My armor excelled in short engagements.
That was the problem.
In a brief fight—close combat, rapid movement, precise strikes—it performed exactly as designed. But if the battle dragged on, or if I relied too heavily on ki blasts, the system began to collapse under its own demands.
Ten minutes.
That was my limit.
Hand-to-hand combat alone could sustain the full duration. Flight shortened it. Ki blasts shortened it further. If I tried to fight like Goku—flying freely and firing attacks on the level of a Kamehameha—I would exhaust my ki reserves in under a minute.
That weakness was unacceptable.
Range was a vulnerability. Any intelligent opponent would exploit it immediately.
The issue wasn't output—it was supply.
The generator required ki to amplify ki. Oracle consumed ki to predict movement. The armor itself relied on ki circulation to maintain mobility. Everything depended on a resource I simply didn't have in abundance.
So I redesigned the system.
The solution was simple in theory.
Absorption.
The emitters in my palms—originally designed solely for firing ki blasts—were modified to draw ki instead. Absorbed energy would be transferred to a secondary generator mounted on my back, disguised as a reinforced pack. Inside it, a bank of high-density ki batteries stored the excess energy before funneling it back into the primary core in my chest.
Simple idea.
Nightmare execution.
When the second generator was complete, I immediately noticed the problem—it was massive. Even with protective plating, it looked ridiculous attached to my current armor frame.
So I increased the armor's size.
After several simulations guided by Oracle, the final configuration stood nearly eight feet tall. I would pilot it from a compact cockpit embedded in the chest, surrounded by reinforced control layers and redundant safety systems.
It took months of adjustments.
Months of sparring with Chi-Chi.
Months of watching Goku and Krillin grow stronger.
Months of refining, recalibrating, and failing quietly.
By the time I was satisfied—halfway satisfied, at least—I scheduled a live test.
With Goku.
The training room was sealed. Krillin, Chi-Chi, Ox-King, and little Gohan watched from the observation monitors I'd installed along the wall.
Goku stared up at the armor, eyes wide.
"Whoa," he said. "You got bigger."
"Function over aesthetics," I replied. "I need you to attack me."
He tilted his head. "Like… seriously?"
"Yes. Kamehameha."
There was a pause.
"You sure you're okay with that?" he asked.
I nodded. "Go ahead."
He took a stance and fired.
The beam slammed into my palms—and vanished.
Inside the cockpit, my displays flared to life.
Reserve Battery: 60%
I exhaled slowly.
"That was amazing!" Goku shouted. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I answered. "Again. This time—don't hold back."
He hesitated. Then he grinned.
"Okay!"
The second Kamehameha was far stronger.
The impact shoved the armor back several feet as the absorption field strained—but held. Warning alerts flashed for a split second before stabilizing.
Reserve Battery: 80%
My heart raced.
One attack from Goku had replaced hours of manual charging.
"That's enough," I said. "You're exhausted."
He dropped his arms, breathing hard. "Yeah… I think I used everything."
"Good," I said. "Go eat. Rest."
As he left with the others, I returned to my lab.
Oracle replayed the data—absorption speed, energy loss, structural strain, efficiency curves. Even without further absorption, a fifty-percent reserve could sustain the armor for thirty minutes of active combat.
Half an hour.
That was enough.
I added one final system: an internal oxygen supply capable of supporting me for several days. I didn't remember anyone fighting in space in my original timeline—but preparation wasn't about memory.
It was about uncertainty.
Better to have it and never need it.
That night, exhaustion caught up with me.
As I lay in bed, surrounded by schematics and simulations still running in my peripheral displays, a single thought lingered in my mind:
I've done everything I can.
I knew better than to believe preparation guaranteed success. The universe had a way of proving that wrong.
Still…
I couldn't help but hope.