Goku goes back in time

Next Day

The courtyard of Orange Star High was alive with the buzz of students, the occasional shuffle of feet on tile, and the distant chirping of birds under the mid-morning sun.

Tien Shinhan, calm as ever, stood at the front of the class with arms crossed, his tall frame commanding respect despite his reserved demeanor. His piercing third eye scanned the students as they stood in loose rows, many still unsure what to make of their guest martial arts instructor.

Sharpner stood toward the back, arms crossed and a new humility etched across his face after the embarrassment he suffered the day before. Gone was the cocky attitude. In its place was a quiet intensity.

"Today," Tien announced, "we'll begin with a few kata."

A few students groaned.

"Discipline is the core of strength," Tien continued. "The strongest fighters in the world understand the foundation. Without it, your power crumbles."

He turned his gaze to the side and addressed Gohan and Trunks, who stood observing the class.

"Gohan. Trunks. Would you both help me demonstrate?"

A wave of whispers flowed through the student body like ripples on water.

"Him? Seriously?" one student muttered.

"Trunks I can kinda get… but Gohan? He's so scrawny."

Even Videl narrowed her eyes. She had already noticed things about Gohan—his fast reflexes, how quiet yet sharp his awareness was. But still… the image didn't add up.

"You're saying these two know martial arts?" another student asked, half laughing.

Tien turned toward the group. His voice never raised, but it carried authority. "Both of them have been training since they were children. They're more qualified than most instructors I know."

Still, the doubt lingered on the students' faces.

Sighing quietly, Gohan gave Trunks a glance and asked. "Do we have to teach them?"

Trunks grinned. "Might as well."

The two stepped away briefly behind a nearby shed. When they returned, the murmurs stopped.

Both Gohan and Trunks now wore traditional training gi—Gohan in the orange and blue attire modeled after his father's, and Trunks in a sleek blue and black version with the Capsule Corp insignia stitched onto the chest. The moment they stepped into the light, jaws dropped.

Gone were the baggy clothes. Instead, their lean, muscular physiques stood proudly under the snug fit of their training uniforms.

"What the hell…" Sharpner blinked, stunned. "Since when were they shredded?!"

Erasa let out a soft whistle. "Wow… they look better than the guys on the front of Muscle Weekly. Sorry, Sharpner, but you've been dethroned."

Gohan rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Guess the training stuck, huh?"

Videl's eyes narrowed. There was no denying it now—Gohan wasn't normal. But she didn't sense any arrogance from him. Just calm… and kindness.

"Alright," Tien said with a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. "Let's show them the first form."

With that, Tien, Gohan, and Trunks stepped forward in unison. Their movements flowed with a grace and control few students had ever seen. The synchronicity between them was like water flowing between stones—each technique precise, powerful, and elegant. Even the air seemed to grow still, the sound of their strikes cutting through the silence with soft whooshes and snaps.

The students were mesmerized.

"That's… way more intense than I expected," one whispered.

"No way these guys are in high school…"

As the demonstration ended, Gohan turned back toward the group with a smile. "Okay, now it's your turn."

The sun hung high over the Orange Star High courtyard, casting long shadows over the gym mats that had been laid out for sparring practice. The students, now warmed up from katas and drills

under Trunks, Gohan, and Tien's guidance, buzzed with excitement and a tinge of anxiety.

Tien Shinhan stood at the front of the group, arms folded behind his back, his three eyes scanning the crowd with calm discipline.

"Alright," he said, "pair up. We'll begin light sparring. No heavy contact. Focus on movement, positioning, and reading your opponent."

Almost immediately, groups began forming—Sharpner awkwardly approaching Erasa with a sheepish grin, a few of the more timid students seeking out friends they knew wouldn't hit too hard.

Before Gohan could take a step, a voice cut through the air.

"Gohan. Spar with me."

All eyes turned toward the voice. Videl.

Gohan blinked in surprise. "Me?"

She nodded, serious and already stepping into a readied stance. "You're hiding something. Time to see what you're really made of."

The students murmured around them.

"Videl wants to spar him?"

"Isn't she undefeated in the junior tournament circuit?"

"Dude, she's gonna flatten him."

But Trunks only smirked and crossed his arms, watching from the sidelines. "She's going to be surprised."

Gohan scratched his head, clearly not wanting the attention. "I… guess I can? But I'm not—"

"Scared?" Videl raised an eyebrow.

Gohan chuckled nervously. "Not quite."

"Then let's go."

Tien glanced at the two, nodding. "Begin when ready. No harsh strikes. This is still a classroom."

Videl wasted no time. As soon as Tien gave the go-ahead, she exploded forward with a series of lightning-fast jabs, her movements crisp and practiced. Her form reflected Hercule-style martial arts—strong footing, wide swings, and heavy palm strikes.

But none of it landed.

Gohan's body bent like water, sidestepping, ducking, leaning back, and twisting just out of range. His hands never even left his sides.

Videl narrowed her eyes and jumped back. "You're not even trying."

Gohan gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm just not good at fighting people who don't actually want to hurt me."

"You don't think I'm serious?"

Gohan dodged a roundhouse with a simple step forward, bringing her foot past his shoulder. "Oh no, I think you're very serious. That's why I'm being careful."

Videl growled, sweat forming on her brow. She leaped up, spinning into a high axe kick, pouring all her momentum into it.

The crowd gasped.

And then—nothing.

Her leg was frozen in place mid-air. Gohan had raised a single arm and caught it with his open palm. Not a sound. Not a struggle. He held her suspended, effortlessly.

"You're fast," he said. "And very strong" for someone with lousy foundation he thought.

Videl's cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment, but pure frustration. She yanked her leg free, grounded herself again, and launched a furious combo of punches. Hooks, jabs, elbows—it was her full arsenal.

And Gohan weaved through all of them like mist.

Finally, he stepped in—not with aggression, but finality.

With a single sweeping movement, he pivoted, caught her wrist, and spun her body down gently, guiding her shoulder toward the mat in a safe, fluid motion. Before she knew what happened, Videl was on her back with Gohan standing over her, one hand still on her arm and the other braced to block a counterstrike.

The entire class fell into stunned silence.

"W-whoa…" Erasa breathed. "Did he just…?"

"Like she was made of paper," Sharpner muttered in disbelief.

Videl blinked up at Gohan, her breath coming fast. His grip loosened and he offered a hand.

She took it hesitantly, letting him pull her up. "You're not some average guy, are you?"

Gohan smiled sheepishly. "I… just train a lot with my family."

"I knew you were hiding something."

He laughed, stepping back and bowing slightly. "Guess I need to work on my disguise better."

Videl frowned, not in anger but curiosity. "Who are you really, Gohan?"

Before he could answer, Tien clapped once. "Enough for today. That's all the sparring. You've all done well."

As students began to gather their things, Videl kept her eyes on Gohan.

Erasa approached from the side, worried.

"You alright?" she asked Videl.

"Yeah," she muttered. "But now I've got two mysteries to figure out."

Trunks gave Gohan a playful elbow. "Good job."

Gohan chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.

From behind them, a group of students whispered excitedly.

"Did you see that fight?"

"Videl finally met her match."

"No way Gohan's just some countryside nerd."

Videl heard every word. She glanced at Gohan one more time before walking away, her fists clenched—not in anger, but determination.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.