Five years. The number echoed in Aira's mind as she stood on the desolate planet, Zarbon's battered form crumpled at her feet.
Her base power had long since surpassed one hundred million—a level that would have been unimaginable to the girl who had fled Planet Vegeta. But with that milestone had come the inevitable slowdown. The rapid, exhilarating climbs of her youth had plateaued into a frustrating crawl. Every day, she trained. Every day, she pushed. And every day, the needle barely moved.
She knew the cure. Rhode had given her the map: Super Saiyan.
The three conditions were met. Her power was more than sufficient. Her S-Cells, nurtured by years of peaceful, stable life on Earth—guarding his legacy, maintaining his routines—had flourished. The only missing piece was the catalyst. The emotional storm.
But five years of peace had smoothed her rough edges. Her temper, once a wildfire, was now a carefully banked coal. And in all of Universe 7, there was no enemy who could threaten her. With her perfected Great Ape Power, her maximum output exceeded one billion. She was a god walking among mortals.
Frieza still lived. She had considered it, more than once. But Rhode's words echoed in her memory: karma. The Saiyans' past atrocities... perhaps their destruction was a bitter justice. And Rhode had claimed Frieza as his own. She would not steal that from him.
Then, a year ago, the Namekian distress signal. Zarbon.
Aira remembered the name. Rhode had mentioned him—a lieutenant of some universal pirate, one of the thugs they had encountered after their Time Chamber training. The opportunity was perfect. A decent opponent, a chance to test herself, perhaps even a spark for the transformation she sought.
She had descended on Namek like a wrathful goddess. Zarbon's underlings were obliterated in moments. And then... she had sensed him. Zarbon himself. His power level, in his base form, was nearly identical to hers. Around one hundred million.
Finally. An equal.
She had not killed him. Instead, she had dragged him to a barren world and unleashed a year of frustration in a brutal, one-sided beatdown. Again and again, every few weeks, she would find him, wherever he fled, and they would fight.
But "fight" was a generous term. Zarbon, for all his power, was a mediocre combatant. Against Aira's refined skill and ruthless efficiency, he was less an opponent and more a punching bag. His power crept upward, slowly, under the pressure. But Aira's, even at her bottleneck, crept faster. The gap never closed. The pressure she needed, the life-or-death crisis that might ignite the golden flame, never materialized.
Now, a year later, her power hovered near one hundred ten million. Zarbon's was perhaps one hundred five million. A negligible difference, but in actual combat, it was an insurmountable canyon.
She looked down at him, this "tool" that had failed its purpose. There was no anger in her gaze, only cold, clinical assessment.
He's useless to me now.
The thought was calm, final. She raised her hand, energy gathering at her palm. No more games. No more waiting. Zarbon's role in her journey was over.
Aira's eyes narrowed as the pieces clicked into place. Zarbon, the coward she had beaten senseless a dozen times, voluntarily invading Namek? It made no sense—unless it was bait. A trap, carefully laid, with her as the intended prey.
Interesting.
"Bulma. What exactly did the Namekians say?"
Little Bulma, still catching her breath, recited the message. "They said to go to specific coordinates. If you don't show up... they'll destroy Namek. Here." She handed Aira a small notebook with star system coordinates scrawled inside.
Aira didn't need to check. She already knew. With a thought, she activated Super Instant Transmission's holographic map. The coordinates in the notebook aligned perfectly with the barren planet where Zarbon currently sat alone, his energy signature the only blip on the sensors.
No other life forms. No hidden army. Just Zarbon.
A conspiracy? Obviously. But what kind?
A slow, dangerous smile curved Aira's lips. For five years, she had waited for a spark. For a crisis worthy of her power. For something—anything—that might finally ignite the golden flame within her.
This felt like that spark.
"Bulma." Her voice was calm, but carried an undercurrent of anticipation. "I understand. You can go now."
Little Bulma hesitated, worry plain on her young face. She wasn't a warrior, but she was brilliant. She knew a trap when she saw one. "Sister Aira... be careful."
Aira's smile softened, just a fraction. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
She watched Bulma leave, then turned her gaze skyward, as if she could see through the atmosphere, through space itself, to that distant, desolate world.
Whoever you are, whatever you've planned... thank you. You might just be giving me exactly what I've been waiting for.
In a flash of light, she was gone.