The planet's rose-hued suns melted below the jagged horizon, painting the sky in muted gold and lavender. Gojo Satoru stood in the dusty clearing, his breathing measured but labored, shirt clinging to his torso from sweat, hair matted against his forehead. He hadn't trained like this in a long time—perhaps never with this level of intensity. Yet here he was, on a remote world that he and Launch had chosen solely for its harsh terrain, pushing himself far beyond his normal limits.
Not too long ago, Whis had shown him a reality he'd never faced: a power that utterly eclipsed his own, something beyond Infinity. The casual way Whis neutralized his techniques left Gojo stunned, humbled, and strangely exhilarated. He realized that, though he'd stood near the apex of skill in his old dimension, this Universe offered an infinite ladder to climb. And with the Eternal Flame inside him, he suspected he had the raw potential to climb higher than he'd ever imagined—if he was willing to work for it.
So he did. Day by day, month by month, he drove himself relentlessly. If he'd once been known for extraordinary effort, this made his past training look like child's play. On this rocky, near-desolate planet—chosen for its fierce gravity shifts and swirling dust storms—Gojo found the perfect crucible for his new resolve.
Early each morning, before the twin suns fully rose, he ran laps around the cratered plains. He wore weighted gear courtesy of Bulma's technology, each piece adjustable up to a punishing degree. Even with Infinity, the relentless weight hampered his movements if he didn't focus, forcing him to refine control in ways he'd never bothered to before. No more lazy reliance on his usual space-bending tricks; now every step was deliberate, anchored in deeper stamina and physical strength.
Then came ki drills, ones he'd partly adapted from watching the Z-Fighters, combined with his own space-manipulation. He'd stand in the midst of swirling dust devils, flaring his Infinity on and off in millisecond intervals, teaching himself to maintain a constant flicker rather than a simple on/off switch. It was excruciatingly precise work—like balancing on the edge of a razor while juggling knives. Yet as the weeks wore on, it became less an effort of guesswork and more a refined skill.
At midday, when the suns reached their zenith and the planet's gravity randomly spiked, Gojo did raw strength exercises. He lugged boulders across canyons, hopped from pillar to pillar across molten rock flows, tested the absolute edge of his body's endurance. The Eternal Flame pulsed in his core, its presence no longer dormant but not raging either—more like a steady ember, fueling every cell in his body with an otherworldly vigor. When he felt his muscles burn and scream for mercy, he found that last bit of spark from the Flame, enabling him to lift heavier, leap farther, and push longer. It was as if the Flame was forging his body and spirit, forging him into something more than he was.
And when the purple dusk set in, he'd practice advanced forms of his Cursed Techniques. He'd split the day's final hours between refining Blue and Red under gravitational distortion, or experimenting with new twists on Hollow Purple. Sometimes he tried to manipulate the vacuum-level dryness of the atmosphere itself, seeing if he could reshape matter from a distance. More often than not, he collapsed by night's end, panting in the dust, vision swimming. But night after night, Launch was there to help him back to his feet.
Launch had her own training regimen, though nowhere near as punishing. She'd use the ship's gravity chamber for weight practice, or sharpen her shooting and close-combat skills on roaming creatures. At first, she worried about Gojo's well-being—she'd never seen anyone so determined, not even some of the Saiyans. But as the weeks turned to months, she realized this was exactly what he needed. He was chasing a limit he could barely see, a horizon that kept receding. And the Eternal Flame made each day's effort produce astonishing results.
They built a small base camp near the edge of a canyon. The planet's terrain glowed faintly at night, so they erected a sturdy barrier to keep out wandering beasts. A battered old Capsule Corp camper served as their living quarters—a compact place for cooking simple meals and grabbing minimal sleep. The mornings Launch woke up in her docile persona, she'd watch Gojo from the camper's window, seeing him do something insane like balancing on one finger atop a spire while wearing full gravity gear. When she was in her fierce blonde form, she might go out to spar with him, unleashing machine-gun blasts that Gojo would dodge with measured flicks of Infinity—this helped him practice reacting to projectiles at insane speeds, and also helped her let off steam.
One twilight, Gojo was perched on a stone outcropping, eyes closed behind his blindfold, feeling the planet's irregular gravity pulses rolling like waves. He was trying a new approach to channeling the Eternal Flame: letting it flow through him in measured pulses, matching the planet's gravitational rhythm. He'd discovered over these months that the Flame responded to strain, that true adversity coaxed it to burn brighter. It was no unstoppable cheat code, but it amplified everything he had, inch by inch, day by day.
"Inhale… exhale…" he told himself, voice barely above a whisper. The air crackled with a subtle energy, swirling dust dancing in shimmering motes around him. He could almost see the shape of gravity itself, layering over the natural environment. Infinity and the Flame coexisted in his body, and he willed them to work in tandem. A faint hum vibrated the ground beneath his feet. His hair stood on end, and the lines of his body tensed with a quiet fury.
Suddenly, an overwhelming quake shook the plateau. A random spike in the planet's gravitational flux, stronger than he'd ever felt. The ground rumbled, cracking open in places. Boulders the size of houses started tumbling toward the canyon, their collective roar splitting the night. Gojo was sent stumbling forward, momentarily losing his center.
A strangled yelp came from somewhere behind him—Launch was returning from scouting. The shifting ground had yanked the ground from under her feet, and she'd lost her balance near the canyon's edge. She slid dangerously close to the lip, pebbles cascading into the void below.
Gojo's heart lurched. In an instant, he poured the Flame and Infinity into his legs, rocketing across the trembling ground. Dust and broken rock battered him, but he refused to let Infinity shield him fully—he needed the friction to push off each unstable foothold. The canyon gaped wide, hundreds of meters deep. Launch slipped another foot, arms scrambling for any handhold.
"Hang on!" Gojo shouted, voice raw from the swirling debris. He reached her in a half-second leap, hooking an arm around her waist. The ground slid beneath them, crumbling, but Gojo's muscles burned with a strength he'd honed for months. He kicked off a collapsing boulder, and with a pulse of Blue, yanked themselves back from the canyon's mouth. They tumbled onto safer ground in a swirl of dust.
Launch coughed, eyes wide, heart hammering. She managed to squeak, "Thanks…" before noticing the new gash on Gojo's arm, where a sharp rock had ripped through the edge of Infinity. He was breathing heavily, dust coating his sweaty face.
"You okay?" he asked, ignoring the trickle of blood and brushing gravel from her shoulders.
She nodded, trembling a bit. "Y-yeah."
The quake subsided as quickly as it began. The planet's strange gravitational surge receded to a hum, leaving fresh cracks in the plateau. Gojo's chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. He was exhausted from the day's training, but saving Launch had demanded every last scrap of energy. Yet he felt a tiny flicker inside—the Eternal Flame flaring as though proud of his resolve.
Helping Launch to her feet, he limped back to camp in silence. She insisted on patching up his arm, her docile side surprisingly tender with bandages and antiseptic. "You gotta take it easy sometimes," she whispered, forcing a small smile. "All this training… you're pushing yourself too hard."
Gojo shook his head gently. "Not enough, if this Universe has beings like Whis." He sat heavily on a bench by the camper, letting her finish the bandage. "But I'm not rushing blindly. The Flame helps me adapt—just need to be careful."
"Well," she said, tying a neat knot in the bandage, "I don't want to lose you to a freak quake, or your own stubbornness."
Her words hung in the warm night air. Gojo softened, brushing a dusty strand of her purple hair aside. "I appreciate you having my back." He paused. "Sorry I worried you."
She let out a faint laugh, eyes misting with relief. "You're forgiven, dummy. But let's try not to almost die again."
That near-disaster shifted something in Gojo. While he still trained relentlessly, he started pacing himself better. Instead of pushing to collapse every day, he allocated time for rest and skill refinement. Mornings became about raw physical conditioning, afternoons about mastering technique, evenings about pushing Infinity and the Eternal Flame together in short, explosive bursts. And at night, he actually slept a full cycle, letting the body repair itself under the Flame's subtle glow.
The changes were dramatic. By the end of the second month, Gojo's body had hardened, sinewy muscle apparent even under his baggy training clothes. His stamina soared to dizzying heights, letting him maintain Infinity for hours on end without straining. The biggest leap, though, was in how seamlessly he wove the Flame's power into his cursed techniques. Blue and Red felt sharper, more responsive, and Hollow Purple was now something he could shape at will—adjusting its destructive force or radius to better suit a fight.
He also discovered a new trick: condensing a fragment of the Flame's energy into his palm, letting it swirl with Infinity to create a short-lived miniature gateway. It wasn't stable enough for safe dimensional travel, but it gave him a vantage into the boundary of realms. Each time he peered in, he saw glimpses of flickering lights, cosmic streams, infinite possibilities. He suspected that if Whis or someone of that caliber ever tried to trap him, he might at least slip away by harnessing the Flame's gateway effect. Or so he hoped.
Launch noticed changes in his demeanor, too. Though he was still casual and playful, she sensed a new resolve simmering under his blindfolded gaze. If once he'd been cocky with an effortless grin, now a quiet confidence replaced the brashness—a humility seeded by Whis's demonstration. She liked it, though it worried her how single-minded he could become. Regardless, they found companionship in the routine: cooking simple meals over campfires, swapping jokes (especially when she was blonde and feisty), and forging a bond in the midst of this grueling quest.
One evening, roughly three months into their training stay, Launch sat on a flat rock near the camp, blonde hair falling around her shoulders. She'd sneezed earlier after inhaling spice from dinner, so her fiercer persona was out. She watched Gojo from a distance as he practiced, the orange glow of the setting suns catching his silhouette. He carved arcs of violet energy into the air, each swirling slash burning away the drifting dust. His movements were sharper, more fluid—like a dancer who'd memorized every step.
Finally, he let out a slow exhale, releasing the technique. The night wind carried away the last motes of cosmic energy. Gojo slid his hands into his pockets and walked over, slightly winded but not exhausted. He eased onto a boulder beside Launch, shoulders squared but relaxed.
"Your new form is looking good," she said, nodding toward the place where Hollow Purple had whirled. "Even I can tell it's stronger than before."
"Feels that way," he admitted, brushing sweat from his cheek. "But it's still not enough to catch up to Whis. Maybe not even close."
Launch gave a playful shrug. "Maybe not. But you've come a long way, you know. Hard to believe you're the same guy who used to rely on Infinity alone. You're more… well-rounded."
Gojo's mouth curled into a wry grin. "Guess that's the Eternal Flame for you—amplifying everything under stress. Part of me wonders if it has its own agenda, though. I can feel it… urging me on sometimes."
"Does that freak you out?" Launch asked, genuinely curious.
He paused. "A little, but I'm in control. As long as I keep it integrated with my technique, I think we have an understanding." He arched his back to stretch, the faint pop of joints echoing in the quiet. "I'm not naive enough to think I can dethrone gods. But maybe, with enough time, I can stand on even ground. Or at least not get swatted away like a fly."
Launch's blonde persona snorted. "You realize that means we'll keep planet-hopping until you break yourself or find that upper limit, right?"
Gojo laughed softly, leaning back on his hands to gaze up at the star-strewn sky. "No upper limit in sight. That's the beauty of it."
A comfortable silence settled between them, the night air tinged with cool dryness. In the distance, faint howls of nocturnal creatures mingled with the rustle of strange flora. Here, they were alone with infinite possibility. The Universe sprawled around them, uncharted and full of powers beyond mortal comprehension.
Gojo Satoru felt the Eternal Flame pulse gently in his chest—steady, unwavering. It was as though the Flame recognized his determination, fanning itself in response. He might never see the end of this journey, but that no longer mattered. Each step made him stronger, more aware, more alive.
Together, he and Launch would eventually leave this planet. But for now, he still had more to do, more to refine. The training would continue tomorrow, and the day after, until the time felt right to move on. Because if Whis's effortless display had taught him anything, it was that the climb never truly ended. And if the Eternal Flame had taught him anything, it was that being pushed to your limit was only the beginning of what a boundless Universe had to offer.
So under the twin suns' dying light, Gojo closed his eyes, letting the Flame's warmth diffuse through every fiber of his body. He would meet unimaginable forces again someday. And next time, he intended to be ready—no matter how high he had to ascend.