Visiting Earth

Not long after Renkon's departure, Vegeta stirred from his involuntary slumber. The Saiyan prince's consciousness returned to him in fragmented pieces, like shards of a broken mirror slowly being reassembled. As awareness flooded back, so too did the humiliation of his defeat.

"What? Was I knocked out by a guy with only 100 power level?"

The words escaped Vegeta's lips as a mixture of disbelief and fury. His royal pride—the cornerstone of his identity—had been shattered by an opponent who, by all measurable standards, should have been beneath his notice. The very thought ignited a burning rage within him, a conflagration that threatened to consume his rational thought.

The prince's obsidian eyes narrowed dangerously as he clenched his fists, the white gloves stretching over his knuckles. Vegeta's body trembled with indignation, the veins on his forehead pulsing visibly beneath his flame-like hair. How could this affront go unpunished? The warrior blood coursing through his veins demanded retribution.

With a swift, fluid motion that belied his recent unconsciousness, Vegeta sprang to his feet. The world tilted momentarily around him, but he steadied himself through sheer force of will. Pride would not allow him to show weakness, even in solitude. His Saiyan armour, bearing the royal insignia, gleamed in the harsh light as he gathered his composure and prepared to hunt down the one who had dared to humiliate him.

"I will find you, low-class scum," he snarled to the empty room, his voice reverberating against the metallic walls of the Saiyan facility. "And when I do, you'll experience pain beyond your comprehension."

Vegeta stormed through the corridors, his footsteps echoing like thunder as lesser Saiyans scrambled to clear his path. The prince's reputation for violent outbursts was well known throughout Planet Vegeta, and none wished to become the target of his misdirected rage.

Upon reaching the central command station, Vegeta slammed his fist onto the monitoring console, startling the technician on duty.

"The Saiyan who was here earlier—where is he now?" Vegeta demanded, his voice dripping with barely contained fury.

The technician nervously adjusted his scouter and accessed the planetary departure logs. After a moment of tense silence, punctuated only by the beeping of the console, he looked up with trepidation.

"Prince Vegeta, according to our records, the Saiyan identified as Renkon departed from Planet Vegeta approximately forty-seven minutes ago. His destination was unregistered in our systems."

Vegeta's expression darkened further; the shadows cast by the overhead lights making his features appear almost demonic in their intensity. Without another word, he pivoted sharply and headed toward the space station, determination radiating from his every step.

The space station loomed ahead, a massive structure of obsidian metal and reinforced glass that served as the gateway to the stars for the conquering Saiyan race. As Vegeta approached, his mind raced with calculations and possibilities. He would track down this Renkon and extract his vengeance in the most excruciating manner possible.

Just as he reached the entrance to the departure bay, a small group of young Saiyans rounded the corner. Among them were Raditz, his long, unruly mane of hair cascading down his back, and the hulking figure of Nappa, already impressive in stature despite his youth. Their animated conversation died instantly upon seeing the prince.

Raditz, exhibiting a boldness that belied his lower status, stepped forward and addressed Vegeta directly. His voice carried an eager undertone, the bloodlust common to their race evident in his youthful exuberance.

"Your Highness, we have just discovered a planet with fairly good resources. We are about to team up to fight. Do you want to go with us?" Raditz asked hurriedly, his tail swishing with barely contained excitement.

Vegeta's initial reaction was one of dismissal. His concerns were far greater than some trivial conquest mission. The insult to his honour burned too brightly to be overshadowed by such mundane activities.

"Humph, I'm not interested," Vegeta snorted, the sound conveying volumes of contempt. "Go by yourself, and don't disturb me."

He made to move past the group, his mind still fixed on pursuing Renkon, when Nappa's gravelly voice halted him.

"But, that guy Frieza won't allow us to leave the planet... it's too boring, we want to fight!" Nappa protested, his massive frame casting a shadow over his companions.

The mention of Frieza sent a cold current of rage through Vegeta's body. The tyrant who held their race in subjugation—who treated the proud Saiyan warriors as nothing more than tools for his empire's expansion. The thought that this lizard-like despot could dictate the movements of the Saiyan prince was intolerable.

"Frieza, that bastard, he thinks he can control our planet?"

Vegeta's voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, each word sharp as a blade. His gloved hand clenched into a fist so tight that, had he not been wearing his royal attire, his nails would have drawn blood from his palm.

A new plan crystallized in his mind—one that would serve dual purposes. He would defy Frieza's restrictions, asserting his royal prerogative, while simultaneously pursuing his vendetta against Renkon.

"In that case, you will come with me on my spaceship," Vegeta declared, his tone brooking no argument. "Let's see what he can say to the prince, it's my words against his."

The younger Saiyans exchanged glances, a mixture of surprise and excitement dancing in their eyes. To accompany the prince on an unsanctioned mission was both an honour and a dangerous gambit.

"Nice!" Raditz and Nappa rejoiced in unison, their youthful faces alight with anticipation of battle.

Without further delay, Vegeta led the small group toward his personal spacecraft—a vessel befitting his royal status, emblazoned with the crest of the Saiyan royal house. As they boarded, the prince's thoughts oscillated between the hunt for Renkon and the small rebellion he was now enacting against Frieza's authority.

"Let's go!"

The command reverberated within the spacecraft's confines as the engines roared to life. With a surge of power, the vessel broke free from Planet Vegeta's gravitational embrace, soaring into the star-strewn expanse of space.

Little did they know, their departure had not gone unnoticed.

Within the cold, sterile confines of his personal chamber aboard his massive spacecraft, Frieza reclined in his hover chair, his reptilian features arranged in an expression of mild amusement. The tyrant's sleek, porcelain-white form contrasted sharply with the darkness of space visible through the panoramic viewport behind him.

One of his subordinates, a blue-skinned alien with a pronounced cranium and nervous disposition, approached with trepidation.

"Lord Frieza, just now, Vegeta and a few Saiyan kids also left planet Vegeta," the subordinate reported, his voice carefully modulated to betray neither panic nor judgment.

Frieza's thin lips curled upward into what might generously be called a smile, though it held all the warmth of a distant supernova. His crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully, reflecting the stars outside like pools of blood.

"Oh~ Really?" The tyrant's voice was almost musical in its soft inflection, a deceptive gentleness that had lulled many into a false sense of security before their demise.

The subordinate, sensing the dangerous undercurrent beneath Frieza's apparent calm, ventured a question.

"My Lord, do you want us to shoot them down?"

Frieza's tail tapped rhythmically against the side of his hover chair, a metronome counting down to some unknown conclusion. The chamber fell silent save for that ominous cadence as the tyrant considered his options.

"Vegeta the fourth, known as the most talented warrior of the Saiyan, right?" Frieza eventually responded, his casual tone belying the gravity of the discussion. "So, he's the most likely to become a Super Saiyan."

The very mention of the legendary transformation caused a ripple of tension throughout the chamber. The ancient prophecy of the Super Saiyan had long been a source of both fascination and fear for Frieza—a primal anxiety that he concealed beneath layers of contempt and dismissal.

Berryblue, one of Frieza's most trusted advisors, stepped forward. Her diminutive stature and advanced age belied her cunning intellect and the influence she wielded in Frieza's empire.

"Lord Frieza, in particular, you can use Vegeta later," she suggested, her voice a rasping whisper that seemed to carry the dust of centuries. A mysterious smile played across her wrinkled features, revealing a glimpse of the calculating mind behind her aged exterior.

Frieza turned his gaze toward her, genuine curiosity flickering in his crimson eyes.

"How so?"

Berryblue moved closer, her small form casting an incongruously large shadow in the dimly lit chamber.

"My lord, it's like training a dog. If you keep teaching it tricks, you will have a suitable pet," she explained, her smile widening to reveal yellowed teeth. The metaphor hung in the air, both brutal and apt in its simplicity.

Frieza contemplated her words, rolling them over in his mind like fine wine on the tongue. After a moment, he nodded, a decision reached.

"I do understand what you mean. I also have a few ideas for later, we will go with your plan," Frieza conceded, acknowledging the wisdom in Berryblue's suggestion.

Another subordinate, standing at attention near the chamber's entrance, seized the momentary pause to seek clarification.

"So, how about the other Saiyans?" he inquired, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Frieza's expression hardened, the brief moment of contemplative calm giving way to the cold calculation that had built his empire on the bones of countless civilizations.

"If Vegeta's power level has been truly stagnant, and some of them dared to exceed his power level, then we will kill them," Frieza declared, a smirk twisting his features into a mask of malevolent anticipation.

The statement hung in the air like an executioner's axe, poised to fall upon the unwary. No further discussion was necessary; Frieza's word was absolute law within his domain. The subordinates bowed deeply and retreated, leaving their lord to his machinations.

Meanwhile, traversing the void between stars, Renkon's senses—honed through his rigorous training and enhanced by his compressed ki—alerted him to pursuit. The energy signatures were distinct and unmistakable: two of Frieza's lackeys, each with a power level hovering around 600.

A mere annoyance, nothing more.

Renkon guided his spacecraft toward a nearby planet—a desolate rock with a thin atmosphere, barely worthy of notice in the cosmic catalogue. Landing in a basin surrounded by jagged, wind-carved formations, he stepped out into the alien air, his Saiyan lungs adapting effortlessly to the oxygen-poor environment.

The sky above was a sickly green, marbled with swirls of yellow gas. Against this unnatural backdrop, Renkon watched as the pursuing vessel drew nearer, its engines leaving trails of blue flame in the planet's atmosphere.

A smirk of anticipation curved Renkon's lips, his expression reflecting a cold calculation rather than the hot-blooded battle lust typical of his race. This would be not merely an elimination of obstacles but a test of his newly refined abilities.

"Huh!"

With practiced precision, Renkon extended his index finger, focusing his consciousness on the wellspring of compressed energy that resided within him. A response came immediately—a cascade of power flowing through his veins like liquid lightning, culminating at his fingertip.

A sphere of energy materialized, no larger than a Senzu Bean. Its blue radiance was deceptively gentle, like the heart of a star viewed through layers of cosmic dust. Yet within that tiny orb resided devastation beyond imagination—ki compressed to a density that defied conventional understanding.

Renkon observed his creation with clinical detachment, noting the perfect containment of the energy, the stable equilibrium he had achieved through months of painstaking practice. This was the fruition of his labour, the manifestation of his theory that power was not merely about volume but concentration.

"Go!"

With a mere thought, he propelled the energy sphere toward the approaching spacecraft. It cut through the alien atmosphere like a comet, leaving a trail of ethereal blue light in its wake—a beautiful harbinger of destruction.

The impact was both instantaneous and catastrophic. The compressed ki expanded with explosive force upon contact, releasing its pent-up energy in a blinding conflagration that momentarily outshone the system's distant sun.

BOOM!

The detonation sent concussive waves rippling across the planet's surface, kicking up clouds of alien dust and debris. Where Frieza's ship had been moments before, there was now only a dispersing cloud of superheated gas and fragmented metal—a cosmic funeral pyre for hunters who had become the hunted.

Renkon observed the destruction with dispassionate eyes, his face illuminated by the fading glow of the explosion. There was neither satisfaction nor remorse in his expression—merely the acknowledgment of a task completed efficiently.

With a slight shake of his head, he turned and re-entered his spacecraft. The subordinates of Frieza were inconsequential in the grand scheme of his plans, barely worth the minimal effort it had taken to eliminate them. His thoughts were already racing ahead to the next phase of his journey.

Earth awaited.

The spacecraft's engines hummed to life, their pitch rising as they prepared for interstellar travel. With a final glance at the dissipating remains of his pursuers, Renkon engaged the drive systems. The vessel lifted off, accelerating rapidly until it broke free of the planet's meagre gravitational pull.

Renkon had decided that Earth would be his first destination. Though the two Dragon Balls on Planet Cereal presented an opportunity, finding them on such a vast world without proper tools would be akin to searching for individual grains of sand in a desert—futile and time-consuming.

His purpose in traveling to Earth was clear: locate Bulma or her father, Dr. Brief, and secure their assistance in constructing a Dragon Ball Radar. With such a device, the subsequent hunt for the mystical orbs would be greatly simplified.

As his ship sliced through the fabric of space, Renkon allowed himself a moment of strategic contemplation. The universe spread before him like an intricate game board, and he was carefully positioning his pieces for the coming endgame. Each movement, each decision was calculated with precision, all serving his ultimate objective.

The spacecraft carved an arc through the star-spangled darkness, a solitary traveller on a journey that would reshape destinies across multiple worlds.

Ten days passed, marked only by the silent passing of stars and the occasional course adjustment. For Renkon, the time was spent in meditation and further refinement of his ki compression technique. By the journey's end, he had achieved even greater control over his energy manipulation, compressing his power into ever more concentrated forms.

Finally, the blue-green jewel of Earth appeared on his navigation screen—a water-rich world teeming with life, yet remarkably untouched by the cosmic conflicts that raged across other sectors of the galaxy.

With practiced precision, Renkon guided his vessel through Earth's atmosphere, the hull glowing briefly as it encountered resistance before cooling as the ship decelerated. The landing was smooth and controlled, touching down in an isolated area away from human settlements.

Without wasting precious time, Renkon emerged from his spacecraft and immediately took to the skies. The sensation of Earth's atmosphere against his skin was peculiar—denser and richer in oxygen than that of Planet Vegeta. The planet's lower gravity allowed him to fly with even greater ease than usual, his body cutting through the air like a blade through silk.

He set his course toward West City, the location of Capsule Corporation according to the information he had gathered during his preparation. From high above, Earth presented a tapestry of varied landscapes—verdant forests, sprawling cities, crystalline bodies of water, and majestic mountain ranges—a stark contrast to the rugged, battle-scarred terrain of his home world.

As he approached West City, the distinctive dome-shaped buildings of Capsule Corporation came into view, their futuristic design standing out among the more conventional structures of the metropolis. The compound was exactly as he had envisioned it from descriptions—a testament to the Brief family's genius and prosperity.

Renkon descended from the sky with controlled precision, his feet touching down softly on the manicured lawn of the Capsule Corporation courtyard. The sudden appearance of a man from the sky would have caused panic among ordinary humans, but he was counting on the Brief family's reputation for eccentricity and involvement with unusual phenomena to work in his Favor.

He did not have to wait long. Within moments of his arrival, the compound's main door slid open, revealing Dr. Brief and, at his side, a young girl with lavender hair that danced in the gentle breeze. Her large, bright eyes widened with curiosity rather than fear as she took in the sight of the unexpected visitor.

This was Bulma—merely six years old yet already showing signs of the intelligence and inquisitiveness that would define her adult life. Her features were soft with youth, her expression open and guileless. She was, by any definition, what humans would describe as "kawaii"—adorably cute.

Renkon approached them with measured steps, his demeanour carefully calibrated to appear non-threatening despite his alien physiology and the inherent danger he represented. When he spoke, he modulated his voice to be polite yet direct.

"Are you Dr. Brief?" he inquired, his dark eyes focusing on the older man with the lavender Mustache and spectacles.

Dr. Brief seemed momentarily speechless, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips as he processed what he had just witnessed. With a slightly trembling hand, he adjusted his glasses, as if doubting his own vision.

"You... flew..." The scientist stuttered, his analytical mind visibly struggling to reconcile this apparent violation of known physical laws.

Beside him, Bulma's eyes had grown even wider, her young mind more readily accepting of the impossible than her father's science-bound intellect.

Ignoring their astonishment, Renkon pressed forward with his agenda. Time was a resource he could not afford to waste on explanations or pleasantries.

"My name is Renkon... Where is your warehouse?" he asked, cutting straight to the heart of his purpose.

The directness of the question seemed to momentarily short-circuit Dr. Brief's thought process. The scientist blinked several times before responding, his hand automatically rising to adjust his glasses once more.

"The warehouse? It's over there..." Brief pointed mechanically toward a large structure set slightly apart from the main buildings of the compound.

Without further acknowledgment, Renkon strode purposefully toward the indicated building. He knew from his research that Bulma would eventually reveal that the first Dragon Ball she discovered had been hidden among the miscellany in her family's warehouse—a coincidence that now served his purpose perfectly.

Entering the cavernous space, Renkon was confronted by a veritable mountain of gadgets, prototypes, failed experiments, and forgotten treasures. The warehouse was a physical manifestation of the Brief family's brilliant but scattered creative process—a chaotic repository of genius.

For a moment, he stood still, calculating the most efficient approach to locate the Dragon Ball among this technological labyrinth. Then, with deliberate intent, he released a carefully controlled fraction of his compressed energy.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Everything within the warehouse—from the lightest circuit board to the heaviest machinery—was suddenly lifted into the air, suspended by the invisible force of his ki. The items hung in perfect stasis, frozen in mid-air like a three-dimensional snapshot of organized chaos.

With this unnatural arrangement, finding the Dragon Ball became a simple matter of visual scanning. There—among the floating debris of scientific endeavor—a small, orange sphere gleamed with an inner light that set it apart from its mundane surroundings. The star pattern within confirmed its identity beyond doubt.

Renkon extended his hand, and the Dragon Ball responded, drifting toward him through the suspended items as if drawn by an invisible thread. As his fingers closed around the mystical orb, he felt its latent energy pulsing like a heartbeat—ancient and powerful, yet dormant without its siblings.

With his prize secured, Renkon released his ki influence, allowing the warehouse contents to settle back into their original positions with remarkably little disturbance. Then, Dragon Ball in hand, he emerged from the warehouse to find Dr. Brief and Bulma waiting precisely where he had left them, their expressions a mixture of caution and undisguised curiosity.

"Dr. Brief, can you make radar to detect this kind of thing?" Renkon held up the Dragon Ball, allowing the sunlight to play across its polished surface, highlighting the stars imprisoned within its depths.

Dr. Brief leaned forward, his scientific curiosity evidently overcoming his initial trepidation. He adjusted his glasses yet again; a habitual gesture that seemed to help him focus his thoughts.

"This is... What?" The question was rhetorical, born of amazement rather than genuine inquiry.

After a moment of stunned silence, the scientist's innate hospitality reasserted itself. "This is my house, right? Well, don't be shy, come in..."

Recognizing the need to provide at least some context for his request, Renkon offered a concise explanation as they moved toward the main building.

"This is called a Dragon Ball. According to ancient documents, there are seven of them in total. Once you gather them all and say, 'Come out, Shenron,' a dragon will appear and grant you a wish." His tone was matter of fact, as if discussing something as commonplace as the weather.

Dr. Brief's expression shifted from confusion to dawning comprehension, his scientific mind beginning to process the implications of such an artifact.

"Are you looking for these Dragon Balls?" he asked, the question revealing that he had already grasped the purpose behind Renkon's unusual appearance at his home.

Renkon nodded once, a simple confirmation.

"Can I see it?" Brief requested, his hands almost twitching with the desire to examine this impossible object.

Without hesitation, Renkon handed over the Dragon Ball, watching closely as the scientist turned it over in his hands, studying it from various angles. The orange sphere caught the light streaming through the compound's windows, its inner stars seeming to shift and dance within their crystal prison.

After a thorough examination, Dr. Brief nodded thoughtfully. "Well, this ball thing is emitting its own unique light waves. It shouldn't be difficult to build a radar that can detect those waves. But I will have to research and study it carefully. It will be done in one week."

The timeframe was acceptable. Renkon had factored in the need for such preparations in his overall plan.

"Thank you very much," he responded, the politeness in his tone calculated rather than genuine.

Dr. Brief's expression suddenly grew serious, a shadow of concern crossing his features. As a man of science, he clearly recognized the potential implications of the technology he was being asked to create.

"But I would like to ask, what is your wish? I will not help an evil guy," he stated firmly, his moral compass evident in the steel underlying his otherwise gentle demeanour.

Renkon allowed himself a small smile, appreciating the human's attempt at ethical gatekeeping while recognizing its ultimate futility. Nevertheless, a partial truth would serve his purpose better than deception.

"Don't worry, I just want the ability to breathe in outer space," he explained, offering what seemed like a reasonably benign wish. Then, with calculated casualness, he added, "Furthermore, I don't need the Earth's Dragon Balls, they're too weak. I'm afraid that my wish will not be granted."

The statement hung in the air, laden with implications that both scientists found difficult to process. The suggestion that there existed more powerful versions of these mystical artifacts—and that this stranger possessed knowledge of them—was evidently beyond their current framework of understanding.

Brief and Bulma exchanged a glance, their identical expressions of bewilderment almost comical in their synchronicity.

Are you hearing yourself...?!

The thought was practically visible on their faces, though neither voiced it aloud.

It was little Bulma who finally broke the stunned silence, her childish directness cutting through the ambient tension like a blade.

"Are you an alien?" she asked, craning her neck to look up at Renkon's imposing figure, her young face alight with unabashed curiosity.

Renkon looked down at the child who would one day become one of Earth's most brilliant minds. In her innocent question, he recognized the spark of intelligence that would eventually lead her to revolutionize technology on this planet. For a brief moment, he wondered how his presence might already be altering the timeline of events that should have unfolded.

"The answer is, yes," he confirmed, allowing a genuine smile to soften his features as he reached down to gently squeeze Bulma's cheek—a gesture of affection that seemed almost out of character for his otherwise clinical demeanour.

The touch was brief but gentle, an acknowledgment of the role this small human would unwittingly play in his grand design. Whether she realized it or not, little Bulma Brief had just become an essential piece in a cosmic game whose stakes stretched far beyond the boundaries of Earth and its fragile inhabitants.