoking crater in the wood before dissipating.
Dad stared, his expression a mix of awe and unadulterated shock. He hadn't expected it to work on the first try.
Why was he surprised though? He learned it after seeing it only once. Why wouldn't I be the same?
He blinked, shook his head, and then a wide, proud grin overtook his face.
"Yuzu! You did it! On your first try!" He clapped his hands together, looking like a proud father at a school play. "Just like I did."
"I have a good teacher," I replied and dad's grin widened even more.
"Hey, if you're so good at that, let's try something else!" He said, an impish glint in his eyes. He grinned, cupped his hands together again, but instead of drawing them to his side, he raised them in front of his chest. I watched as the ground beneath his feet began to shimmer, then a moment later, he floated.
He wasn't very high, just a few feet off the ground, his body wobbling ever so slightly. He was hovering with Ki. I knew that he'd learned it under his training with Kami—though he kept it hidden for a surprise attack on Piccolo JR.
Still... I was more than ready for an advanced technique.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the hum of the energy within me, the same river I had just pulled from to create the blast. I imagined it not as a river to be sent out, but as a warm, protective shell around my entire body. I concentrated, pushing Ki through my feet, creating a sort of lift that... slowly let me hover.
Taking the lesson from the anime into account, I focused on this almost like an engine would soon without warning, I was lifted into the air weightlessly
I was just using my energy to create an engine that lifted me up, and allowed me to fly. It was so straightforward, effortless.
It sounded idiotic, but learning to fly was simple.
You don't know how? Just lift yourself into the air. That's what I was doing, like describing how to walk. You don't explain the process of your muscles contracting, bending the knee, and balancing your body so you don't fall over. An individual can just do it.
A baby would try, and you might feel like a horrible teacher, but for that baby, they would still learn it for themselves, even with undeveloped muscles, it would be done.
Feeling the energy surrounding me as it went from my feet to all around me, holding me up, was an odd feeling. One that was like a forcefield holding my body up, though without pulling me like I was inside something yet it felt completely natural, like moving my limbs.
I intended to move upward—and I did.
The ground fell away faster this time. The trees shrank beneath me, the wind tugging at my clothes and tail as I laughed, giddy. My blood was rushing as I touched the skies
I tilted my body and shot forward, carving a clean arc through the air.
I pushed more Ki out to see what would happen and suddenly the world rushed forward far faster than I expected.
"Wait—"
I twisted, trying to correct but I had reacted a microsecond too late as my momentum.
THUD!
I clipped the side of a tree, leaves and bark exploding outward as I bounced off and tumbled back through the air. Pain flared across my shoulder and back, sharp but brief, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
I managed to stabilize myself without complication before slamming feet-first into the ground, skidding to a stop in the dirt.
I lay there for a second, staring up at the sky, heart hammering.
...Okay that was on me.
My second attempt was better than my first with me experimenting with more care now.
The air whipped past my ears as I darted higher, faster, twisting my body into loops. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound torn away by the wind.
I stretched my arms wide, spinning in a wide arc, and for the briefest moment I could almost believe I was untouchable.
"Look at you go, Yuzu!" Dad's voice carried up, full of childlike excitement. His grin was brighter than the sun. That grin gave me a surge of determination.
My heart sang. This was a feeling I had never experienced before—the freedom of flight. I soared higher, a newfound power coursing through me. I moved in loops, spinning circles and figure eights, the wind rushing past me. It was exhilarating, a freedom I hadn't known I was missing.
But then, as quickly as it came my body felt heavy and realisation struck me.
I didn't have enough Ki to maintain flight indefinitely.
My vision blurred as the Ki that held me was lost towards the ground.
"Yuzu!" I heard my father's voice, now laced with genuine concern, but it was too late. The world went black.
—Third Person POV—
Goku's eyes widened as the silvery glow around Yuzu's body flickered—then vanished completely.
"Yuzu—!"
She dropped.
There was no warning this time, no slow drift downward—just dead weight falling out of the sky.
Goku vanished in a burst of speed, instinct overriding thought. The air cracked as he surged forward, arms snapping out just in time to catch her small body before she could hit the ground. The impact was light, barely anything at all—but the way she didn't react made his chest seize.
He hit the dirt hard, boots skidding as he absorbed the momentum.
Yuzu lay limp in his arms.
Not relaxed.
Not asleep.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, breath shallow and uneven, a faint hitch in each inhale. One arm dangled uselessly, bent at an angle that made his brow furrow. When he shifted her even slightly, she let out a small, broken noise—more breath than sound.
Goku froze.
"...Hey," he murmured, voice low and careful, like speaking too loudly might make it worse. "Hey, I've got you. You're okay. I've got you."
He adjusted his hold, far more gently than he ever handled anything in a fight. His fingers brushed her shoulder—and he felt it immediately. The torn fabric. The heat-scorched edges. The bruise already blooming beneath her sleeve, dark and ugly.
His stomach dropped.
She'd hit something.
Hard.
"She didn't just run out of energy..." he muttered.
A tight knot formed in his chest as he checked her pulse. Fast. Uneven—but there. Relief hit him in a rush so strong it almost made his knees give out.
Alive.
Hurt—but alive.
His gaze drifted upward, back toward the trees. Toward the broken leaves, the snapped bark.
She'd tried to fly.
Not because he told her to.
Because she wanted to.
Goku swallowed.
He'd shown her the Kamehameha. That was it. He hadn't even finished explaining the basics before she'd gone and... figured the rest out on her own. Just like that. The same way he always had.
Too fast. Too much. Too soon.
He pulled her closer to his chest, cradling her instinctively. For someone who lived by throwing himself headfirst into danger, this felt terrifying in a way battles never had.
Strength and pain were simple. You took a hit, you got back up.
But this?
This was his daughter, unconscious in his arms because she'd pushed herself past her limits without realizing there were limits.
Walking back toward the house, each step felt heavier than the last. Pride still lingered—because how could it not?—but it was tangled up with something sharper.
Shock.
Concern.
The creeping realization that Yuzu wasn't just strong... she was reckless in the exact same way he'd been.
Chi-Chi was going to see this.
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut.
She'd worry. She always did. She'd see the bruise, the torn clothes, the way Yuzu wasn't waking up—and she'd know immediately that this hadn't been an accident.
Love was... complicated.
He hadn't really understood it when he was younger. He'd married Chi-Chi because he'd promised, because keeping promises mattered. Somewhere along the way, that promise had turned into something warmer, deeper—something he was still figuring out.
But this feeling? The tightness in his chest, the urge to protect Yuzu from herself?
That was love, too.
He stepped onto the porch, the wood creaking under his boots. Yuzu shifted faintly, her tail twitching before curling weakly around her waist again. A soft, pained whimper slipped from her lips.
Goku flinched.
"She figured it out on her own," he thought. "Flying... already..."
The pride was still there.
But now it was edged with fear.
The door slid open.
Chi-Chi stood there with a dish towel in her hands. Her eyes went straight to Yuzu—and hardened instantly.
"Goku?" she asked, voice tight. "What happened? Why isn't she waking up?"
"She—" He hesitated. Then shook his head. "She pushed herself too hard. Used up all her energy."
Chi-Chi stepped closer, eyes flicking to the torn sleeve, the dark bruise already spreading along Yuzu's arm.
"...That's not just exhaustion," she said quietly.
Goku looked down at his daughter.
"She tried flying," he admitted. "I didn't teach her. She just... did it. And she used the Kamehameha earlier, too."
For a moment, Chi-Chi couldn't breathe.
This wasn't the first time she'd seen injuries but this was different. This was her child. Her little girl, limp in Goku's arms, bruised because she had reached for the same sky he always had.
She'd spent years telling herself that fighting was the danger, that strength led only to pain. But looking at Yuzu now, Chi-Chi realized the truth was crueler than that.
Strength wasn't the problem.
Ignorance was.
Fine if her children were going to walk the same path as their father... then Chi-Chi would walk it too.
[Raditz arrival: 270 days away]