author's note: this is version two of this chapter. it's virtually identical; i just cleaned up some of the grammar here and there. and re-uploaded it on august 11th. there are a few minor plot related changes—that is to say, when i first started this story a year ago, i didn't know exactly where it was going and i have it much better plotted now, so i wanted to edit a few things to reflect that.

a few notes that don't belong in the summary but still bear mentioning—the main character is pan, with goten as leading man (in a non-romantic fashion, obviously). trunks, bra, and marron are the main supporting cast in roughly that order. There's T/P eventually. who the others end up with is... a mystery? (well, i know, but...) the story takes place two years after DBGT, and i follow canon as closely as i can with the exception of ignoring the 100-years-later!! epilogue. oh, and, "hirayachi" is an okinawan dish.

x x x

It is summer and the city blazes with it. The traffic is as thick as the air, and the women are all dressed in skirts and cleavage. Even she tries, pulling up her skirt to allow maximum leg, tugging the creases out of her tank-top to highlight what little figure she has—Pan is sixteen now, golden as she'll ever be, arrogant in her youth and figure. Or lack of. She tries to find a casual way to run her hands over her breasts, trying to stick the cloth of her tank to skin. Years of martial arts training has ruined her chances for cleavage, perhaps permanently. Breasts are fat, and there is little to no fat anywhere on Son Pan's body. Good for her stomach. Bad for her chest.

Having done as best she can, she walks down the street away from school. Saunters. Meanders. Walks in that way only sixteen-year-old girls can, at the peak of their arrogance. At sixteen, all girls think that they are sexy and special and the center of the world—even alien girls, strange girls, girls a year behind in high school because she took off into space for a year a while back. Repeating a year of junior high wasn't the solution, not in the minds of Papa and Grandma: this was how Pan found her way into summer school.

"Yo! Son!" Hirayachi, largely considered to be the most popular boy in Satan City, heads towards Pan, jogging slightly in a cool sort of way; he's not jogging to hurry to her, because that would be uncool, but he's jogging, and towards her, and his hair is the color of a tropical lagoon in sunshine — or so Pan thinks, and she's had a crush on him for days now. Hira is also a martial arts fan. "I'm glad I caught up with you. Class sucked today, huh? It's too hot, I can't think in a stuffy old room. What are you doing? Going to visit your, uh, grandfather?"

Hira is a martial arts fan; Hira is a Mr. Satan fan. He claims to have seen almost every tenka'ichi bodoukai of the last fifty years, mostly through tapes, but he had been in attendance personally for the last one, the one Pan had fought in—she hardly remembers the tournament, doesn't think about it much... #17 had gone bad after that, she remembers... that whole time, that year before Grandpa died is all very vague to her now. But Hirayachi had seen her compete in that tournament, and Hirayachi had sought her out after her first day of summer school.

"I'm not doing anything," she says, glad that she has just finished prettying herself. "My uncle is supposed to pick me up, and we're going shopping." When it comes to her, Goten has always been very pliable. She had mentioned she needed new clothes and just like that he had offered to bring her around Satan City: Pan is used to his spoiling of her and never thinks about why.

"Your uncle? Hira seems disappointed. "Is he... your grandfather's son?"

"No, he's my dad's younger brother," Pan says, knowing which grandfather Hira had meant. She can tell he's losing interest; Hira never hides the fact that he hero worships her maternal grandfather, Champion Of The World. "Goten. He's really—" she waves a hand. "He's like thirty, he's almost thirty, but he still acts like a kid. Dates girls like he's in high school—junior high school, you know, picking them up and them dumping them again. He's a total manwhore, even worse than actual guys my... age..." Backpedal, backpedal! "But he's not so bad. He's nice to me, anyway."

Hira makes a vague sound to indicate he is still listening, but Pan has lost him. "Hey... Son... I was wondering..." he says slowly, looking her in the eyes. Looking down to do so—she hasn't quite hit her growth spurt yet, she's more than short she's tiny—ohhhh, his eyes are blue. Pan stares back, more than willing to lose herself in them, so to speak. This is a romantic moment! she exclaims in her head—it's hard for her to find a boyfriend, because boys her age tend to be stupid... Pan likes older guys, they're much cooler—but Hirayachi is cool—and cute—and into martial arts—most boys hate knowing she could beat them up, but he—oh, blue eyes blue eyes blue—

"...Could you maybe introduce me to Mr. Satan sometime?" She is too swept up in the moment to refuse—she nods and he grins down at her. Down at her—and Hira is a little on the short side himself! Life is desperately unfair—except for right now! "Really! Wow, you're the greatest, Son—I mean, Pan...? Is that alright? Pan-chan?"

"That's fine," she says, blushing now. "Most people call me that anyway."

He grins at her, overcome with affection—she who will help him meet his hero, she who is awesome, she who he totally is showing a romantic interest in: Pan doesn't even mind being manipulated like this, taken advantage of like this, because Hirayachi is cool and likes her. "I can see why!" he is saying, jolly now. "You're really quite cute, Pan-chan. I saw you in that tournament, but standing next to you now I can barely remember you're so good at fighting. You must get it from your grandfather!" It is a shining compliment, she is the coolest person he knows. Pan nods—she did get 'it' from her grandfather, although not the one Hira was thinking of.

x x x

"Hirayachi, huh?" Goten considers this. "Isn't that one of those food dishes from the South Islands?" He had arrived just in time to see Pan and Hira part ways, Hira needing to catch the train back home—he had also been witness to the quick, friendly hug Hira had bestowed upon Pan before running off, and hadn't shut up about it since.

Pan looks at the shoes on display as though they are the most important things ever. They are green high-tops: functional, on the cheap end, and probably utterly hideous to all of the Bras of the world. Behind her, checking out passerby as he talked, Goten continued his ribbing of his niece. "I dunno, Pan-chan, he is pretty cute—but what would niichan say? You're supposed to be studying, not dating, and I bet that you didn't notice that Hiyarachi-kun—" the mispronunciation intentional— "looks a lot like Trunks does, if Trunks was still sixteen and had green hair. And wasn't a dork," Goten adds fondly.

Pan has noticed this, and her face burns. The two of them don't look much alike—side by side they would appear to have nothing in common—but there's a slight overlay, a similarity of noses and mouths, the placement of the eyes. But Pan has considered herself over her crush on Trunks for a year and a half now—she scolds herself for it, because it was stupid of her—it was only because of that year, that vague year—but Goten knows of the former crush, and teases her about it whenever he can. The only mercy is that he withholds from it when others are around.

"I want these shoes," she announces.

"Good choice, nice color," Goten says, teasing her a little. He pats her on the head. "They'll make you a good inch taller, chibi-chibi." He towers over her—she barely reaches his shoulder, and she's wearing tall army boots. The old nickname makes her shove him, and he stumbles backwards: she's shorter, but when it comes down to it among their families height is merely an ascetic. Kuririn-san and Vegeta-san are also short, she reminds herself. But Bra, a year younger, is much taller. It's just not fair.

"Don't worry, chibi-chan, you'll grow eventually. And I'm sure Hiya-kun likes you no matter how microscopically small you—" Goten falters off in the middle of his punch-line, staring off into the mall. It is a weekday but the building is still crowded with people escaping the summer heat, and Goten has evidentially discovered one person in the crowd he rather wouldn't—to judge by the tightness of his lips and the way his chi has increased—ever so slightly, hardly noticeable, just enough to indicate tension. Pan senses her opportunity to dig at her uncle for once—Chibi-chan indeed!

"What, an ex-girlfriend? Which one? You go through a lot, I can't even remem—"

"Shut up, Pan," Goten says, still staring at that one spot. Annoyed—and a little hurt—and offended—Pan follows his gaze, looking for anything troubling in the crowd of shoppers. The store is opposite a small sitting area; potted trees and benches. There's a young couple with a child—there's a pair of pretty, giggling girls, but Pan's age—too young for Goten to care—a cool looking boy—an elderly man, eighty at least... some people walking by, but it can't be one of them... a woman with three children, the oldest no more than ten...that cool looking boy, leaning against a decorative pillar... dressed like a punk with excessive chain... long black hair...

"Oh," Pan says, because that's all she can think of. Oh. What a weak sentiment. Not even one with an explanation point, just a little word, one step above a sigh... the cool boy... he's not cool at all, she thinks with sharp loyal anger—he stands up and walks over to them, casual, they've been gawking long enough that he's noticed and he probably recognizes them, too—or maybe not—but—

"Relax," he drawls when he's close enough: "I'm not going to do anything."

"Like you didn't do anything two years ago?" Goten is terrible, however, at sounding threatening. He is no leader, he is no attacker. He manages to sound confrontational, but just barely.

"Hey," the cool boy says. "That wasn't me. Anyway, didn't Son Goku wish for only the good people to come back to life?" he smirks, raises his hands to show them his empty palms, some strange symbol of arrogant good-will. "Signed and sealed. One genuinely good person." Jinzouningen Juunana-gou curls his fingers into fists, palms still up, and grins. "How's neesan?"

His coolness has grown irritating already. "Fine, no thanks to you," Goten says, as Pan's mind twists on itself; this is him, this is #17, the same one from before—or—perhaps not the same one, but this is #17, and she remembers—losing to him, yes, but more than that—the news that Kuririn-ojisan was dead, the battle, the panic—she remembers Marron-san, crouched over and shaking—shaking so much she looked like she would fall apart—sobbing, blotching—I just ran, I'm so stupid, Momma—and Poppa—I just ran, I just ran, I just—and Pan remembers her Baasan... her mouth thin and stern, holding Marron by the shoulders, telling her it wasn't her fault, that everything was going to be okay... making it sound like a lecture... and Marron had collapsed, crying, into Baasan's embrace... Bra-chan had been there, too, as pale as Pan had been... more pale, because Pan had been hurt then, badly hurt... thinking of herself... all because of him. Because of #17.

Of course Goten knows all this, too, and by merit of their ages he's always been closer to Marron—to Marron and Kuririn-ojisan and the other adults—than Pan. "Look," #17 was saying, cooly, "I'm trying to be friendly. You're a Son, right? One of them." He says it with a dismissive flap of his hand. "Doesn't Goku tell you guys anything? I was fucking possessed. And now I'm back thanks to you guys, so that ain't my fault, either."

"So what, you're the victim? Everything in your life is just—because of someone else? Don't be stupid," Goten says, struggling to make his point—he's not stupid, Pan knows that, but he can't word things sometimes, match vowels to feelings.

"Whatever," #17 says, rolling his eyes. "Who're you?" he nods at Pan, hands on his hips aggressively. He looks her over briefly, and then again, more slowly, when he sees Goten's glare.

"Pan," she says. "Son."

"Oh, sure," #17 says. "I didn't know that that Gohan kid had a sister, too. Sure. Well, nice meeting you—" he made a little saluting wave of his fingers— "But I'll be on my way again."

"If that's the case, why the hell did you stop to chat in the first place?" Goten asks, brow creased. It is very clear that Goten doesn't like #17, uncomfortably so, but the punk-cyborg doesn't seem to notice—or care.

"It coulda been anyone. I wanted to make clear... that I wasn't going to do anything. This is my declaration of peace," #17 replies grandly, an arrogant little asshole to the last.

"So you want everyone to know you're back, and alive, but you aren't planning on doing anything—why even say it, then? It's not like anyone gives a crap about you. I'd be happier thinking you were still dead," Goten says. To Pan's mild alarm—or amusement—they are fighting in the most civil tones. "You just want attention."

"One crook knows another," #17 retorts. "I guess I'm not as strong as the top tier anymore, but I was built to kill 'Super Saiyan.' Wanna have a go? See how we manage?"

"Shut up!" Pan yells—too loudly—the people walking by, shopping obliviously, not knowing that the two men are fighting or that the two men between them could destroy the world—literally, not metaphorically—in a few minutes, if they choose to make that effort. They don't know, but Pan does, and she's scared—and frustrated. #17, for all of his reputation of being evil—Marron, Marron, Marron!—is proving to be an annoying windbag. And his remark about crooks hit home—Goten is growing visibly angry now. "First of all," Pan says, whirling on #17— "Son Gohan is my dad, not my older brother. It's been like, thirty years since the Cell Games." This is just something that has been bugging her since he said it; with that fact laid out, she continues: "No one cares about you, so shut up." Goten's mouth twitches: Pan is on a roll. "You keep saying stuff and trying to be cool, but you aren't, and we don't care. If there's something you want, say it—" she doubts this very much— "and if not, go away and stay gone."

#17 frowns and then looks away. "Do either of you know my sister?"

"Both of us," Goten says—"she's a family friend. Unlike you, she's—" a rare burst of tact—or unwillingness to swear in front of his niece—cuts him off.

"Then tell her I'm alive," #17 says, "and living in the old house. And that..." he seems close to an apology—close to a something, anyway, something to make him visibly nervous—

"Tell her yourself," Goten says, both kindly and cruelly—"I'm not gonna pass messages from someone like you. If you want to tell her so bad, tell her in person."

"What's wrong with you?" Pan asks suddenly; seeing #17 distracted and—and strange—and different... not the sort of person who destroys things, kills people... not a person at all, but still... "My dad says you were supposed to be as arrogant as h—as anything. And you never visited #18-san before." That one hits home and he glares, more angry than is warranted—it is a very clean blow.

"You told me to shut up, so I will," #17 says with the haughtiness of a very young child indeed—the impression is only added upon when he turns on his heels and all but stomps off.

The remaining two watch him go with matching—although they are thankfully unaware of this—blank faces. "Man, don't you wish we lived normal lives?" Goten says at last, before turning the conversation back again to shoes.

x x x