The Exiled Warrior

No one could overlook a warrior with an aura as powerful as Broly's.

But he spoke, his voice so calm it was almost frightening, as if he were telling someone else's distant story. "I was exiled not long after I was born."

The air in the courtyard suddenly became strange when he said that, as though it had thickened.

The sunset no longer seemed as bright, casting a tangle of long shadows.

The smile gradually vanished from Son Goku's face. He immediately sensed the heavy past buried beneath Broly's calm tone.

He blinked, glanced at Vegeta's gloomy expression, then at Broly, whose face still revealed nothing, as if trying hard to figure out how the atmosphere had suddenly become so complicated.

"Exiled?" Son Goku finally could not help asking, his eyes full of confusion and curiosity. "Why? You were so little. What could you possibly have done wrong?"

Broly did not answer right away.

He merely shifted his eyes and turned his gaze toward Vegeta.

That glance was as calm as stagnant water before a storm, yet it made Vegeta's heart tighten.

Vegeta could sense that behind the look this hulking man named Broly gave him lay an extremely complicated, indescribable emotion.

It was not simple hatred, nor anger, and even less so friendliness. It was like a silent footnote that had spanned long years and fate itself.

"Those old stories can be discussed slowly another time, when we have the time." Whis's voice rang out then, clear and gentle like a fresh spring, instantly dispersing the atmosphere that had nearly frozen solid.

He tapped the ground with the end of his staff, producing a crisp ding, then smiled with his usual air of mystery. "What matters most right now is eating. Lord Beerus's patience—especially his patience when it comes to food—is famously short."

The moment he finished speaking, Beerus turned into a purple afterimage and shot through the dining room doors with a whoosh.

Immediately afterward came the screech of chairs being dragged and the clatter of tableware, followed by Bulma's voice shooting up an octave. "Lord Beerus! Please! The last dish hasn't even been served yet! Don't grab it with your hands!!"

The moment Son Goku heard that, he tossed all the heaviness from earlier to the back of his mind and burst out laughing, his hearty laughter sweeping away every trace of awkwardness and tension.

"Come on, come on! Eating is what matters most!" Without the slightest hesitation, he grabbed Broly's wrist, solid as cast iron, and dragged him straight toward the dining room. "I'm telling you, Bulma's chefs are the best in the whole world! You've definitely never eaten anything this good!"

Broly let himself be dragged along, his steps slightly unable to keep up.

The warmth and strength coming from his wrist, along with this completely uninhibited physical contact, made him stiffen so much that he hardly knew what to do with himself.

For forty-one years, the only things that had accompanied him on Vampa were roaring beasts, biting winds, and endless solitude.

He had almost forgotten that human contact carried this kind of warmth; he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be pulled along so naturally by someone else.

Bulma's dining room was as spacious as a small banquet hall, with crystal chandeliers casting warm light from above.

The long cherrywood dining table was laid out like a feast, covered in every kind of delicacy.

Translucent lobster sashimi was arranged in neat rows, while whole roasted lamb glistened with rich sauce.

Colorful vegetable salads looked like little gardens, and the dessert tower filled the air with sweet fragrance.

There were also countless dishes from different planets, their aromas mingling until the entire room was surrounded by food.

Beerus dropped into the seat at the head of the table, and a small mountain of food remnants had already piled up in front of his plate.

He ate at a simply astonishing speed. With one sweep of his long purple tongue, half a roast chicken or a piece of cake vanished outright, leaving only a satisfied smacking sound.

Whis sat beside him elegantly, every movement so flawless that there was nothing to criticize.

He slowly sipped his tea, picked up a small piece of fish with his chopsticks, and savored it carefully. Occasionally, he even offered a comment. "Mm, today's fish is very fresh, and the sauce is excellent as well."

Son Goku had placed Broly at the other end of the table, in a relatively quiet corner.

Fine tableware and a mountain of food were piled before him as well, clearly prepared with a Saiyan's appetite in mind.

Yet he stared at the white porcelain plate in front of him for a long time.

On it lay a thick steak, its surface lightly seared with clear grill marks, all its juices locked within.

Beside it were bright green asparagus, golden roasted garlic, and a scoop of smooth mashed potatoes, all covered in a dark, rich sauce.

For forty-one years, all he had eaten on Vampa was raw beast meat torn apart by hand, sour and astringent wild fruit, and murky snowmelt or rainwater.

Those things had served only one purpose: survival. They had nothing to do with "flavor" or "enjoyment."

He hesitantly picked up the gleaming silver fork, unaccustomed to the cold touch of metal.

Awkwardly, he adjusted his grip, as though handling some dangerous weapon.

At last, he cut off a corner of the steak, the knife making a faint sound as it touched the porcelain plate.

He brought the steaming piece of beef, coated in sauce, to his mouth.

The moment he bit down, hot juices burst forth, mingling with black pepper, sea salt, and complex spices as they exploded across his tongue.

It was as if his taste buds had awakened, and sensations he had not experienced in forty-one years came rushing back all at once.

The steak's freshness and tenderness, its distinct layers of flavor, were completely unlike everything he had ever known about food.

The fork in Broly's hand paused slightly.

His green eyes, always shrouded in an indifferent shadow, involuntarily widened a little beneath the bright lights of the dining room.

So this was... what real food tasted like?

The fingers gripping his knife and fork turned slightly pale as the metal's chill seeped through his skin.

He cut off another small piece of steak. His movements were still unpracticed, but he was exceptionally focused.

When he put the second bite into his mouth, his pupils contracted slightly—the crisp, charred crust shattered between his teeth, and scorching meat juices burst forth once more, while the fragrance of black pepper and sea salt exploded across his tongue.

He chewed slowly, grinding every bite carefully with his molars, as though he wanted to remember this fresh new flavor forever.

Then came the second bite, and the third.

His movements gradually sped up, but he remained serious about every mouthful, gripping the knife and fork so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Son Goku sat cross-legged on the chair beside him, practically sinking into the soft cushion.

As he twirled a huge bundle of pasta around his fork, his eyes kept sneaking glances at Broly's expression.

When he saw Broly cut off a second piece of steak, Son Goku grinned so widely he could barely close his mouth. Tomato sauce clung to the corner of his lips as he beamed. "Tasty, right? I told you already—Earth's food is the best in the universe!"

His mouth was still full when he spoke, making his voice a little muffled, but he couldn't hide his smug delight at all.

Broly said nothing. He merely nodded.

His mouth was stuffed with food, his cheeks slightly puffed out, making him look just like a hamster.