The wind on the Lookout whispered.
At this altitude, the air was thin, crisp, and painfully pure.
I stood before the old Namekian.
Kami was old. He was wrinkled, green, and leaned heavily on a wooden staff. His power level was a rounding error compared to mine. A 300 against an 11,500.
Yet, he didn't flinch. He didn't tremble.
He looked at me, but he didn't look at the armor. He looked through them.
"You smell like ash," Kami said softly. He wrinkled his nose. "And blood."
I stiffened. "I'm a soldier. Violence is currency where I come from. We spend it to survive."
"A poor economy," Kami noted dryly. "Usually, those who spend that currency end up dead."
He stepped closer, invading my personal space. I could have vaporized him with a sneeze, but I felt paralyzed by his gaze.
"But you..." Kami murmured, his eyes narrowing. "You feel heavy. You feel... tired."
He sighed, shaking his head.
"You are not a monster. You are simply pitiful."
The word hit me harder than Nappa's fist.
Pitiful.
I had been called weak. I had been called a mutant. I had been called a threat. But to be pitied?
He was right.
I wasn't Nappa. I wasn't Zuto. I didn't kill for joy; I killed to survive. I carried the weight of every person I had slaughtered, every lie I had told.
"You have good eyes, Old Man," I said, my voice tight. "But I didn't come here for therapy."
Kami tapped his staff against the white tiles. Click.
"No," Kami agreed. "You came because you are broken."
He pointed the staff at my chest. Not at my heart, but at the center of my being.
"I feel a duality in you. A scar that runs deeper than flesh. It is a jagged tear in your very spirit."
Kami's expression softened, a look of shared pain crossing his ancient face.
"You have severed a part of yourself," Kami whispered. "I know this pain well. I did the same, long ago. Tell me, boy... did you cast out the darkness to achieve purity? Did you tear away the evil to become whole?"
I stared at him.
He was talking about King Piccolo. He thought I was like him. A being who split to become God.
"No," I said, my voice rough. "I'm not that noble, Guardian. And I didn't cast out the evil."
I looked down at my hands. I thought of the Clone, back on Planet Vegeta, wearing my face and carrying half my power.
"I didn't purge the darkness," I whispered. "I just left half of the burden on another set of shoulders."
Kami lowered his staff. "I see. A survival mechanism. To split the soul is to invite madness. How are you still standing?"
"I'm stubborn," I said. "But how did you know?" I asked, genuinely curious. "My suppression is perfect. Physically, I am whole."
"To a Guardian," Kami explained, turning to look at the sanctuary, "a soul is louder than a voice. And a torn soul? It screams."
I let out a breath.
This was it. This wasn't a character. This wasn't just a plot device. This was a master of the metaphysical. The things I couldn't learn alone, I could learn here.
"Guardian," I said, stepping forward. "I came here because I need—"
Kami raised a hand, cutting me off.
"I know you have needs. You have traveled across stars."
He turned back to me, his eyes hardening.
"But I am the Guardian of this world. I cannot grant favors to a god-tier alien simply because he has a sad story."
He signaled to the dark-skinned attendant standing by the flowers.
"Popo."
The attendant stopped watering the plants. He set the can down gently. He turned to us. His face was a mask of eternal, unblinking calm.
"Yes, Kami," Popo said. His voice was deep, resonant.
"The boy wishes to speak business," Kami said. "But the tongue can lie. The fist cannot."
Kami looked at me.
"Show me your intent, Cress. Spar with Mr. Popo. If you can land a blow, I will listen."
I looked at Mr. Popo.
A test of humility? Or a test of restraint?
"You want me to fight him?" I asked, skeptical. "Guardian, if I touch him, he dies. The gap in our power is... astronomical."
"Is it?" Kami smiled slightly. "Then it should be easy."
Popo walked to the center of the plaza. He stood there, arms at his sides. He didn't take a stance. He looked like a statue made of ink.
I walked over, standing ten feet away.
"I won't use Ki," I promised.
Popo didn't blink. "Ready whenever you are."
My instincts were screaming. Not because he was strong, but because he was... empty. There was no killing intent. No tension. No openings.
"Fine," I muttered.
I moved.
I launched a simple jab. I slowed it down to a crawl relative to my max speed, but it was still faster than sound.
Whoosh.
I hit nothing.
Popo didn't dodge. He just... wasn't there.
There was no dust kick-up. No blur of motion. No sound of displacement.
He was standing two feet to my left.
"Too much wasted movement," Popo observed calmly.
I frowned. "What?"
"You scream before you strike," Popo said. "Not with your voice. With your spirit. You leak intent like water from a sieve."
I felt a flash of irritation. "Try this then."
I spun, throwing a roundhouse kick. I kept it controlled, but I upped the speed.
Popo stepped in.
He didn't block the kick. He stepped inside the arc of the kick, moving into the dead zone of my swing. He placed a hand gently on my chest.
Push.
It wasn't a hard shove. But my balance was compromised. I stumbled back, catching myself.
My face flushed hot.
"Fast," I admitted.
"Not fast," Popo corrected. "Quiet."
I gritted my teeth.
This was infuriating. I knew Mr Popo was like that, but it still irritated me.
"Okay," I whispered. "Serious mode."
I dropped into a combat stance.
I focused. I needed to hit him, I lunged.
This time, Popo didn't just dodge. He countered.
He thrust his palm toward my face.
It was slow enough for me to see, but perfectly timed to intercept my forward momentum.
I had to block.
Panic flared in my chest.
If I blocked at my full power, his hand would shatter against my forearm like glass hitting a steel wall.
I had to actively soften my muscles. I had to suppress my density.
Pat.
His palm hit my forearm.
I matched his force perfectly. I didn't break his wrist.
Sweat broke out on my forehead. Not from exertion. From the agonizing mental calculus of holding back the power inside me.
Popo attacked again. A flurry of strikes.
Palm. Knee. Chop.
I parried. Blocked. Dodged.
"You are fighting yourself," Popo said, parrying my strike effortlessly. "You are terrified of your own strength."
"If I slip up," I gritted out, blocking a chop, "I turn you into paste!"
"Then do not slip."
He left an opening.
A micro-second gap in his guard. His chest was exposed.
My Saiyan part took over. The predator saw the throat.
KILL.
My arm snapped forward.
It wasn't a controlled spar anymore. It was a reflex. A piston firing at full power.
My fist blurred, breaking the sound barrier instantly. The air cracked.
Popo didn't move. He couldn't move. It was too fast.
My fist rocketed toward his face.
STOP!
My mind slammed the emergency brake.
I froze.
My knuckles hovered one inch from the tip of his nose.
BOOM.
The shockwave from the sudden stop exploded outward.
The wind pressure hit Popo like a physical hammer. His clothes whipped violently. His turban tails lashed back. The stone tiles beneath my feet cracked from the torque of the stop.
Silence returned to the Lookout.
I stood there, my arm extended, my chest heaving. My fist was trembling.
Popo hadn't blinked. His wide eyes stared at my fist. He hadn't flinched.
I held the pose for a second, regulating my breathing. I pulled the suppression back down, locking the monster back in the cage.
I lowered my hand slowly.
I stepped back and bowed.
"I apologize," I said, my voice shaky. "I almost..."
"Almost," Popo agreed. He adjusted his turban. "But you stopped."
Kami walked over, the tapping of his staff loud in the quiet air.
"You have the power of a monster," Kami said, looking at the cracked tiles beneath my feet.
He looked up at me, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of genuine respect in his eyes.
"But you have the heart of a student."
Kami smiled.
"Welcome to Earth, Cress. Let us talk."
The adrenaline from the spar still hummed under my skin, but I forced it down.
Kami gestured toward the inner sanctuary of the temple.
"Walk with me," the Guardian said.
We walked into the cool, shadowed halls of the Lookout. The architecture was simple, elegant. There were tapestries depicting ancient legends.
We stopped in a central chamber. It was empty save for a few cushions on the floor.
"Sit," Kami instructed.
I sat cross-legged on the floor. Kami sat opposite me, resting his staff on his knees. Popo remained standing by the door, a silent sentinel.
"You have proven your restraint," Kami began, his eyes piercing mine. "But restraint is not purpose. Why are you here, Cress? Why does a being who can crack the sky with his fist come to a backwater world to bow before a feeble old person?"
I took a deep breath.
This was the moment. I could lie. I could spin a tale about crashing, about being a refugee. But Kami was telepathic. He could read the surface ripples of a mind. If I lied, he would know.
"I cannot explain how I know what I know," I said slowly. "Some truths are burdens I carry from... before."
I looked him in the eye.
"But I know what you are, Guardian. I know you created the Dragon Balls."
The air in the room grew heavy. Popo shifted slightly. Kami didn't blink, but his grip on the staff tightened.
"You know of the Dragon Balls," Kami repeated, his voice devoid of warmth. "And you came to claim them."
"Yes," I admitted. "But not for conquest."
"Then for what?"
"Survival," I said. "And preparation."
I leaned forward, letting the mask slip. I let him see the fear that lived behind the arrogance.
"There is a monster moving, Kami. A monster named Frieza. He doesn't just conquer worlds. He is evil in a way that makes your King Piccolo look like a misguided child."
Kami frowned at the mention of his darker half, but he didn't interrupt.
"I have stood in his presence," I whispered, the memory of the Royal Plaza making my skin crawl. "His Ki isn't just strong. It's... suffocating. Cold." I shuddered. "He doesn't just conquer worlds, Guardian."
"I am running from a disaster. And I need to be strong enough to survive when it hits. I need the Dragon Balls to buy me time. And I need training."
Kami stared at me for a long time.
He closed his eyes. I felt a gentle pressure in my mind.
He tasted the desperation.
But he found no greed, nor the desire to rule Earth.
"Your words ring true," Kami murmured, opening his eyes. "But they tremble with fear."
"Caution," I countered.
"The spheres can grant miracles," Kami warned. "But they cannot grant strength. You cannot wish to be stronger than your potential."
"I know," I said. "I don't need a handout. I want a teacher."
I looked at him with intensity.
"I want you to teach me spirit control. But... I need more than that."
I hesitated. This was the big ask.
"I need you to help me reach King Kai."
Kami's eyes widened. He actually leaned back, genuinely shocked. Even Popo made a small noise of surprise.
"Kaioh-sama?" Kami breathed. "The Lord of Worlds? You know of him?"
"I know he is the greatest master in this galaxy," I said. "I know he watches the North Quadrant. And I know he can teach me techniques that might actually scratch Frieza."
Kami shook his head, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.
"You are full of impossible knowledge, boy. Most mortals do not even know I exist, let alone the Kai."
He tapped his staff.
"To reach King Kai, one must usually die. You must cross the Check-In Station and traverse the Snake Way. It is a journey for the dead, not the living."
"I have walked through hell already," I said. "Snake Way sounds like a vacation."
Kami studied me. He saw the resolve. He saw that I wasn't asking for permission; I was asking for directions.
"Very well," Kami decided. "I will teach you the basics of spirit control here. If you can master yourself... I will consider petitioning King Yemma for your passage."
"Thank you," I said, bowing my head.
"But first," Kami said, standing up. "We begin immediately. Popo, prepare the—"
"Wait," I interrupted, raising a hand.
Kami paused. "You have urgency, yet you delay?"
"I have a checklist," I said, standing up. "I need to gather the Dragon Balls. And I need to meet someone."
I looked down at my armor.
The black bodysuit. The bronze plating. The Garl crest.
"And I can't do it wearing this," I said, plucking at the chest plate. "If I'm going to train as an Earthling, I need to look like one."
I looked at Kami.
"Can you help me?"
Kami smiled. It was a knowing smile.
"A simple request."
He raised his hand. His index finger glowed with white magic.
"Clothes Beam!"
A flash of light enveloped me.
The heavy weight of the armor vanished.
I looked down.
I was wearing a gi. It was dark purple, heavy weighted fabric that draped loosely over my frame. A thick red sash was tied around my waist. The boots were soft leather, curled slightly at the toes. A white turban and cape completed the ensemble.
It was Piccolo's outfit. Or rather, the outfit of the Demon Clan, repurposed for a warrior of God.
'Warrior of God. Sounds cool as fuck.' I thought, thinking of the future aura farming.
It was heavy. The weights were woven into the fabric, pressing down on my shoulders with a comforting, constant pressure.
"Better," I said, rolling my shoulders. I felt lighter in spirit, if heavier in mass.
I looked at the pile of Saiyan armor on the floor. The Garl crest stared up at me.
"Keep it," I told Popo. "Or burn it. I don't care."
Popo simply nodded, waving his hand. The armor vanished into nothingness.
"I will return, Guardian," I promised. "Once I have what I need."
"Go," Kami said. "The world below is vast. Do not lose your way."
I walked to the edge of the Lookout.
The wind whipped at my new cape. Below me, the white clouds stretched out like an infinite ocean.
I closed my eyes and extended my senses.
I scanned the planet.
I ignored the millions of tiny lights. I ignored the 50s and 80s.
I searched for the peak.
There.
Far to the south. A solitary, steady light burning at a power level of 139.
"Found you," I whispered.
I dove.
I plummeted from the sanctuary of God, falling through the cloud layer. The air rushed past me, roaring in my ears. I fell with style, letting gravity take me.
As I broke through the clouds, the blue ocean stretched out to the horizon.
I leveled out, skimming just above the waves. The salt spray hit my face.
It smelled like freedom.
I flew for an hour, enjoying the simplicity of flight without a mission objective.
Then, I saw it.
A tiny speck of land in the endless blue.
As I got closer, the details resolved. A small, sandy island. A patch of green grass. swaying palm trees.
And a house.
It was pink. It had "KAME HOUSE" written on the side in bold, cheerful letters.
It was exactly as I remembered.
I slowed down, drifting toward the white sand beach.
I landed softly, my boots sinking slightly into the sand. The ocean lapped gently at the shore.
Sitting on a red deck chair, under a striped umbrella, was an old man.
He wore a bright orange tropical shirt covered in hibiscus flowers, blue shorts, and sunglasses. A large, purple turtle shell was strapped to his back.
He was reading a magazine. The cover featured a woman in a bikini. He was giggling to himself.
I stood there, watching him.
I had just come from a galaxy ruled by a tyrant who blew up planets for fun. I had just spoken to God.
And here sat the strongest human on Earth, looking at porn.
"Excuse me," I called out.
Master Roshi jumped. He fumbled the magazine, tossing it into the air before catching it and trying to hide it behind his back.
He spun around, adjusting his sunglasses.
"Who's there?! I wasn't looking at the centerfold! I was reading the articles!"
He peered at me. He saw the purple gi. The cape. The turban.
He relaxed slightly, but I saw his muscles tense under the loose shirt. He sensed it. The pressure.
"You're not a delivery boy," Roshi noted, his voice dropping the goofy act for a second. "You're heavy, kid. Who are you?"
I smiled.
"Just a fan," I said. "And a student."
I bowed.
"Master Roshi. I need to borrow your Dragon Ball."
--
The ramp of the transport ship hissed open, letting in air of Planet Vegeta.
I stood at the top, closing my eyes for a second.
Sea salt. Warm wind.
I could feel the Main Body standing on the white sands of Kame House. I could feel the lightness of Earth's gravity, the relief of speaking to Roshi, the sheer, intoxicating freedom of it.
It made being here, in this hellhole, feel infinitely worse.
"Cress?"
A hand touched my shoulder. I snapped my eyes open.
Ruca was standing there, her helmet under her arm. She was looking at me with that intense, hovering concern that had become her default setting over the last four months.
"You spaced out," she said quietly.
"I'm fine," I said, adjusting my armor. "Just tired."
"You're always tired lately," she muttered, not buying it. She stepped closer, putting herself between me and the rest of the squad as we walked down the ramp.
"I don't need a bodyguard, Ruca," I sighed, though a part of me appreciated it.
"You're at 10,000," she whispered harshly. "Nappa is at 7,500. Zuto and Toma are pushing 5,000. The gap is closing, Cress. Until you're back to full strength, you're vulnerable."
We reached the tarmac. Nappa was already there, stretching his massive arms and looking forward to the healing tanks.
But there was no scribe. No low-level logistics officer.
Standing at the end of the landing pad was a Royal Guard. He wore the crimson cape and the crest of the King's personal retinue.
Nappa stopped stretching. "What now?"
"Commander Nappa," the Guard barked. "Squad Garl-Unit. You are summoned to the Throne Room. Immediately."
"We just landed!" Nappa roared. "My armor is cracked! I smell like shit! The King can wait for an hour!"
"The King waits for no one," the Guard replied icily. "Move."
Nappa snarled, but he fell in line.
I walked at the back. My stomach churned. The Main Body was hunting Dragon Balls on a paradise island. I was walking into the lion's den.
Again.
--
The Throne Room was crowded.
Usually, it was empty save for the King and his advisors. Today, the air was thick with tension. Commander Garl stood by the dais. Paragus was there, looking paler and more twitchy than usual.
King Vegeta sat on the throne, looking majestic and terrified.
We knelt.
"Rise," the King ordered.
We stood. Nappa crossed his arms, looking impatient.
"You have cleared the sector," King Vegeta said, his voice echoing. "Your squad has the highest success rate in the army. You have the highest kill count. You have the lowest casualty rate."
His eyes flicked to me for a second. He knew why the casualty rate was low. He knew who the strategist was.
"Because of this," the King continued, "I am entrusting you with the future of our race."
Nappa raised an eyebrow. "A special mission?"
"A special assignment," the King corrected.
He gestured to the side door.
"Enter."
The heavy doors creaked open.
Three figures walked in.
They were small. They were children.
My breath hitched in my throat.
The first was a boy with long, wild hair that ran down his back like a mane. He wore standard armor that looked slightly too big for him. He tried to walk with a swagger, sneering at the guards, but his eyes were darting around nervously.
Raditz.
The second walked with his arms crossed, his chin held high. He was small, his hair standing up in a distinct flame-shape. He didn't look nervous. He looked like he owned the room, the planet, and everyone standing on it. His power level was already radiating, dense and sharp.
Prince Vegeta.
And the third...
The third child walked behind them. He was taller than the others, broad-shouldered even as a toddler.
He was quiet. He looked at the floor. He seemed docile, almost shy.
But his energy...
It wasn't sharp like the Prince's. It was heavy. It felt like standing next to a sleeping volcano.
Broly.
My mind raced.
This is wrong.
In the canon, King Vegeta exiled Broly because he was jealous. He sent him to Vampa to die.
But here? Broly was here. In the palace. In the squad.
The realization hit me like a slap.
Me.
I was the mutant. I was the anomaly who rose from Power Level 2 to Elite. I was the one who proved to the King that "freaks" were useful weapons. Because I existed, because I succeeded, the King didn't throw Broly away.
He kept him.
I had triggered a Butterfly Effect that kept the Legendary Super Saiyan on Planet Vegeta.
"These are your new recruits," King Vegeta announced. "The Royal Youth Division."
Silence.
Nappa stared at the children. His jaw dropped.
"Kids?" Nappa shouted. "You want me to babysit? I'm a Commander, not a nanny!"
"They are not children," the King snapped. "They are Saiyans. My son requires field experience. Raditz shows promise, he is the son of a strong soldier and the third one..."
The King looked at Broly with a mixture of greed and fear.
"...is a raw asset. He needs breaking in."
"This is an insult!" Zuto muttered.
"This is an order!" King Vegeta roared. He stood up, his power flaring. "Prince Vegeta will take command of the squad when he comes of age. Until then, Nappa, you will teach them how to kill. You will teach them how to conquer. And if a single hair on my son's head is harmed, I will flay you alive."
Nappa gritted his teeth. He looked at the Prince.
The tiny Prince looked up at Nappa and smirked. "Try to keep up, oaf."
Nappa's vein bulged in his forehead.
I stood in the back, horror washing over me.
I was now in a squad with Nappa, a psychopathic Prince, a cowardly Raditz, and a ticking time bomb named Broly.
I looked at Broly. The boy looked up. His dark eyes met mine.
There was nothing behind them. No anger. No joy.
"Dismissed," the King waved his hand. "Get them settled in the barracks."
--
We walked out of the Throne Room. The squad was in chaos. Nappa was muttering curses. Raditz was trying to talk tough to Zuto. The Prince was demanding better quarters.
I hung back, trying to process the disaster my life had become.
"Elite Cress."
A handmaiden stepped out of the shadows. She wore the silks of the inner palace.
"The Queen requires your presence," she said softly.
Ruca immediately stepped forward, moving between me and the woman.
"He's with the squad," Ruca said, her hand drifting to her side. "He doesn't go anywhere alone."
The handmaiden didn't even look at Ruca. "The summons is for Cress alone. It is not a request."
Ruca tensed. "I am his partner. I go where he—"
"Ruca," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She looked at me, worry etched on her face. "Cress, this feels wrong. The Queen never summons soldiers."
"It's fine," I lied, though my heart was hammering. "Go with Nappa. Make sure the kids don't kill Zuto. I'll catch up."
Ruca hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Watch your back."
She jogged to catch up with the squad.
I turned to the handmaiden. "Lead the way."
We walked deep into the palace, past the War Rooms, past the armory, into the West Wing. This was the domestic sector. It smelled of incense and quiet power.
I had never seen the Queen in the anime. I didn't even know her name.
We entered a large, ornate chamber.
Sitting on a divan, reviewing holographic charts, was a woman. She looked like an older, female version of the Prince. Sharp features, intense eyes, and an air of absolute, icy authority.
Queen Eshal.
"Leave us," she ordered. The handmaiden bowed and vanished.
I knelt. "My Queen."
"Stand up, Mechanic," she said. Her voice was smoother than the King's, but colder.
I stood.
She looked me up and down.
"My husband thinks you are a loyal dog because you brought him a bug," Eshal said, standing up and walking toward me. "He thinks you are a useful mutant."
She stopped a foot away. She smelled of expensive perfume and steel.
"I know what you really are."
I held my breath.
"You are smart," she whispered. "You are the one who keeps Nappa's squad alive. You are the strategist."
She walked around me.
"I don't care about your power level. I don't care about your loyalty to the throne. I care about my son."
She stopped in front of me again.
"Vegeta is perfect. He is strong. He is proud. But he is a child. And he is walking into a squad of monsters."
She narrowed her eyes.
"He will want to challenge you. He senses power. He will see you as a rival. You are an Elite who rose from nothing. That insults his blood."
"I will not fight the Prince," I said.
"You will," Eshal corrected. "He will force you. And when he does..."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss.
"You will protect him. You will guide him. But you will never, ever humiliate him."
She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes.
"If you break his pride... if you make him look weak in front of the men... I will not execute you, Cress. I will hand you over to the Science Division for vivisection. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said.
"Good. He is the future. Ensure he gets there."
She released me. "Go."
--
I walked out of the Queen's quarters, my mind reeling.
Protect the Prince. Don't hurt his ego.
It was impossible. The kid was an arrogance factory.
I turned the corner into a dimly lit hallway, heading for the exit.
"Mutant."
The voice came from the shadows.
I stopped.
Paragus stepped out.
He looked older than he should. His hair was greying, his eyes twitching with permanent stress.
"Colonel Paragus," I said.
"You saw him," Paragus said. He wasn't asking. "Broly."
"I saw him."
Paragus walked toward me. He didn't have the Queen's authority or the King's power. He had the desperate energy of a cornered animal.
"The King put him in your squad," Paragus muttered. "He thinks it's a test. He thinks he can use my son as a weapon for his brat Prince."
He stopped, glaring at me.
"But I know you. I've watched your file. You're the other anomaly. The King favors you."
"I wouldn't call it favor," I said dryly.
"Stay away from him," Paragus hissed.
"From Broly?"
"My son is... special," Paragus said, his voice trembling. "He is calm. But he is fragile. If he is provoked... if he is pushed..."
Paragus grabbed my armor.
"Do not test him. Do not spar with him. Do not look at him wrong."
"I have no intention of provoking him," I said, removing his hand.
"You better not," Paragus threatened, though his eyes were full of fear, not malice. "Because if he snaps... if the King decides he is too dangerous because of something you did..."
Paragus leaned in.
"I will kill you. I will burn this whole palace down before I let them take my son away."
He stepped back, breathing heavily.
"He is quiet. Leave him that way."
Paragus turned and hurried away, disappearing into the shadows.
I stood alone in the hallway.
I let out a long, shaky breath.
"Okay," I whispered to myself.
I had the Queen threatening to dissect me if I hurt her son's feelings.
I had Paragus threatening to kill me if I looked at his son wrong.
Would bardock or Gine threaten me too?
--
Did you like the interaction with Kami, I tried to reinforce the God and ancient aspect. That's why he makes proverbs too.