"No problem," Rhode agreed, his smile easy. "And I have something to discuss with you as well."
"Something to discuss?" Goku blinked, momentarily puzzled, but his eagerness quickly overrode his curiosity. "Alright, we can talk about it later!"
"Later, nothing!" Bulma cut in, hands on her hips. "We just saved the planet! That calls for a celebration! We rest, we eat, then we can talk about training. Isn't that what Master Roshi always says, Goku? Have you already forgotten?"
"Ah, haha~" Goku laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. He looked to Rhode. "What do you think, Rhode?"
"I'm fine with anything," Rhode replied, his tone agreeable. He hadn't had a proper meal since arriving in this timeline. One feast wouldn't delay his plans.
"Then it's settled!" Bulma declared, leading the way back to West City in her aircraft. The others followed, with Goku making a quick detour to Mount Paozu to fetch Chi-Chi and Gohan.
The feast that followed was a boisterous, joyful affair. The simple pleasure of good food and shared company, the warmth of a peaceful life restored—it was a poignant reminder of what they fought for.
But Rhode knew, and Goku instinctively felt, that such peace was a fruit borne from constant vigilance and growth. To stop progressing was to invite the next catastrophe.
So, after the meal, Rhode accompanied Goku to the checkered plains of King Kai's tiny planet.
"Lord Kai! Sorry for dropping in!" Goku greeted the blue, rotund deity with his usual cheerful bow.
King Kai acknowledged Goku with a nod, but his serious, bulging eyes were fixed on Rhode. His voice, when it came, was uncharacteristically grave. "Rhode. Do you have any idea that unauthorized time travel is a serious offense?"
The smile faded from Rhode's face. His gaze turned cool and assessing. "King Kai," he began, his voice level but carrying an edge. "First, my arrival here was accidental. Second... I don't believe temporal jurisdiction falls under your purview, does it?" A dangerous glint entered his eyes, and an invisible, crushing pressure subtly filled the small space around King Kai. "Or... are you looking for an excuse to go back on our agreement?"
Rhode considered himself a man of his word, but he was no pushover. He would not be cheated, not even by a Kai.
"No, no, of course not! I wouldn't renege!" King Kai blurted out, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple under Rhode's focused pressure. His serious demeanor evaporated, replaced by flustered haste. "I-I was just... warning you! As a thank you for helping Earth! If the Time Patrol catches you, it won't be pretty!"
"The Time Patrol?" Rhode's expression softened a fraction, the pressure easing. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "In that case, my thanks for the warning, Lord Kai."
Time Patrol. The term lodged in his mind. That was a potential complication. But he was an accidental tourist, not a malicious timeline vandal. The chances of running into such esoteric cosmic police were astronomically low. And by the time he was strong enough to draw their attention... well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, it was a distant hypothetical.
"Uh, Lord Kai," Rhode said, refocusing on the immediate goal. "Shall we begin with the Kaio-ken and Spirit Bomb training?" Best to acquire the knowledge and exit this timeline before any hypothetical complications could materialize. Parallel world travel was risky business until one's power was truly absolute.
"Teaching you those techniques isn't a problem," King Kai agreed, having regained some composure. "But you must understand their limitations first. The Kaio-ken places a tremendous strain on the body. Most races would tear themselves apart using it. You and Goku, being Saiyans with your exceptional vitality, can handle it, but you must still be cautious."
"However," King Kai continued, his tone turning more solemn, "the Spirit Bomb is a different matter. It requires a heart of pure goodness, utterly untainted by malice. As for you..." He trailed off, his meaning hanging heavy in the air.
Utterly untainted. The words were a silent verdict.
"Just teach it," Rhode said, his voice calm, betraying no offense. "Whether I can learn it or use it is my concern."
He knew his own soul. Could he claim a kind heart? Perhaps, in his own way. But utterly untainted? Not a chance. The violent impulses of his Saiyan heritage, the pragmatic, sometimes ruthless calculus he'd employed since awakening, the lives he'd taken—they all left marks. He was not Goku. His goodness was a conscious choice, a path walked beside a shadow, not an innate, sunlit meadow.
One could argue the scales tipped toward good, but they were not pristine.
"Very well," King Kai conceded, relieved to have stated the condition. "Let us begin."
And so, the instruction commenced. It was a unique masterclass. King Kai, the creator, laid out the profound theory of gathering the benevolent energy of all living things. Goku, the living embodiment of the technique's ideal user, provided a practical, radiant demonstration.
Under this dual tutelage, with his preternatural comprehension and Saiyan physiology, Rhode grasped the theory of the Kaio-ken in mere hours. He could feel the pathways, the violent surge of power it promised.
But feeling it and wielding it were worlds apart. As he mentally ran the calculations, testing the limits against his own formidable reserves, he frowned.
His power, honed over two and a half years of relentless training, now numbered in the tens of millions. Yet, pushing the Kaio-ken multiplier in his mind's simulation, he hit a wall. Thirty times? Not without courting catastrophic bodily collapse. His current peak, with acceptable risk, seemed to be around twenty-three or twenty-four times.
The burden, he realized, didn't scale linearly. It was exponential. To safely wield a 30x Kaio-ken, his base power would likely need to be in the hundreds of millions. A sobering calculation.
This led to a deeper puzzle. A fragment of memory surfaced—a tale of a Goku in some alternate reality using a One Hundred Times Kaio-ken, long before achieving Super Saiyan. The math made no sense. The base power required for such a feat would be astronomical, far beyond anything plausible for that point in any timeline.
Inconsistent data, he mused, filing the anomaly away for future investigation. Perhaps the rules differed in that branch of reality, or the tale was exaggerated. It was a curiosity, not an immediate concern.
Dismissing the puzzle, he turned his full attention to the second technique: the Genki Dama, the Spirit Bomb.
He absorbed the theory perfectly. The concept of appealing to the benevolent life force of all beings, of becoming a conduit for their collective will to protect. He understood the mechanics, the gathering, the formation, the release.
He could, in theory, perform every step.
But when he tried to initiate the process, to reach out and draw upon that energy... there was resistance. Not a failure of technique, but a failure of resonance. The energy was there, a vast, sleeping ocean, but it shied away from his touch. His spirit, capable of great good but woven with threads of ambition, calculation, and a legacy of violence, could not harmonize with the pure, selfless frequency the technique demanded.
He could mimic the form. He could not invoke the essence.
A silent acknowledgment passed between him and King Kai. The Kai had been right. The Spirit Bomb was a mirror that reflected the soul, and Rhode's reflection, while not monstrous, was not the pristine image it required.
He had gained one powerful tool and learned the immutable limits of another. It was a valuable trade. Knowledge of a limitation was, in itself, a form of power.
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