The sky was still purple when Onigiri stood at the base of the tower.
He lingered there longer than he meant to, eyes tracing the endless rise of stone that disappeared into the clouds. There was no marker, no gate, no sign telling him what this place was. Only the tower itself—impossibly tall and unmoved by time.
Behind him, the village remained asleep. He wondered if Bulma would've said something sarcastic, just to break the tension. Or maybe Hachirō would've simply nodded, silently acknowledging what this meant. But there was no one here now. Just him—and the climb.
This is different, he thought. This isn't about surviving. This is about understanding.
The village behind him was quiet. No one came to see him off, but he felt their presence in the stillness—the silent expectation of people who had seen others come and go. Who knew the climb was not just a test of strength, but of something deeper.
He placed one hand on the stone.
Cool. Smooth. Ancient.
It didn't feel like a structure made by man, but by time itself. The surface bore faint notches and worn holds—evidence of climbers who had passed this way long before him. Someone had tried. Many had failed. Maybe some had made it.
What if I fail? What if there is no end? he wondered. The thought barely had time to settle before he shook it loose. Fear had no place here. Not anymore.
He exhaled and began.
The first stretch was easy. Muscle memory guided him—hands gripping, feet pressing, his weight shifting with practiced efficiency. The inhibitor rings stayed at his belt, unused. Today, he didn't need restraint. He needed focus.
Birds chirped in the treetops as he rose past them. Morning mist clung to the tower's lower half, cool against his skin. He moved without speaking, without second-guessing. Just climb. One motion at a time.
He paused for a moment on a narrow ledge, fingers brushing against a frayed strip of cloth tied to a jutting stone. A marker. A sign that someone had rested here long ago. He wondered if they'd made it to the top—or turned back.
The wind rose with him. Higher and higher. Forest became dots. The village was gone. Clouds loomed above and below, heavy and slow.
His body adjusted without command. Grip shifted, balance centered, movement fluid. He remembered slipping during his first weeks with Hachirō—landing hard, winded and sore. Now, even the vertical felt like invitation.
Hours passed. The world stretched beneath him. The tower no longer looked like a structure—it was a path. A choice. A trial.
His breath remained steady. His limbs, responsive. He tried shifting weight to one leg, expecting the dull ache of fatigue. But there was none. It felt… wrong. Like a body with no memory of wear. Muscles burned, but didn't falter. There was a rhythm to it all, as if his body knew what to do before he told it.
And still, the sky above looked no closer.
He glanced upward. Clouds whispered across the spire's unseen heights.
This tower doesn't care if I'm strong, he thought. But I do.
The wind offered no argument.
He smiled faintly.
And climbed.
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Hours melted into one another. The sun had long passed its peak, casting the world below into golden haze. But Onigiri didn't notice the passage of time—not in the way others might. His movements remained steady, his breathing measured. His hands found new holds without thought. His legs stretched and flexed with unconscious precision.
Then he noticed.
Something strange.
A flicker of sound—not from below, but from within. For a moment, he swore he heard a voice. Not words, but the rhythm of a memory.
"Too stiff," Hachirō's voice echoed in his mind. "Loosen your stance. Breathe with the wind."
He blinked, pausing on the stone. No one was there. Just the wind weaving through the gaps, and the sound of his own heartbeat.
He wasn't tired.
Not truly. His muscles ached, yes. But there was no trembling. No shortness of breath. No fatigue in his chest. He hadn't eaten since dawn. Hadn't drunk anything since before the climb began. And yet...
Why am I not exhausted?
He should have felt relief—pride, even. But all he felt was a hollow sort of wonder. Like opening a door and finding a stranger inside your own home.
His hand paused on the next hold. The question struck deeper than surprise. It unnerved him.
He remembered sparring matches with Hachirō—times when his limbs had turned to lead, when sweat soaked his gi and fire filled his lungs. But now?
He looked at his hands. Veins pulsed beneath smooth skin. His forearms were tense, but not strained. His shoulders rolled smoothly, with no stiffness. His heart beat calmly.
His body was adapting.
No, he corrected, it's always been adapting.
He thought back to what Hachirō had said about his strange strength. About the control he lacked. The rawness of it. And further back—to the first days at Capsule Corp. When a single wrong movement had destroyed a workbench. When walking had felt like floating atop a world not built to contain him.
He hadn't known it then. But now, the signs were clear.
I'm not just getting stronger. My body is waking up.
He climbed in silence, letting the thought settle. For the first time, he wasn't afraid of what he was becoming. But he wasn't fully at peace with it either.
His body didn't need rest.
But Hachirō never said power was the goal. Only control. Only clarity.
But his heart...
That still struggled.
What does it mean to climb forever, he wondered, if you've forgotten why you started?
The wind howled as he passed through a thick cloud bank, moisture clinging to his face like sweat. The world was gone. Just mist. Just stone.
The sky offered no answers.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered what the villagers had said.
"Some people climb and never come down. Others return changed. One man swore off fighting forever. Another couldn't speak for days."
He hadn't believed in legends then. But now, up here—where the air thinned and the world below seemed like a forgotten dream—he wasn't so sure.
So he kept going.
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Time lost meaning somewhere above the clouds.
Onigiri no longer knew if it had been a day, or more. The sun had set and risen again—or perhaps that had been a dream. The stone beneath his fingers felt the same. The air, thinner. Colder. The clouds had swallowed everything below, and the world above still refused to draw near.
He finally stopped—not from exhaustion, but from something quieter. A stillness blooming in his chest. He found a ledge just wide enough for him to sit, legs drawn up, arms resting across his knees. The tower stretched above him like a silent sentinel, watching—not with eyes, but with presence. It felt less like a structure and more like a judgment, unmoved by effort or intent.
Above him, the tower climbed endlessly into white. If strength was a voice, the tower never shouted. It simply waited—listening, judging in silence. It did not care who reached the top. Only who chose to keep climbing.
Below him, there was nothing but mist.
He sat in silence, the wind whistling soft currents past his ears. The air was sharp—not freezing, but thin and biting, like glass threaded through the breeze. He listened—to his breath, to his heartbeat, to the soft creak of his joints. All steady. All quiet.
And yet his mind churned.
Why am I doing this?
What am I hoping to find at the top?
Power? Wisdom? Acceptance?
Or just something to prove that this strange strength inside him had meaning?
He looked at his hands again. They didn't shake. They barely even felt sore. The more he thought about it, the more unnatural it felt. The more unfamiliar.
He closed his eyes.
And for a moment, the wind carried memories.
Bulma's voice, laughing in the Capsule Corp lab.
Hachirō's quiet tone: "Strength is not the point. Balance is."
The sound of trees rustling back on the mountain.
The soft crunch of leaves underfoot.
The weight of someone waiting beside him.
He hadn't realized how loud solitude could be.
A slow breath left his lungs.
There was no goal in that moment. No summit. No need for triumph. Only breath. Only silence.
He just listened.
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So It looks like the Patreon Page I started was just suspended. I don't understand why but I am reaching out to Patreon to figure out why. Let's hope I can get it restored. So I guess until then, I made a Ko-Fi. As a way to support me!
https://ko-fi.com/mightiestdisciple