Time passed slowly, and life on Earth remained peaceful.
In the blink of an eye, five years had gone by...
According to the Earth calendar, the current year was 760. In the original timeline, this was around the time when Raditz, short-handed on a mission, suddenly remembered he had a younger brother living on some remote, primitive backwater planet—Earth.
However, due to Taro's interference, history had already taken a drastically different path.
To begin with, Raditz had been obliterated along with Planet Vegeta over a decade ago…
---
In the depths of the pitch-black galaxy.
The base planets of the galactic emperor Frieza were scattered across the stars, serving both as logistical hubs for his military forces and as a means of psychological deterrence against advanced civilizations aware of his existence. They also acted as a control mechanism over the planets already under his rule.
This was Base Planet No. 421.
It was a silver-white planet that looked almost metallic. In a specific sector, clusters of gleaming silver buildings stood tall, and countless flying crafts of all sizes traveled between the surface bases and the cosmic expanse above.
At that moment, a formation of seven spherical spacepods streaked in from beyond the atmosphere like a trail of shooting stars. Even though their speed drastically dropped upon nearing the planet, they still broke the sound barrier, tearing through the air as they shot directly toward the landing platform of Base Planet No. 421.
Shiiiing—!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!...
A bird-headed alien stood on the landing pad, watching as the seven pods touched down. He immediately recognized the markings—they belonged to a special operations unit. At the same time, a message came through his scouter:
"Vegeta Special Task Force. Mission: Planet Yatlan destruction. Original team: 22. Survivors: 7. Mission complete."
Just then, with a simultaneous hiss, the hatches of the seven smoking spacepods opened. As the air pressure equalized, a thin mist of life-support nutrient gas vented from within.
Vegeta stepped out without expression. His standard-issue battle armor was torn and scorched, and his body bore numerous wounds, but none of this disturbed his cold, bloodthirsty demeanor.
The six surviving team members followed after him—each one bruised and battered.
"Congratulations on completing your mission," the bird-headed alien said with a polite smile.
But Vegeta didn't even glance at him. He strode past, coldly stating, "I'm injured. I need rest. Don't assign me any missions for the next ten days."
An icy aura enveloped the bird-headed alien, making him nod stiffly under pressure.
"Captain Vegeta's way too ruthless…" one of the six survivors muttered.
"Fifteen of us died right in front of him, and he didn't even bat an eye," another grumbled.
"Tch. What's he got to be so proud of? He's just a damn Saiyan monkey! So what if he's a Saiyan? They're extinct—he's the last one!"
There were plenty among them who resented Vegeta. Missions under his command were always the most dangerous, with absurdly high casualty and death rates.
They were all warriors with battle powers in the 5,000–8,000 range and were usually cautious enough to avoid accepting missions only high-tier elites could survive. Taking those would be suicide.
But Vegeta was different.
Even with a battle power barely over 15,000, he constantly took on missions meant for warriors several times stronger—as if he were born without fear of death.
Many in the army speculated that he had lost his mind after the annihilation of his race, and now sought death on the battlefield—a warrior's death.
Plenty of people were waiting to see him fall.
For example, Ginyu.
And other elite alien warriors Frieza had cultivated or recruited over the years—some of them even had battle power surpassing Ginyu.
And yet… Vegeta was still alive.
Even though he'd been on the brink of death many times, he had still managed to cling to life until now.
As for those missions… they were merely the result of Lord Frieza's favoritism. Every time Vegeta went out, he dragged a whole group of expendables with him, stacking up corpses to complete the mission.
If it were a normal squad configuration, there was no way he'd have survived this long by sheer luck.
That's why many warriors in the army looked down on Vegeta.
They believed he was worthless—taking on suicidal missions far beyond his means and dragging dozens of low-class warriors to die for him, just so he could succeed.
If he wanted to die that badly, then just go die already!
That's what many of them thought.
"Hmph, this last mission was too easy… it didn't even push me close to death. How disappointing," Vegeta muttered as he walked toward the rest chamber, peeling off his damaged battle armor. Naked, he stepped into the healing pod.
As the liquid slowly rose from the bottom to submerge his body, healing his injuries, he began to reflect again.
That man.
Those eyes.
Burely?
No. Vegeta was certain now—that man wasn't Burely.
Burely had died during their last mission.
The one who returned to Planet Vegeta afterward wasn't the real Burely. And the version of Burely he'd met afterward, with such vastly different power… it only confirmed the truth.
In fact… Vegeta's eyes flickered beneath the surface of the healing fluid.
He remembered that day in the cave, when that so-called God of Destruction spoke to his royal father as if they were equals—standing atop the king's crushed, prideful skull.
The voice of that man…
It seemed to be the very same "Burely."
It was this Burely…
…who made Vegeta realize his own insignificance.
Compared to that, the combat insights he had gained—like learning to freely control and suppress his power—felt secondary. Insignificant.
Compared to a God of Destruction… compared to that Burely… even someone like Frieza, what did he matter?
Vegeta slowly closed his eyes.
Not enough.
I still have to grow stronger!
---
Frieza's Base, Main Headquarters.
"Lord Frieza! Lord Frieza!" A scouter-wearing alien scientist in a lab coat burst in, breathless.
Frieza, in his final form—like a purple, cold-blooded devil—slowly turned around. His mechanical right hand held a tall glass of crimson liquid, like blood.
He stared coldly at the intruder. "Dr. Grotto, what is it?"
A wave of killing intent swept across the room.
Dr. Grotto trembled violently, but couldn't hide his excitement. Kneeling down, he cried,
"Lord Frieza! It's appeared! That energy signature has finally appeared!"
Crack!
The tall crystal glass in Frieza's hand instantly shattered, blood-red liquid splashing down his arm. He didn't care in the slightest.
A dangerous smile crept across his face.
"Over twenty years… and you finally slipped up," Frieza said darkly. "You've made this king hunt for you so long… what a challenge you've been."