Broly had spent forty-one years on Vampa. The planet had become his prison.
There was no one here but him and the monsters, and a wasteland that would never grow gentle.
And yet, today, he had encountered Beerus and Whis.
When the two landed, they didn't stir up a single speck of dust.
Broly had already schooled his expression—alert, yet confused; wary, with a hint of bewilderment.
He took half a step back, slid his left foot away, lowered his center of gravity, and assumed a textbook defensive stance, though he deliberately made it look a little rusty.
As soon as Beerus landed, his purple robe fluttered lightly.
He folded his arms, his tail swaying slowly behind him as he scrutinized the towering Saiyan before him.
Broly had an unusual build, nearly three meters tall, an outlier even among Saiyans.
Yet his muscles were sharply defined and smoothly sculpted, without an ounce of excess fat.
Every muscle looked like a charge ready to detonate at any moment.
He stood there looking relaxed, but his feet were planted firmly in the ground, ready to strike at any moment.
Tattered animal hides barely covered his body. His skin was covered in old and fresh scars, the marks of his life-or-death battles with Vampa's monsters.
But what Beerus cared about most were Broly's eyes.
His black irises seemed as deep as the night sky, and sometimes a glimmer of emerald green flashed through them—that aura was hard to place. Was it the power of a Super Saiyan God, or something older and more primal?
Stranger still was Broly's composure.
He wasn't pretending to be calm. This was a stillness forged over time, born of absolute confidence in his own strength.
Beerus had seen a similar aura in only a handful of top-tier fighters, such as Son Goku and Jiren, who had shone at the Tournament of Power.
"Are you the one who just unleashed that burst of energy?" Beerus finally asked. His voice was low and resonant, with a touch of superiority.
He tilted his head, the markings on his cheeks twitching slightly. "You don't look like anything special."
Broly didn't rush to answer.
He stared at Beerus, his pupils contracting slightly, like a beast sizing up prey—or weighing the threat before him.
His right-hand fingers curled almost imperceptibly, a reflex he'd developed over many years.
Whis stood to one side, maintaining his elegant smile. He tapped his staff against the ground, and its tip rang against the rock with a clear chime.
Suddenly, he spoke. His voice was soft and gentle, yet it cut through the wind at once. "You're Mr. Broly, aren't you?"
Broly's pupils suddenly narrowed to slits.
It wasn't a subtle reaction. He was plainly startled.
The muscles in his face tensed. Though he quickly recovered, he couldn't hide that instant of alarm.
Slowly, he turned his head, shifting his gaze from Beerus to Whis. His voice was hoarse and rough, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time. "How do you know my name?"
"Mr. Paragus's personal recorder mentioned it," Whis replied with a smile, giving his staff a light twirl. A stream of pale blue data flashed through the crystal orb at its tip.
"Although the recorder was almost completely destroyed when it crashed forty-one years ago, we can still read some key information from the surviving data fragments—your name, for instance, and your birthday."
Broly fell silent for a moment, his gaze drifting into the distance—the wreckage of the spaceship lay buried beneath the scorched earth and rocks.
He remembered the military recorder his father had brought with him. It was packed with Saiyan records, mission details, and even some battle data.
It seemed Whis had used some godly method to scan the whole planet before landing, not even sparing the wreckage underground.
The wind blew in from far away, lifting a veil of red sand that stretched between the three of them.
Broly raised a hand to shield his eyes, the gesture utterly natural.
When he lowered it, his expression had grown more wary. "Who are you?" His voice was still hoarse, but now it carried a trace of tension, as if he were forcing the words out. "Why come to a place like this? Vampa... has nothing worth a god's attention."
"I am Whis, an Angel of Universe 7." Whis bowed elegantly, his movement as fluid as a dance.
"My duty is to guide and assist the God of Destruction." He straightened and pointed his staff at Beerus. "And this is Lord Beerus, the God of Destruction of Universe 7. We sensed a highly unusual burst of energy, so we came to investigate."
God of Destruction.
Broly had never heard that term before. He needed to show surprise and confusion, but not overdo it.
He raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, then instinctively took another half-step back—just enough to seem wary without looking contrived.
"God of... Destruction?" Broly repeated, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation and confusion. "A god of destruction? You came to Vampa... to destroy it?" His gaze shifted between Beerus and Whis, finally settling on Beerus.
The emerald glow flashed again in his black eyes, so quickly it was almost impossible to catch.
Beerus saw it clearly, and Whis's smile took on a hint of meaning.
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