Later that Night
The halls of Capsule Corp were quiet long after the sun had set. Most of the lights were off, the staff long gone, and even Dr. Briefs had retired to his quarters for the night. But deep within the building's sublevel training facility, Onigiri stood alone—sweat dripping from his brow, muscles trembling with exertion.
He had been at it for hours.
Push-ups with inhibitor rings on. Pulls against resistance cords. Full-force punches into reinforced dummies that now lay in crumpled heaps around him. Bruises lined his arms. His breath came in ragged gulps.
But he couldn't stop.
He couldn't forget the look of terror frozen on that thug's face. Or the way his body had moved without effort—without control.
He clenched his fists, jaw tight. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the tension rising—the war between his instincts and his intentions. There was something wrong inside him. Not evil, but primal. It whispered in his blood, carried in every heartbeat.
Strike faster.
Hit harder.
Dominate.
He didn't want to admit it… but some part of him had enjoyed the fight. The clarity of it. The dominance. It was in his nature—he knew it, even if he didn't remember where he came from.
But at the same time, his heart recoiled. That wasn't who he wanted to be.
"I'm not like them," he whispered. "I won't be." Or the way his body had moved without effort—without control.
"Too much strength. Too little control," he whispered to himself.
The memory of the alley wasn't the only thing haunting him. That vision—his father, standing over a battlefield, blood staining his fists—played again and again in his mind.
"You do not hesitate."
He threw another punch.
"Mercy is for the weak."
A kick followed—so hard it cracked the floor beneath him.
"You were born to conquer."
He roared, not in anger, but desperation—and launched himself into a flurry of strikes, moving faster than the eye could track.
Something inside him stirred.
A spark.
His body flashed with heat—not from friction, but something deeper. Something alien. Something powerful.
Onigiri pulled back his fist to throw one final blow—just one more—but the moment it launched, a pulse of light exploded from his core.
BOOM!
The room lit up with a blinding white flash. Walls cracked. Consoles shattered. A shockwave blasted outward, blowing the training dummies into pieces and throwing Onigiri backward into the wall. Sparks rained from the ceiling. The air buzzed with charged energy.
Then, silence.
Onigiri's body slumped where he'd fallen—barely conscious. The inhibitor rings had scorched markings into the ground where he stood.
He didn't wake again until morning.
His last fleeting thoughts, drifting through the haze of unconsciousness, weren't of pain—but of power.
Was that… me? he wondered. The air still buzzed with energy, even as his vision darkened. Something inside me answered.
It wasn't just strength—it was something ancient. A force that had been waiting for a moment like this.
And it was only the beginning.
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Bulma burst into the training room, anger and panic warring inside her. She clutched a wrench in one hand, ready to chew him out or fix something—maybe both.
"What the hell did you—"
Her voice caught in her throat.
She didn't expect to find Onigiri lying amidst rubble, blood running from a gash on his forehead, burns searing the edges of his gi, and half the lab torn apart. Smoke still hung in the air, the lights flickering.
Her anger vanished in an instant—swallowed by terror.
She dropped the wrench, rushed to his side, and knelt down, her hands hovering, trembling.
He didn't move.
She gently touched his face, checking for a pulse, trying not to panic. "Come on, idiot... breathe... please breathe..."
Onigiri remained unconscious.
Bulma fumbled for her capsule watch and hit the emergency beacon.
"Medical team to sublevel three!" she shouted into her wrist mic. "Now!"
Moments later, Capsule Corp medics arrived, wheeling in a floating stretcher. They gently loaded Onigiri onto it, strapping him down as scanners lit up around his body.
Bulma followed close behind, refusing to leave his side as they rushed him to the facility's medical bay.
Even after the systems sealed the ruined training chamber for safety, she never looked back.
It wasn't until the morning light filtered through the skylight that Onigiri stirred, groaning softly as his eyes fluttered open.
Bulma jolted upright from where she'd been sleeping in a chair beside him, a blanket draped over her shoulders.
"You idiot..." she whispered, her voice cracking with relief. "What were you thinking?"
Onigiri winced. "I... needed to push further. I couldn't stop. I had to control it."
Bulma clenched her fists. "And blowing up a room was part of that plan? You could've died!"
She helped him sit up, inspecting the burns and cuts. Her hands worked quickly—delicate, practiced, more worried than angry.
He looked at her, guilt pooling in his chest. "Why do you care so much?"
She paused, bandages in hand, and avoided his eyes.
"Because you try harder than anyone I know to do the right thing—even when you're terrified of what you might become. That matters to me."
A long silence passed between them.
Bulma sat beside him in silence, arms drawn around her knees as she stared at the cracked ceiling. Her voice, when it finally came, was quiet.
"You scared me, you know," she said. "I thought you were dead."
She tightened her arms around her knees. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, and her voice had that dry, choked quality of someone who had cried and tried not to let it show.
Why do I care this much? she thought. He's only been here a few weeks… but it feels like I've known him forever.
Onigiri didn't know what to say. He just nodded. That was enough.
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Later that afternoon, Onigiri stood once again in the remains of the training room. His torso was wrapped in thick gauze, his arms bandaged from elbow to wrist. Small cuts lined his face, and his movements were slow—measured. Despite the injuries, he stood on his own two feet, breathing steadily.
Dr. Briefs observed quietly from the doorway, arms folded and eyes narrowed in quiet awe.
"Frankly," he said, "that explosion should've vaporized you. The fact that you're even standing is... astounding. Your body isn't just healing—it's adapting. Rapidly. Whatever your biology is made of, it's beyond anything I've ever seen. You're built to survive almost anything."
He walked slowly into the ruined room, looking around the destruction.
"If your biology keeps adapting at this pace… you're not just built for survival," he added. "You're built for evolution."
He paused, muttering almost to himself, "No wonder the world couldn't break you."" Dr. Briefs observed quietly from the doorway, arms folded.
"But that blast earlier," Dr. Briefs said. "It wasn't physical force. That was energy. Ki, maybe—even if you didn't mean to use it."
Onigiri looked down at his hands. "I didn't even know I could."
"It came from emotion—instinct. That means it's yours. You just haven't learned to call on it yet."
"Can you teach me?"
Dr. Briefs chuckled. "I'm a scientist, not a monk. But we know people who can. When the time comes, we'll find them. Until then... learn your body. Learn your mind."
Onigiri nodded.
As rain tapped against the skylight above, he dropped to his knees, inhibitor rings still humming with weight, and closed his eyes.
Control. Focus. Balance.
For the first time in his life, he didn't train to grow stronger.
He trained to stop himself from breaking everything.
His breath slowed, syncing with the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass.
He didn't seek power.
Not anymore.
He sought stillness.