"Hmm?"
At Bruce's words, Rhode's smile deepened, genuine pleasure lighting his features. News of the elusive genius scientist was a significant piece falling into place.
In his improved mood, he focused on Bruce. "Where is he now? What's he doing? Be specific."
"Dr. Gero is currently the chief scientist for an organization called the Red Ribbon Army," Bruce reported efficiently, handing over a data slate. "His primary laboratory is located deep underground within a large mountain on the outskirts of East City. This is the full dossier."
The file was thorough. It listed Gero's physical statistics, known personality traits, even his hobbies. It detailed his family—two sons—and noted several close female assistants. Crucially, it outlined his position within the Red Ribbon Army: not just a hired brain, but one of its ruling elders, an architect of its world-conquest ambitions.
Rhode scanned the data, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. His memory of Gero was that of a vengeful, isolated genius lurking in a hidden lab. This portrait was of a man deeply embedded in a powerful, militant organization, a scientist with political power and grand imperial designs.
His initial plan—to simply offer superior research facilities and recruit Gero to work on cellular modification—suddenly seemed naive. A man with this much ambition and institutional backing wouldn't be swayed by a better lab. He was a co-ruler, not a mere employee. More concerning, he was a super-genius with a vast resources and a dangerous ideology. A loose cannon of the highest order.
The issues crystallized in Rhode's mind, but only for a moment. A solution, clean and definitive, presented itself almost immediately.
He looked up at Bruce, his expression approving. "Well done."
Bruce had been a principled but struggling martial artist when Rhode found him—proud, unwilling to debase his skills for petty jobs or crime, and thus perpetually broke. Rhode had seen his solid foundational talent and decent character, tested him with a few demonstrations and pointers, and formally took him on. Bruce's loyalty and competence had earned him the role of the Hall's public-facing head instructor.
"Bruce," Rhode continued, shifting topics smoothly. "Find an auspicious date and officially open the Martial Arts Hall."
Seeing Bruce's eyes light up, Rhode held up a hand. "Profit isn't the goal. Just keep it operational and legitimate."
"Understood, Master!" Bruce bowed, then hesitated. "Will you be making an appearance for the opening ceremony?"
Rhode shook his head, then placed a firm hand on Bruce's shoulder, his gaze steady and serious. "You go. To the public, to the students, you are the master of the West City Martial Arts Hall."
The weight of the responsibility settled on Bruce. His back straightened. "Your disciple understands. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave to make the arrangements."
"Go," Rhode nodded. "And remember, if you encounter a problem you cannot solve, my door is open."
With a final bow, Bruce retreated, his mind already buzzing with logistics and ceremony.
As Bruce's footsteps faded, Rhode's focus snapped back to the data slate in his hand. The time for administrative tasks was over. The Gero problem required a direct, personal touch.
Just as he gathered his ki to teleport, a voice cut through his concentration from beside him.
"I'm coming too."
"Hmm?"
At Aira's declaration, Rhode paused, surprised. He searched her face and found no hint of jest, only a resolute, almost casual curiosity. "Alright," he agreed. "But the man isn't... savory. We need to make some preparations before confronting him."
"Do what you have to. I'm just along for the ride," Aira shrugged, her tone dismissive but her stance clear. She wasn't here for strategy; she was here for company.
Rhode scratched his head, genuinely puzzled by her sudden desire to accompany him on what was essentially a corporate raiding mission/recruitment drive for a mad scientist. But he didn't probe. He respected her privacy, a principle he extended even to his telepathic abilities, which he used sparingly and never on allies without cause.
Leaving the Martial Arts Hall, their first destination wasn't East City's mountains, but scattered points across the globe. Rhode pulled out a Dragon Ball Radar.
Dr. Gero was ambitious, ruthless, and brilliant—a combination Rhode understood all too well. The problem wasn't the ambition or the brilliance; it was the ruthlessness paired with genius. Recruiting such a man by force alone was inviting betrayal the moment his back was turned. Rhode needed a permanent solution, a fundamental alteration. And for that, he needed Shenron.
With the radar in hand, collecting the seven orbs was a matter of efficiency. Their first stop: the familiar, tranquil slopes of Mount Paozu.
Gohan greeted them at the door of his rustic home, his wise eyes crinkling in a smile. "Rhode! And who might this be?"
"This is Aira," Rhode introduced easily. "We... grew up together."
"Childhood sweethearts, eh?" Gohan chuckled, stroking his white beard with a knowing nod. "That's wonderful."
Rhode blinked, momentarily thrown. Childhood sweethearts? The term felt strangely domestic, ill-fitting for their relationship forged in survival and fierce rivalry. Yet, when he thought about it—the shared crib on Vegeta, the escape from Frieza, the years of pushing each other to the brink—it wasn't entirely wrong. It was just a much more violent, cosmic version of childhood.
His introspection was cut short by Aira's voice, sharp with surprise.
"Rhode!" she called out. She had wandered off and now held a squirming, upside-down toddler by his ankle. Son Goku flailed indignantly, more annoyed than frightened. "This little guy! He's a Saiyan too! Do you know his name?"
She held Goku up like a curious, wriggling prize, her eyes wide with the shock of finding another of their nearly extinct kind in such a peaceful, backwater place.
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