Fated Confrontation

It hung in the sky, blooming like a raging flame.

At that moment, it was as if a second sun had suddenly appeared on this desolate planet.

Light poured down like water.

The craggy rocks beneath Broly's feet, the distant sand dunes, and even every speck of dust dancing in the air were plated with a cold, divine silver rim.

His pupils shrank until they were as thin as needles.

But it wasn't just light.

Descending along with this radiance was an aura—vast, profound, and frigid, like a deity perched high above, looking down upon all living things.

It didn't intend to take its time; instead, it pierced the thin atmosphere with unreasonable speed, pressing down ruthlessly upon the entire planet, as well as Broly's skin and nerves.

"This is..."

His heart, which had long grown accustomed to beating slowly in solitude, suddenly hammered against his chest as if it wanted to break through.

Blood surged through his veins, emitting a roar only he could hear.

This was not fear.

He had long since forgotten what fear was.

This was a different emotion, older and deeper, one nearly worn away by forty-one years of time.

Now, it was ignited without ceremony by this aura.

It was—anticipation.

The silvery-white light drew closer.

Its core slowly receded and condensed, finally coming to a halt hundreds of meters above the ground.

The glow softened, but its presence remained intense.

Broly narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze wild and sharp.

Through the halo, he made out two figures within the light.

The person on the left was tall and lean, dressed in peculiar dark clothing, holding a staff topped with a gemstone.

He was handsome, possessing an otherworldly elegance and detachment.

His purple skin appeared mysterious in the faint light, and a faint, elusive smile hung on his lips, as if he saw through everything, yet cared for nothing at all.

The person on the right was shorter, but the oppressive force radiating from him was almost suffocating.

He stood with his arms crossed, hovering silently, motionless.

He simply stood there, as if the weight and laws of the entire universe rested upon him.

Those eyes were lowered, as if passing judgment on destiny.

Time seemed to stretch and freeze.

Broly stood rooted to the spot, and the memories from another world, long sealed away in his mind, suddenly rushed in like a floodgate broken by a torrent.

Countless images and fragments of information slammed into him all at once.

Names, titles, legends, symbols... the two figures before him overlapped perfectly with everything in his memory.

The God of Destruction of Universe 7—Beerus.

The Angel of Universe 7, who was also his mentor and attendant—Whis.

Now, these two beings, standing at the pinnacle of the universe, were quietly looking down at him, their eyes filled with scrutiny, and perhaps even a hint of... interest.

The wind of the wasteland howled, whipping up fine sand and lashing against his rock-like body.

The cold, hard lines on Broly's face, etched by wind, sand, battle, and numbness, moved slightly.

Then, the corners of his mouth curled up, bit by bit.

This was no unconscious muscle twitch, but a clear, slowly blossoming arc.

A true smile, one that had finally returned to his face after forty-one long years.

It was cold, wild, and carried a heat that had been suppressed for too long and finally found an outlet, along with an indescribable sense of destiny.

On this dead and desolate land, the three figures stood in a silent standoff, like three statues frozen in time.

Broly stood barefoot on the scorching rock, his soles long accustomed to the burning pain.

He slowly raised his head, looking toward the eternally gray sky.

The two figures were descending slowly from the high altitude, the ripples of energy around them visible to the naked eye, pushing aside the surrounding dust and leaving behind clear trails.

His heart hammered violently in his chest, each beat like a war drum against his eardrums.

He could feel his blood racing through his veins, his muscles trembling slightly beneath his skin.

This was both the body's instinct for battle and an irrepressible excitement deep within his heart.

Broly took a deep breath, the scalding air searing his trachea.

He forced himself to suppress his chaotic thoughts, like locking a surging tide behind a dam.

Muscles relaxed, shoulders dropped, and his breathing gradually steadied—he had to perfectly control every detail.

He could not let them see that he knew too much.