Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Shattering the Legacy ❯ Shattering the Legacy ( One-Shot )

As the book's spine cracked, he was reminded of his father: popping knuckles, readying himself to fight Cell, grinning. Excited. Elated. The memory was a bit stale, and the thought did not dance away through the air as the dust on the book had. He pressed his nose into the pages, inhaling deeply and smiling to himself as seemingly ancient memories of blows and broken noses were washed away in its scent.

 

Piccolo, he had not seen for a while. He missed the Namekian, missed the philosophical discourse they'd shared the last time they'd met, but he did not miss his warrior's influence, no matter how much it had helped him grow from boy to the young man he was.

 

And this thought, too, gently ebbed as he took hold of a pencil and a fresh stack of paper, feeling the crispness of his text as he dexterously maneuvered around the math problems, outsmarting them at every turn. He settled into a rhythm, brows knit in concentration, softly confident smirk affixed to his face.

 

He heard his mother and his little brother outside, sparring, and Vegeta's son cheering his brother on. The distinct whoosh and burst of energy that billowed through the open window revealed Goten getting serious about the fight; still, he knew from flashing ki that he sensed every now and again that Trunks was even stronger: a Super Saiyajin. Vegeta certainly must be proud of Trunks. His own father would be, even. If he were still alive, he'd be out there too, coaching little Goten in the ways of the martial artist.

 

He inhaled deeply and set back to work. Perhaps he would join them for fun, sometime: his mother, and Goten, Trunks, and Vegeta, Piccolo—and the ghost of his father would be peering over his shoulder.

 

Would Goku be disappointed in him, for choosing this path?

 

Would he laugh? Would he cry out at what a waste it was?

 

He already knew how little Vegeta thought of him for it, and how quickly young Goten and Trunks would surpass him at this rate, perhaps blowing him a raspberry along the way. Piccolo stayed quiet, but he felt that the Namekian, too, would have wished a different path for him, his student.

 

But he was a different kind of student now. And one day he would help the world, not just prevent it from destruction.

 

As he heard the crackling of electricity through the air, his brother now taking on Trunks, and his mother's battle cries as she egged Goten on, and felt Piccolo's eyes from far above weighing down on their shoulders—and from even farther above, his father's eyes—Gohan turned his eyes back to his books, determined.

 

Maybe he was the only man he knew who wasn't a battle-hungry warrior. His father's legacy be damned—

 

He would become a scholar.