The bald teenager, Nappa, instinctively tensed when Taro pointed at him. After all, this was the face of Burely—a long-feared upper-class warrior. But… with a measly power level of 100, what was he even worth now?
Thinking this, Nappa grinned and glared back. "What? You wanna fight? You even dare?" He flexed his arms. Even at his young age, taking on a weakling with a power level of 100 was nothing.
Taro smiled meaningfully. 'This Nappa really has a talent for courting death, huh? Whether now or in the "original timeline"…' Honestly, if it were just some random Saiyan, Taro might not have cared.
But the problem was—Nappa had "screen time."
He was a named character in the original story, one who left a notoriously unpleasant impression. And right now, he wasn't making a good one on Taro either…
So, Taro raised his hand.
Nappa's entire body stiffened, his instincts flaring like a bristling wildcat. Why am I even nervous? This guy's a joke now! But the lingering intimidation of Burely's former status kept him wary.
A small white energy sphere shot from Taro's palm, flying straight at Nappa.
Nappa frowned in confusion. His instincts told him this attack was nothing special—and his scouter wasn't even registering a high-energy alert. Seriously?
Pfft—
Nappa stood his ground, casually raising his arms to block. The white energy fizzled out like a soap bubble, vanishing without resistance.
"HAHAHAHA! What was THAT?!"
"I'm dying! That was pathetic!"
"Burely… 'sir,' were you joking just now?"
"That flimsy attack is an embarrassment to Saiyans! I thought he was gonna snap and kill Nappa!"
"He probably wanted to. But… well, we all saw it. Power level 100—how's he gonna do that?"
The crowd of Saiyan warriors, initially cold and indifferent, burst into raucous laughter. All hesitation vanished as they openly mocked Burely.
Taro ignored them—these guys are all doomed soon anyway—and gave Nappa one last meaningful look before turning to leave.
Once he was gone, Nappa puffed up with pride. "See that?! The mighty upper-class warrior Burely didn't even dare talk back to me!"
But despite his bravado, Nappa couldn't shake the memory of Taro's gaze. Why did that look send chills down my spine? No way… he's just a 100-power weakling. Even his energy attack was useless…
"Pfft! With a power level of 100, any of us could stomp him now!"
"Exactly, Nappa. Don't get cocky—you're bottom-tier even among mid-class warriors! Keep acting up, and your squad leader might just beat your ass!"
The rowdy crowd jeered, making Nappa's face flush with anger.
Though young, Nappa had been born a mid-class warrior with decent combat power and had already joined an active combat unit. For Saiyans—whose Great Ape transformation granted a tenfold power boost under the full moon—even infants were formidable.
That was why the Saiyans sent their babies to conquer planets. A single transformed Saiyan child could massacre an entire native civilization.
---
Outside the Royal Palace, Mid-Air
The wind howled, cold and biting.
A small boy with a spiky crown of hair and a red cape hovered in the sky, arms crossed. His sharp eyes followed Burely's retreating figure as the man walked away, unshaken by the crowd's mockery.
The boy's expression remained icy.
"Pathetic… worthless trash."
Prince Vegeta delivered his final judgment.
"Your Highness, it's time for your training," a guard called from inside the palace.
With a cold snort, little Vegeta dramatically whipped his red cape and flew back through the palace window. As the Saiyan race's most promising prodigy—born with the highest power level in history—his training regimen was far more brutal than that of ordinary warriors.
He had already begun leading planetary conquest missions.
Every day, he clashed with elite fighters across the universe, growing stronger through life-or-death battles, savoring the thrill of power… Burely had once been one of Vegeta's potential rivals.
But now?
That man was worthless.
---
After reporting his mission at the palace, Nappa headed home.
His parents had long died in battle—a common fate among Saiyans. Their brutal, emotionally repressed culture saw nothing unusual in this. No one mourned; no one cared.
Nappa was no different. To him, the only glorious moments in life were slaughtering weaklings on missions. Family? They probably died gloriously too. Nothing to regret.
"Burely… Next time I see you, I'll kill you myself…" Nappa pushed open his door, seething with rage.
How long had these invaders—these usurpers of Planet Vegeta—even lived as a "civilized" race? Their rules could never suppress their bloodthirsty nature. Warriors killing each other over grudges was routine. King Vegeta wouldn't interfere.
After all, the dead were simply proving their weakness—filtering out the unworthy.
As Nappa stepped inside and shut the door, something eerie happened.
From the shadows at his feet, a wisp of smoke-like mist rose from his shoulders, coiling into a semi-human form…
"What the—?!"
Nappa's eyes widened in horror. A reckless brawler like him had never encountered advanced ki techniques. To him, this was some alien sorcery.
He frantically swiped at the white mist solidifying into a torso above him. His wild punches tore through the air, yet couldn't dispel the phantom clinging to him.
Then—the mist formed a face.
A face Nappa didn't recognize.
Taro's true visage.
Not that Nappa deserved to know.
Why let a dead man understand his death?
For Taro, "Mimic Ki" had long become instinct—as natural as breathing. Remote ki manipulation at this level was child's play.
And he could go further.
By layering on the 50x Muken.
A massive energy surge might alert other Saiyans, but Taro's precision allowed him to deliver catastrophic force with minimal ki—undetectable to crude scouters.
"NO! Stay back— DAMN IT!!"
Nappa's screams were swallowed by the "white specter" erupting from his own body. In his final moments, he remembered—
Burely's eerie smile.
But… 'how? He was just a…'
Behind the sealed door, the muffled struggles faded into silence.
---
Taro withdrew his detached consciousness, turning to the Saiyan he'd been searching for.
A lower-class warrior with a scarred face and a white headband frowned at him.
"Burely. What do you want?"