Master Lao has told me quite a lot over the years I've known him, but he never mentioned anything about coming back to life. I hadn't wished him back—he can't be wished back after being dead for so long. A bright halo above his head catches my eye after I manage to calm down. He looks exactly the same: steely grey hair in a short ponytail, stray wisps framing his forehead like spider legs, smooth skin with few wrinkles, and that familiar habit of cracking his finger when it doesn't need it.

"How are you here?" I finally ask, and he looks amused. This situation is confusing, but his amusement is oddly comforting. Of course, he would find amusement no matter the situation. Watching me fumble makes his day.

"That fortune-teller owed me," he says smugly.

The fortune-teller? The one Roshi mentioned just yesterday?

Should I be surprised?

"You grew a tail," Master Lao notes, circling me with a scrutinizing gaze. He raises a brow but doesn't seem bothered. Standing behind me, he suddenly grabs my tail and squeezes. The pain is unbelievable. I've been trying to train my tail, but it's taking longer than I'd like. "Must have happened recently if it's still a weakness."

He releases me, and I almost slump from the sudden loss of energy. He stands in front of me again, knowing the tail is a weakness. Does he know about Saiyans?

"When did this happen?"

"After I drank the Ultra Divine Water," I say. He looks surprised, then proud.

"Oh, yeah?" He chuckles. "Lucky or incredibly stupid."

"Did you know?" Because he always knows something, and his reaction makes me think he expected this. His smile only confirms my theory.

"I did," he admits with a small smile. "I know a lot, kid."

"I realize."

"Oh, I don't think you do," he laughs.

He sits on the grass, legs folded and hands in his lap. On instinct, I follow, sitting opposite him and copying his posture. He nods contentedly. This is not unusual. We used to sit and meditate or talk like this often. Usually, he's the one who talks, but today he lets me lead with a simple question.

"How have you been?"

A single question sends me down a rabbit hole of everything that has happened. I tell him about my endless travels after their death, meeting a boy with a tail and a girl with a beautiful mind, the dragon, and my desire to help Kakarot. I recount the turtle hermit, the tiny monk, the tournament Kakarot won, Korin and the Ultra Divine Water, my tail, the Saiyans, and my questions about my family. I speak of Tao, the Red Ribbon Army, and everything I have done. Through it all, he listens, no comments or reactions, just listening carefully. I've been talking for almost an hour.

"A lot happened," I sigh, suddenly out of breath. Master Lao hums, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"What a trip," he finally says, not as amused as usual when he hears of my struggles. "I was right in assuming you'd change things."

What does he mean by that? He always said I'd change things, but I never questioned it, chalking it up to his sometimes annoying old-man wisdom. Here he is, saying it again after I spilled my gut to him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The story is being told differently," he says cryptically. "You've changed it."

What story? I'm hesitant to question further, unsure if he will provide more clarity.

"You know about the Saiyans and knew I was one all along, didn't you?" He always knows. He always knew. It would be unlike him not to know this. He cannot be clueless, not when he seems so unfazed, so unperturbed.

"Yes," he replies, no longer smiling, regarding me carefully. "Though I hadn't expected you to grow a tail."

I wasn't expecting it either.

"Can you just tell me what I need to know?" I'm not in the mood for his cryptic words right now. Not when he knew the whole time and chose not to tell me. Why would he do that?

"And my parents. Did they know?"

"You're a Saiyan," he states the obvious. "Half-blood most likely."

"So, which one of my parents was a Saiyan?" I can't imagine either of them being one. I knew I wasn't full-blood but hadn't expected to be half. That would mean one of my parents was a Saiyan, and they were far too calm.

"Neither of them."

"What?"

"Neither of them were Saiyans."

So I'm adopted?

"No, you're not adopted, not really," Lao rebukes. "Your mother is your biological mother; your father is not your biological father."

That makes a bit more sense. But who is my father?

"Mysterious man, that one," Master Lao says after a moment of silence. "I don't know why he appeared on Earth, nor what happened to him afterward. Perhaps he went back to his planet. If so, he's either dead or somewhere off-world. He could have been banished here or fled for some reason. I'm not sure," he pauses, thoughtful or perhaps annoyed. It's hard to tell. "Honestly, I didn't believe a word he said. Everything I told you could be disregarded. I never believed he came from off-world. I would have known if a ship landed on Earth. And he just disappeared one day, that bastard, never answered any of my questions."

He goes quiet, gazing up at the sky, brows creased and mouth moving in silent words. I watch him in the stillness, unsure what to make of him now. Unsure what to make of his words. Learning that my father just disappeared after meeting my mother and leaving her with a child is unsettling. Did he not know about me? Or did he not care? Both reasons are valid, especially knowing that Saiyans don't prioritize family. Should I be mad or sad? Perhaps. But I had a good father in the man my mother married. And if my biological father had a good reason for leaving, then I can't fault him.

Master Lao doesn't even know enough to be of much help. He's not even certain if my father had come from Planet Vegeta or if he had been on Earth all along. If he was from Earth, wouldn't that mean there could potentially be more Saiyans than I first thought? And what was he doing on Earth?

All of this just makes my situation that much more complicated.

"I must say," Master Lao begins, "your father was no ordinary Saiyan, but it could have been my imagination."

"How so?"

"I don't know," he recalls. "Something about him just felt different. He didn't act like the typical Saiyan, that's for sure. Was oddly calm for such a creature, not battle-crazed, and surprisingly kind."

Yes, that doesn't sound like the typical Saiyan. It sounds more like Kakarot's mother, so I suppose he was right when he said there were better Saiyans out there. Or if he truly is from Earth, perhaps he was like Kakarot and raised to be a kind person.

"His kindness is not what would normally be considered kindness, but compared to how most Saiyans acted, he was kind," Master Lao chuckles in amusement. "You're like him, actually, but you're far nicer."

It's oddly satisfying to know I inherited something good from the father I'll likely never meet.

"Thinking about it, he could have been..." Master Lao stops, once more staring at the clouds above, saying nothing for a few long seconds. "Yes, that would be interesting."

"What would?"

My question goes unanswered as the old man finally stands and motions for me to follow him. And I do, carefully following him as we enter the forest. I begin to recall the path I usually took to get to his little house. This man had been living so close to my house, and I had never seen him until that one fateful day. My parents knew of him, which had baffled me, and they treated him like a long-time friend. He was more like my grandfather if anything else.

We reach his small hut, which doesn't look any different at all. He steps into the small structure, singing some song as he disappears behind the door and reappears with a notebook and a key hanging on a thin chain.

"I was supposed to hold onto this," he says, tossing the key toward me. "Your parents knew the army would be after them for their creation and whatnot."

It's a pretty old key.

"I don't understand how or why they didn't just search the entire house and find the door, but they didn't, and there's the key," he rants, sounding as annoyed as he is baffled. "It leads down to a basement because it's always the basement with these things."

He begins to mumble again, something about Yeager and ridiculous basement things that I can't understand.

"There's a trap door somewhere near the living room, I believe. It leads down to the basement where I'm sure they stored one thing or another. You have fun with that," he waves me off, obviously not too curious about what may be found down there. "And have this."

He rests the book in my hand. It's thick, old, and surprisingly heavy, with an odd drawing on it.

"What's this?"

"My knowledge," he smirks.

Curious, did he document everything in here?

"I have a question," he looks a bit more serious now. "Did some escape?"

"Huh?"

"Red Ribbon, did some escape?"

Yeah, I'm pretty sure the smart ones realized it was better to run than fight, and I tell him as much. He looks at me long and hard before waving it off as simple as that. He looks away soon and whistles as he gathers his old tea set to make some herbal concoction.

What was that just now?

"Is something wrong?"

"Keep an eye out," is all he says.

---

Master Lao stays in his hut and chases me away, telling me to go explore the basement, so I do. I'm oddly calm right now, something Master Lao pointed out with a comment I hadn't heard. He makes fun of me for some reason and wishes me the best, which I don't understand, but I let him have his fun. He's gone in a day, apparently off to the otherworld that he seems to enjoy far more than the living.

Soon I'm in my house, noting how nothing had been moved since I left. Seems no one was curious enough to explore the abandoned house. Either that or they had some sort of respect for my family. I'd expect that at least some dumb kids would try to get in, which wouldn't have been much of a struggle because the doors had all been open.

I don't pay much mind to anything in my way; I'd rather not let memories overtake me. I find the living room and search the floor for the trap door Master Lao had told me about—one I can almost vividly remember. I have to move the furniture and the carpet and scour the floor very carefully until I find it. It's hidden incredibly well, only to be expected from my parents. My father had always been good at such things, and I have learned a thing or two from him. I remember finding this door many times before and always wondering what was under there. One day I had been brave enough to ask, and Dad had brought me down into this basement. It wasn't much different from their workstations, with tools, parts, and the like scattered everywhere. It wasn't something that held my attention for too long.

Now, standing in the middle of the hidden room, there's not much different from back then, which is not surprising. Approaching the gathering of messy desks, I find schematics and what look like blueprints everywhere. There are writings on the blackboard, papers scattered on the ground, tools here and there. It wasn't like this back then, but it's still as messy. My parents never knew how to keep their things neat and ordered.

"What did you leave for me?" I wonder as I sit at one of the desks and look through what I can find. Sketches of a humanoid figure, scribbled notes that are nearly indecipherable, theories, and questions that run down the entire page. My mother's work, I assume. She's a researcher, more or less, always enthusiastic to learn something new or test a theory that comes to mind. I won't be surprised if she's the one who finally figured out how to build a successful android.

And that discovery is what I find myself looking at. The very same information that the army had wanted is sitting right in front of me, and I find myself agreeing with old man Lao. Everything is just right here. Had those idiots taken the time to raid the house, they would have gotten everything they wanted.

Their android had been destroyed by their own hands and they had never gotten the chance to build it back. But everything is right here, isn't it?

Sighing, I gather everything I can, careful when handling anything that comes into my hands. The more I clear the desks, the more I discover until I come upon something that almost makes me burst into laughter. Of course, they would never truly destroy their creation, I should've known.

The thing fits almost perfectly in the palm of my hand, and looking at it, it's hard to imagine that this simple chip contains the android my parents worked so hard on. The mind is the heart of these creations and to make one would be a tedious endeavor, one I truly look forward to but have no knowledge of how to go about. With this, I don't have to worry about that and am that much closer to reviving this android. And having one means I can study it and better understand the creation so I can make my own someday.

"Alright then."

---

I return to Master Lao once I'm sure I've gotten everything I would need and find the old man sipping on his cup of tea in his cozy hut. He has a day back on Earth and he spends his time drinking tea and watching nature, typical of him. He never seemed to care about life and death and the way he spoke of it was oddly personal. I'm offered a cup of steaming tea when I'm within reach and he doesn't bother asking about what I had found. Either he knows and doesn't care, or is content with not knowing.

"You're bottling," he says after the silence stretches for longer than he would like. His eyes remain on the greenery before us, "admiring the beauty of nature," as he would often say. "Terrible habit."

Even he realized, and he hasn't been around me for years. It's almost amusing how obvious it is.

"It's okay to be upset, you don't always have to be calm."

"I know."

"Yes, you do, and yet here you are, calm and unbothered, hmm?" He sips his tea, falling into silence once more. "Keep bottling and you'll be overwhelmed."

"I know."

Pressure builds until it explodes because one way or another it has to come out. It's simple to understand, and I do, but what can you do?

"You don't know how to deal with it, do you?" Master Lao chuckles softly, quickly understanding the problem.

"I'm not sure."

"You're not used to dealing with such things on your own, Durian," he says. "You've never experienced such emotions before and when you finally do—you had no one to turn to."

And when you don't know how to deal with something, it's easier not to deal with it at all.

"Guess you're right."

"Aren't I always?"

Heh, yeah, you are.

---

Night falls, and once more sleep will not find me. I'm alone in my house with Master Lao having disappeared for whatever reason. It felt nostalgic to be in my old room, but soon enough, the feeling became unbearable until I found myself on my trusty little Nimbus that kept me company. Its quiet sounds were pleasant to hear as it carried me into the night, and I'm not sure where it wants to take me. I don't mind; it's better than lying in bed with nothing to do and a million thoughts running through my head.

The sky is nearly black with the shine of the stars and moon as the only source of light in the otherwise dark night. If I were a painter, I'd have an endless number of starry portraits and colorful sunsets. Perhaps I should make an effort to learn the craft, as beautiful as it is. Or the study of stars and the mysteries to be found outside our small planet.

"You brought me to West City, Nimbus."

The city is still active despite the late hour, with a few cars and lights adorning the streets. The nighttime view of the city is beautiful as well, another thing to be forever captured by the magnificent craft of painting. I should really learn, or get myself a camera.

Capsule Corp never sleeps, as there is always some light on and something going on. Either the doc is still in his lab, Bulma is working on one thing or another, or Panchy decides to make some late-night snacks. It's no surprise when the lights are still on and I'm sure someone—if not all three of them—are awake, but I'm as quiet as can be nonetheless. Nimbus stops near a window and I very carefully pry it open and drop into the building, shivering slightly as the temperature changes almost immediately. With a "put-put," Nimbus is off, only to return should I need it.

What now?

Food. I'm hungry.

The kitchen light is on and Panchy is seated at the bar with a cup of something hot between her hands. No one in this family has a normal sleep schedule, I'm convinced. Panchy always has a smile on her face, and I sometimes wonder how she can be happy all the time and if her cheeks don't hurt from all that smiling. Despite my wonders, I do appreciate that ever-present smile and the sheer comfort the sight of her brings me.

"Oh, Durian," she smiles even more, if that's possible, and motions for me to approach. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

Neither did I, but things don't always go as expected. Not that the unexpected turn is unappreciated.

"I've made you some brownies," she says, getting up and urging me to sit at the bar before she rushes to the fridge. "Bulma said you might need some."

"She did?"

"Oh yes," the woman sounds amused as she moves around the kitchen, a container of brownies in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. "She's worried about you, you know? Oh, but I don't think she'll admit it. She doesn't like to admit it. But I know my daughter and there's not much she can hide from me."

Ah, I see.

I made her worry after promising not to make her worry. Well, it didn't take very long for me to break that promise, now did it? Then again, I never actually promised, just said that I would try my best and she didn't take my words to heart anyway.

Soon enough, there's a plate of brownies placed in front of me along with a glass of milk. Panchy reclaims her seat next to me and continues to drink whatever it is she has in her mug. Could be tea; she seems to like tea. I made her tea once. She was very pleased with me and rewarded me with some baked goods and more recipes.

Her brownies, like everything else she makes, are absolutely delicious and never fail to hit the spot. Perhaps I'm biased; I love brownies, after all, and I quite like Panchy.

"How have you been?" she eventually asks, soft and gentle. It's the second time today I'm being asked this question and once more it feels so easy, so simple to spill everything on my mind. She's easy to talk to and comforting and everything else. It's easy to relax in her presence.

I don't even know what to do with myself. I should express and feel, I know this, yet I'm in a constant state of calm, continuing as if things don't trouble me. I'm not sure I truly know what's wrong, or perhaps I do and just can't admit it.

Brownies are helpful.

"Durian," Panchy once again motions for me to approach, that smile of hers ever-present. I do as silently instructed without much thought; it's easy to take up her request.

When I'm close enough she reaches for me, taking me by my shoulders and pulling me. Absently, I note the surprising firmness of her hold before I realize I've been coaxed into a hug. Huh, when's the last time I received a hug? It's so far back that I can't even recall the memory. But it feels familiar in a way; Panchy radiates the same kind of warmth I always sought from my mother. A motherly thing, perhaps. Sometimes I wish they could meet; they would get along splendidly.

I really can't remember the last time I received a hug, and perhaps I truly needed it because it feels amazing—relieving even. I go almost limp before I realize it and for a moment I worry my weight would be too much for Panchy, but she doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. Of course not. She giggles, sweet and soft as always, and only seems to hold me tighter. Then there are gentle fingers on my scalp, pleasing in the way she adds soft pressure. Ah, I'm sure it could put me to sleep with how good it feels.

When's the last time I've received a hug?

Was it from my mother or my father? I can't remember and it's not the best feeling. Why can't I remember? My mother loved to hug me and I enjoyed it just as much. My father would always lift me off my feet with his bone-crushing bear hugs. I would startle and shout whenever he did that, and he would laugh, loud and mirthful. Mom's hugs have always been caring and soothing—tender and sweet and gentle, and I loved those so much.

But I can't remember the last.

Though the feeling hasn't been forgotten, buried maybe, but not forgotten, and Panchy's hold is so reminiscent of my mother. Just as soft, just as warm, just as tender and sweet, and just as caring. I've missed the feeling dearly. It's reassuring.

I wanted this on that day. It wouldn't have made things any better, but it would have been enough at that moment. I needed a hug—something, anything—I needed someone, but there was no one there.

I realize I'm crying when Panchy says something—nothing but sweet words near my ear that I barely grasp the meaning of. Ha! I'm crying because someone had been kind enough to hug me? A hug! That's all it took? A simple show of affection is the thing to drive me to tears. It would be amusing were it not as painful as it is.

But it feels good to cry.