Chapter Text
Disclaimer:
Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball Super, and all associated characters, settings, and concepts are the property of Akira Toriyama, Toei Animation, Shueisha, and related copyright holders. I do not claim ownership over any existing characters or material from the Dragon Ball universe.
The only original character I claim as my own is Chechi. This work is purely fan-created, intended for entertainment and non-commercial purposes.
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Chapter 1
Trunks (22), Goten & Chechi (21)
The early morning mist still clung to the hills around Mount Paozu, curling like silver threads across the dew-slick grass. Birds sang from the branches in high, clear notes, and the gentle hiss of the rice cooker inside the Son household signaled breakfast was nearly ready.
Outside, the air was already alive with motion — or rather, with Goku’s impatience.
“Trunks! Goten! You said seven! It’s seven-oh-two!” he called, stretching his legs one at a time, bouncing with restless energy. He wore his usual orange gi, slightly faded now from years of wear, but his eyes were as bright and eager as ever.
From around the side of the house came two very different energies.
Trunks was the first to appear — Capsule Corp-branded duffle bag slung lazily over his shoulder, hair tousled but somehow still photogenic, his pressed blue training tee tucked into dark joggers. His walk had the confident looseness of someone who’d been in a boardroom at nine and a sparring mat at ten.
Behind him, Goten jogged into view, mismatched socks peeking from under baggy sweatpants and a half-eaten rice ball in his hand. He looked far too cheerful for someone being forced to train before coffee.
“Dad,” Goten groaned, “how are you this hyper? You’re like a kid on senzu beans.”
Goku grinned. “Because I like training! It’s fun! Builds character.”
Trunks rubbed the back of his neck with a smirk. “Some of us have to run billion-credit companies, y’know.”
“Some of us are still recovering from years of university without weekends,” Goten added dramatically, then took another bite of rice.
Chi-Chi’s voice rang out from the kitchen window, sharp as a thrown ladle. “You boys complain like old men! At least pretend you want to be strong!”
Trunks chuckled softly, but his eyes darted to the edge of the forest trail, as if sensing someone.
And then she arrived.
Chechi stepped into the sunlight, a vision of composed contrast. Her hair, dark and loosely bound, shimmered in the breeze. A soft lavender dress — modest but flowing — brushed against her calves. A leather satchel with tiny stitched herbs hung at her hip. Her feet were bare, as always when on her own turf.
The scent of lemongrass and honey clung to her — likely from the salves and tinctures she’d bottled that morning. There was something about her presence that made the air itself pause.
Trunks, for a heartbeat, forgot to smirk.
She raised an eyebrow at the gathering. “Still trying to get Goten and Trunks to pretend you’re their sensei again, Dad?”
Goku gave her a huge grin and scratched the back of his head. “Hey, you can’t blame me for trying. These two slack off more than Vegeta does during meditation class.”
“Low blow,” Trunks muttered.
Goten waved enthusiastically. “Chechi! Save us from morning cardio, please.”
Chechi paused beside her brother, inspecting him like a botanist faced with a wilted plant. “Hmm. Your energy’s low, posture’s off, and you smell like you skipped your shower again.”
“Hey! That’s lemongrass! From your stupid salve!”
Trunks laughed, the sound low and smooth. “She’s not wrong though. You’re a danger to the atmosphere, man.”
Goten huffed, flopping into the grass.
Chechi gave Trunks a sidelong glance, sly and unbothered. “You laugh, but I’ve seen your form lately. Getting soft, Future CEO.”
Trunks straightened slightly, smile tightening. “You challenging me?”
“I’m stating facts.”
Her voice was airy, graceful — but the glint in her eyes was pure fire. She stepped onto the grass, setting down her satchel and the clay jar of healing salve with practiced care.
“No ki blasts. No flying. First to three clean taps. I’ve got a full market load to prep today and I’d rather not waste energy teaching you humility again.”
Goten sat up. “Wait, this I will watch.”
Trunks cracked his knuckles, letting the cool exterior slip just a little. “Alright, Chechi. I hope you wore something you don’t mind getting grass stains on.”
Chechi tilted her head, slowly tying her hair tighter behind her. “Oh, please. I’ll be so far ahead you won’t even see the hem of my dress.”
From the porch, Chi-Chi chuckled behind her tea. “Just marry each other already and spare us the banter.”
“Mom!” “Chi-Chi!” Chechi and Trunks said at the same time — a little too loudly.
Goten choked on his rice ball.
Goku laughed. “She’s not wrong!”
Chechi rolled her shoulders and entered her stance: feet angled delicately, hands open, balanced like a reed in wind. She was a picture of fluid strength.
Trunks met her with his usual poised stance, eyes sharp but faintly amused. He admired the way she moved — not that he’d say that aloud. Not when she was already three steps ahead, as always.
Goten leaned back on his elbows, whispering theatrically to himself. “Here it comes. The graceful death spiral of ‘I’m in love but can’t admit it’ kung fu.”
And then — motion.
Chechi blurred forward like mist on water, spinning low, her hand grazing Trunks’ ribs before he even turned.
“One,” she said with the faintest grin.
He blinked. “You baited my left.”
“I let you think I did,” she said calmly.
“Okay, now you have to win,” Goten stage-whispered. “She insulted your brain, not just your biceps.”
Trunks exhaled slowly, stepping back in. This time, he was serious. They circled each other — wind rustling the grass, birds quieting overhead. When he struck, she flowed around him, like ink bleeding through parchment. Not a counter — a conversation. Every hit he threw, she responded with grace. Not overpowering, not overwhelming — but exact.
Twice he caught her wrist. Twice she slipped free before he could land a point.
On the third pass, he managed a light tap to her lower back. She glanced over her shoulder, impressed.
“Evened,” she said softly.
They paused, both breathless — not from exhaustion, but from proximity. His hand lingered just a beat too long. She turned away quickly, brushing her skirt.
Trunks cleared his throat. “You’re faster than you were last month.”
She nodded. “And you’re smarter than you were last year.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Depends on whether you win.”
They moved again — a flurry of steps, limbs, tension. But even as they sparred, the undercurrent wasn’t aggression. It was memory. Familiarity. The closeness of two people who’d known each other since high chairs and training pads… and who, for some unspoken reason, now held their breaths a little longer whenever they were alone.
And neither was ready to break that silence.
Not yet.
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Author's Note:
Chechi has been an original character that has been in the back of my mind for years. Before Dragon Ball Super existed.
The idea that Goku had a daughter that was Trunks's love interest seemed to make sense in my mind more so than any original character (at that time Marron and Pan were the circling option - Pan? ew). It took awhile for me to be able to flesh her out and get her down on paper. Creating her to be the balance between her mother and father and interesting enough to capture the heart of her childhood friend.
As Goku was gone from home alot, it made the most sense that if Goten was to have a sister, it would be his twin.
I also loved exploring the character depths of Trunks and Goten, getting past their cool or silly facades and revealing that they are just that, facades developed from a life of perfection - their own view of perfection.
I'm focusing to stay as close as I can to the DBZ series (not Super or GT) so some things might not aline if you are a fan of the other two series.
Please leave a review if this story has touched you or made you laugh as it did for me working on it.
- Son Chechi