Dragon Ball: Being able to revive means you're courting death? How naive!

Chapter 340 Son Gohan's Dream

On the mountain of steamed buns, Son Gohan's pen made a rustling sound as it scratched across the draft paper.

In the study, Teacher Zhou Sanle rolled up a book into a tube and tapped his palm lightly: "Focus on your problems. Stop thinking about your father who abandoned his wife and children. What kind of future can he have?"

Son Gohan's arithmetic suddenly stopped, his knuckles turning white from the force. He remembered his mother Chi-Chi's figure kneading dough and making buns every morning, and a sour feeling welled up in his throat. He finally suppressed the anger surging in his eyes and continued to struggle with algebra problems.

It wasn't until the moonlight climbed onto the windowsill that Son Gohan lay down on the table piled with draft papers and fell asleep, his eyelashes still stained with undried ink.

The window frame swayed slightly, and the little dragon's wet nose peeked into the room, its pink tongue smacking as it licked Gohan's cheek.

Son Gohan suddenly woke up and hurriedly pressed down on the little guy's flapping wings: "Shh! Don't make a sound, if that fierce teacher hears us..."

Before he could finish speaking, the little dragon had already flapped its wings and leaped onto the misty lawn.

Gohan chased after the silver-blue scales out the window, but tripped on the windowsill and fell into the dewy grass.

When he looked up, he saw that familiar figure emerging from the mist—golden hair slightly curled by the morning dew, and the patterns on his combat suit still covered in cosmic dust.

"Dad... Dad?" Gohan's voice trembled like leaves in the autumn wind.

As Sun Wukong opened his arms, he caught his son who was rushing towards him. He felt the sharp angle of the boy's shoulder blade in his palm, and his heart suddenly tightened.

Son Gohan, nestled in his arms, was silently shedding tears, his snot smearing onto the Turtle Hermitage robe on his chest, yet he clung tightly to his belt, refusing to let go.

"Qiqi!" Sun Wukong looked up and saw his wife standing at the door holding an apron.

Kiki's fingertips were still covered in flour, but her eyes shone as brightly as grapes washed by rain.

She took two steps forward, then stopped, watching her husband's retreating figure as he carried their son up the window. Finally, she smiled and shook her head: "Wukong! Use the front door, don't lead the child astray—"

"I'm starving!" When Sun Wukong turned around, the morning light was filtering through his hair, scattering golden spots on Gohan's upturned face.

"Qiqi, don't worry about me, go and cook."

"Okay, I'll cook my best dish!"

As Son Gohan leaned on his father's shoulder, watching the smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, he suddenly felt his eyes welling up with tears again.

The little dragon had somehow landed on the orange tree in the corner of the yard, stretching its wings towards the rising sun, its scales shimmering like pearls in the morning mist.

Son Gohan, nestled happily in Goku's arms, tilted his flushed face and bombarded him with questions: "Daddy! Where have you been all this time? How did you defeat Frieza? How did you get back after defeating him? What did you do? Tell me, Daddy, please tell me!"

Goku gently put Gohan down. Gohan looked up at his father's face, only to see that the kind face suddenly turn from gentle to ferocious—his brow bone protruded strangely, his skin cracked and bled, and finally it transformed into Frieza's face!

Frieza's claws gripped Gohan's shoulders, his tail whipping up pebbles with a crackling sound: "Saiyan scum, let me see how hard your bones are!"

Son Gohan clawed at the scaly arm, blood seeping from under his fingernails. Staring at the contorted face before him, he let out a broken cry: "No...no! No!!"

"Let go of me! You're hurting me!"

Teacher Zhou frowned and flicked his wrist, trying to pull his fingers out of Son Gohan's tightly clenched palm.

Unaware of his surroundings, Son Gohan was fast asleep, his forehead pressed against the draft paper, his eyelashes still stained with ink, curled up in the corner of the desk, his fingertips still tightly gripping the teacher's sleeve, as if clutching the golden light in his dream that refused to dissipate.

Son Gohan's fingertips trembled slightly as he slowly released his grip on Teacher Zhou Sanle's hand.

Teacher Zhou Sanle stumbled and bumped into the wall, rubbing his reddened wrist as he yelled, "Kid! Instead of grabbing the teacher, you should focus on your math problems! Get up and do your work right now!"

Son Gohan rubbed his sleepy eyes, his gaze sweeping over the desk piled high with draft papers. There was no sign of the blond warrior, only the cold white light of the desk lamp casting on the notebooks.

Son Gohan's throat moved, and he murmured softly, "So it was just a dream..."

"What are you looking at!" Teacher Zhou rolled up his sleeves, revealing his arm with red scratches. "What can your father, who only knows how to throw punches, teach you? This brute strength is the only thing you've 'inherited' properly. Finish this algebra test before you eat!"

Son Gohan's face darkened, and he gripped the armrest of the chair tightly with his fingertips, pushing it forward. The metal chair legs scraped against the floor with a screeching sound.

Teacher Zhou took a half step back, her pointer trembling in her palm: "What kind of attitude is this?"

"Snap!" The moment the pointer struck the table, Son Gohan had already gripped the tip of the pointer.

Son Gohan's knuckles turned white, veins bulged at the base of his thumb, and a cold fire burned in his dark pupils: "Don't—speak ill of my father."

"This is outrageous!" Teacher Zhou Sanle tried to pull back the whip, but it felt like he was holding onto a steel bar.

The next second, with a crisp "crack," the whip broke into two pieces, scattering wood chips all over the ground.

Son Gohan, clutching the broken whip, approached, his school uniform collar soaked with cold sweat. Each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth: "Don't, say, bad, things, about, my, dad."

Zhou Sanle leaned against the wall, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

The shockwave emanating from Son Gohan made the desk rattle loudly. He suddenly remembered the force with which his wrist had been grabbed, as if he had grabbed a rampaging bulldozer. This was no ordinary elementary school student; he was clearly an enraged little wild beast.

Son Gohan approached Teacher Zhou Sanle step by step, his eyes icy: "I've told you, don't speak ill of my father."

Ms. Zhou panicked and shuffled along the wall, her voice trembling: "No, no! You've misunderstood! I'm your tutor, don't come any closer!"

He looked up and shouted towards the door, "Gohan's mom! Your son's going to get violent!"

The door opened with a click, and Chi-Chi poked her head in: "Gohan, what are you doing?"

Seeing this, Zhou Sanle breathed a sigh of relief and immediately complained, "Wufan's mom! How did you raise your child like this?"

Son Gohan turned his head, the anger squeezed out between his teeth almost solidifying, his gaze piercing like a knife as he stared at Teacher Zhou Sanle.

"This kind of...this kind of rebellious attitude is very detrimental to learning..."

Teacher Zhou Le's voice trembled as he was struck by the cold light in Son Gohan's eyes. He pretended to cough twice, but his fingertips rubbed against his trouser leg, creating obvious wrinkles.

Teacher Zhou Sanle glanced at Qiqi, then raised her voice with a forced smile: "What kind of look is that?"

Chi-Chi looked at Gohan: "Gohan..."

Upon hearing this, Son Gohan lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting trembling shadows beneath them, burying the surging anger within them.

"It's all because of his irresponsible father!"

Seeing Gohan lower his head, Teacher Zhou Le mustered his courage and banged his pointer loudly on the table.

“Is it…Goku?” Chi-Chi’s fingers tightened slightly.

“That’s right!” Teacher Zhou nodded repeatedly.

"It has nothing to do with my dad!"

Son Gohan suddenly looked up and glared at Teacher Zhou Sanle.

Teacher Zhou Sanle's face darkened, and his pointer whistled as it lashed out at Son Gohan's shoulder: "Enough with the nonsense!"