"Gran-aniki!"
"Lord Gran!"
Both little Broly and Bulma cried out in surprise.
The newcomer was indeed Gran.
Seeing this mysterious figure appear out of thin air, and hearing the respectful way Broly and Bulma addressed him, Jaco and Tights reacted instantly. This was the legendary deity Bulma had been talking about. Their bodies tensed instinctively, and they quickly bowed in deep respect.
"Greetings, Lord Gran," they said in unison.
Tights and Jaco were no fools. Any being capable of granting eternal youth was a power to be feared and respected. While keeping their heads low, they couldn't help but steal curious glances at the "god" before them.
He wore golden armbands and a single, distinctive earring—a mark of a Destroyer. His clothing appeared ancient and regal, and a faint, heavy pressure seemed to radiate from him, making him look every bit the primordial deity.
The only thing that felt out of place was how remarkably young he looked.
"Hmm?" Gran stood on the sand, glancing toward the source of the voices.
At this point in time, Tights hadn't cut her hair short yet. She bore a strong resemblance to Bulma, though she was clearly more mature and curvaceous—like a ripe peach compared to her younger sister. As for the other person, the "Ultraman-looking" Galactic Patrolman was obviously Jaco.
As for his strength? Total trash.
Gran was mildly surprised that Bulma had actually managed to track down her sister in just half a day. He gave Tights and Jaco a brief look before turning his attention back to Bulma.
"Let's go. It's time to head back to Earth."
Little Broly, always the obedient one, immediately moved to Gran's side. Bulma, however, stayed rooted to the spot, looking like she wanted to say something but was hesitating.
"What is it?" Gran asked, sensing her conflict.
"Lord Gran... could you possibly take me to the East Galaxy?" Bulma blurted out, quickly explaining the trouble her sister was facing.
Tight's eyes lit up. This man was a god; surely he could get them to the East Galaxy in the blink of an eye. The only question was whether he'd actually bother to help.
"Take you to the East Galaxy?" Gran narrowed his eyes.
"Please?" Bulma looked at him with puppy-dog eyes, full of expectation.
Gran's voice remained flat. "No. I've finished my business out here. I'm heading back to Earth to focus on my training." He needed a year to mentally prepare before entering the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.
"Oh..." Bulma's face fell. She had really hoped Gran would agree, especially since she'd been acting as his "assistant" for so long.
"If Lord Gran is busy, then don't worry about it, Bulma," Tights said, stepping over to pat her sister's shoulder. "I'll be fine here. Once I finish this book, I'll find my way back to Earth."
Based on Bulma's description, this man was a god who governed "Destruction." One did not simply argue with a Hakaishin Candidate.
"But Sis...!" Bulma was getting desperate.
"Bulma, are you coming or not? If you're staying, I'm leaving without you," Gran said, taking Broly's hand and pressing two fingers to his forehead.
"Lord Gran, you're so mean! I'm just asking for a lift, it's not like I'm asking you to fight the criminal yourself!"
Left with no choice, Bulma grumpily stomped over. Gran didn't take offense; he was used to her tantrums by now. But as he prepared to warp them home, Bulma muttered under her breath:
"Fine! If Lord Gran won't take me, I'll just go back and ask Whis to do it!"
Gran's expression immediately soured. Knowing Bulma's persuasive methods—likely involving gourmet food—Whis would absolutely agree just to annoy him.
"You've got a lot of nerve," Gran grumbled, shooting her a sideways glare. He sighed in defeat. "Fine. Don't go bothering Whis. I'll take you."
"Really?!" Bulma squealed with excitement. Tights also looked on with renewed hope.
"Are we going or what? Change your mind again and I'm leaving," Gran said impatiently.
"We're going!" Bulma signaled for Tights and Jaco to grab her shoulders, then she reached out and grabbed Gran's.
With a sharp pop, the group vanished instantly.
Planet Bell, East Galaxy
The group of five materialized on the planet's surface.
"This is Planet Bell. I'm giving you exactly one hour," Gran said, surveying the surroundings.
They were standing on a bustling commercial street, filled with a diverse array of alien races going about their business.
"Thank you, Lord Gran!" Bulma cheered, quickly grabbing little Broly. "You're with me! I'll treat you to a massive feast when we get back!"
Broly didn't say anything, but his eyes lit up at the mention of food.
"Let's move!" Bulma grabbed her sister and took to the skies. Since Jaco couldn't fly, he was forced to hitch a ride with Broly.
The sight of four people suddenly taking flight drew immediate attention from the crowds below. Several aliens were already pulling out communication devices to report the anomaly. Gran noticed the movement but didn't care. With Broly there, nothing in this sector could possibly pose a threat.
Gran decided to take a stroll. He soon realized that Planet Bell was a major trading hub, specifically for "planets."
"Real estate again?" Gran frowned.
Usually, only Frieza dealt in that kind of... wait. It wasn't just Frieza. His father, King Cold, and his older brother were all part of the same business. The entire Frieza Race—the Frost Demons—built their empire on planet trafficking.
So, whose territory was this?
Gran found the prospect intriguing. He had been in the Dragon Ball world for a while now but had yet to run into any other members of Frieza's family.
Eventually, Gran found himself standing before the tallest skyscraper on the planet. At that moment, a low hum echoed from above—the sound of powerful ship engines. Gran looked up to see a massive spacecraft descending, landing in a nearby docking bay.
Soon, a figure seated in a small, round hoverchair floated out of the ship's hatch, flanked by three subordinates.
'Those three... they're the Cooler Armored Squadron,' Gran noted, his eyes narrowing at the figure in the hoverchair. 'So, this planet belongs to Cooler.'
In the distance, Cooler—looking very much like his brother Frieza—floated down toward the plaza. He had the classic Frost Demon features: blood-red eyes, dark purple lips, and a white organic carapace covering his head and chest. However, Cooler's base form was slightly different from Frieza's; his head was smooth and rounded, lacking the two black horns.
"Salza, why did Musku insist we come here?"
Cooler's voice was low and raspy, like the hiss of a venomous snake, sent a chill down the spine of anyone listening.
Behind him followed his elite trio: Salza (170,000 power level), Dore (185,000), and Neiz (163,000).
Salza stepped forward, his expression grave. "Musku claims that many of their associates have been targeted by the Galactic Patrol recently."
"The Galactic Patrol?" Cooler rested his chin on one hand, his other hand tapping rhythmically on the edge of his hoverchair. He gave a cold snort. "Musku has a power level of 80,000. Why would he be afraid of those Galactic Patrol weaklings?"
"Lord Cooler, the Galactic Patrol has changed!" Salza pulled out a digital device and checked the latest intel. "According to our reports, a Saiyan began gathering the remaining survivors two years ago and led them into the ranks of the Galactic Patrol. They already had the numbers, but with the Saiyans, they now have high-tier combat power!"
At the mention of Saiyans, a cold light flashed in Cooler's eyes.
There was a saying that had long haunted the Frost Demons: Beware the golden-haired Super Saiyan. It was why he and his father, King Cold, had encouraged Frieza to wipe them out. In Age 737, Frieza had done exactly that, destroying Planet Vegeta.
But Frieza was arrogant. He hadn't taken the warning to heart, keeping Prince Vegeta's squad alive and ignoring the stray Saiyans scattered across the stars.
"My foolish brother's arrogance will be his undoing. If a Super Saiyan actually appears among those monkeys, it'll be quite the show," Cooler sneered.
In truth, Cooler had always known there were survivors. He had been present when Frieza destroyed Planet Vegeta and had even watched as Kakarot's space pod escaped. But the North Galaxy was Frieza's jurisdiction, and Cooler didn't care to clean up his brother's messes. If a Super Saiyan rose up, Frieza would simply reap what he sowed.
"Salza, those monkeys are decent fighters, especially with that ten-fold power boost they get from their Great Ape forms," Cooler said dismissively as he moved his hoverchair forward. "But with Planet Vegeta gone, whatever dregs are left are likely trash. Hard to call that 'high-tier' power."
He still remembered a Saiyan infant with a power level of only 2 flying past his ship all those years ago.
"No, no, Lord Cooler. These Saiyans have become quite terrifying!" Salza's expression grew more serious. "The East Galaxy has been relatively quiet—we've only lost a few subordinates with power levels in the tens of thousands. But in the North Galaxy..."
"Lord Frieza's Ginyu Force... they've been completely wiped out!"
"Oh?" Cooler stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing deeply. "When did this happen?"
While his Armored Squadron was superior to the Ginyu Force, Captain Ginyu himself was no pushover. For someone like him to be killed was genuinely shocking.
"You told us to stay out of the North Galaxy, Lord Cooler, so I'm not sure of the exact timing. But I suspect it has everything to do with those Saiyans!"
Cooler's hoverchair began moving again as he processed the information. Galactic Patrol, Saiyans, the death of the Ginyu Force... he had an uneasy feeling about these shifts in the status quo.
The docking bay was less than a kilometer from the main skyscraper. Cooler reached the entrance in no time.
"Lord Cooler, if the Galactic Patrol thinks they can arrest members of our legion, we should find a time to destroy—"
Salza was cut short. Cooler's hoverchair came to a dead stop.
Standing in front of the building was a lone figure. He looked remarkably like a Saiyan, though he lacked the characteristic tail.
"How dare you block Lord Cooler's path! You're asking for death!" Neiz shouted, raising a hand to fire an energy blast.
"Stop!"
Cooler reached out to block Neiz, his gaze fixed on Gran. He felt a sense of dread. The man's clothing... it felt strangely familiar, as if he'd heard descriptions of it before.
"The eldest son of King Cold, Frieza's older brother, the Emperor of the East Galaxy..."
Gran offered a casual, pleasant smile. "You're Cooler, right? Aren't you going to invite me inside for a seat?" He gestured toward the building.
Salza and the others were speechless. Their master was a terrifying being with a peak power level of 470 million. Who was this guy to speak so casually? Did he have a death wish?
Cooler remained silent. He couldn't read this man at all, but the accessories—the earring, the armbands—triggered a memory. He had definitely heard of someone wearing those specific items.
"I am Cooler. And you are?" Cooler floated out of his hoverchair and stepped toward Gran, extending a hand as if to shake.
"You Frost Demons certainly have manners," Gran noted. He reached out and shook Cooler's hand, his smile becoming even brighter. "As for my name... you can address me as Lord Hakaishin Candidate."
As the words left his lips, a thunderous BOOM echoed from the distance—the sound of a high-level battle.
Suddenly, Salza's scouter flared to life with a distress call: "Captain Salza! The Galactic Patrol brought a Saiyan kid to arrest me! Help! Help me—!!"
Salza's face went pale, and he turned to look at Cooler.
He didn't realize that Cooler's expression was already far grimmer than his own.
A Hakaishin Candidate... a successor to the God of Destruction!
"Lord Cooler, shouldn't we go save Musku—"
"Shut your mouth!"
Cooler kicked Salza aside, sent him tumbling. Trembling, Cooler scrambled back a few steps and bowed deeply before Gran.
"I am Cooler. It is an honor to meet you, Lord Hakaishin Candidate!"
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