King Cold's voice even carried a tentative, almost ingratiating note that he himself had failed to notice. "You are more than qualified to become the brightest star in our family! You could have planets thousands, tens of thousands of times better than this backward Earth. You could roam the endless universe as you please, do whatever you wish! Wealth, power, territory—whatever you want, I can give it to you!"
Rather than an offer of recruitment, these words were a twisted instinctive response born of King Cold's overwhelming fear and the devastating loss of his son, an attempt to grasp at a lifeline.
He tried to placate this terrifying killing machine with benefits, even fantasizing about bringing him under his command.
"I'm not interested." Trunks finally spoke. His voice was utterly cold, his refusal crisp and decisive, without the slightest hesitation, as though King Cold had offered him garbage rather than temptation.
"You—you refuse?" The smile on King Cold's face froze completely, then gave way to deeper gloom and a desperate grimace. "What a pity! What a terrible pity!"
He repeated himself twice, seemingly trying to conceal his panic.
His gaze involuntarily drifted toward the long sword on Trunks's back. Though already sheathed, it still seemed to radiate the scent of blood. As though he had found a new opening, his tone abruptly shifted, taking on a deliberately casual, probing quality. "Speaking of which—your sword is quite impressive. To think it could so easily chop Frieza, whose battle-hardened body was the strongest in the universe, into pieces!
"Could you let me—take a closer look?"
Trunks fell silent again, simply watching King Cold with unfathomable eyes that gave no hint of his thoughts.
"Well? Don't dare let me look at your sword? Are you afraid I might discover some weakness, or—" King