Hearing Aira's question, Rhode smiled and nodded. "That's right. I've been experimenting with that time machine inside the Chamber."
As he spoke, he watched her closely, searching her face for any flicker of recognition, any hint that she'd been aware within the frozen moment when he'd pinched her cheek.
There was none. Her expression remained one of focused inquiry, untouched by that shared, silent experience. The evidence was clear: within the stasis, even her formidable consciousness had been suspended. It was a lonely realization, but a valuable data point.
Aira, oblivious to his internal analysis, absorbed his confirmation. After a moment's thought, a faint line of concern appeared between her brows. "You should be careful with the Time Chamber," she said, her voice quieter than usual.
"Oh?" Rhode couldn't mask his surprise, his gaze sharpening on her. This was new. This was the first time Aira had ever expressed something resembling care for his well-being, unprompted by battle or strategy. A historic day, he mused internally. Was this the softening influence of retail therapy? The pacifying effect of a nice dress?
"Was I wrong?" she snapped, her momentary softness evaporating under his scrutinizing look, replaced by familiar irritation.
"No, no, you're right," Rhode said, recovering quickly. "The Time Chamber requires caution. Don't worry, I'm aware." He added the last part sincerely, acknowledging the unexpected olive branch.
Seemingly satisfied, Aira gestured vaguely toward a container on the table. "Mrs. Brief asked me to bring that for you. If there's nothing else, I'm going to train." Without waiting for a response, she turned and retreated to her room. Soon, Rhode sensed her ki settling into the deep, steady rhythm of meditation.
Heh.
Looking at the container of sweets, a silent chuckle escaped him. He sampled one. It was delicious. Very sweet.
He finished the treat and returned to his own studies, the brief, strange domestic interlude over. Time flowed on. In the heart of their youthful prime, their power grew in leaps and bounds, the core of their days dedicated to relentless cultivation.
Their diverging paths filled the remaining hours. Rhode buried himself in temporal theory and oversaw the rising skeleton of his Martial Arts Hall. Aira, having internalized the Super Saiyan requirement for "peace and stability," had found an unexpected outlet: shopping. What began as a one-time ambush by Mrs. Brief had become a semi-regular ritual. She would disappear into the consumer sprawl of West City, sometimes with companions, often alone, returning with bags that slowly filled a closet she insisted held "useless things."
Weeks later, on a high observation platform overlooking the nearly-complete Martial Arts Hall, Bulma leaned on the railing, her small face alight with anticipation. She turned to Rhode, who was sipping tea beside her, her expression suddenly serious.
"Rhode," she said, her voice taking on a tone of grave import. "We agreed. When your Martial Arts Hall opens, I get to be the first disciple."
"Of course," Rhode agreed easily, amused. "My word is good. And I'll have Aira continue your lessons."
At the mention of Aira as her teacher, Bulma's face fell dramatically. "Sister Airaaa~" she whined, drawing out the name with clear reluctance. She glanced around surreptitiously, relaxing only when she confirmed Aira wasn't in immediate earshot. In Bulma's young mind, Aira was cool and incredibly strong, but as an instructor, she was terrifyingly strict—all business, no play.
Seeing Bulma's expression, Rhode simply chuckled. "Oh, you seem quite willing. So it's settled then." He had no intention of using telepathy on a child, but her displeasure was plain enough. He had his reasons: having Aira teach would be good for Bulma's discipline and, perhaps more importantly, would give Aira a responsibility that might further stabilize her own tumultuous spirit.
"Ah! I didn't—!" Bulma began to protest, but her words died in her throat. Her anxious pout vanished, replaced by a picture-perfect, bright smile. "I'm not unwilling at all! Sister Aila is the best!"
She sprinted past Rhode, shooting him a venomous glare as she passed, and launched herself at the figure who had materialized silently nearby. "Sister Aila! You're back! Tell me about your shopping trip!"
"Heh heh."
Rhode let out a low, amused chuckle at Bulma's transparent act, then turned his attention to Aira. "The Hall will be finished in a few days. We can move in once the cleanup is done."
"Hm." Aira's gaze swept over the construction site. The skeletal framework was now flesh and bone—training halls, living quarters, the distinct silhouette of the new, reinforced Gravity Chamber. It was nearly ready. She gave a single, curt nod of acknowledgment.
Then, her focus snapped back to the small figure in her arms. Her expression shifted into one of stern discipline. "Bulma. Training time. I only have a limited window to instruct you each day. Running off is unacceptable."
Bulma had resumed her martial arts lessons with Aira after their return to Earth, a condition seemingly woven into the fabric of their shopping trips. But with Aira's own training consuming most of her hours, these lessons were brief, intense, and unforgiving.
"Hahahaha~"
Rhode's laughter echoed as he watched Bulma's face morph into a mask of utter, comical despair in Aira's grip.
Bulma, suspended in Aira's arms, shot a look of pure betrayal at Rhode. Her mind, already a whirlwind of genius, began plotting revenge with childish ferocity. Hmph! Just you wait! I'll tell Sister Aira all sorts of things about you! She schemed about the most devastating, yet plausible, complaints she could levy.
Time, as it always did for those dedicated to growth, accelerated. A month later, the West City Martial Arts Hall stood complete—a sleek, modern compound that blended seamlessly with Capsule Corp's aesthetic yet held an air of secluded purpose. Rhode and Aira moved their few belongings into the private rear residences. The only other regular occupants were Bulma, who appeared for her daily dose of stern tutelage, and the Briefs, who visited as if checking on a new, fascinating branch of their own corporate family.
Rhode felt no urgency to open the Hall to the public. This was his foundation, his laboratory. His days fell into a new rhythm: deep meditation on temporal theory, grueling physical conditioning in the new Gravity Chamber (now repaired and upgraded), and collaborative brainstorming sessions where he'd pose complex spatial or energetic problems to Dr. Brief, and sometimes, to a fiercely competitive, frighteningly perceptive Bulma.
It was a year of profound, quiet cultivation. The frantic edge of cosmic danger faded, replaced by the steady hum of intellectual and physical pursuit. Rhode's understanding of the time-stasis phenomenon evolved from a vague sensation to a mappable, if not yet controllable, psychic pressure. He had fully internalized and expanded upon Dr. Mashirito's life's work.
Only when he felt he had pushed his current resources to their limit—when the equations on his wall began to circle back on themselves and his body had adapted to the new gravity's maximum setting—did he know it was time.
The next phase required resources beyond Earth, beyond even the Dragon Balls of Namek, which he calculated should now be ready again.
He packed no bag. His needs were few. On a quiet morning, with Aira deep in her own meditation and Bulma yet to arrive for her lesson, he stood in the central courtyard of the Martial Arts Hall. He focused his mind, not on a person, but on a location—a distant, specific point in the cosmic void he had visited once before, its coordinates etched in his memory from galactic datafiles.
Swish.
With the soft, definitive sound of folding space, Rhode vanished from Earth. His destination: the frozen, tyrannical heart of the Cold Force, and the being who held the key to the next leap in his power—King Cold. The period of peaceful study was over. The time for another calculated, near-fatal gamble had begun.
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