Rhode's gaze sharpened, tracking every subtle shift in Mr. Popo's posture as Aira unleashed her fury. Even with his heightened Saiyan senses, he couldn't fully parse the method behind the evasion. It wasn't sheer speed. It was something deeper—an instinct, a preternatural anticipation. Popo's body moved not in reaction, but in a seamless, almost casual flow that made Aira's devastating blows pass through empty air.
*"You little shadow-man! How are you dodging this?!"*
Aira's shock curdled into rage. With a roar, her ki erupted in a visible, crackling aura. Her attacks became a blinding storm of fists and kicks, each strike sharp enough to shatter steel, the air itself screaming in protest.
Thwish-thwish-thwish-thwish—!
Yet, the scene remained surreal. Against the hurricane of violence, Mr. Popo was an unmoving rock in a stream. A tilt of the head, a slight sway of the torso, a minimal step—each movement was absurdly simple, yet perfectly, infuriatingly sufficient. Not a single drop of sweat appeared on his brow.
Silent as the sky. Swifter than lightning. The phrase echoed in Rhode's mind as he watched, mesmerized. Was this a rudimentary form of Ultra Instinct? The ultimate refinement of ki perception? Or a martial arts zenith achieved only through eons of accumulated combat wisdom? Rhode's mind raced with hypotheses, even as he meticulously memorized the rhythm and economy of Popo's movements.
The more Aira failed to connect, the more her frustration boiled over. Her attacks grew wilder, less precise. In contrast, Mr. Popo seemed to grow even more tranquil, a pond disturbed yet fundamentally undisturbed.
Then, a spark of understanding ignited in Rhode's mind.
It's perception. Peak perception.
Popo wasn't reading Aira's muscles or eyes; he was reading the very flow of her ki. The moment intent to strike formed, the energy around her fists would coalesce, shift, betray her. Popo perceived these microscopic fluctuations instantly, his body moving on pre-judgment, not reaction. His power level was inferior, but against an opponent who relied purely on brute force without matching finesse, his perfected technique created an insurmountable gap.
**Thock.**
A soft, almost polite sound cut through the frenzy. In a gap between Aira's furious blows, Popo's palm gently tapped her forehead. The strike carried negligible force—no damage, only a profound, humiliating punctuation.
Rhode's eyes widened further. That's it. The true mastery lay not in power, but in application. Every motion from Popo was stripped to its essential purpose: maximum efficiency, zero waste. It was a sublime combat algorithm, honed over centuries. Rhode understood that if this principle were pushed to its absolute theoretical limit… that might indeed be the realm of the gods' Ultra Instinct. A technique to wield one's full potential without the interference of conscious thought.
But the theory was one thing; the practice was a mountain few could climb. It demanded not just talent, but an ocean of time, endless battle, and transcendent comprehension. The serene being before them was not merely a servant; he was a living archive of combat, a mentor to deities. Master Roshi possessed a similar, earthly depth—centuries of life, teaching, and battle compressing vast experience into a frame of limited power.
*"Damn it!"*
Aira's cry was a mix of fury, humiliation, and bafflement. She staggered back, not from pain, but from the sheer psychological blow of being rendered utterly ineffective. Her chest heaved, not from exertion, but from seething pride. The fight was less a physical contest and more a brutal, elegant lesson—one she had profoundly failed.
Aira shot backward, putting space between them. With a snarl of pure frustration, she cupped her hands together, a sphere of crackling ki rapidly swelling between her palms. Clearly, humiliated by the deft dodges, she had abandoned technique for raw, destructive power—a wide-area blast that would reduce the sacred Lookout to rubble.
For the first time, a faint ripple disturbed the placid surface of Mr. Popo's demeanor. While his refined technique could effortlessly neutralize her direct assaults, a wild, indiscriminate energy explosion was a different matter. No amount of skill could completely negate overwhelming force if it filled the entire space. A sobering limit, Rhode observed, catching that subtle shift. Technique is paramount, but it must be grounded in a foundation of strength. Without it, there is a ceiling.
"Enough, Aira! Don't be a brute."
In a blur of motion faster than she could track, Rhode appeared at her side. His hand shot out, not to strike, but to gently deflect her wrists upward. The half-formed energy sphere shot harmlessly into the boundless sky, dissipating high above the clouds.
"Rhode, you—!" Aira whirled on him, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger, shock, and betrayal. She was furious at being stopped, but more stunned by the effortless ease with which he'd done it—and by the fact she hadn't even sensed his approach. His power had surged ahead, and he'd kept it from her.
Landing softly beside her on the immaculate marble, Rhode turned his attention to the silent watchers. His earlier intensity melted into a look of earnest sincerity.
"Greetings. I am Rhode, and this is Aira. You are already aware of our origins. We have come here to learn, and I hope you, the Guardian of Earth, will not be parsimonious with your wisdom."
Learn? Is this how one 'learns'?
Kami and Mr. Popo exchanged a weighted glance, their silence speaking volumes. Their eyes traveled from the still-fuming Aira, who had just tried to annihilate their home, to the deceptively calm Rhode, who had restrained her with terrifying, unseen power. One was a volatile firecracker; the other, a placid lake hiding unknown depths. It was hard to believe either was here for scholarly pursuit.
Yet, as the planet's guardian, Kami possessed a broader perception. He could sense no deceit in Rhode's words, however incongruous they seemed with their actions. Perhaps their concept of "learning" was simply… more direct.
After a long moment, Kami made a decision born of wisdom and prudence. Confronting them was untenable; guiding them, perhaps, was the safer path. "Since that is your wish… Mr. Popo, please instruct them."
"As you wish, Kami," Popo intoned, bowing his head slightly. The strange lesson would continue, now by formal decree.
"Thank you," Rhode said, a genuine smile touching his lips. Then, his expression grew thoughtful as he studied Kami—still appearing vigorous, not yet aged by centuries of lonely duty. "In return for your generosity, I can offer you some information. Kami… are you aware that you are a Namekian?"
"A… Namekian?"
The word landed like a stone in still water. Confusion, then dawning recognition, flickered in Kami's large, dark eyes. Deep, fragmented memories—of a starship, of a dying world, of a purpose half-remembered—stirred within him. A profound, instinctual excitement began to push aside his caution.
He leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper, yet charged with centuries of longing. "Can you… tell me about the Namekians?"
Hello guys, kindly get advanced chapters here; p@treon Seasay, means alot.