Saiyan Invasion

Time flowed like water, and five months of grueling training flashed by in the winds of Mount Paozu.

Five months ago, Son Gohan had been a four-year-old child whose legs went weak at the sight of Raditz. Five months later, Ji Ming stood atop a massive boulder at Mount Paozu's peak, facing the rising sun with his fists clenched.

His four-and-a-half-year-old body had been utterly transformed. He had shot up nearly half a head taller, and the muscles in his arms and legs had shed their baby fat, their contours sleek and defined as if carved by a blade. Most striking was the layer of white aura around him—not the faint, barely perceptible glow of before, but a stable blaze of searing white light, nearly an inch thick. It swayed slightly in the morning breeze, grinding the gravel beneath his feet into powder.

Base Battle Power: 1800

Ji Ming looked down at the custom scouter on his wrist, made by Bulma. He had specifically asked for it three months ago, when Bulma had come to Kame House to deliver upgrade parts for the Gravity Chamber. Back then, she had laughed at him. "What does a four-year-old need a scouter for? It's not like you can understand the numbers." It was only after Ji Ming recited the scouter's reading principles, energy-band classifications, and upper-threshold limitations backward in front of her that her jaw finally snapped shut. The next day, she had one custom-made and shipped it over.

1800. Five months ago, that number would have crushed Raditz with ease. But in the coming Saiyan battle, it meant jack shit. Vegeta had eighteen thousand, Nappa had four thousand. Even if Raditz had brought his two superiors along this time, the numbers alone said Ji Ming would still be fated to get instantly killed.

But Ji Ming wasn't worried. Numbers were dead; the mind was alive. These five months, he had trained not just his battle power, but also how to use it.

Krillin stood at the foot of the mountain, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hey—Gohan—Goku told me to come get you! The scouter picked up some strange signals!"

Ji Ming leaped down from the mountaintop, his body drawing a white arc through the air. He landed without so much as a sound. Krillin choked at that display of lightness, rubbed his bald head, and muttered, "Five months ago, you couldn't even carry a turtle shell. Now you're starting to freak me out."

"Uncle Krillin, what kind of signal?"

"Two incredibly powerful energy sources are approaching Earth." Krillin's expression swiftly turned grave. "They're moving at exactly the same speed Raditz did when he came last time. Goku thinks they're probably Saiyans."

Ji Ming's pupils narrowed slightly. They were here. Nearly half a year earlier than in the original story. After he had talked Raditz into running away, Raditz clearly hadn't taken his original route. Most likely, he had hidden somewhere to recover for a few months, then brought Vegeta and Nappa straight here after they finished some battle.

"Where's Goku?"

"He already contacted King Kai to tell Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu to hurry back," Krillin said as they walked. "Piccolo's at the Lookout, probably arguing with Kami. Goku said we'd decide what to do once you got there."

Ji Ming said nothing and merely sped up toward Kame House. Krillin followed for two steps, watching the white tail of energy trailing behind that four-year-old child as he ran, and sucked in a breath. This kid's ki was far more stable than the last time they had met.

Inside Kame House, the atmosphere was as oppressive as the sea before a storm.

Bulma's holographic projection stood over the coffee table, with Capsule Corporation's satellite data scrolling across it in real time. The screen displayed a processed dynamic thermal map. Two dark-red points were rapidly cutting in from beyond the edge of the map at tremendous speed, with less than three hours remaining before their projected landing.

Son Goku had just returned from speaking with King Kai and sat cross-legged on the floor. For once, there was no smile on his face, replaced by a grave anticipation. Bulma held a laser pointer between her fingers and rapidly circled the glowing dots on the holographic screen, her voice keeping time with her nervous pulse. "The satellites tracked two signals. Judging by the body-size estimates from infrared scans, one is over two and a half meters tall—a huge guy. The other isn't tall, around one sixty-five. But the shorter one has a much scarier energy reading."

"The tall one is Nappa," Ji Ming said as he entered, his voice as calm as if he were giving a weather report. "His battle power is around four thousand. The shorter one is Vegeta, the Saiyan prince. His base battle power is eighteen thousand."

The room fell silent for a moment.

"E-eighteen thousand?" Krillin's smile froze on his face. His fingers unconsciously clenched the hem of his gi. "Goku, did you hear that? Eighteen thousand?"

"I heard." Son Goku's voice was low, but unusually steady. "That's a lot higher than my battle power right now. Even if I double up with Kaio-ken, taking him head-on will be tough."

"Then what do we do? Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu are still on their way!" Krillin anxiously started counting people on his fingers. "Even if they make it, Chiaotzu might not be able to fight. Tien Shinhan can at best stall Nappa for a while. You'll be taking on two by yourself?"

"No."

Piccolo's voice came from the doorway. He entered Kame House, his cape still carrying the cloud-mist scent of the Lookout. His green face was taut as an iron plate. He glanced at Ji Ming, then looked at Goku. "I fused with Kami."

Those words struck the floor, and the entire house went quiet.

Kami. Piccolo had ultimately fused with Kami. Ji Ming silently calculated the timeline in his mind. In the original story, Piccolo had fused with Kami a year before Vegeta's arrival. But in this life, because of Ji Ming's presence, the conversation between Kami and Piccolo had been drastically shortened. Piccolo had spent several months convincing Kami to use Ultra Divine Water to assist meditation, completing the fusion ahead of schedule.

"After the fusion, my battle power is probably close to fifty thousand." There was no boasting in Piccolo's voice; he was merely stating a fact. "But there's a problem. Kami had split off too much negative personality before, so my current condition isn't very stable. If my emotions fluctuate past a certain threshold in battle, my battle power may vary."

"Fifty thousand?" Krillin opened and closed his mouth before finally spitting out a single word. "Fuck."

"There's another matter." Piccolo looked at Ji Ming. "During the fusion, Kami shared all of my memories about you. He said that your soul truly does not belong to this world, but your existence itself poses no threat to Earth."

Ji Ming fell silent for a moment, then nodded. He knew what that meant. Piccolo was vouching for him, gambling the entire Namekian race's reputation and the integrity of his post-fusion personality on it. That silent trust carried more weight than any declaration of friendship.

Son Goku stood and dusted off his hands.

"Then we fight."

The two words sounded as natural coming from him as eating or drinking.

"I'll take Vegeta," Piccolo said.

"What about Nappa?" Krillin asked.

Everyone in the room instinctively turned toward the shortest person there. Chi-Chi stood at the foot of the stairs, her face frighteningly pale, both hands gripping the edge of her apron tightly. Yet she did not say, "You're not allowed to go," again. She looked at her son, and her son looked back at her. For five months, she had waited outside the Gravity Chamber every day, clutching a towel and a first-aid kit. She had watched her son get blasted down by ki attacks again and again, swallow Senzu Beans again and again, and climb back up to continue training. More clearly than anyone, she knew this four-year-old child was no longer someone she could protect—he was the one who needed to protect everyone else.

Ji Ming looked away, about to say something, but Piccolo spoke first.

"Gohan."

His tone was heavier than before.

"That short Saiyan—Vegeta." Piccolo's gaze was fixed on the gloomy sky outside the window. "If I can't handle him, you step in."

Ji Ming's lips curled slightly.

"No need to step in."

He rose to his feet. The aura around him abruptly contracted, then exploded outward—white light turning pale gold, flashing for only an instant before retreating into his body. The shockwave rippled the water in the cups on the table.

"I'll take him directly."

Son Goku's eyes widened sharply at that flash of gold.

A Saiyan's sky always began burning beyond the atmosphere.

At 3:17 that afternoon, two points of light tore through Earth's troposphere. They did not descend—they dove, like two hurled meteors trailing searing-white tails as they smashed straight toward the wilderness outside East City.

The earth shook, and dust erupted into a mushroom cloud hundreds of meters high. The shockwave spread outward, uprooting trees within several kilometers and pulverizing rocks into dust. A deep crater fifty meters across was blasted into the center of the wilderness, its walls melted into glass by the intense heat, reflecting the warped daylight.

The smoke and dust slowly settled.

Two figures emerged from the bottom of the crater. One was mountain-sized, bald, with two carefully trimmed mustaches and a scouter embedded over his left eye. A cruel smile hung at the corner of his mouth, and the muscles between his shoulder blades flexed faintly as he walked. Every step left a shallow pit in the ground.

The other was short and lean, his hair shooting upward like black flames, the tips curling into a defiant arc. He did not smile. His gaze was cold as a blade, surveying the surroundings as though examining a chessboard whose pieces had already been laid out. His Saiyan battle armor clung to his wiry frame, while countless killing moves lay hidden beneath his white gloves.

Nappa rolled his neck, his vertebrae cracking loudly. "The air here isn't bad. That piece of trash Raditz was right—it's suitable for rebuilding a base."

"Enough nonsense." Vegeta's gaze swept past the wasteland and locked onto the distance—roughly seven or eight kilometers away, several energy sources were moving rapidly. His scouter beeped twice and displayed several numbers: 1000, 1800, 6000, 8000.

He frowned slightly.

8000? Raditz had said Earthlings only had power levels in the hundreds. Even Kakarot, the strongest, was barely above a thousand. What was this 8000?

"Vegeta, you saw that number too, right?" Nappa's expression sobered somewhat as well. "Something's off."

"The scouter might be malfunctioning." Vegeta said that, but he no longer strolled leisurely. He slowed down and began scanning ahead with his naked eyes.

At the edge of the swirling dust, he saw the approaching figures.

The first to land before him was Piccolo. The green-skinned Namekian descended from the sky, his legs planted firmly in the earth as his white cape snapped in the blast of air. He crossed his arms, meeting Vegeta's eyes head-on without a trace of fear.

Vegeta's scouter shrieked: 8000.

The second to arrive was Son Goku. He drifted lightly to the ground, bare feet stepping onto the gravel, his posture loose and relaxed. Yet a faint reddish glow surrounded him—the leaking aura of Kaio-ken in its preparatory state. Vegeta's scouter shrieked again: 6000. But the number was unstable, rising and falling as if it were lying.

The third to land before the formation was Krillin. The moment the short-legged Earthling steadied himself, he instinctively began gathering his ki, his alert eyes locking onto Nappa.

Nappa grinned. "Three little punks. The strongest isn't even at ten thousand. I alone can—"

He did not finish.

Because he saw the fourth person.

A child.

He was only as tall as an adult's waist, dressed in an orange training gi. There was no cape on his back, no weighted gear—only a faded character for "Gohan" printed there. The wind lifted his hair slightly. No violent aura flared around him; he simply stood there quietly, staring at the two Saiyans with eyes that did not belong to a child—eyes frighteningly calm.

The scouter blared frantically: less than 2000.

For the first time, a crack appeared in Vegeta's expression. Not from fear, but confusion. A four-year-old child had appeared on a battlefield? And the other three warriors had clearly accepted his position—not hiding behind them, but standing on the very front line.

"Kakarot." Vegeta's voice was like an icy blade scraping across glass. "This child—"

"My son." There was no amusement in Son Goku's voice.

"What's his name?"

Ji Ming answered himself. His voice was quiet, but it pierced through the howling wind across the wasteland and reached every ear.

"Son Gohan."

A brief silence fell.

Then Nappa burst into booming laughter that shook the wilderness, his thick-knuckled finger pointing at the child who did not even reach his waist. "Did I hear that right? This little brat is going to fight us? Has Earth run out of warriors, so you're pushing a child out to block—"

"Nappa."

Vegeta cut off his subordinate's wild laughter. His gaze was fixed tightly on Son Gohan, his pupils contracting slightly.

That child was smiling.

Not the embarrassed smile of someone being mocked, nor the innocent giggle of a child, but the kind of smile—one only a hunter could recognize—worn when looking at prey.

A chill ran faintly down Vegeta's spine. A four-year-old Saiyan brat with a power level below two thousand dared to stand in the front row before Earth's three strongest warriors. There had to be a reason for that position, some reason he had yet to understand.

"Kakarot." Vegeta's voice sank as his fist slowly clenched at his side, his knuckles cracking heavily. "Raditz said your son was strange. When he fled back last time, he was so terrified he could barely speak. Today, I'll see exactly what's so strange about him."

The moment his words fell, a green figure was already standing in front of him.

"You forgot about me." Less than an arm's length separated Piccolo's eyes from Vegeta's.

"Namekian." Vegeta curled his lips. The fighting spirit he had suppressed for so long finally split across his face in a grin. "Then I'll start with you."

An oppressive silence swept through the wasteland.

Then the sky exploded.

Piccolo and Vegeta's first exchanged punch blasted out a pressure ring hundreds of meters across. The shockwave tore up a layer of the wasteland's surface, and dirt and shattered stones rained down like a storm. In less than half a second, the two figures had risen into the air. Their fists and kicks collided at such speed that the scouters could only emit a continuous piercing whine. Vegeta's strikes were vicious and precise, every punch aimed directly at a vital point; Piccolo's punches were a step faster—after merging with Kami, the Namekian's speed had risen by more than a full level. Their first clash made their limbs impossible to see. All that could be seen were constantly bursting clouds of air and brief flashes from their repeated collisions in the sky.

Nappa licked his lips, shifted his feet apart, and charged toward Krillin like an out-of-control heavy tank. Krillin raised his ki to its limit without holding anything back, spreading both hands to form an energy shield—he had no intention of claiming credit. As long as he could hold this giant back, that was enough.

Ji Ming did not move.

He stood where he was, his gaze sweeping between the sky and the ground for less than two seconds. He was waiting, waiting for the most precise moment. The theories from his previous life and the combat instincts forged through five months of brutal beatings in this life converged into a precise judgment—do not strike immediately; first observe the opponent's punching habits. He knew Vegeta's fighting style well enough to recite the opening sequence of every combo, but he needed visual confirmation in reality to compare the original story with the difference created by the variable of Piccolo merging with "another Kami."

Now.

After Vegeta forced Piccolo back with a punch, his movements suddenly paused for an incredibly subtle moment—the telltale sign of pulling back his arm to charge a heavy blow. Ji Ming's pupils locked onto that opening.

The next instant, he moved.

Golden aura erupted from his body, and a spreading crack split the ground beneath him. Everyone—including Vegeta, who was still fighting—felt an aura suddenly burst forth. It was not the cold numerical change shown on a scouter, but something more fundamental awakening.

Ji Ming's hair was changing.

His black hair began to fade from the roots, pale gold spreading inch by inch toward the tips. Every strand stood upright, as though some power had ignited it from within. His eyes shifted from deep black to emerald green, his pupils shrinking to needlepoints, while a flickering golden aura wrapped tightly around his entire body.

Super Saiyan.

The four words crashed into Vegeta's chest like some ancient incantation. His body reacted before his mind did—he stopped, staring blankly at the child surrounded by golden aura, his fist hanging in midair as he forgot to pull it back.

"Impossible... the legend of the Saiyans... one born every thousand years..."

Ji Ming did not answer.

His figure vanished from where he stood. In the next instant, he was already in front of Nappa.

Before Nappa could even turn his neck, Ji Ming had already struck with his palm. The motion was so clean it seemed almost casual, landing squarely on the armor over Nappa's chest. The armor did not shatter, but Nappa's breathing stopped—the force of that palm strike was not surface-level destruction, but an extremely compressed burst of ki that pierced straight through the armor and breastbone before exploding near his left lung.

Nappa opened his mouth and spat out blood, staggering back two steps before dropping to one knee. His eyes bulged, blood on his chin mixing with his beard into a scarlet mess. He tried to speak through his bloodied mouth, but only a few warped, broken noises came out. His body swayed, then he crashed to the ground and lost consciousness.

One strike.

A Saiyan elite warrior with a battle power of four thousand, brought down in one strike.

The wasteland fell silent for a full two seconds.

Krillin's expression froze, his ki shield still raised as his mouth slowly opened into a circle that would not close. Son Goku's fists hung at his sides, his brows lifting as his eyes went completely blank—this was the first time he had seen his son's Super Saiyan form. Ji Ming had never shown it in the Gravity Chamber before.

Piccolo's lips twitched faintly. Vegeta's face, meanwhile, looked like a cracked stone statue. His lips moved several times, and his voice had never trembled like this before.

"Super Saiyan... it really exists..."

Then he realized something.

This child had appeared on the front line not because someone had pushed him forward, but because he had walked up himself. A four-year-old Super Saiyan.

Ji Ming lowered his hand and turned to face the Saiyan prince.

"Vegeta."

The two words landed softly, yet in Vegeta's ears, they were like thunder.

"Do you still not understand?"

Ji Ming's voice sounded slightly hollow beneath the golden aura, but his gaze was like a blade sharpened against a whetstone.

Vegeta's teeth ground together. His scouter let out a shrill wail as the numbers on its screen shot upward like mad, finally freezing at a figure he had never seen in his life.

His eyes widened, his pupils trembling.

The Super Saiyan legend that had endured for thousands of years was ignited today, on this planet he regarded as home to low-class warriors, by the figure of a four-year-old child.

The setting sun pressed down behind him, stretching everyone across the wasteland into long silhouettes.

Vegeta's fists trembled at his sides—not from fear, but from something he had never faced before, something even stranger than fear.