September 1990 - Little Whinging Primary School
Andrew's teacher, Mrs. Patterson, had given up trying to keep him still during lessons.
It wasn't that he was disruptive—quite the opposite. He finished his work in minutes, always got perfect marks, and then would spend the rest of class doing… exercises. Push-ups under his desk. Handstands in the corner during free time. Carefully controlled breathing techniques that looked like meditation.
"Andrew, dear, wouldn't you like to play with the other children?" she asked one afternoon as he held a perfect plank position behind the reading corner.
"This is playing, Mrs. Patterson," he replied cheerfully, not even breathing hard after five minutes. "I'm seeing how long I can hold it. Current record is twelve minutes."
She blinked. "That's… physically impossible for a five-year-old."
Andrew just grinned and kept going.
The truth was, every moment not spent on schoolwork or with Violet was training time. His Saiyan body craved it—demanded to be pushed, to grow stronger. Even at five years old, his strength was absurd by human standards. He could do a hundred push-ups without breaking a sweat. Could run for an hour straight. Could punch through the wooden fence in his backyard (which he'd done accidentally and had to convince his parents it was rotten wood).
But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
He needed proper training. Proper technique.
"Psst. Andrew."
He dropped from his plank to find Violet crawling behind the bookshelf to join him. Her violet eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Dudley threw up in art class. Everyone's distracted."
Andrew snorted. "Ate too many sweets again?"
"Probably. Hey, can you teach me that breathing thing you do? The one that makes you all calm?"
This had become their thing. In the three months since their reunion, they'd been inseparable at school—much to the Dursleys' fury. Andrew would teach Violet meditation techniques (carefully disguised ki control exercises), and she'd show him the odd magical things that happened around her.
"Okay, but you have to actually focus this time," Andrew whispered, sitting cross-legged. "No giggling."
"I only giggled because you made that funny face!"
"That was my concentrating face!"
Violet mimicked his position, tucking her legs under her. Andrew had noticed she was better at this than most adults would be—something about her magic made her naturally sensitive to energy flow.
"Breathe in slowly," he instructed, falling into the rhythm he'd developed through experimentation and half-remembered Dragon Ball training scenes. "Feel the air filling your lungs. Now hold it… feel the energy in your body, like warm light in your chest. Then breathe out, pushing all the bad feelings out with it."
Violet followed along, her face scrunched in concentration. After a moment, her expression smoothed, and Andrew felt something shift in the air around her—her magic, responding to the meditation, calming from its usual chaotic flickers to a steady hum.
"I feel it!" she whispered excitedly. "The warm light! It's all tingly!"
"That's good! That's really good. Now, when your aunt and uncle are mean, you can do this. It'll help you stay calm, keep the magic from… you know, making things happen on accident."
Violet's smile faltered slightly. She'd told him about the time she'd accidentally turned her teacher's wig blue, and how her aunt had locked her in the cupboard for two days.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "That would help."
"Children!" Mrs. Patterson's voice rang out. "Back to your seats, please!"
They scrambled back to their desks, but not before Violet squeezed Andrew's hand in thanks.
November 1990 - Chen Residence
"Again!"
Andrew's father held the training pads, bracing himself as his five-year-old son threw another punch. The impact made James grunt and slide back six inches despite being a grown man.
"Jesus, Andrew. You're going to break my arms."
"Sorry, Dad!" Andrew pulled back immediately, worried. "Was that too hard?"
"No, no, it's fine." James flexed his hands, shaking off the sting. "It's just… son, you're five. You shouldn't be hitting this hard. We need to find you proper training before you hurt yourself. Or someone else."
This had been Andrew's plan all along—demonstrate enough power and control that his parents would seek out professional instruction. He needed real martial arts training, proper technique to channel his Saiyan strength.
"There's a dojo that opened up in town," Margaret called from the kitchen doorway. "Master Wong's. He teaches traditional Chinese martial arts. I called—he takes students as young as six, but I explained Andrew's… enthusiasm. He's willing to evaluate him."
Andrew's tail, hidden as always under his loose training clothes, twitched with excitement.
"Really? When?"
"Saturday. But Andrew, you have to promise to control your strength. Normal children can't do what you do. You have to… to pretend to be weaker than you are, understand? At least at first."
Andrew nodded seriously. He understood the need for secrecy better than they knew.
"I promise. I'll be careful."
Saturday - Master Wong's Dojo
Master Wong was seventy if he was a day, with a wispy white beard and eyes that seemed to see right through Andrew's carefully constructed facade of being a "strong but normal" child.
"Show me horse stance," the old master commanded after brief introductions.
Andrew dropped into position, keeping his form deliberately imperfect.
"Lower."
He adjusted.
"Lower."
Andrew sank until his thighs were parallel to the ground, holding the position easily.
Master Wong walked around him slowly, occasionally pressing down on his shoulders or tapping his legs. Andrew didn't budge.
"Interesting. How long can you hold this?"
"Um… a while?"
"Hold it until I say stop."
Twenty minutes later, Andrew was still in perfect horse stance, not even trembling. Master Wong had long since stopped watching, instead going through his own kata routine. When he finally turned back, his eyebrows rose slightly.
"You may stand."
Andrew rose smoothly, not even breathing hard.
"You are not a normal child," Master Wong said flatly.
Andrew's parents tensed, but the old master held up a hand.
"Peace. I do not ask why. Every student carries secrets. But you," he pointed at Andrew, "you have the body of a warrior. Strong, durable, eager to grow. But no discipline. No technique. You are like a sword that has never been sharpened—powerful, but crude."
"Will you teach me?" Andrew asked, unable to hide his eagerness.
Master Wong studied him for a long moment. "Why do you want to learn? Truth."
Andrew thought of Violet's bruises. Of the threats he knew were coming—both magical and alien. Of his promise to protect.
"Because I want to be strong enough to protect people. People who can't protect themselves."
Something shifted in Master Wong's expression—respect, perhaps.
"Good answer. Yes, I will teach you. But you will follow my pace. You will learn control before power. Technique before strength. Discipline before victory. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Wong!"
"We train Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Saturday mornings. You will practice the forms I teach you every day, even when not in class. Your parents pay monthly. Now—begin with basics. Show me a punch."
Andrew threw a straightforward punch, deliberately sloppy.
Master Wong sighed. "As I thought. We have much work to do."
But as Andrew's parents completed the paperwork, the old master watched the boy practice the basic stance he'd been shown, correcting his form with intense focus.
That child is like nothing I have ever seen, Master Wong thought. So much potential. So much raw power barely contained. What are you, young one? And what will you become?
December 1990 - The Park
"Your turn!" Violet called, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, her messy black hair dangling.
Andrew completed his fiftieth pull-up and dropped down, not even winded. "What do you want to try?"
"Teach me to punch properly! You've been going to that dojo for weeks now."
"Martial arts isn't really about punching," Andrew said, falling into Master Wong's teaching voice. "It's about balance, control, using your opponent's strength against them."
"Sounds boring. Show me the cool stuff."
Andrew laughed. "Okay, okay. So first, you want to make a proper fist—thumb on the outside, never inside or you'll break it."
He guided her through basic stance, adjusting her feet and hips. Violet was surprisingly coordinated for a six-year-old, her body responding well to instruction.
"Now, a punch doesn't come from your arm. It comes from your legs, through your core, into your arm. Like this—"
He demonstrated in slow motion, and Violet mimicked him.
"That's actually pretty good! Now try it fast."
Violet punched, and—
A burst of accidental magic exploded from her fist, sending a wave of violet energy crashing into a nearby tree. The bark splintered and a branch cracked, falling to the ground.
They both froze, staring.
"Um," Violet squeaked. "Oops?"
Andrew's mind raced. Magic and physical technique combining. Just like ki and martial arts. If she could learn to control that…
"That was AMAZING!" he said instead of panicking. "Do you feel okay?"
"Yeah, just… tingly. Did I do that?"
"Your magic mixed with the punch. Violet, that's incredible. Do you think you could do it again?"
"I don't know how I did it the first time!"
"Okay, okay. Remember the breathing exercises? Feel for that warm light in your chest—your magic. Now, try to push it into your hand when you punch. Like… like the energy wants to go with the movement."
Violet's face scrunched in concentration. She took her stance, breathed deep, and punched.
A smaller but more controlled burst of violet energy shot from her fist, hitting the same tree.
"I DID IT!" She jumped up and down. "Did you see? I did it on purpose!"
"That was perfect!" Andrew grinned. "You're a natural. Way better than me at controlling energy."
"Really?"
"Really. My energy is all…" he concentrated, holding out his palm. A spark of golden ki appeared, but it flickered wildly, unstable. "See? Messy."
"Maybe we can help each other practice!" Violet said excitedly. "You teach me punching, I help you with the glowy stuff!"
Andrew's tail, safely hidden, wagged at the idea. "Deal. But we have to be careful. No one can know what we're doing."
"Secret training!" Violet's eyes sparkled. "Like ninjas!"
"Exactly like ninjas."
As they practiced together in their hidden corner of the park, neither child noticed the figure watching from a distance—a woman with blue hair and a device in her hand that had been beeping steadily, detecting residual energy signatures.
Dr. Briefs' daughter, Bulma, had been tracking unusual energy readings across England for weeks. And she'd finally found the source.
Two children. One with magical energy that registered on her scouter-adjacent device. And one with readings that matched only one thing in her database.
Saiyan energy.
"Fascinating," she murmured, adjusting her equipment. "The old rumors were true. There really was a pod that crashed here. But a Saiyan child training with a magical human? This changes everything."
She snapped photos, recorded readings, and disappeared as quietly as she'd come.
The children continued their training, innocent and unaware.
Andrew threw another punch, his ki flickering gold around his fist.
Two more years, he thought. Two more years until we move to Japan. I need to be so much stronger by then.