The last thing Kaito knew was searing light, the shriek of tearing metal, and the profound, terrifying sensation of his body being unmade. His life hadn't flashed before his eyes—just a single, bitter thought: The calculations were wrong.
Then, nothing.
And now… everything.
But it was a muffled, distorted everything. His consciousness swam up through layers of thick syrup, trapped in a form that felt both alien and confining. His vision was a blur of soft, reddish light. A viscous fluid surrounded him, and he was suspended within a transparent capsule. A medical pod, his mind supplied, the part of him that was still Kaito, the astrophysicist, struggling to analyze his surroundings.
Where...? How...?
Before the panic could fully set in, a shimmering, blue translucent screen materialized in the center of his vision, its text crisp and unnervingly clear.
[Initializing... Host Soul Detected.]
[Soul Signature: Kaito. Designation: Deceased. Cause: Gravitational Anomaly Cascade.]
[Scanning Compatible Vessel... Vessel Found.]
[Race: Saiyan. Designation: Kairo. Status: Infant. Power Level: 15.]
[Binding Soul to Vessel... Complete.]
[Welcome, User Kairo, to the Multiverse Mandate System.]
Kairo. The name echoed in his new, infant mind. The information was too much, too bizarre. Reincarnation? Saiyans? A System? It sounded like the plot of a light novel he'd never had time to read.
He tried to move, to scream, but his tiny limbs only flailed weakly, bubbles rising in the fluid. Power Level: 15. The number meant little to him, but the context from the blurry memories of this new body—instinctual, racial memories—screamed one thing: Weak. Pathetic. Expendable.
As if on cue, the pod's lid hissed open. The fluid began to drain, and cold air hit his skin, making him gasp. A large, calloused hand reached in, not with tenderness, but with clinical efficiency, and lifted him out.
He was held up to the light by a hulking figure clad in form-fitting, white and blue armor. The Saiyan had a severe face, a battle-worn scowl, and a wild, black mane of hair. This was his… genetic donor. The term "father" felt inappropriate.
"Hmph. Power Level 15," the man grunted, his voice a low rumble. "Another dud. Just like the last one." He handed Kairo off to a robotic attendant without a second glance. "Get him processed. He'll be assigned to a nursery unit. Maybe he'll be useful as cannon fodder on some backwater world in a few years."
The indifference was a colder shock than the air. Kairo, his mind screaming with Kaito's intellect, was laid on a cold metallic table. The robot scanned him, pricked his foot for a blood sample, and stamped a barcode on his wrist. He was a product on an assembly line.
From his restricted vantage point, Kairo took in his surroundings. He was in a vast, metallic hall, rows upon rows of identical pods stretching into the gloom. The architecture was brutalist and utilitarian, all sharp angles and gray steel. The air thrummed with a low, powerful energy he could now feel in his very bones—Ki.
Other Saiyans moved through the hall. They were all muscular, proud, and radiating a palpable aura of aggression. He saw warriors returning from missions, their armor scuffed, their faces set in permanent sneers. He saw them clashing in brief, violent spars in the corridors, the concussive blasts of their blows echoing through the hall. There was no camaraderie, only a hierarchy of power.
This is Planet Vegeta, the racial knowledge whispered. And here, strength is everything.
A wave of despair threatened to crush him. He was a scientist, not a warrior. He was weak, in a society that despised weakness. He was going to die here, quickly and meaninglessly.
Just then, a ripple of energy passed through the complex. The warriors around him straightened, their chatter dying down. A figure appeared at the far end of the hall, flanked by guards. He was shorter than the others but radiated an immense, crushing pressure that even Kairo could feel. He had a towering, regal mane of black hair and wore ornate shoulder armor.
[System Analysis: Individual - King Vegeta. Power Level: ~10,000. Threat Level: Catastrophic.]
King Vegeta's voice boomed, needing no amplifier. "The Prince is born! My son, Vegeta, has entered this world! His power level is unprecedented! He will lead our race to glory beyond Frieza's empire!"
A roar of approval went up from the Saiyans. But Kaito's mind, locked inside baby Kairo, froze on one name.
Frieza.
The memories came faster now, more terrifying. The Planet Trade. The tyrant. The destruction.
And with that realization, the System flared to life once more, its blue screen burning with urgent, crimson text.
[CRITICAL UPDATE: Timeline Synchronization Complete.]
[CALCULATING... CALCULATING...]
[MAIN SCENARIO QUEST INITIATED]
· Quest: The Saiyan Exodus
· Objective: Ensure the survival of at least 10% of the Saiyan race from the impending planetary annihilation.
· Time Limit: 10 Years.
· Success Reward: Unlock Tier 2 System Functions. 10,000 Mandate Points. 1x Divine Tier Gacha Token.
· Failure: User Erasure.
Kairo's tiny heart hammered against his ribs. It was true. It was all true. The planet, his people—everyone here—were living on borrowed time. Ten years. He had ten years to go from a Power Level of 15 to… to what? To something that could defy an emperor of the universe.
The weight of it was suffocating. The despair returned, thicker, heavier.
But then, something else stirred within him. The part that was Kaito, the man who stared into the abyss of black holes and gravitational singularities and tried to understand them. The part that refused to accept a hopeless equation.
Despair was a luxury he could not afford. He had data. He had a goal. He had a System.
And he had one, singular, terrifying advantage.
As the cheers for Prince Vegeta's birth faded and the cold reality of his situation settled in, Kairo closed his eyes. He would not be cannon fodder. He would not be erased.
He was Kairo. He was a Saiyan. And he would break every limit this universe, and every other, tried to impose on him.
The journey to become limitless had begun.