Granolah jolted awake, his vision blurry as consciousness returned. Cold sweat drenched his face and neck, matting his hair against his forehead. His heart hammered in his chest as fragments of his battle with the Saiyan flashed through his mind. The pain in his body was still present, a dull ache that reminded him of his defeat.
"Grandpa, am I still alive?" Granolah asked, his voice trembling as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His muscles protested with each movement, and he couldn't stop the violent shivers that ran through his frame.
Monaito moved closer to his side, his elderly face lined with concern. The old Namekian placed a comforting hand on Granolah's shoulder. "Yes, you're still alive, you don't need to worry," Monaito said softly, his voice carrying the gentle wisdom of his years.
Granolah's eyes darted around the room frantically, scanning every corner and shadow. His breathing quickened, and he clutched at the bedding beneath him. "Where is that Saiyan?" His face had gone deathly pale as he continued searching for any sign of Renkon, the warrior who had so thoroughly defeated him.
"He has left." Monaito sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly.
Confusion registered on Granolah's face, temporarily replacing his fear. "Left? Where to?" He furrowed his brow, trying to understand why a Saiyan would spare him after their battle.
Monaito's lips curved into a slight smile as he looked toward the window, where the vast expanse of stars was visible. "Maybe for sightseeing," he pondered aloud, his tone suggesting there was more to it than he was saying.
Granolah's expression deadpanned. "…"
Grandpa are you still treating me as a four-year-old child? he thought, but kept the sentiment to himself out of respect.
The old Namekian turned back to face his ward, his expression growing more serious. "Granolah, did you see how strong that Saiyan was?" Monaito leaned forward, his eyes seeking to impart understanding. "You will only get stronger if you let go of the hatred in your heart." His voice was gentle but firm, carrying the weight of someone who had seen the destructive power of hatred firsthand.
Granolah shook his head vigorously, wincing slightly at the pain the motion caused. "But grandpa, if I let go of that hatred, I will lose the motivation to practice." His fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles whitening. The memory of his people's destruction was still a raw wound in his soul.
"I told you; hatred will only deceive your mind..." Monaito placed both hands on Granolah's shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. "You're a kind little boy..." The old Namekian tried to reach the heart of the young warrior beneath the layers of anger and vengeance.
"Being kind didn't help my people!" Granolah snapped, jerking away from Monaito's touch. He gritted his teeth so hard that a sharp pain shot through his jaw. His eyes burned with unshed tears of frustration and determination. "I know the gap between me and that Saiyan. I will practice harder, and one day, I will surpass him."
Monaito didn't press further, recognizing the futility of the argument at this moment. Instead, he turned away, his elderly features contemplative. What kind of wish did that Saiyan make? he wondered silently, sensing that there was something unusual about Renkon that set him apart from other Saiyans.
The endless void of space stretched in all directions, a canvas of infinite darkness punctuated by the distant glow of stars and nebulae. Against this backdrop, Renkon floated freely, his powerful Saiyan body completely at ease in the vacuum that would kill most beings instantly.
He spread his arms wide, feeling the absolute zero temperature against his skin without discomfort. The cosmic radiation washed over him harmlessly.
It feels good, Renkon thought, savouring the sensation.
A small smile played on his lips as he rotated slowly, taking in the panoramic view of the universe. It's great to be able to survive in the universe.
He flexed his muscles experimentally, feeling the immense power flowing through them. His recent battle with Granolah had barely taxed his abilities, but it had given him valuable insights into his current limitations.
At least I feel that there is no shortcoming for the time being.
His brow furrowed slightly as a new thought entered his mind. But where should I go next?
Renkon knew that his journey had only begun. For a higher level of power, he understood that only by following Whis's methods of practice would he get substantially stronger. And on that path, he needed to learn Ultra Instinct from the best possible source—the angels themselves.
A memory from his previous life flashed before him: standing in a modest kitchen, the sizzle of ingredients in a pan, the aroma of spices filling the air. Fortunately, Renkon had been quite skilled at cooking in his previous life.
When he lived alone before, cooking had been both a necessity and a passion. His skill level was decent—not professional, but with focused effort, he could reach the level of a chef. Now, that previous experience might become his most asset.
But how would he get to the planet where Beerus resided?
At this time, the God of Destruction should be sleeping, if the timeline matched what he remembered. And before attempting to visit Beerus's planet, shouldn't he find a place to improve his cooking skills first?
Renkon nodded to himself decisively. He needed to refine his culinary talents until his creations were considered the most delicious food on whatever planet he chose to settle on. Only then would he meet Whis's exacting standards.
Perhaps then, he thought with anticipation, Whis will be the one who comes to see me.
With his plan taking shape, Renkon reached into his pocket and retrieved a small remote control for his spaceship. The device looked almost comically small in his powerful hands.
Peep!
He pressed the button with a deliberate motion.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, the spaceship materialized beside him, its sleek design contrasting with the chaotic beauty of space. Renkon glided toward it effortlessly and stepped inside, immediately activating the navigation system to search for a suitable planet.
After exploring the universe for some time, scanning dozens of potential locations, Renkon finally found what he considered the perfect place.
The planet was called Vanford.
Its population was diverse, a melting pot of various species living together in relative harmony. What made it truly special, however, was its reputation for exceptional cuisine.
It was said that the chocolate and other delicacies enjoyed by Frieza, and his inner circle were transported from this very planet.
Interestingly, Frieza's Legion hadn't claimed Vanford as part of their territory. The tyrant had specifically stated that the planet should develop on its own, without excessive interference.
The reason was simple: Frieza understood that Beerus appreciated fine food. If his meddling caused the quality of Vanford's cuisine to decline, the God of Destruction would certainly Hakai him without a second thought.
After his spacecraft touched down on Vanford's surface, Renkon spent several days exploring the local culture and cuisine. He observed the bustling marketplaces, sampled the renowned dishes, and formulated his plan.
Finally, he made his decision. Renkon opened a milk tea shop.
And he sold only milk tea, nothing else.
After conducting careful research, Renkon had discovered that despite Vanford's reputation for exquisite food, the concept of milk tea was completely unknown to its inhabitants. It would be a wasted opportunity not to introduce this beverage that had taken Earth by storm in his previous life.
The shop was modest but welcoming, with a distinctive aroma that drew curious passersby. Renkon worked tirelessly, perfecting his recipes and techniques, incorporating local ingredients to create flavour profiles that would appeal to the diverse palates of Vanford's population.
Word spread quickly. The new beverage became a sensation across the planet. Soon, aliens were traveling thousands of light-years just to taste Renkon's creation. His reputation grew, and business flourished for several months.
The vast expanse of the starry sky provided a dramatic backdrop for Frieza's imposing spacecraft as it hovered above Planet Vegeta.
"Ohohoho~."
Frieza stood at the large viewing window, his slender finger extended as death gathered at its tip. With a casual wave of his hand and a maniacal laugh, a concentrated beam of energy shot toward the planet below.
Planet Vegeta trembled for a brief moment before erupting in a cataclysmic explosion, transformed into nothing more than cosmic dust scattered across the void.
Boom!!
"Wahahaha!" Frieza's cruel laughter intensified as he watched the home world of the Saiyans disintegrate, taking with it almost the entire race. His red eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the genocide he had just committed.
Super Saiyan is simply a joke, he thought dismissively, recalling the legend that had partly motivated his decision to eliminate the Saiyans.
After savouring the destruction for a while longer, Frieza turned away from the viewing window and returned to the interior of his spaceship, his hover chair humming softly as it moved through the corridors.
In the ship's luxurious main chamber, Berryblue awaited him with practiced deference. The diminutive, blue-skinned advisor held something in her hands—a cup containing an unfamiliar beverage.
"Lord Frieza, you have worked hard," she said with a slight bow. "This is a popular drink from planet Vanford. Please take a seat, relax, and enjoy it." Berryblue offered the cup with both hands, the gesture one of complete subservience.
Frieza's eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity. "Oh? What kind of drink is this?" He accepted the cup, examining the liquid inside with mild interest.
"It's called milk tea," Berryblue explained, a small smile on her aged face. "It's said to be made from a mixture of milk and tea. It's specially processed and prepared." Her smile widened slightly. "Please try it, my lord."
Frieza raised the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened in genuine surprise at the pleasant taste that flooded his mouth—sweet but not cloying, with complex notes that complemented each other perfectly.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed, taking another, larger sip. "I never thought they would come up with something like this." His voice held a rare note of sincere approval. "Do you know who made the recipe for this drink?" Frieza asked, his curiosity piqued.
Berryblue hesitated for just a fraction of a second before responding. "It's said that the person who developed this drink was a Saiyan," she said carefully, her eyes briefly glancing toward the viewing window where Planet Vegeta had been visible just moments ago.
"Oh?" Frieza's expression darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "So there are surviving Saiyans hiding on planet Vanford!" His tail twitched with irritation at the thought.
"But according to our investigation," Berryblue added quickly, "this Saiyan's power level is only 100, which isn't to be feared." She kept her tone even, presenting the information as neutrally as possible.
"Only 100?" Frieza's expression shifted to one of amusement, the tension in his posture easing. "Are you sure he's a Saiyan?" A slight smile played on his purple lips. "He can't even be considered a warrior by their standards."
"Yes," Berryblue confirmed with a deferential nod.
Frieza took another sip of the milk tea, considering the situation. "Forget it, don't worry about him," he finally decided, the smile still lingering on his face. "Besides, I still want to drink his milk tea. It would be a pity to kill him."
"Yes, Lord Frieza," Berryblue responded, relief barely concealed in her voice.
Frieza swirled the remaining liquid in his cup thoughtfully. "Speaking of which," he began in a casual tone, "didn't we send two soldiers to track down a Saiyan who ran away a few months ago? One with a power level of 100?"
Berryblue's expression shifted to one of mild discomfort. "It seems that their spaceships malfunctioned and were destroyed in outer space," she explained with a slight grimace.
"Forget it," Frieza said after a moment of contemplation, then sighed dismissively.
"If we include these two," Berryblue noted, tallying the survivors in her mind, "it seems that there were a few Saiyans who survived the planet's destruction." She met Frieza's gaze steadily. "Two with combat power of 100, as well as Vegeta, Napa, and Raditz."
At the mention of the young prince, Frieza's expression transformed into one of malevolent amusement. "Speaking of that brat," he said, leaning forward slightly in his hover chair, "is the little prince's plan ready to be performed?" His eyes glinted with cruel anticipation, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he contemplated the future, he had designed for the remaining Saiyans—a future of servitude, humiliation, and eventual extinction.