The soft chatter of a well-dressed crowd echoed through the wide marble halls of West City's Grand Theater. High arched ceilings stretched above, and chandeliers glittered like stars frozen in crystal. It was a rare outing for the Briefs family, but one they welcomed with warm smiles and relaxed elegance.
Bulma tugged on the cuff of Mori's blazer, straightening it before smirking up at him. "There. Now you don't look like a wild alien who lives in the simulator."
Mori blinked at her, eyes glowing faintly blue-white under the ambient lights. He wore a collared shirt and dark pants, the sleeves slightly too short for his growing arms. "I don't live in there. I just sleep close to it."
Dr. Briefs chuckled as he adjusted his bowtie. "Let's get to our seats. I hear this troupe came all the way from South City. We're in for something special."
Mrs. Briefs looped her arm with Mori's. "Ooooh, I love dance shows! The colors, the costumes, the spinning! Don't fall asleep on us, sweetie."
"I won't," Mori replied, his tone flat but not unkind. The truth was, he didn't know what to expect—but something about the excited mood of the Briefs made his chest feel light.
They were ushered to their seats near the front row, the soft velvet cushions molding under them as the theater lights began to dim. Mori leaned forward slightly, eyes focused as the red curtain began to rise.
A single spotlight hit the center of the stage. One dancer stood alone, back arched, arms extended to the sky like a tree reaching sunlight. Then came the music—slow at first, a graceful melody of strings and keys.
The dancer began to move.
Mori's eyes widened.
There was something about it, something that went beyond simple performance. The dancer's legs shifted beneath them like flowing tides, knees bending, rising, pivoting—not a single step wasted. Their arms followed suit, snapping, gliding, tracing patterns in the air like calligraphy on invisible paper.
Mori leaned forward without realizing it.
"Whoa…" he whispered under his breath. The music shifted, and more dancers emerged, each with their own rhythm, but somehow moving in perfect harmony. Their steps weren't powerful—not in the way a punch or kick was—but they were purposeful. Their bodies moved like tools finely tuned for expression. Their control, their grace—it wasn't something he could replicate with brute force.
But what if he could translate it?
One dancer broke from the group, sprinting to the far edge of the stage. In a seamless burst of motion, they flipped—once, twice, then three times in the air before landing in a kneel, chest rising with breath.
The audience gasped in admiration. Mori's fingers twitched. His mind replayed every single motion in slow motion.
No wasted movement. Pure flow. Each gesture building to the next.
His breathing slowed. The battlefield in his mind shifted—no longer blasts and collisions, but a dance of intention. He could see how the fluidity of their legs supported balance, how the flip wasn't just athletic—it was a controlled redirection of force.
Bulma nudged him. "You good? You look like you just unlocked the secret to the universe or something."
Mori nodded slowly. "Maybe I did."
She blinked. "Wait—really?"
He turned to look at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. "They're… not just dancing. They're fighting without fighting."
Bulma raised an eyebrow. "Huh. That's a weird way to put it." She looked back at the stage, then grinned. "But I guess it is kind of cool. You're gonna copy them, aren't you?"
"Learn from them," Mori corrected softly, returning his eyes to the performers.
As the performance continued, the concept crystallized in his mind. He observed every pivot, every cartwheel and tumble. The moment when a dancer ran forward, slid into a spin, and used that rotation to launch a fluid aerial twist—that was it. That was the moment. That was the click.
Later that night, under the glow of the West City moon, Mori stood alone in the Capsule Corp courtyard.
He had changed back into his usual training clothes—loose black gi pants and a sleeveless undershirt. The soft chirps of night insects filled the silence as he inhaled and let the breath out slow.
He spread his arms slightly and adjusted his legs. Think like water.
Mori slid his left foot forward, then spun—loose at first, awkward even. He stumbled slightly but caught himself. He tried again. This time, he added more intent, mimicking the spin from earlier. His arms followed, tracing wide arcs like the dancers had.
His ki hummed faintly through his body.
A sudden roll—he flipped, awkwardly at first, but landed upright. Not graceful, not perfect. But it felt right.
He repeated it, this time faster, allowing his momentum to carry him into a light hop. He twisted midair, landing with one leg low to the ground, his palm extended forward like he was blocking an attack.
Mori paused. Then smiled.
Yes. This was something.
Inside the Capsule Corp observatory dome, the Big Gete Star's dormant scanner hummed to life. Unbeknownst to the Briefs, it had been recording Mori's movements for months now, observing his progress. This newest footage—the first signs of integrated, fluid motion-based combat—flickered across its internal logs.
"Subject shows signs of behavioral and technique adaptation," the machine intoned in its hollow mechanical voice. "Estimated potential increasing. Observation will continue."
The screen dimmed once again.
Back outside, Mori continued moving through the courtyard, his body twisting and flowing between each motion. His arms didn't just block—they redirected. His kicks no longer lunged but flowed, pivoting on the ball of his foot.
He imagined an opponent—not a brute force type, but someone clever, reactive. Someone like Goku. Someone who'd push him.
The flip came next—he flipped forward, then rolled, then slid backward into a low defensive stance. The shift in his balance allowed for a quick counter-movement—an upward palm strike, then a side pivot, then a back roll into standing.
He grinned, slightly winded. His body wasn't built for this level of flexibility—yet. But he could feel it. This was a new path.
Not just a style. A language.
He moved again, this time without thinking, letting instinct and inspiration guide his limbs. Ki danced faintly around his legs, amplifying the spin, giving momentum to his twist.
He flipped.
Landed.
Bowed toward the invisible crowd of dancers in his mind.
Inside the main Capsule Corp house, Bulma peeked out the window and smiled to herself. "There he goes again. Training in the dark."
Mrs. Briefs chuckled, sipping tea. "He looks so happy, though. Like he found something special."
Dr. Briefs adjusted his glasses as he glanced out. "He's evolving. Every day. Not just as a fighter but as a person."
Midnight deepened. The stars gleamed high above, silent witnesses to the boy dancing in shadows. Mori moved without pause, pushing his body to keep up with the image in his mind.
He stumbled once more. Collapsed to his knees.
Then laughed.
He looked up at the sky. "I'm gonna make something new. Something that's mine."
The wind rustled the trees gently. The moon bathed the courtyard in silver. Mori stood again.
He wasn't sure what the move would be called. Or how it would finish.
But he'd figure it out.
The night was still young.
"carried me to victory. Time and time again."