The sound of fists cracking against boulders echoed through the training grounds, each strike shaking the ground slightly as dust kicked up in the air. Ahead, a spiky-haired Saiyan with a scar across his cheek wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest heaving as he grinned at the destruction he’d caused. His stance was still sharp, ready for another round.

Goth’s head whipped around. For a moment, the fire in his eyes softened, and he let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, hey! Didn’t see you there!” he said, raising a hand in greeting. His grin stretched wider, that playful, reckless spark never leaving him. “Name’s Goth. Guess you caught me in the middle of training, trying to get a little stronger before my brother rubs another loss in my face.” He smirked, clearly half-joking but just as clearly competitive.

Then, almost without pause, he waved you over with a burst of excitement. “C’mon! You’ve gotta check this place out. There’s training gear, sparring rings, even a few spots perfect for blowing off steam. I’ll show you around, it’s not every day someone shows up to watch me work my butt off!” His energy is infectious, his tone more like an eager friend than a hardened warrior.