Vitelli plans his "death" with cold precision—while Frieza casually sends Dodoria to turn the prince's first mission into a slaughter.
Morning on Planet Vegeta was wrapped in a dull, gray metallic sheen.
Vitelli pushed open his courtyard gate with a small pack slung over his shoulder—inside were only two clean spare battle suits.
He glanced back once.
The gravity chamber sat solid and squat in the backyard, its silver-gray shell catching the faint light with a hard, icy glow. A thread of regret crossed his mind.
"If only I could pack it up and take it with me…"
But Planet Vegeta didn't have Capsule technology. No convenient spatial compression. No magic solution.
Then he snorted internally.
On Earth, Bulma's family could build gravity rooms that reached hundreds of times normal pull. Losing this one was nothing in the long run.
He didn't linger.
He turned, steadied his aura, and flew toward the spaceport.
At Spaceport Hangar Three, a huge disc-shaped ship prepared for the mission was already waiting.
Raditz was speaking quietly with an alien official wearing Frieza Force uniform. Vitelli landed without a sound and didn't interrupt—he simply stood nearby and listened.
"Planet Sofu," the official said in a flat, procedural tone, pointing to a planet hologram projected from his tablet. "A mid-tier world led by technological civilization. Their primary resistance is automated defense systems and combat robots."
He continued, voice still emotionless.
"Based on preliminary reconnaissance, the strongest units are estimated around five thousand battle power. For your squad, it shouldn't be difficult."
Then he added the key detail.
"The planet has a stable satellite orbit. There is a moon. If you encounter trouble, you can trigger Great Ape transformation to reverse the situation. This world was selected carefully—on paper, there should be no surprises."
Vitelli nodded slightly to himself.
Robots as the main resistance meant predictable combat patterns—less trickery, more raw output and destructive capability. For someone who had already learned to manipulate ki and whose body had been reforged under extreme gravity, it was a clean field test.
And the moon was a safety net.
While Raditz continued receiving instructions, Vitelli's mind ran cold calculations.
Beat the robots quickly. Locate the central command base. Destroy it fast.
Then—at the right moment—release a controlled surge, around thirty thousand power, enough to create the illusion of a fatal mutual destruction event.
If anything went wrong, there was a second option.
Cut off his own tail.
Leave it somewhere obvious.
Let them find the proof and believe the rest of him had been erased.
Perfect.
He almost felt like applauding himself.
A sudden, urgent whistle of air cut through the morning.
Nappa—face bruised and swollen, walking with a slight limp—descended carefully beside a small figure.
Prince Vegeta.
The young prince's battle suit looked especially new today. His chin was lifted, posture sharpened into deliberate superiority.
The moment he spotted Vitelli, his eyes flared with battle intent—
and a smug confidence that suggested he believed he'd uncovered Vitelli's secret.
"Hey, Vitelli!"
Vegeta strode directly up, voice raised to ensure everyone heard it.
"You think you can hide your secret forever? The gravity room—so that's how you got stronger, right?!"
Vitelli simply looked at him, calm, a faint almost-smile at the corner of his mouth.
No denial.
No confirmation.
That indifference lit Vegeta's temper like gasoline.
"Not answering? That means you admit it!"
Vegeta stepped closer until his small frame nearly pressed against Vitelli's body. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous certainty.
"Listen carefully—one month ago, you only won because you caught me off guard!"
He clenched his fist.
A violent aura burst out—still childish in shape, but far stronger than most Saiyan warriors.
Then he delivered it like a verdict.
"My battle power has already broken twenty thousand!"
Vegeta's voice was thick with arrogant pride. He raised his thumb—the familiar, obnoxious gesture—and stabbed it toward his own chest with absolute confidence.
"You relied on an external shortcut like gravity training, but you're still just an ordinary Saiyan. You've already hit your ceiling!"
His grin sharpened.
"In front of me, you're just an insect I can crush whenever I feel like it. Understand?!"
Vitelli stared at the gesture.
The same posture that always looked like it existed purely to be punished by reality.
Inside, he felt nothing.
He almost found it funny.
Twenty thousand was fast growth. Vegeta really was a genius.
But he was still too green.
His control was crude. His instincts were shallow. His understanding of combat was nowhere close.
Vitelli had no interest in wasting time on a pre-departure circus.
So while Vegeta was still talking—
Vitelli moved.
Snap.
A clean, sharp impact.
His hand flashed out and chopped precisely into the back of Vegeta's neck.
The force was perfect—enough to interrupt neural transmission and drop him instantly, but controlled so it didn't cause real damage.
Vegeta's face froze mid-arrogance.
His eyes widened in pure disbelief.
Only a short, broken sound escaped his throat.
"Uh—"
Then his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
"PRINCE VEGETA!"
Nappa and Raditz screamed at the same time.
They watched in horror as Vitelli casually caught the falling prince and lifted him one-handed like a child's doll.
Raditz's finger shook as he pointed.
"Y-You—are you insane?! Do you know what you've done?!"
Nappa's muscles tightened as if he might lunge—yet the fear behind his eyes betrayed him.
Vitelli swept his gaze over them.
No expression.
But the chill in his eyes hit like winter air.
Both of them froze.
"Shut up," Vitelli said calmly.
"Too much nonsense. We're leaving."
He carried Vegeta toward the open hatch of the disc-shaped ship.
Nappa's mouth opened again—desperate to protest.
Vitelli paused.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes turning into knives.
A pressure dropped onto Nappa's entire body—silent, heavy, suffocating—like a mountain pressing him into the ground.
"You," Vitelli said, voice still flat, each word deliberate, "want to die?"
Nappa's entire body shuddered.
Sweat erupted instantly.
Every word he'd been about to speak died in his throat. He didn't doubt it—one more sentence, and this "guard" would snap his neck without hesitation.
He swallowed hard and lowered his head in humiliation.
Raditz looked like he might faint.
So the four of them—counting the unconscious prince—boarded the ship under an atmosphere that felt wrong, tense, and sharp enough to cut skin.
The hatch sealed.
Engines rumbled.
The disc-shaped craft rose, tore through Planet Vegeta's gray atmosphere, and became a streak of light vanishing into the endless starfield.
Inside the ship, Vitelli stuffed Vegeta into a sleep pod and set the wake-up timer for twenty-four hours before arrival.
Then he walked to a more isolated section of the ship, ignored Nappa and Raditz's complicated expressions, and entered.
The door shut behind him.
A moment later, the low hum of a sleep pod could be heard from within.
Nappa and Raditz exchanged a look.
In each other's eyes they found the same thing:
Helplessness.
And fear.
They said nothing.
They moved to their own pods and lay down. Cold sleep fluid filled their chambers, and their consciousness blurred into darkness.
The voyage began.
Destination: Planet Sofu.
Travel time: six months.
Far away, deep in the North Galaxy—
Frieza Force headquarters.
A colossal steel fortress floated inside a brilliant nebula, luxurious and cold in equal measure—beauty built from cruelty.
Frieza lounged comfortably in his signature hover chair like a spoiled child on a throne. His long, thin fingers tapped the armrest with an elegant rhythm while he listened to a subordinate's report.
A small alien knelt on the floor, forehead pressed low.
"Lord Frieza, we confirm the Saiyan prince Vegeta has departed for Planet Sofu, escorted by three elite Saiyan warriors."
"Ohohohoho…"
Frieza's laughter spilled out soft and delighted, carrying that particular blend of amusement and malice. His red eyes gleamed.
"Our little Prince Vegeta has finally reached the age to see the universe, hasn't he? How exciting."
He turned his gaze toward two figures beside him.
Cui—tall, lean, blue-skinned—stood alert and obedient.
Dodoria—thick-bodied, pink-skinned, heavy as a boulder—waited with barely restrained impatience, violence always close to the surface of his expression.
"Cui-san. Dodoria-san."
Frieza's voice carried the lazy warmth of a cat watching trapped prey.
"As a kind and benevolent ruler… shouldn't I send someone to guide this inexperienced young prince? After all, the battlefield can be quite dangerous."
His smile widened slightly.
"If King Vegeta's precious only son were to suffer an unfortunate accident… that would be such a tragedy. Hehehe…"
Cui stepped forward immediately, face folded into flattery.
"Lord Frieza speaks wisely! Prince Vegeta is young and lacks experience. We are all honored servants of Lord Frieza—sending a seasoned subordinate to assist and educate the prince would be most appropriate. It truly demonstrates your meticulous care for your followers!"
Dodoria thumped his chest and nodded along, voice rough and eager.
"Cui's right! We'll do whatever you say! You tell us who to send, and we send them!"
Frieza looked pleased.
His hover chair drifted slightly as his eyes moved between the two.
Then the red gaze settled on Dodoria.
Frieza smiled—innocent and pure, like a child offering candy.
It made the room feel colder.
"Then I'll trouble you, Dodoria-san," Frieza said sweetly. "Please… take a trip."
He emphasized the politeness like a knife sliding in.
"Teaching young people can require… a firmer hand."
He paused, smile unchanged, and added lightly—almost casually—
"You may be strict. Help them understand the cruelty of the universe… and the difference in power."
His eyes narrowed, laughter hiding behind the words.
"But do try to leave Prince Vegeta alive."
He tilted his head, voice turning playful again.
"As for the others… hehehe… don't kill them all. It's important that our prince gets a little taste of the battlefield's reality."
"And," Frieza added softly, smile widening, "someone will need to describe the experience to King Vegeta afterwards. Don't you agree, Dodoria-san?"
Dodoria dropped to one knee immediately, head bowed deeply.
A savage grin pulled at his mouth.
"Understood, Lord Frieza! Please rest assured! I'll educate Prince Vegeta and his guards properly—so they'll remember it for the rest of their lives!"
Frieza nodded in satisfaction and waved a hand.
Dodoria rose.
His massive body moved with heavy excitement, hunger barely contained, as he strode out to prepare for the "lesson."
Frieza leaned back.
He closed his eyes with a pleased hum.
In the spotless window beside him, his reflection stared back—an angelic face twisted together with cruelty so natural it felt effortless.
And somewhere out in the stars—
the first mission had already become a trap.
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