The air in the Queen's chambers was perfumed with a scent that was meant to be calming. To the prince, it smelled like a trap.
He stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his chin held high.
Queen Eshal sat on a high-backed chair carved from white bone. She was not looking at the holographic reports of the Shwashian conquest. She was looking at her son.
Her eyes were sharp, analytical, and devoid of maternal warmth. She was looking for faults.
"The report says the sector was cleared efficiently," Eshal said, her voice smooth and cold like polished ice. "Commander Nappa claims you fought well."
"I fought perfectly," Vegeta corrected, his tone bordering on insolence. "The Shwashians were weak. They broke like dry twigs."
Eshal stood up. She walked toward him, her silk robes whispering against the stone floor. She stopped inches from him, looming over his small frame.
She reached out a hand. Vegeta flinched, just a micro-movement, but she caught it. She grabbed his chin, turning his face to the side.
The red mark from Cress's slap had faded to a dull bruise, hidden beneath the layer of grime he had refused to wash off, but to a mother, and a Queen, it was a beacon.
"Explain," she ordered.
Vegeta tried to pull away, but her grip was iron. "Explain what?"
"This mark," Eshal hissed, tracing the outline of the bruise with a manicured fingernail. "It is the shape of a hand. A Shwashian hand has three fingers. This mark has five."
She released his chin, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
"A local did not do this. Their kinetic rifles leave burns, not bruises. Their spears pierce."
She stepped back, her aura flaring slightly, causing the temperature in the room to drop.
"Did Nappa strike you?"
"No!" Vegeta snapped. "That oaf wouldn't dare."
"Then who?" Eshal demanded. "Insubordination is a cancer, Vegeta. If a member of your squad laid a hand on the Blood Royal, they must be made an example of. I told you, I will dissect them."
Vegeta looked at his mother. He saw the cold fury in her eyes. He knew she meant it. If he said the name 'Cress,' the mutant would be dragged to the labs before the sun set.
But then, a darker, heavier realization settled in the Prince's gut.
If he told her, he was admitting that a former Low-Class had slapped him into the dirt. He was admitting that he had been disciplined like an unruly child. He was admitting that, for a moment, he was not the strongest being in the plaza.
That truth was more painful than the slap itself. It was a stain on his pride that no amount of execution could scrub away.
Vegeta squared his shoulders. He looked Eshal in the eye, channeling every ounce of his royal arrogance.
"It was a lucky shot," Vegeta lied smoothly. "A Shwashian Elite. He threw his weapon before I could close the distance. The hilt struck me."
"A lucky shot?" Eshal repeated, skeptical. "You allowed a local to hit you?"
"I allowed nothing," Vegeta sneered. "I was bored. I let him think he had a chance. Then I vaporized him and his entire platoon. It won't happen again."
Eshal studied him. She saw the lie. It was written in the tension of his jaw, in the way his tail lashed behind him. But she also saw the pride protecting the lie.
She decided to let it stand. A Prince who protects his own dignity is better than a Prince who runs to his mother for vengeance.
"See that it doesn't," Eshal said coldly, turning her back on him. "A Saiyan King is untouchable, Vegeta. If you let the dirt touch you, you are just a soldier. Dismissed."
Vegeta turned and marched out of the room. As the doors closed, he touched his cheek.
'Cress,' he thought, the name burning in his mind. 'You owe me.'
--
The hallway leading to the squad quarters was dim, the lights flickering with the unstable power grid of the Iron District.
Broly walked slowly, his heavy boots thudding against the metal grate. He was tired. The noise of the battle still echoed in his ears, a chaotic buzz that made his head ache.
"Broly."
The boy stopped. He didn't flinch. He just went still.
Paragus stepped out of the shadows. The Colonel looked haggard, his eyes darting around the hallway to ensure they were alone.
He didn't hug his son. He didn't ask if he was hurt.
Paragus walked a circle around the boy, holding a small handheld scanner. He ran the device over Broly's armor, checking for micro-fractures, then aimed it at Broly's chest to read his vitals.
"Heart rate elevated," Paragus muttered, reading the screen. "Cortisol levels high. Did you trigger?"
Broly looked at the floor. "Raditz was in trouble. I got... angry."
"Angry is fine," Paragus snapped, lowering the scanner. "Uncontrolled is not. Did you flare?"
"Yes."
"How high?"
"I don't know."
Paragus grabbed Broly's shoulder. His grip was possessive.
"You must be careful, boy," Paragus hissed. "The King is watching. Frieza is watching. If you show them too much, they will destroy you. If you show them too little, they will discard you."
He shook the boy slightly.
"You are a weapon, Broly. My weapon. You stay put unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"
Broly looked at his father. He saw the fear in the older man's eyes. Paragus loved him, in his own twisted, broken way. But he loved Broly the Legend more than Broly the Son.
"I understand, Father," Broly whispered.
"Good." Paragus released him. "Go to sleep. We need to run diagnostics on your energy flow in the morning. I need to make sure the limiter collar isn't needed yet."
Paragus walked away, already checking his datapad.
Broly stood alone in the hallway. He touched the spot on his neck where Cress had struck him to knock him out.
Look at me, Cress had said.
It was the first time anyone had told him to look at a person, not a target.
Broly walked toward the barracks.
--
I was walking back toward the transport hubs, intending to return to the Garl Estate.
I heard footsteps behind me. Hesitant. Scuffing.
I stopped and turned.
Raditz was hovering ten feet back. He froze when I looked at him, clutching his polishing rag like a shield.
"You're following me," I stated.
"I... I just wanted to ask..." Raditz mumbled, looking at his boots.
I sighed. My ego, despite my better judgment, preened slightly. It was a strange feeling, having a fanboy. Especially one who was to be Goku's older brother.
"Ask," I said.
Raditz looked up. His eyes were wide, filled with a desperate need for validation. "How did you do it? You hit the Prince. You stopped Broly. Everyone says you were a mechanic. A Low-Class. How did you get so strong?"
I walked over to him.
"You want to know the secret?" I asked softly.
Raditz nodded eagerly.
"There is no secret," I said. "There is only suffering."
I poked a finger into his chest plate.
"Right now, you are the weakest thing in this room, Raditz. You are weaker than Zuto. You are weaker than the Prince. You are certainly weaker than Broly."
Raditz looked down, shame burning his face.
"But," I added, "weakness is just a starting point."
He looked up, surprised.
"The Prince thinks he is perfect because of his blood," I explained. "Broly is a mutant. But you? You have to earn it. If you want to survive this squad, Raditz, you cannot just train. You have to break yourself. Every single day."
I leaned in.
"Stop trying to be like Vegeta. You will never be him. Be the thing that survives when the prodigies burn out. Work harder than the Prince. Bleed more than Nappa. If you do that... maybe you won't be useless."
Raditz stared at me. The shame in his eyes was replaced by a spark. It wasn't a roaring fire, but it was a light.
"Work harder," Raditz whispered.
"Now, go," I said, turning away. "And clean your boots. You look like a slob."
"Yes! Right away!"
Raditz scrambled off, looking more motivated than I had ever seen him.
I watched him go.
'If he actually listens,' I thought, 'he might actually be worth something. Maybe I can fix the timeline's biggest disappointment.'
--
I punched the code for my room. The door hissed open.
I stepped inside, unlatching the heavy chest piece of my armor. All I wanted was to sit on the couch, and sleep.
I stopped.
Someone was on my couch.
Ruca was lounging there, boots up on the table, reading a datapad. She wasn't wearing her armor. She was in a simple flight suit, her hair loose around her shoulders.
She looked up as I entered. She was surprisingly calm for an intruder.
"You took your time," she said casually.
I sighed, dropping my armor onto the rack. "This is my room, Ruca. Do you know what a lock is?"
"Locks are for enemies," she replied, tossing the datapad aside. "And for people who don't know the override codes."
I walked over to the small kitchenette and poured a glass of water. "What do you want? Is Garl looking for me?"
"No," Ruca said. She sat up, swinging her legs off the table. "I just... didn't want to be in my room."
She looked at me. Her expression was open, devoid of the usual Elite boredom.
"I was thinking about what you said at the bar," she continued. "About what we like."
"You said you disliked sparring with me the least," Ruca said, ignoring me. She stood up and walked toward me.
She stopped a few feet away.
"You chase the boredom away, Cress," she said bluntly. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the same tone she used the other day.
She looked me dead in the eye.
"So I decided. I might as well hang around you. It's better than staring at the wall."
I stared at her.
My brain short-circuited.
Here, on Planet Vegeta, where love was a foreign concept and marriage was a breeding contract, it was simply pragmatic. But the implication was the same.
I felt the heat rise up my neck. My face went hot.
I blushed. Furiously.
Ruca blinked. She tilted her head, looking at my red face with genuine confusion.
"Are you sick?" she asked, reaching out to touch my forehead. "Your temperature spiked."
I slapped her hand away gently, turning my back to hide my face.
"I'm fine," I choked out. "Just... tired."
"Weirdo," she muttered, walking back to the couch and flopping down. "Anyway, I ordered food. It should be here in ten minutes."
I looked at her reflection in the window. She was making herself at home. She was comfortable.
A cold knot of realization tightened in my chest, killing the embarrassment instantly.
If I left her when the meteor came...
I looked at her, relaxed on my couch, trusting me completely.
I couldn't leave her.
'Dammit,' I thought, gripping the glass until it cracked. 'I had to find a way to make her leave.'
"Make sure you ordered enough," I said, my voice steady again. "I'm starving."
Ruca grinned. "I ordered the whole menu."
---
The air on the Lookout was thin, cold, and silent.
I sat cross-legged on the white tiles, my eyes closed, my breathing slow and rhythmic. I was trying to empty my mind, to visualize my spirit as a still lake, just as Kami had instructed.
Still water, I thought. Reflect the sky. No ripples.
Then, it hit me. A sudden, intense wave of heat rushing up my neck and flooding my face. It was the distinct, prickly feeling of extreme embarrassment.
My concentration shattered.
The lake in my mind boiled.
"Gah!" I gasped, my eyes snapping open. I slapped a hand over my face. It was burning hot.
"Your spirit is... flustered," a calm voice observed.
I looked up. Kami was standing over me, leaning on his staff. His expression was impassive, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"I apologize, Guardian," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "My... other half is experiencing some technical difficulties."
"Distractions are natural," Kami said. "But today, your spirit is too loud for meditation. You are fighting the silence."
I stood up, dusting off my purple gi. The weights woven into the fabric pulled at my shoulders, grounding me.
"You're right," I admitted. "I can't sit still today."
I looked at my hands. They were strong. But I was a brute.
"Guardian," I said. "I wish to pause the spirit training for the afternoons. I need to work on my mechanics."
Kami tilted his head. "Mechanics?"
"I fight on instinct," I explained. "If I am faster, I win. If I am stronger, I win. But if I meet someone equal... or stronger... I'm almost useless."
I bowed.
"I request permission to descend. Master Roshi promised to teach me. I need to learn how to move like a martial artist, not just a brawler."
Kami studied me for a moment. He saw the logic in it. I need to be a swordsman not a guy who uses a sword.
"Very well," Kami nodded. "The Turtle Hermit is eccentric, but his foundation is solid. Go. But return before sunset. The spirit must be tempered as well as the body."
"Thank you, Kami-sama."
I walked to the edge of the Lookout and stepped off.
--
The transition from the divine silence of the Lookout to the tropical humidity of Kame House was jarring.
I landed on the beach. The sand was hot under my boots.
Master Roshi was napping on his deck chair, a magazine covering his face.
"Master Roshi," I called out.
Roshi snorted, waking up. The magazine slid off his face. He adjusted his sunglasses, peering at me.
"Oh. The delivery boy," Roshi yawned. "Back so soon? I haven't finished the 'Swimsuit Special' yet."
"I am here to collect on your promise," I said, stepping forward. "You said you would teach me."
Roshi scratched his bald head. He stood up, stretching his back. He looked me up and down, taking in the weighted clothes, the cape, the turban.
"You're serious," Roshi muttered. "Kid, I saw you fly. You moved faster than I could track. You have enough power to blow up this island if you sneeze. What can an old man teach you?"
"Control," I said.
"I have power," I admitted. "But I am a total newbie when it comes to Martial Arts. I waste energy. I overextend."
Roshi walked around me. He poked my knee with his cane. He tapped my elbow.
"Stiff," Roshi critiqued. " rigid. You stand like a statue. A statue is hard, yes, but it is easy to tip over."
He walked to a massive boulder sitting near the water's edge. It was the size of a small house, embedded deep in the sand.
"Move that," Roshi ordered.
I walked over to the rock. I didn't brace myself. I just placed one hand on the rough stone and shoved.
SCREEECH.
The boulder slid across the beach as if it were made of styrofoam. I flicked my wrist, and the massive stone flew ten feet into the air, splashing into the ocean.
I turned back to Roshi.
"See?" I said. "Physical conditioning is useless for me. I am already too strong for standard weights."
Roshi stared at the splash. His mouth was slightly open. He adjusted his sunglasses, hiding his shock.
The boy is a monster, Roshi thought. That rock weighed forty tons.
But then, the Master smiled. He saw the flaw.
"You used your shoulder," Roshi noted. "You engaged your back muscles before your legs. You pushed with your upper body."
He walked over to me, poking my chest with his cane.
"If you fight someone who can break you... that bad form will be your death."
I nodded. "Exactly."
"Alright," Roshi sighed, tapping the cane on the ground. "I'll teach you. But we are starting from zero. Forget your strength. Forget your flight. We are doing the Basics of the Basics."
"I'm ready."
"First," Roshi commanded. "Take off that ridiculous cape. And then... we walk."
"Ehh?" I said.
--
The sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. My muscles ached in a way they hadn't in years. Not from heavy lifting, but from the agonizing precision of holding perfect posture for four hours.
I landed the in the massive backyard of Capsule Corp.
The ship was unrecognizable.
The blocky, grey brick was gone. In its place sat a perfect, gleaming white sphere. It looked like a giant pearl resting on heavy landing struts.
Dr. Brief walked out of the lab, a cigarette dangling from his lip, a wrench in his hand.
"She's coming along," Brief said, patting the hull. "Aerodynamics are perfect. The chassis is sealed."
"The gravity?" I asked, walking around the smooth curve of the ship.
"That's the tricky part," Brief admitted, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Generating 300Gs is easy. Keeping it from crushing the hull, and you, into a singularity is hard. I need to stabilize the graviton emitters. Give me another week."
"Take your time," I said. "I'd rather not be crushed."
"Cress!"
The back door opened. Panchy walked out, holding a tray of iced tea. Baby Bulma was waddling beside her, chasing a butterfly.
"You look tired, dear!" Panchy chirped.
"Haha, it's okay, I just train a lot" I said, taking a glass. It was reflex, it reminded me of the way I acted with my grandma, though Panchy did not look like a grandma, not at all.
Bulma ran into my leg. She looked up at me with wide, blue eyes and giggled.
"Up!" she demanded, reaching out with chubby hands.
reached down and picked her up. She was light.
She grabbed my nose.
"Honk!" she squealed.
I smiled.
"Hey! Space Boy!"
I looked up toward the porch.
Tights was standing there, hands on her hips. She looked annoyed.
"You're late!" she shouted. "You promised!"
I flinched. I had forgotten.
I handed Bulma back to Panchy and walked over to the porch.
"I apologize," I said. "Training ran long."
"Excuses, excuses," Tights huffed, sitting down on the swing bench. She patted the spot next to her. "Sit. I've been waiting all week."
I sat down. The wooden swing creaked under my weighted clothes.
"Where were we?" I asked.
"The exams," Tights said, opening a notebook. "The boy with the fox... Naruto. He was fighting the genius."
"Right."
I took a breath. I looked out at the garden, at the peaceful domestic scene of Panchy and Brief playing with Bulma.
I had told her the story. I wasn't going to tell mine anyway, so I decided to tell her the story of Naruto.
Tights listened, captivated. She didn't interrupt. She just wrote.
As I spoke, I felt the tension in my shoulders release.
The sun set completely. The garden lights flickered on.
"I have to go," I said, standing up. "Kami waits for no one."
Tights closed her notebook. She looked at me.
"You're good at this," she said. "You talk like you were there."
"Maybe I was," I said enigmatically.
"Same time next week?"
"Same time next week."
I walked to the edge of the porch and blasted off into the night sky.
As the cool air rushed past my face, I looked down at the lights of West City.
I angled my flight path toward the Lookout.
The break was over. It was time to go back to work.
--
I will post a second chapter later, I hope you're having a great week'end. If you have any feedback concerning the story, I am all-ears.