First Encounter

His steps were much faster than when he usually strolled around Planet of Destruction, light and even slightly hurried.

That purple tail was no longer idly swishing to pass the time. Instead, it swung behind him with a small, rhythmic delight.

Whis drifted past Broly like a breeze, elegant as ever, his staff tapping against the ground.

He still wore that smile that made him seem to understand everything while saying nothing. As he passed Broly, he tilted his head slightly and spoke in his uniquely gentle voice. "Mr. Broly, this is your first time seeing and personally experiencing such a... lively planet, isn't it?"

Broly merely gave a slight nod without saying a word.

His gaze had long since passed over the garden and lawn, locking onto the open space before the white building in the distance like a radar.

Several people were already standing there.

The person at the front was not tall, but solidly built, dressed in an orange martial arts uniform cinched tightly at the waist with a blue belt.

His black hair stood up as though it were alive. He had his head tilted, one hand shading his eyes as he looked curiously in their direction.

There was no wariness or tension on his face at all. Instead, he wore an utterly pure curiosity and excitement, the corners of his mouth unconsciously stretching into a grin. Like a child who had suddenly found a new toy, his entire pair of eyes shone.

Broly recognized him at once.

That face, that presence—his father Raditz's hateful descriptions had etched them deep into his mind long ago.

Son Goku.

Not far behind Son Goku stood another person with an entirely different aura.

He had his arms folded and leaned slightly back against the white doorframe, looking somewhat distant and guarded.

His hair stood up as well, but it was neater and sharper. He was even leaner and sturdier than Son Goku, the lines of his muscles clearly visible beneath his battle suit.

His brows were tightly furrowed, his thin lips pressed into a straight line. Innate pride and appraisal hid in his reddish-purple eyes as he coldly watched Broly and the others approach.

Vegeta.

Broly's gaze lingered on Vegeta for a moment longer.

It was brief, but the scrutiny in that instant seemed almost tangible.

King Vegeta's son.

The fingers hanging at his side tightened ever so slightly, the veins on the back of his hand rising faintly.

But the force loosened in the next second, as though it had merely been an instinctive reaction from his body.

His expression remained calm, all his complicated thoughts hidden beneath that silent, powerful exterior.

The wind carried the fragrance of grass and flowers as it lightly brushed across the lawn, sweeping past everyone's hems and hair.

"They're here! They're here!" Son Goku's voice came like a flash of light from the far end of Bulma's house corridor, his excitement impossible to hide.

He ran at top speed, his bare feet pattering against the marble floor, the hem of his orange martial arts uniform billowing in the wind.

In just a few strides, he crossed the entire courtyard, kicking up a gust that lifted the strand of pale purple hair before Whis's forehead.

He came to an abrupt stop, and the wind he brought even made the long dark-green strand before Broly's forehead sway.

Son Goku looked up, his eyes bright as stars in the Milky Way, openly and curiously studying Broly—from his enormous bare feet stained with dust, to his chest simply wrapped in animal hide yet still revealing the outlines of his muscles, and finally to that silent, sharply defined face.

"Mr. Whis, Lord Beerus!" Son Goku's voice was crisp, like a child discovering a new toy. "Is this the... incredibly powerful Saiyan you told us about?"

"That's right." Whis smiled and nodded, the staff in his hand gleaming softly beneath the setting sun.

He gracefully stepped aside, fully revealing Broly, who stood behind him like a solitary peak, before Son Goku.

"This is Mr. Broly. Starting today, he will represent Universe 7 in the upcoming Tournament of Power."

"Bro... ly..." Son Goku repeated the new name several times, as though savoring its sound.

Then a clean, brilliant smile bloomed across his face. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and extended his hand—equally well-trained and sturdy, yet warm. "I'm Son Goku! Just call me Goku!"

Broly lowered his head, his gaze falling on the hand extended before him.

It was not a small hand, its knuckles distinct and its strength obvious. Yet compared to his own scarred, massive, rough hand, the contrast was stark.

He remained silent. Time seemed to pause for a moment, with only the sound of the garden fountain in the distance filling the silence.

Then he slowly raised the right hand that had once torn apart savage beasts and smashed through mountain rock, awkwardly yet carefully taking Goku's hand.

"Broly." His voice was low and deep, like muffled thunder trapped beneath a mountain, offering only his name.

The instant those two hands—one warm and eager, the other silent and restrained—clasped in midair, the sunflower-like smile on Son Goku's face stiffened almost imperceptibly.

He felt it.

This was not an ordinary handshake.

Broly's hand was as rough as stone weathered for countless ages. Its thick calluses and crisscrossing scars were like ancient symbols upon his skin, recording the extraordinary battles and struggles for survival he had endured.

What made Son Goku's heart tighten even more was that, the instant his palm touched Broly's, an indescribable chill that seeped into his bones quietly crawled up from his fingertips.

It was not simple coldness, nor hostility, nor killing intent. It was something older, deeper—like the instinctive alertness of a small creature facing the boundless deep sea, the subtle tremor that rose from the depths of the soul when the gap between their levels of power became absolute.

"So... strong..." Son Goku murmured almost instinctively. The light in his eyes did not dim; it only grew brighter, as if he had discovered the most precious treasure in the universe. "This 'ki' inside you..."

He did not finish, but Whis, Beerus, and Vegeta, who had just come out of the house, all understood what he meant.

Broly's ki was like a whirlpool beneath the deep sea. Even the slightest ripple casually leaking from it was enough to shake the heart of a born fighter like Son Goku.

"Kakarot." Vegeta's voice came from behind him, cold and hard, carrying the pride and scrutiny unique to royalty, like steel striking the ground.

He strolled over at an unhurried pace, his combat boots tapping against the floor with crisp, forceful sounds.

His arms were still folded, chin slightly raised. Those sharp eyes swept over Broly from head to toe like scanners, examining every inch without missing a thing.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face. Don't disgrace the Saiyans here." Vegeta stopped in front of Broly. Though he only reached Broly's chest and had to look up at him, the pride in his bones and the force of his presence left him in no way overshadowed beside Broly—if anything, he was even more imposing.

His piercing gaze locked onto Broly's calm face, and his brow furrowed deeper, carved into a pronounced frown.

"Broly?" Vegeta repeated the name, his tone steeped in suspicion and recollection. "That name never appeared in any of the records of Saiyan warriors left behind on Planet Vegeta."