Chapter 2

Entry Log - Year 737, 2nd Month, 12th Day

Time: 07:30 - Saiyan Time

Location: Central Vegacity, Planet Vegeta

As Peter gradually emerged from the depths of his unconsciousness, a strange sensation washed over him.

He felt a peculiar, almost gelatinous substance clinging to his skin, enveloping him in a surreal embrace. It was akin to being submerged underwater, yet he experienced no discomfort breathing.

"Huff..." Peter's breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling with each laborious inhalation. His mind was a swirling vortex of confusion and disorientation, a tempest of fragmented thoughts desperately seeking clarity amidst the haze of unfamiliar surroundings.

As he struggled to gather his bearings, murmuring voices reached his ears, the faint echoes of distant chatter gradually growing louder. Like whispers carried on the wind, snippets of dialogue filtered through the fog.

Summoning a surge of willpower, Peter managed to pry his eyes open, his eyelids heavy with the weight of his confusion. Blinking against the unfathomable brightness that engulfed the room, he squinted, his vision gradually adjusting to the harshness of the ambient lighting.

"Where in cosmere am I?" Peter's bewildered thoughts permeated his mind, a whirlwind of astonishment and a tinge of annoyance at the blinding brightness that enveloped his surroundings.

Before him, a scene beyond comprehension unfolded. Futuristic pods, bathed in an ethereal glow, dotted the chamber like celestial beacons, their enigmatic purpose shrouded in mystery.

"Who are these people?" Peter's gaze swept across the room, taking in the sight of individuals walking with purpose towards a nearby pod.

Clad in a fusion of a physician's cloak and an intricate suit of armour, their attire was a testament to an unknown, peculiar fashion.

A cascade of fabric enveloped their frames, concealing every contour, while gleaming metallic plating guarded their upper chests and shoulders with an air of rigidity.

And then, his gaze alighted upon a revelation—an observation that ignited immense confusion within him. Their tails, sinuous and deliberate, sway in a hypnotic rhythm before gracefully encircling their waists, a mesmerising display of inherent dexterity and primal heritage.

"Seriously, what's the deal with the tail? Are they some kind of monkey-humans?" he mused, his scepticism seeping into his internal dialogue.

Before he could ponder further, a voice, devoid of any emotion, shattered the silence, drawing his attention to the conversation between the individuals.

"The power level of the newborn in Pod C-181 has been steadily increasing," the voice stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "It should stabilize within a week or two. Another low-class fighter destined for battle."

The man's voice droned, devoid of emotion, as he delivered a clinical statement that emphasised his detachment from the subject at hand. His focus lay solely on the objective data, the numbers that determined one's fate in this world.

Beside him, a smaller woman added her voice, injecting a hint of curiosity into the sterile atmosphere. "Indeed, most of the newborns exhibit power levels within the expected range," she remarked, her tone tinged with intrigue.

"However, there are exceptions such as the prince and that peculiar child, Broly, if my memory serves me right."

Peter, still grappling with the disorientation of his surroundings, strained to make sense of the conversation. The mention of a prince and an abnormal child named Broly stirred confusion within him.

"Yes, that was his name," the man replied, his voice tinged with a touch of recollection.

"Anyways, this new scouter is a remarkable improvement compared to the previous version. The power level readings it provides are far more accurate and precise."

"How are his medical records looking? Is everything within normal parameters?" He inquired, his tall figure focused on inputting data into a handheld screen.

Equally engrossed in her task, the woman beside him responded with a calm tone, her words carrying a sense of reassurance. "All indicators point to normalcy. No abnormalities or changes have been detected. It appears that he possesses the potential to become a fighter."

Their conversation continued, filled with scientific jargon and observations, as they meticulously evaluated the child's progress.

Peter's mind spun in disbelief, desperately seeking any semblance of rationality in the bizarre situation unfolding before him. Doubt and disbelief clawed at his thoughts as fear and anxiety welled up within him.

"This must be some kind of twisted joke," he thought, desperately trying to convince himself that the surreal situation unfolding before him couldn't possibly be real. The very notion of being a Saiyan, a warrior race from a fictional world, seemed utterly preposterous and impossible to comprehend.

Fear and anxiety gripped his heart, tightening its hold with each passing moment. Doubts and uncertainties plagued his thoughts, casting shadows of disbelief and unease. "There is no way I'm actually a Saiyan, right?" he whispered to himself, his voice laced with both hope and trepidation. The weight of such a revelation threatened to crush him, as the implications of his newfound identity bore down upon him.

The throbbing ache in his head intensified, pounding relentlessly with each passing moment. It became an arduous task to keep his eyes open, the fatigue and exhaustion gnawing at his senses. Struggling against the overwhelming weariness, he strained to capture the fading remnants of his thoughts and the words exchanged by the scientists.

It felt like grasping at the threads of a fleeting dream, slipping through his fingers as he fought against the encroaching slumber that beckoned him into its embrace.

****

As the first rays of dawn pierced the horizon, the colossal yellow sun emerged, painting the sky with a radiant tapestry of warm hues. The gentle touch of its golden light bathed the large landscape of Planet Vegeta.

In Central Vegacity, nestled near the heart of the city, a young Saiyan by the name of Renji stirred from his slumber, his hand lashing out to silence the intrusive alarm clock. The mechanical monstrosity clattered to the floor, disoriented from its sudden jolt, and fumbled on the floor for a moment. Its blaring noise was temporarily silenced before it resumed its piercing wail, reverberating through the room like a crazed siren.

Letting out a sleepy yawn, Renji grumbled, his voice laced with resentment, "Curse you, you insidious creator of alarms," his thoughts still clinging to the fading fragments of his dream, shattered by the sudden sound.

Slowly, he pushed himself up from his modest bed, his gaze scanning the room with a mix of resignation and longing. The space was spartan. The furniture was minimal, reflecting a life stripped of unnecessary comforts. Renji's belongings were few; his possessions were reduced to the bare essentials.

As Renji groggily made his way to the bathroom, he couldn't help but appreciate the ingenuity of the Saiyan civil engineers, who had meticulously crafted a reliable water and sewage system. It was a small but significant aspect of their civilization.

With gratitude in his heart, Renji marvelled at the luxury of being able to attend to his private business with ease and without any sense of urgency.

While personal hygiene was often overlooked by most male Saiyans, Renji was different. His previous life's routines had been deeply ingrained within him, reminding him of the importance of cleanliness. The sensation of feeling fresh and rejuvenated each day was an experience he cherished.

In the dimly lit bathroom, Renji let out a contented sigh as he savoured the tranquillity of the moment. The cool tiles under his feet grounded him, contrasting with the warmth of the rising sun outside. He took his time, relishing the solitude and the simple pleasure of this daily ritual.

As he washed his hands and splashed his face with refreshing water, Renji's mind wandered. Thoughts swirled through his consciousness, intertwining with the droplets that cascaded down his skin.

Renji stood by the sink, his hands immersed in cool water as he washed away the remnants of sleep. The refreshing sensation sent ripples of wakefulness through his senses, clearing the fog from his mind. As he splashed his face, droplets of water kissed his skin, awakening his senses further.

Lost in the rhythm of the flowing water, Renji's thoughts began to wander, weaving through his consciousness.

"It's been nearly five years," Renji mused.

Time seemed to blur, and he found himself reflecting on the passage of the years since his birth. It was a curious thing how swiftly the hands of time swept by, leaving nothing but memories behind.

Grabbing a nearby towel and exiting the bathroom, Renji patted his face gently, drying off the lingering droplets of water. The soft fabric absorbed the moisture, leaving a gentle warmth behind.

After drying himself off, Renji took off his regular sleep attire and reached for the meticulously crafted training clothes that hung nearby. Renji had sought out the expertise of an elderly seamstress named Takenoko , whose reputation for designing functional and comfortable attire was well known throughout the city. With his uncle's support, he commissioned Takenoko to create a bespoke set of training clothes tailored to his specific needs.

As Renji slipped into the breathable fabric, he marvelled at the meticulous craftsmanship that went into every stitch. The fabric embraced his form with a gentle embrace, allowing him the freedom to move unhindered. The lightweight material seemed to dance with his body, as if anticipating his every motion. It was a testament to Takenoko's skill and understanding of the Saiyan physique.

Renji had completed his registration a month ago, but he still had four weeks to go before he could claim his official Saiyan armour. However, he paid little attention to that fact.

The truth was that the current armour offered little more than a false sense of security.

The battles he envisioned would require more than a mere metal shell to ensure his survival. His focus was on honing his skills and harnessing his inner strength, relying on his own abilities rather than relying solely on external defences.

Staring intently at the mirror, Renji's gaze fixed on the reflection that stared back at him. The image before him held a contradiction: the juxtaposition of youth and the weight of a turbulent world.

His obsidian hair, reminiscent of his Saiyan heritage, fell in cascading waves, defying the sharpness and conformity expected of his kind. Each strand seemed to carry a story of its own, whispering tales of rebellion against the established norms. It was as if his very appearance rebelled against the predetermined destiny of his lineage.

The eyes of a person, they say, can reveal the essence of their soul.

It was his eyes that truly captured the essence of his enigmatic soul. In the realm of emotion, they proved to be an enigma, defying the understanding of those who sought to read them.

Within Renji's eyes, a profound darkness resided, darker than any known void, consuming any trace of light and aspiration that dared to enter. Like portals to a desolate void, Renji's eyes reflected the immense weight he carried within the depths of his weary soul.

Though his youthful countenance attempted to mask the burden he bore, it failed to fully conceal the weariness etched upon his features. Behind the veil of his innocent, childlike façade, Renji's thoughts churned with a heavy burden of knowledge.

His mind, a wellspring of awareness, brimmed with worries and calculations that surpassed his tender age. He knew of the cataclysmic battles that would soon take place, the fragility of existence, and the malevolence that lurked in the shadows. Behind his once innocent gaze, a darker side emerged, born from the overriding knowledge he possessed.

Renji glanced at his reflection in the mirror, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he took in his own appearance. "Damn, look at me," he mused, a grin forming on his lips.

"I can't argue about my good looks, to be honest. Though this hair..." He paused, his hand running through the unruly strands that seemed to have a mind of their own. "This hair is quite annoying. "I definitely need to get it trimmed once I'm off this planet."

Renji's hair had become a constant source of frustration for him. It had grown wild and untamed, resembling a chaotic storm atop his head. Each morning he woke up, he found himself engaged in a battle against his own rebellious hair. It seemed as if they had a personal vendetta, determined to defy his every attempt at taming them.

As his reflection stared back at him, Renji's declaration continued. "Watch out, ladies," he declared, his voice dripping with exaggerated confidence and false arrogance.

"Yes, you too, beautiful alien ladies. This chad is coming your way. Please resist falling in love with me." He punctuated his words with an exaggerated pose, flexing his muscles in a comically exaggerated manner.

It was a poor attempt at self-love, a light-hearted way to temporarily forget his worries and uplift his spirits.

Renji's playful antics were a mask, a way for him to momentarily escape the weight of his anxiety. Amidst the constant training, it was crucial for him to find moments of levity.

In a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, humour became his ally, a weapon to ward off despair and doubt.

***

As Renji entered the dining area, his senses were immediately assaulted by the tantalising, familiar aroma. The familiar aroma of breakfast filled the air, a scent he had grown accustomed to over the years. Today's meal consisted of yet another serving of fried meat, accompanied by the usual radish and carrots.

The table was set with a display of food, but to Renji, it felt like déjà vu from countless mornings. The sizzling fried meat, once enticing, now appeared lacklustre and unexciting. Its golden exterior, once a symbol of indulgence, now seemed to mock him with its predictability. Radishes and carrots, vibrant as they were, no longer held any allure, their presence serving as a reminder of the limited variety in their diet.

It was a peculiar combination, a reflection of the scarcity of vegetation on Planet Vegeta. Here, the Saiyan's relied heavily on meat and fish as their primary sources of sustenance.

Renji's gaze lingered on the array of dishes before him, his mind filled with bittersweet nostalgia. "Ahh, I miss them so much." His thoughts were tinged with longing.

"Every day, it's meat, meat, meat. So damn boring." He mused out loud, his thoughts drifting to his previous life, a life filled with diverse culinary experiences where breakfast meant a myriad of flavours and textures. The memories of those delectable meals felt like distant echoes of a bygone era.

Just as Renji was lost in his wistful reverie, a deep voice cut through his musings, snapping him back to the present. The man who had spoken, around forty years of age with a short, stubbled beard and an imposing figure, commanded attention in the room. He was a seasoned warrior, one who had seen countless battles and carried the weight of experience in his words.

"Shut up, kid," the man grumbled, his voice laced with gruff authority.

"Always yammering on about horrible food. If you don't like it, make your own. The slaves would be happy to have their workload reduced." His words held a hint of sternness, but there was also a glimmer of humour in his eyes. It was a familiar humour that Renji had come to expect from this seasoned warrior and his uncle, Corporal Major Mizuna.

"Tchh. I ain't saying the food is bad, just repetitive, you stupid old man."

Renji reluctantly picked up his fork and prodded at a piece of fried meat. Each bite of the meat tasted dull, lacking the spark of novelty that he craved. The flavours, though familiar, failed to excite his taste buds, leaving him yearning for something different, something that would ignite his palate with a burst of excitement.

"Plus, no one teaches cooking here on this damn planet," Renji muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a tinge of regret. He recalled fragments of his past life, the memories flickering like distant embers in his mind.

In those fleeting recollections, he remembered the warmth of a kitchen, the comforting scents that filled the air, and the loving guidance of a mother figure who had passed away long ago. He wished he had spent more time with her, learning the art of cooking and preserving those cherished moments of culinary delight.

How dearly he regretted not seizing the opportunity to absorb her knowledge and master the intricacies of flavours and techniques that could have brought him solace in times like these. The thought of her gentle touch guiding his hands through the kitchen, sharing secret family recipes, and imparting the wisdom of generations tugged at his heartstrings. It was a missed connection, a void that he yearned to fill but seemed forever out of reach.

"Hurry up and finish eating, boy." Mizuna, a stalwart figure in his life, stared back at him with a stern expression, his voice tinged with impatience as he spoke with food stuffed in his mouth.

"Whatever," Renji sighed, breaking free from his reverie as his uncle's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Renji's uncle, a high-class Saiyan, stood as a symbol of resilience and strength among the Saiyan's. Mizuna, a seasoned warrior, had earned his esteemed rank of Sergeant Major through acts of valour during the intense Tuffle-Saiyan war.

The scars on his body bore witness to the trials and tribulations he had faced on the battlefield, a testament to his unwavering dedication to the Saiyan race.

As Renji devoured his meals with haste, the familiar taste of nourishment mingled with the currents of his thoughts, guiding his mind toward contemplation of his familial bonds.

Renji's short journey through life, thus far, had been marred by the absence of his new parents. Their absence cast a shadow over his existence, leaving him stranded in a sea of indifference. Born within the confines of an incubation pod during his parents' final mission, he had never known their touch, their love, or their guidance.

It was not bitterness or resentment that consumed Renji's heart; rather, it was an emptiness, a void that echoed through his being. He had grown up hearing stories of heroic Saiyan's who fought valiantly for the greater good, sacrificing everything for their people. But his parents had become unfortunate casualties of a mission gone awry, their lives cut short in the pursuit of duty.

He often wondered what his parents would have been like—whether their embrace would have been warm and comforting or their love tender and nurturing. But as time passed, those thoughts became distant and faded, like a hazy dream slipping through his fingers.

Renji harboured no ill will towards his parents; they were strangers to him, mere figures lost in the annals of history. He felt neither love nor hate, for how could he love or hate those whom he had never known? Instead, a sense of detachment settled upon his soul, a resignation to the reality that they were a part of his past that would forever remain unknown.

As for Renji's relationship with his uncle, well, it was a peculiar one, defined by a stark contrast in their personalities and priorities. Mizuna, a Saiyan driven by the primal thrill of battle and the desires of the flesh, often seemed more consumed by his own pursuits than by the responsibility of raising a young Saiyan As a result, Renji found himself in the care of enslaved servants who attended to their daily needs.

Having finished his meal, Renji's gaze shifted to his uncle, who sat across from him at the dining table. The room was filled with the aroma of the morning meal, but an air of detachment hung between them. Mizuna's eyes held a restless glimmer, always seeking the next adventure, the next conquest.

Engaging in a brief dialogue, Renji strained to catch every word that fell from his uncle's lips. Mizuna's voice reverberated through the air, gruff and tinged with annoyance. "I have a mission that I'm heading out for in an hour," he declared, his tone revealing a mixture of irritation and anticipation.

Renji's gaze met his uncle's hardened stare, absorbing the weight of his words before departing.

****

Renji - Lotus child

Mizuna - Japanese Mustard Greens

****

Author's Note:

Hey, guys! I wanted to give you a heads-up about the first few chapters of this story. They might seem to progress at a slower pace, and that's intentional. I wanted to take the time to lay out the main character's thought process and delve into their emotional journey. It's important to establish a solid foundation for the story's development.

I ask for your patience and understanding as we embark on this journey together. I truly believe that with your feedback and my dedication to writing, we can create one of the best Dragon Ball fanfics out there. I know it's a bold claim, but I have faith in our collective ability to craft an amazing story.

So, please stick with me, offer your advice, and let's create something extraordinary. Thank you for your support, and let's make this adventure unforgettable!

Ashlin_17