The western outskirts of West City were quiet—so quiet it felt unreal.
A massive lake stretched out like a mirror set into emerald grass, reflecting blue sky and drifting white clouds. Beside it, an expansive estate rested against a backdrop of green mountains, secluded and serene, like something lifted from a storybook.
Vitelli stepped off the aircraft with Goku slung over his shoulder, the kid still sleeping like the world could end and he wouldn't notice. He scanned the property—its size, the manicured grounds, the sheer extravagance of it all—and couldn't help thinking the same thing again.
Only Bulma would call this a "temporary place."
Bulma was already in command mode, directing robot attendants and staff with brisk efficiency. The moment she spotted him carrying Goku, she waved sharply.
"Hey! Vitelli! Take Goku to a guest room and put him down—let him keep sleeping. And don't lose track of time. The chefs will be here soon with the ingredients and equipment!"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry." Vitelli nodded, heading inside.
He followed a robot attendant down a corridor and into a guest room so large it could've doubled as a meeting hall. He tossed Goku onto the bed.
Goku smacked his lips, rolled over, hugged a pillow—and kept snoring, perfectly content.
Vitelli stared at him for a second, then sighed.
"Brat… you really are a walking disaster."
He didn't go straight back to Bulma after that. There was still time, and his body had already started itching for movement. He decided to squeeze in a quick session.
Out back, the old first-generation gravity chamber had been assembled at record speed. It wasn't as sleek as the newer one—its metal casing was visibly worn—but it still looked sturdy as a steel beast lying in wait.
Vitelli stepped inside, tapped the controls, and cranked the gravity to the machine's limit.
300× Earth gravity.
A low hum filled the chamber.
The pressure slammed down like an invisible mountain.
Vitelli's body dipped slightly under the sudden weight… and then steadied, effortlessly. His lips curved.
For him now, three hundred times gravity wasn't punishment. It was a warm-up—just enough to wake his muscles and keep his instincts sharp.
Sweat beaded almost immediately. His muscles trembled—not from strain, but from the familiar, satisfying feeling of resistance.
He inhaled, lowered himself, and began basic push-ups.
Fast. Clean. Powerful.
One after another.
Time passed in the rhythm of breath and motion, until a soft chime came from the built-in communicator.
Vitelli stood, walked to the console, and answered.
"Vitelli!" Bulma's voice came through clearly. "The chef team is here. The ingredients are mostly prepped, and everyone's waiting in the dining room. Hurry up!"
"Got it. I'm coming."
He ended the call, powered down the gravity system, and felt the crushing pressure vanish. The sudden lightness was almost pleasant.
He rinsed off quickly, changed into clean casual clothes, and headed toward the estate's central dining hall.
The moment he opened the doors, rich aromas rolled over him—warm, layered, intoxicating.
A long table stretched across the room, covered with dishes arranged like art.
Elegant cold starters. Glazed ribs shining under the lights. Seafood risotto steaming gently. Sushi stacked like small towers. Desserts adorned with berries and delicate sugarwork.
Top-tier chefs moved in and out of the kitchen finishing the final touches.
In the corner, Goku—somehow awake now—stood frozen like a starving animal, eyes locked on the food, throat bobbing as he swallowed.
Bulma was adjusting the final details, ensuring everything looked perfect.
When she saw Vitelli, she lifted her chin.
"You're here. So—are we eating now? Or are you finally going to start that secret thing you refused to explain?"
Her eyes were bright with curiosity… and with a faint, almost hidden anticipation.
Vitelli's gaze swept over the table, and he nodded slowly, satisfied.
Then he caught movement from the side.
Goku's hand—sneaky, fast—was reaching for a rib.
Vitelli's voice snapped like a whip.
"Kakarot."
Goku jerked back like he'd touched fire.
Vitelli strode over and flicked him on the head without mercy.
"Not. Yet."
Goku clutched his head, pouting. "But I'm hungry…"
"This table isn't for you," Vitelli said flatly. "Not right now. It's important."
"How important?"
Vitelli's expression hardened. "Important enough that if you ruin it, I'll make you train until your arms fall off."
Goku visibly shuddered, then nodded so hard his hair bounced. "Okay!"
Vitelli shoved him toward Bulma. "Watch him."
Bulma grabbed Goku by the collar like he was a troublesome kitten. "You heard him. Behave, or you're not eating."
Goku whimpered… but his eyes stayed glued to the table.
With the biggest possible obstacle contained, Vitelli took a deep breath. He lifted a plate of the most fragrant dish on the table and walked to the center of the room.
Bulma and Goku watched, baffled—Bulma with suspicion, Goku with hunger.
Vitelli tilted his head slightly upward, like he was calling someone across an impossible distance.
"Whis."
His voice was steady, deliberate.
"Whis. Can you hear me?"
He raised the plate a little higher.
"I've prepared the best food on Earth. The kind that'll make you want to eat until you forget your own name."
"Whis. If you're out there… come taste this."
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
His voice echoed in the polished dining hall, unanswered.
Bulma's curiosity shifted into disbelief. Her arms folded. Her brow furrowed.
Goku leaned toward Bulma and whispered—far too loudly for a whisper.
"Bulma… is Vitelli going crazy? Grandpa said some animals in the forest go crazy and shout at the sky until they lose it. He kinda looks like that."
Bulma almost snorted. She slapped a hand over her mouth and shot Goku a warning glare.
"Shh! Don't say that. Maybe… maybe it's some kind of… ritual."
Even she didn't sound convinced.
Vitelli heard every word. A vein jumped at his temple, but he held it in and kept going.
Half an hour passed.
Nothing.
No presence. No response. Not even the faintest ripple.
Vitelli's chest sank.
So he's not here?
Or worse—this timeline doesn't have them.
No Beerus. No Whis. No path beyond what he could claw out alone.
The thought was colder than any gravity chamber.
He exhaled slowly, finally letting the plate drop back to his side.
"…Tch."
He turned toward Bulma and Goku, forcing a casual tone.
"Alright. Looks like no one's coming. We can—"
He didn't finish.
Shff—
A tiny, almost imperceptible sound cut through the air.
The space directly in front of Vitelli shimmered.
And then—
A tall figure appeared, as if reality had simply made room for him.
Slim. Upright. Unhurried.
A staff in one hand.
Skin a strange blue-green hue, and long white hair swept upward like a pristine brush.
He smiled softly, and the sound that followed was light, rhythmic, almost musical.
"Hohoho~"
Bulma froze.
Goku blinked.
Vitelli's pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
Whis.
The angel attendant of Beerus.
A being who stood above gods who stood above destruction.
And he had actually come.
Whis's gaze drifted over the room, taking in Vitelli, Bulma, and Goku—then settled on the table with unmistakable interest.
"How rare," Whis said warmly. "To hear my name called from the lower world… and with such an enticing invitation."
He looked back at Vitelli, amused.
"This level of sincerity is… difficult to refuse."
Vitelli forced his hands to stay still. Forced his breathing to stay steady. Even so, his fingers trembled.
He swallowed once, then managed a polite smile.
"Whis. It's an honor. Thank you for answering."
He gestured toward the table.
"Since you're here… we eat first?"
Whis's eyes brightened instantly.
"Hohoho~ A proposal I simply can't decline."
He tapped his staff lightly against the floor.
"Then please allow me to be rude."
In a blink, without wind or sound, he was seated at the head of the table.
Vitelli's stomach tightened.
So fast I couldn't even track it.
He motioned for Bulma and Goku to sit. Bulma pulled Goku down beside her, still staring as if she feared she'd wake up. Vitelli sat opposite Whis, keeping his posture respectful, controlled.
Whis's gaze swept over the dishes, then settled on a perfectly arranged steamed fish.
He lifted his utensils with effortless elegance, took a small bite…
And froze.
For a fraction of a second, Whis stopped moving as if time itself had paused.
Then his eyes lit up like stars.
"Mm~~~~~!"
A long, satisfied sound escaped him.
"This… is astonishingly delicate."
He took another bite, savoring it with almost reverent care.
"The sweetness. The purity. The texture—so soft it dissolves like snow."
He moved on to the ribs.
The moment the crisp outer layer cracked beneath his teeth, his expression rose again—pure delight.
"Oh? And this oil aroma… the balance of smoke and sauce…"
Whis ate quickly, but never messily. Graceful efficiency. Every bite followed by a precise, lyrical evaluation that somehow made the food sound even better than it smelled.
Dish after dish vanished.
Bulma forgot to eat.
Goku looked like he was watching the end of the world.
Finally, when the table was stripped nearly clean, Whis dabbed his mouth with a napkin, satisfied in a way that looked almost childlike.
Then his gaze returned to Vitelli—sharp, knowing.
"Such thoughtful preparation," Whis said softly. "A feast like this doesn't exist merely to entertain me."
His smile curved.
"Vitelli… what do you want?"
Vitelli stood, steady and direct.
"You're right. I have a request."
He met Whis's eyes without flinching.
"I want to become stronger. I want to understand the true nature of power."
He bowed his head slightly—not submissive, but sincere.
"Please… guide my training."
Whis's smile faded a touch.
"Training a mortal is…" he sighed lightly. "Troublesome."
He tilted his head.
"Plans. Evaluation. Adjustments. And you, as a Saiyan, would be more demanding than most."
He glanced at Vitelli's presence—vast, disciplined, dangerous.
"This isn't something one meal can buy."
He began to shift, as if preparing to refuse—
"Whis."
Bulma's clear voice cut in.
She stood beside Vitelli, eyes bright with focused intelligence.
"If you teach him," she said smoothly, "we can guarantee this kind of meal regularly. Every few days—whenever you want. Not worse than today."
Her smile sharpened like a deal being sealed.
"Better, if possible."
Whis blinked.
Then his eyes widened in a way that looked genuinely startled.
"Every few days… a feast like this?"
His voice softened, dangerously tempted.
He hesitated—only for a moment—then let out a resigned laugh.
"Hohoho… You two are quite shameless, aren't you?"
He spread one hand slightly.
"…Very well. I'll accept."
Vitelli's chest surged with relief and exhilaration.
"Thank you," he said at once.
Bulma's shoulders loosened, the tension releasing from her like a breath she'd been holding.
Goku shot up from his seat, eyes blazing.
"Me too! I want to train with him!"
Whis looked at Goku and smiled with mild amusement—like a person watching a puppy demand to join a war.
"Not yet," Whis said gently, but firmly. "Your foundation is still too thin. The place I'm taking him… would crush you with its atmosphere alone."
Goku's face fell—then, two seconds later, he grabbed his stomach.
"Wait… I'm still hungry!"
And he sprinted toward the kitchen like his life depended on it.
Vitelli and Bulma watched him go, both sighing at the exact same time.
Whis chuckled.
"Now then," Whis said pleasantly, standing. "Shall we depart?"
Bulma's smile faded. The reality of it hit her in full.
She stepped closer and took Vitelli's hand, fingers tightening.
"…You're leaving now?"
Her voice was small, stubbornly controlled—but there was a weight behind it, the kind that comes from fear you refuse to speak out loud.
Vitelli squeezed her hand back, then gently rubbed her hair, softening his expression.
"Don't worry. I can Instant Transmission. I'll come back often."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"And once I understand what it's like over there… I'll take you with me. We'll travel. Stay for months if you want."
Bulma blinked—then snorted a laugh, half amused, half emotional.
She jabbed a finger into his chest.
"You'd better. If you disappear again for too long…"
Her eyes narrowed.
"I'll make you regret it."
Vitelli smiled. "Yes, ma'am."
She let go. Not because she wanted to—because she forced herself to.
Vitelli turned to Whis.
Whis extended his staff, indicating Vitelli should place a hand on his back.
Vitelli inhaled, took one last look at Bulma… at the estate… at the life he'd built on this planet—
And placed his hand on Whis.
The crystal atop the staff glowed softly.
A gentle, radiant light wrapped around them—beautiful, sacred, like stardust given form.
In the next breath, the light condensed into a thin streak—an elegant meteor rising silently through the sky—
And vanished into the boundless depths of space.
Bulma stood in the dining hall, staring up at the empty blue beyond the windows.
The sunlight poured in, warm and bright, yet it couldn't fill the hollow that had opened in her chest the moment he left.
From the kitchen came Goku's cheerful rummaging, the sound of plates clinking and cabinet doors opening—too lively, too ordinary, making the silence around her feel even sharper.
"Idiot…" Bulma whispered.
She didn't know whether she meant Vitelli…
Or herself.
And after a long moment, she lowered her gaze, exhaled slowly, and turned away—alone in a room that suddenly felt far too big.
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