KAYLE

Zarbon didn’t slow down for me.

Not once.

His pace stayed steady, forcing me to either keep up or fall behind like something being dragged along. I matched it, of course. Letting him see even a hint of hesitation would’ve been a mistake.

I knew I was playing with fire, Frieza wasn’t someone you could play and come out unscathed, but he was the only option I had if I wanted my revenge.

Frieza would take care of Escarot for me, and my son would take care of Frieza when the time came, I just had to play my cards right.

As we walked through the commanding ship, the halls stretched on, polished to the point of distortion. Every step echoed, reminding me how out of place I was here, in how much danger I was.

I could feel it in my chest, a quiet pressure that didn’t come from gravity, but from fear. But as much as I feared that bastard, I hated the other one even more.

Zarbon finally spoke, but he didn’t turn his head. “Try not to embarrass yourself, monkey,” he said, his tone flat, dismissive. “Lord Frieza’s patience isn’t… generous.”

I didn’t answer immediately. My first instinct was to snap back. I buried it. I came too far to die because of my pride.

“I didn’t come here to waste his time,” I said instead.

A pause.

Zarbon gave a faint, humorless sound. “No. You came because you had nowhere else to go.”

But I was still standing.

And that was enough.

I would not walk into this as something broken.

I would walk in as what I was.

A queen.

Zarbon slowed near the massive doors leading to Frieza, his posture adjusting just slightly. Subtle, but noticeable. Even he carried himself differently here.

“Wait,” he said.

I did not answer.

I did not need to.

Moments later, the doors opened, and I stepped inside.

The air changed immediately.

Not heavier—not in a physical sense—but controlled. Like everything inside this chamber existed under a singular will.

And at the center—

Frieza.

Reclining in his hover pod, posture loose, fingers tapping idly against the edge as if time itself bent to his rhythm. His tail curled slowly behind him, deliberate, aware.

He did not look at me when I entered.

Which made it worse.

I stopped at a measured distance and lowered my head just enough.

“My lord.”

Silence followed.

Then—

“…My, my.”

His voice was smooth. Calm. Almost amused.

“You’ve come a long way,” he said, turning his head slightly toward me. “For someone in your… condition.”

His gaze moved across me slowly.

“I trust the journey wasn’t too taxing?”

“It was… manageable, my lord.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I imagine it was.”

His tail flicked once.

“I must admit,” he continued, “I did not expect you to seek me out after your… unfortunate fall.”

“I go where necessity demands, my lord.”

“Mm,” he hummed softly. “I suppose.”

He shifted slightly in his pod.

“And what necessity,” he asked, “brings you before me?”

This was it.

“The current king of Planet Vegeta is preparing an uprising against your rule.”

“…An uprising,” he repeated, almost thoughtfully.

He tapped his finger once against the pod’s edge.

“How very… ambitious, and foolish.”

His eyes settled on me now, sharper.

“I assume you have something more substantial than concern to offer, because words alone prove nothing.”

“I do.”

I stepped forward slightly—not too much.

“He has been planning this from the moment he took the throne. Everything he has done since then has been calculated. Controlled. He presents himself as obedient, restrained… but it is a facade.”

Frieza’s gaze did not leave me.

“The real reason he killed King Vegeta, my mate,” I continued, “was because my mate refused to support his plans. He revealed them, and when he was denied… he acted.”

A pause.

Frieza leaned back slightly.

“Ohohohoho~” he laughed, clapping his hands once. “I would’ve love to see that in that.”

“He hides his strength,” I added, ignoring the rage that his laugh over my mate’s death brought upon me. “Suppresses it. He has learned to conceal his true power in a way that is… unnatural.”

That caught something.

A flicker of interest.

“He presents himself as unremarkable,” I continued, “so that he may move without scrutiny. So that when the moment comes… he can strike.”

Frieza was quiet.

Then—

A soft chuckle escaped him.

“…Ah.”

He tilted his head slightly, something almost amused settling into his expression.

“How curious.”

His fingers stilled against the pod.

“You know…” he said slowly, almost idly, “that would explain something that has been… bothering me for quite a while.”

I stayed silent.

Let him speak.

“My father mentioned,” he continued, “that Beerus had taken a… peculiar interest in that child.”

His smile thinned slightly.

“Visits. Attention. An unusual level of tolerance.”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“At the time, I assumed it was simply… whimsy, Beerus is known for that and more.”

A pause.

“But if what you’re suggesting is true…”

His tail curled tighter.

“…then perhaps there is more to him than he allowed me to see.”

There it was.

Hooked.

Not fully convinced.

But interested.

Like a fish nibbling at a tempting bait, not fully convinced but unable to resist the allure of the unknown.

And that was enough.

“I believe he is counting on being underestimated, my lord.”

Frieza’s gaze returned fully to me.

“And you believe,” he said, “that I would overlook such a thing?”

“I believe,” I replied carefully, “that he is trying to ensure you do.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“Delightful.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“You are asking me to believe that a Saiyan child has not only seized power… but has also learned restraint, deception, and long-term strategy.”

His smile widened.

“That would be quite the development for your species.”

I held his gaze.

“It is why I am here.”

A pause.

“You have every reason to lie to me,” he said lightly.

“I do.”

That made his smile sharpen.

“But that does not make me wrong.”

“And what is it you hope to gain from this?” he asked.

“My son’s future.”

A flicker of acknowledgment.

“You mean to reclaim what was lost.”

“I mean to ensure the Saiyan race remains useful to you, my lord.”

That earned a soft laugh.

“Ohohohoho~ Well said, monkey.”

He leaned back again.

“Very well,” he said.

“Let us assume, for a moment, that you are telling the truth.”

His eyes locked onto mine.

“What would you have me do?”

“I do not presume to command your hand, my lord,” I said. “Only to warn you.”

Frieza smiled.

“Such humility,” He tilted his head. “But what you truly want is the King’s head delivered to you, is it not?”

“I only want what you command, my lord,” I replied, keeping my head down.

Frieza’s smile did not falter. If anything, it sharpened.

“…Of course you do,” he said softly, his tone smooth, almost approving. His tail curled behind him, slow and deliberate, the tip flicking from side to side.

I kept my head lowered, forcing myself to stay still under his gaze. It felt heavier now. Not because of power, but because of attention. I had it. Fully.

“And yet,” he continued, “you come to me with a story that serves you quite well, if I do say so myself.”

A pause.

“Your mate is dead. Your throne is gone. And now… you present me with a convenient traitor.”

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

From this point forward, breathing out of line would end up in my demise, I needed to be careful.

“You understand,” he said lightly, “how that might appear.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A small silence followed.

Then—

“Ohohoho…”

The laugh was quiet, just enough to remind me how little this mattered to him.

“I do enjoy this,” he said. “It has been quite some time since a someone has attempted something so… stupid.”

His fingers tapped once against the edge of his chair as he leaned back slightly, looking at me.

“You see,” he went on, “normally I would dismiss something like this outright.”

My chest tightened.

“But…”

His eyes narrowed just slightly.

“I have learned not to ignore… such rumors.”

Frieza was quiet for a moment, studying me again.

Then—

“I do dislike liars,” he said softly. “And I believe you are lying, at least partially…”

My breath caught, just for a second.

“But…” he added, almost idly, “I dislike the idea of being deceived far more.”

He tapped his finger once more against the pod.

“Zarbon.”

The doors opened immediately.

“Yes, my lord.”

Frieza did not look at him. His gaze remained on me.

“Prepare the ship,” he said. “We will be making a visit to Planet Vegeta.”

Zarbon nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

The doors slid shut again.

I stayed where I was, unmoving, even as something tightened in my chest.

Frieza leaned forward slightly now, resting his chin against his hand.

“I think,” he said softly, “I would very much like to see this… king for myself.”

His eyes held mine.

And for a moment, I saw nothing in them but my death.

“I trust,” he said lightly, “that you understand what happens if you’ve wasted my time.”

My throat felt tight again.

“Yes, my lord.”

Frieza smiled.

“Good.”

He leaned back once more, relaxed.

“For your sake,” he added idly, “I do hope this Escarot proves to be exactly what you claim.”

COOLER

Salsa did not make a habit of interrupting me lightly.

The second was that he didn’t announce himself as it was expected of him, I knew something was off. There was a slight hesitation in the way he entered the chamber—subtle, but enough to draw my attention away from the tactical display hovering in front of me.

I did not turn immediately.

If the matter was worth my time, he would speak.

“My lord,” Salsa said, bowing his head just enough to acknowledge rank without wasting motion, “we’ve received confirmed movement orders from Frieza’s fleet.”

That earned my attention.

I let the projection in front of me fade with a flick of my fingers before finally turning to face him.

“Go on,” I said.

Salsa stepped forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back.

“Frieza has set a course for Planet Vegeta. Based on current projections, his fleet will arrive in approximately two months.”

Silence followed.

Not because I was surprised.

But because I was confirming what I already suspected.

“…Of course he has,” I murmured.

My tail moved slowly behind me, a measured arc rather than a flick. Frieza did not mobilize personally without reason. He preferred distance. Delegation. Spectacle when necessary—but rarely direct involvement unless something had captured his attention.

Or threatened his control. Or pathetic excuse of an ego.

I walked past Salsa without another word, stopping just before the viewing panel.

Two months.

This would affect my plans, but I could work with this.

“He intends to destroy the planet,” I said, more to myself than to Salsa.

There was no question in it.

Salsa nodded.

“That is the most likely outcome, my lord.”

“Yes,” I replied calmly. “It is.”

Frieza could pretend composure. He often did. Polished speech, refined demeanor, carefully measured cruelty. But I knew him better than most.

Beneath that surface—

He was impulsive.

Petty.

Reactive.

A fearful little child.

And when presented with even the suggestion of rebellion, of anything that could threaten his rule, he did not investigate.

He eradicated.

I closed my eyes briefly.

“…He’s already made his decision,” I said.

This was Escarot’s fault.

Only a fool would let the prior rulers of a planet; survive after take over, that was asking for a rebellion.

“She went to him,” I said.

Salsa nodded.

“Yes, my lord. Our intelligence confirms she has already made contact.”

Of course she had.

A woman stripped of power, of status, of control—driven not by logic, but by entitlement and vengeance. There was never any doubt as to what she would do when given the opportunity.

She would burn everything.

Even if it meant burning herself in the process.

“She would not even need to be convincing.”

Salsa’s brow furrowed slightly.

“My lord?”

I glanced at him.

“Frieza does not require proof,” I explained calmly. “He requires justification. The mere possibility of disobedience is sufficient.”

Understanding dawned on his face.

“So he will act regardless of the truth.”

“Precisely.”

And that was the problem.

Not the accusation.

Not the queen.

Frieza himself.

Unpredictable in his predictability.

I began pacing slowly, my thoughts aligning into a clearer structure.

Two months.

That was how long we had.

Perhaps less, depending on acceleration protocols.

Which meant—

Everything had changed.

Not the objective.

That remained the same.

But the pace.

The conditions.

The margins for error.

“…This complicates matters,” I admitted.

Salsa remained composed.

“Shall I begin mobilizing our forces, my lord?”

I stopped.

Considered the suggestion.

Then shook my head.

“No.”

He blinked.

“My lord?”

“Not yet,” I said. “A direct confrontation now would be… inefficient.”

That was putting it mildly.

Frieza alone was not the concern.

It was the combination.

Frieza and Father.

Together, they represented a variable I had no intention of engaging prematurely.

I resumed walking.

“Escarot is not ready,” I said.

The boy had potential.

But potential did not equate to capability.

Not yet.

“And yet,” I continued, “he may not have the luxury of time.”

That was the dilemma.

Allow Frieza to arrive unchallenged, and Planet Vegeta would be reduced to ash.

Intervene too early, and we would be forced into a confrontation we were not prepared to win.

A narrow path.

One that required precision.

“…We will need to accelerate our timeline,” I concluded.