Black Frieza

Black Frieza. Vegeta, who had been feeling rather triumphant and thought victory was already in his grasp, froze the moment he heard Frieza stand back up and actually spit out such arrogant words.

The cold smile on his face instantly stiffened.

Vegeta's brows drew tight, his gaze fixed like a sharp blade on the blurry figure in the dust.

He asked coldly, "We are no longer your match?"

"Frieza, what exactly do you mean?"

"Did I beat your brain broken?"

The other Z Fighters watching from the sidelines

also had no idea where Frieza's confidence was coming from.

All of them frowned, their expressions grave as they looked toward the center of the battlefield.

In the exchange just now, Frieza had clearly been at an absolute disadvantage. It could even be said that he had been beaten by Vegeta like a sandbag, with no power to fight back at all.

Yet at a time like this, he actually made such a shamelessly boastful statement.

It made absolutely no sense.

Piccolo held his arms tightly across his chest, his green face filled with confusion and wariness.

He analyzed in a low voice, "Something's wrong."

"Frieza may be arrogant, but he is definitely not the kind of fool who can't read the situation."

"After personally experiencing Vegeta's overwhelming power, if he hasn't gone mad, then there is only one possibility."

Beside him, Son Gohan pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose. A drop of cold sweat slid down his forehead as he took over Piccolo's words.

"He still has a trump card powerful enough to turn the tables."

After hearing the two of them analyze it, everyone found that logic hard to accept for a moment.

Only Son Goku, standing farther back, looked in Frieza's direction and instead seemed