"Huh?!!!"
Tights let out a belated scream, completely dumbfounded. Disbelief filled her face, which had only just relaxed.
A new job?
Work for whom? This Saiyan?
Her mind raced, trying to understand what he meant, but her thoughts were too jumbled for her to think at all.
"Why... does this have anything to do with me?"
She tried to protest.
"I... I'm not your subordinate..."
Even she felt uncertain after saying it.
Talking about being a "subordinate" and having "freedom" in front of such a fearsome Saiyan was like a sheep bargaining with a hungry wolf.
Turles smiled.
He put down the food container in his hand.
He didn't release any ki, but the invisible pressure made the air in the main control room feel thick and heavy.
"Oh?"
Turles walked up to her and leaned forward slightly.
The corners of his mouth curled upward, and his voice was as soft as a lover's whisper.
"You're not my subordinate?"
"Then would you rather be my prisoner?"
Those words sent a chill through Tights.
"Ms. Tights, there's one thing you need to understand."
Turles held out a finger and pressed it gently against her forehead, stopping her from trying to escape.
"You're no longer of any value to me."
"I already got Earth's coordinates from the Frieza Force's database. The process was a little complicated, but it worked out in the end."
"So, do you understand?"
"I... I..."
Tights's lips trembled, and her thoughts were in turmoil.
She had a feeling that the man before her was gradually running out of patience.
"You should know that I'm actually a very merciful person."
Turles's voice remained gentle.
"I could have just thrown you out of the spaceship and left you to fend for yourself in the cold of space."
"Or sold you on some black market for a little pocket money."
"But I'm not that kind of person. Unless a mission forces me to, I really don't want blood on my hands."
Although Tights didn't believe a word of it, all she could do now was nod furiously.
Turles paused.
"So, I gave you a choice."
"A chance to become 'useful' again."
"Ms. Tights, you don't want to find out how I treat worthless prisoners, do you?"
"I... I am!"
"I'm your subordinate!"
Tights readily took the way out.
Staying alive was more important.
As long as she lived, there was still hope!
That was how Tights comforted herself.
"Very good. I'm glad you understand." Satisfied, Turles sat back down.
"So, what do I need to do?" Tights asked.
"It's simple. Write a novel. Didn't you write one for the Galactic Patrol?"
"Write a biographical novel for the Frieza Force too."
"I've even thought of a title for you."
"Frieza: Guardian of Peace in the Universe! What do you think?"
Tights was stunned when she heard it.
Her eyes, which always sparkled with curiosity and intelligence, went wide.
"Guardian of... peace... in the universe?"
"Frieza?!"
What kind of cosmic joke was this?
This was even more ridiculous than pointing at a pile of shit and saying it smelled good!
It was the most vicious insult to the very word "peace"!
It was also the ultimate trampling of her integrity as a writer who made her living with her pen!
"Is there a problem?" Turles leaned back in his chair and watched her at his leisure.
"I think the title fits perfectly. It's impactful, and it should be a pretty good hook, right? Don't you think?"
Fitting? Impactful?
Tights felt as though her worldview was being pressed into the ground and rubbed back and forth.
No! Absolutely not!
Even if she were thrown out of the spaceship and frozen into an ice sculpture in space, she, Tights, would never write something that twisted the truth and called black white!
Tights took a deep breath and tried to refuse this utterly absurd job in the most professional, tactful way possible.
"Mr. Turles."
"Writing... requires inspiration." Tights racked her brains, choosing her words. "All my works come from real experiences and emotions. I need to understand and feel things before I can write words with a soul."
She paused and spoke more emphatically.
"But I... I don't know Lord Frieza at all."
"I don't know his past, I don't understand his ideals, and I certainly can't relate to his state of mind. Under these circumstances, anything I wrote would be nothing but an empty, false, lifeless hymn of praise."
"A work like that would not only be disrespectful to Lord Frieza, but also a desecration of my profession."
She said it all in one breath, feeling that she had summoned every bit of eloquence she possessed.
Her argument was sound and well reasoned, preserving Frieza's dignity while making clear her professional integrity as a writer.
She thought that even if he was an unreasonable Saiyan, such a professional explanation ought to make him back down a little.
"So I don't think I'm up to the job."
But after listening, Turles merely smiled.
"You don't know him?"
"Precisely because you don't know him, you're the best person for the job."
"What?" Tights was dumbfounded.
"A blank sheet of paper is best for painting on, isn't it?"
Turles held up a finger and wagged it gently in front of her.
"You don't need to understand or feel anything. You only need to... record."
"As for inspiration and emotion..." The smile on Turles's face grew wider. "You're a novelist. Isn't making those things up what you do best? Bringing a fictional character to life and making readers cry and laugh for him-isn't that your skill?"
"Now, all I've done is replace that fictional character with Lord Frieza."
"Th... that's different!" Tights felt her logic thrown into complete disarray. "That's a novel! It's fiction! But this is a biography! A biography needs to be true!"
"True?" Turles tilted his head. "Who defines the truth? History is written by the victors, and the future is painted by propagandists."
"Ms. Tights, what you need to do now is become the person who paints that future."
Tights was speechless.
Wait, how are you so good with words?
And you make it all sound so convincing. Which one of us is the novelist here?
Here, take the pen and write it yourself!
What do you even need me for?
"Don't rush to make a decision."
Turles waved a hand, and the smile faded from his face.
"I'll give you some time."
He turned and walked back toward the commander's seat, looking utterly unruffled.
He couldn't have looked more at ease.
"Perhaps when the time is right, you'll change your mind."