The space pod carrying Cellera and her father disappeared into the sky with a final twinkle, her last words echoing in Gohan's mind: "Gohan, the scholar and protector. I like it."
His smile came despite the exhaustion wearing him down. She'd understood something about him that was just becoming clear - that fighting and learning didn't have to be separate paths. Mr. Piccolo had started teaching him that, and now...
His chest tightened at thoughts of his mentor. Piccolo had believed in him enough to die protecting him, and today he'd finally started living up to that faith.
"Hey, what's that sound?" Krillin's voice pulled Gohan from his thoughts as a whirring noise grew louder overhead.
The approaching aircraft looked nothing like the alien pods they'd seen today - this was definitely Earth technology. His heart leaped as a familiar face appeared at the window.
"Hey! Hello down there!" Master Roshi waved from above. "Krillin! Goku! Gohan!"
"Gohan!" His mother's voice hit him like a physical force. A whole year had passed since he'd heard it last, suddenly making him aware of every scrape and bruise she would worry over.
"What are you waiting for? My baby needs me! Open that door!"
The moment the door opened, his mother vaulted over Master Roshi and sprinted toward him. She even jumped over his dad, who flinched despite his injuries - some instincts never fade, Gohan supposed. Then her arms were around him, surrounding him with the familiar scent of home.
"I was so worried!" Her fingers smoothed his wild hair, just like she used to do before all this started. "I'm here now! I won't let anything happen to you!"
"No worries Mom. I'm okay. Really." The tears he'd been holding back finally escaped as he glanced at his father's broken form on the ground. His dad's breathing was shallow, face twisted in pain despite trying to hide it. Even after everything that had happened today, he'd still found the strength to help them win. "I'm not sure about Dad though."
"Yeah, did you see Goku over there?" Krillin approached carefully. "I don't want to scare you, but he's in pretty bad shape. If you're going to worry about anyone, well..."
His mother wasn't listening. She lifted him into her arms like he was still a little kid - though after today's battles, Gohan wasn't sure he'd ever feel like just a kid again.
"Oh, Gohan!" She carried him toward the ship through her tears. "Let me get you all patched up! Then we'll get you to the doctors!"
Consciousness returned slowly to Gohan. After his mother had patched up his small wounds, she'd pulled his head onto her lap where he'd drifted off to sleep. As he lifted himself up, her arms immediately crushed him in another hug.
Looking around the aircraft, he noticed someone missing. "Where's dad?"
"I'm okay, Gohan. I'm right here."
Following his father's weak voice, Gohan found him laid out behind their seats. Blue blankets elevated his head while an orange one covered his body. Despite his injuries, his father managed a weak smile.
"You did great today, son. We really showed them, didn't we?"
Warmth filled Gohan's chest as they shared a light laugh over their victory. He was chatting with his father when his mother's angry voice cut through their conversation, yelling at Yajirobe.
"I don't have a single thing to say to that man right now. It's his fault my baby almost got killed by that girl and her crazy father!" Her fingers stroked through his long hair, seemingly trying to calm herself.
Unease settled in Gohan's stomach at his mother's words. While he understood her anger, it wasn't fair to blame everything on his dad. He remembered his own choice during those first six months of training, when he'd found his way home accidentally. He could have walked through those doors to hugs and hot meals.
Instead, seeing his mother peacefully drying dishes at the window, he'd chosen to protect that peace. Piccolo had watched from above as Gohan walked away in tears, declaring his mission to defeat the Saiyans.
"Mom!" Gohan protested, trying to defend his bedridden father. "But the Saiyans were gonna destroy the Earth!"
"They can blow up the universe for all I care! That's no excuse for putting my little boy's life at risk!"
Gohan could only stare at her in disbelief.
Yajirobe grunted, turning toward his father. "Man, Goku...Your wife is crazy!"
After a few moments, Gohan spoke softly. "I'm sorry we worried you mom."
"Oh, Gohan-"
"But..." he paused, remembering Cellera's words about having a home and family worth fighting for. Meeting his mother's eyes with newfound resolve, he continued, "I'm not sorry for fighting to protect you."
Something like recognition flickered in his mother's eyes before she gave him a small smile and kissed his cheek. He thought he heard her mumble about him taking after his father, but Krillin's voice drew his attention as Bulma prompted him to explain what had happened.
As Krillin described the Saiyans' search for the Dragon Balls and Piccolo's true identity as a Namekian, Gohan's gaze dropped to his feet at the mention of his mentor. Hope sparked in his chest though when they discussed the possibility of Dragon Balls on Planet Namek.
"Then that's it!" Korrin exclaimed. "If we can somehow get to Namek, we can use their Dragon Balls to wish our friends back!"
Excitement bubbled up in Gohan's chest. "And we can wish Piccolo back first!"
"Now, Gohan," his mother chided, "You shouldn't get too excited."
But Krillin was already following his train of thought, explaining how bringing back Piccolo would restore Kami and Earth's Dragon Balls too. Everyone except Bulma joined in their enthusiasm until she cut through their celebration.
"Just stop it, you guys! It's pointless."
Gohan looked to the blue-haired woman, noting how her shoulders remained hunched as she piloted the ship. His excitement dimmed as she explained the impossibility of finding Planet Namek's location. Just as disappointment started to settle in, his father's voice brought fresh hope.
"Hey, wait! I have an idea. King Kai, are you there? We could really use your help right now."
"Yes Goku, I'm here. So you're looking for Planet Namek? Well of course I know where that is!"
Gohan startled at the unfamiliar voice echoing through the airship. Looking around, he saw everyone else reacting with similar surprise.
"Um, say you guys. Is anyone else hearing voices? Or is my old age finally catching up with me?" Master Roshi asked nervously.
"Thanks, King Kai. I knew I could count on you." His father's tired voice remained calm despite his injuries. "Go ahead, we're listening."
"Sure, but as long as I have the podium for a minute, let me congratulate you all on a battle well fought. It looked like that Saiyan really had you guys on the ropes, but thanks to his daughter's quick thinking and Gohan's execution, you pulled through!" King Kai praised.
"I hate to say it, but he even had me a little scared," his father admitted. "Even a Kaio-ken times four attack wasn't enough to stop him.
Gohan felt his cheeks warm at the praise, but confusion nagged at him. Before he could ask, Krillin voiced the same question.
"Wait! What do you mean by his daughter's quick thinking?"
"Cellera had the quick idea to rebound the energy after Vegeta dodged Krillin's initial attack. Once she heard that the Spirit Bomb doesn't hurt those who have pure hearts, she was confident that Gohan could do it."
Gohan felt his mother's arms tighten around him. "That girl..." she started, her tone sharp, but then paused. "She... helped save you?"
"She did more than that, Mom," Gohan said quietly, remembering their fight. "She could have hurt me badly, but instead she tried to make me stronger. She wanted me to understand why we need to fight to protect the things that matter." He looked up at his mother. "Like you."
His mother's expression softened with confusion. "But she was trying to destroy Earth..."
"No," Gohan shook his head. "I think that was more of her father's idea, not hers. She even removed her tail to prove they'd leave us alone."
"She..." his mother trailed off, processing this new information.
"That's not all," Krillin added, seeming to understand what Gohan was trying to explain. "When Vegeta was down, she put herself between him and my attack. Said if I was going to kill him, I'd have to kill her too." He scratched his head. "Pretty brave for a kid."
"Wait, so did you let them go?!" Master Roshi asked in shock and Krillin gave a nervous laughter in response, promise to tell his teacher the whole story later.
His mother was quiet for a long moment, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Well then," she said, her voice carrying that tone that meant she'd made up her mind about something, "I suppose I'll let the matter go as of now."
Gohan leaned into his mother's embrace as King Kai explained Planet Namek's location. "The coordinates are 9-0-4-5 XY."
"What? Is he serious!" Bulma's exclamation drew everyone's attention. "9-0-4-5 XY? But that's..." He watched as she demanded Master Roshi take control of the ship while she pulled a calculator from her pocket.
As King Kai described Planet Namek's history - once lush and green like Earth before some catastrophe struck - Gohan's mind wandered to his conversation with Cellera. She'd told him about their own destroyed planet, their nearly extinct race forced to serve someone named Frieza. Her father's wish for immortality made more sense now, though she probably didn't know the Dragon Balls couldn't restore everything they'd lost.
"Good news everyone!" King Kai's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I found the Namekians! I can sense about a hundred of them still on the planet, alive and well!"
Hope surged through Gohan. They could save Piccolo and the others! He could repay his mentor's sacrifice and show him how much he'd grown.
But Bulma's calculations crushed that hope - four thousand years just to reach Namek. His heart sank until an idea struck him.
"What if we used a Saiyan spaceship?" The words left his mouth before he could second-guess them. Everyone turned to stare.
"There's an idea," Master Roshi nodded. "But where are we gonna get one of those? I thought the Saiyans left?"
"Well, Vegeta and Cellera left. And it looked like their ship was barely big enough for the both of them. There's no way that Nappa guy could've squeezed in there with them. He had to have a ship of his own!" Krillin's observation made Gohan shudder at the thought of being trapped in a small ship with Nappa.
When Bulma examined the remote control Krillin had found, her expression turned gleeful. "Pack your bags! We're going to Namek!"
Days later, Gohan sat in his hospital bed, staring blankly at one of his study books while his mother hummed and peeled an apple. His mind kept drifting to Bulma and Mr. Popo's search for Kami's ship.
"Here!" His mother held out the peeled apple.
"No. Thank you," he replied absently, not looking up from the page he wasn't really reading.
"Gohan." Her tone brooked no argument. "Eat or you'll never get better. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a hospital?"
The sight of the juicy apple finally sparked his appetite. "No," he conceded, closing his book to accept it.
Krillin burst in with exciting news about Bulma's successful test flight to Jupiter. While his friend spoke, Gohan stared at the half-eaten apple in his lap. He needed to recover quickly if he wanted to help find the Namekian Dragon Balls and bring Piccolo back.
Later, noticing his mother's absence and his father and Krillin napping, Gohan seized his chance. Slipping out of bed, he snuck to the balcony to test his recovery. The first twenty pull-ups went smoothly until pain shot through his left wrist. He lost his grip, catching himself on a lower ledge with a yelp.
"That was a close one." After pulling himself up, he checked the empty waiting area through the doors, relieved no one had witnessed his near fall.
Balance came next - walking the railing with outstretched arms. One wobble, quickly corrected, then he eyed the ground with determination.
"Here goes!" A series of flips brought him to the ground. No pain. He stomped hard to be sure, grinning when his body held up. "See, I knew I felt better!
"Gohan!" His mother's voice shattered the quiet.
His heart jumped as he quickly grabbed the book he'd brought as backup, dropping onto a nearby bench and pretending to read. The balcony door creaked open.
"Gohan!" His mother's scolding tone matched her stance, hands planted firmly on her hips. "I've been looking all over for you."
"Oh, hi Mom! I, uh, thought some fresh air would do me good. So I came up here to read." Gohan buried his face deeper in the book, hoping she hadn't noticed the slight sheen of sweat from his impromptu training session.
"You had me worried sick!" Her voice made him flinch, trying to disappear further behind the pages.
Then, to his surprise, she crouched down in front of him. "Hop on and we'll go back to the room."
Something in Gohan bristled at being treated like he couldn't handle himself. After everything he'd faced - Mr. Piccolo's training, the Saiyans, protecting Earth - being carried like a helpless child felt wrong. "But... I can walk. I feel fine," he protested.
"Don't be silly," his mother shook her head. "Now, chop chop. Come on Gohan."
Swallowing his pride - and the urge to demonstrate just how well he could move - Gohan gave a reluctant nod. He climbed onto his mother's back, remembering how just days ago he'd stood against warriors who threatened entire planets. Now here he was, being carried back to bed like he'd never left the four-year-old she remembered.
As his mother secured him and started walking, Gohan couldn't help but wonder what Cellera would think of this scene. She'd probably shake her head at how quickly he'd gone from warrior back to coddled child. But then again, maybe she'd understand something else too - what it meant to have someone care this much about keeping you safe.
When they returned to the room, Gohan found Bulma, Mr. Popo, and the others waiting. As he settled back into bed, Bulma explained how the ship could reach Namek in less than a month, having already tested it to Jupiter.
The excitement dimmed when Mr. Popo revealed he couldn't abandon the lookout for two months. Gohan watched Bulma's panic rise at losing her Namekian translator and co-pilot. Even as Krillin tried reassuring her about learning the necessary words, Bulma's anxiousness about traveling alone was clear.
Gohan's hands tightened on his blanket as Krillin declined joining her, citing needed training for future threats. His friend's words brought back memories of the battlefield, of Piccolo's sacrifice, of everything worth protecting.
"Hey... guys?" His quiet words drew everyone's attention.
"What's wrong, Gohan? Do you have a tummy ache?" His mother's gentle concern made what he had to say even harder.
Frustration built as he clutched the blankets tighter, forcing the words out. "I want to go with Bulma and Krillin!"
The shock in his mother's face twisted into hurt. "Wait a minute, Gohan. You don't want to leave me alone for two months."
Guilt gnawed at him - she'd just gotten him back after a year, battered and changed. But he had to make her understand. "But, Mom, Dad will be here with you! And I really want to go with them."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing. You'd rather go with them than stay with me?!"
"Sorry, mom... But, I really need to try to help bring Piccolo back."
His mother's tirade about wanting a normal family that ate dinner together and watched TV made Gohan think of his father's extraordinary life. Nothing about their family had ever been truly normal.
When she forbade him from going, calling him a child who should act like one, something in Gohan snapped. He thought of Piccolo's final moments, of Cellera's words about being lucky to have something worth protecting. He remembered the battlefield, death and sacrifice - things that had already changed how he saw the world.
"I'm going!" His shout stunned the room. "There's no time for those childish things anymore. My friends are gone, and they're not coming back. I've got to help find the Dragon Balls." Taking a breath, he softened his tone. "Mom, Piccolo died trying to help me, so I think I should do everything I can to help him. I'm sorry I yelled at you, Mom. But these are my friends - they're worth fighting for."
The conviction in his voice revealed how much he'd grown. Like Cellera protecting her father, he understood now what it meant to fight for something bigger than himself.
"Don't worry, Chichi." His grandpa's gentle hand rested on his mother's shoulders. "You have a brave son there. I'm sure he'll make it back just fine."
Gohan noticed his grandpa's proud smile, and looking around, saw everyone except his mother wearing similar expressions. The attention made his cheeks warm, but something about their faith in him strengthened his resolve.
"I promise to keep an eye on him at all times, Chichi," Bulma assured. "Nothing will happen to your little boy. And besides, Krillin will be there too!"
After Bulma and Mr. Popo agreed to delay departure by ten days, Gohan sat patiently as his mother brushed his hair. Her gentle strokes reminded him of simpler times, before Raditz, before Piccolo's training, before everything changed.
"Aren't you finished yet?"
"Be patient," she scolded gently. "Even superheroes have to spend quality time with their moms. We may need to get you a haircut before you leave."
Gohan didn't correct her about being a superhero. After keeping her alone for a year, he could give her these moments of mothering. She'd have to watch both her son and husband leave again soon enough.
When she left for his medicine, his father caught his eye, holding up a bandaged hand. "Give it a try."
His first punch landed soft in his father's palm.
"Don't hold back, Gohan. I need to see if you're really okay."
Taking Piccolo's stance - the memory of his mentor sending a fresh wave of determination through him - Gohan channeled his energy into a real punch. The sunset painted their hospital room golden as father and son shared an understanding look.
"Now that's more like it. You're definitely ready. You sure made a quick recovery. But then again, I had no doubt you would. You've gotten so strong!"
Pride bloomed in Gohan's chest at his father's praise. If the strongest person he knew believed in him, maybe he really could bring everyone back.
Day of Depature
On departure day, Gohan tried focusing on his book in his grandpa's vehicle, but anticipation about their journey to Namek made the words blur together.
"We're here." His mother's eyes held that familiar worry. "Are you sure you still want to go?"
"Yes Mom, I'm sure."
"My little boy really has grown without me in the last year." She sighed, then added softly: "But... I'm proud of you, son."
The words caught him off guard. His mother, who'd fought alongside his father at the World Martial Arts Tournament but wanted a different path for her son, was proud of him choosing this warrior's path. His vision blurred as he realized - maybe she understood now that fighting wasn't just about combat, but about protecting what mattered.
At Master Roshi's island, Gohan hesitated to exit, dreading everyone's reaction to his new look. The bowl cut and formal outfit his mother insisted on made him feel like a little kid again, though he'd secretly packed his own clothes. These small rebellions felt strange - the old Gohan would never have gone against his mother's wishes. But he wasn't that same boy anymore.
Krillin's laughter at his appearance made his cheeks burn. "I worried about not having a space suit... At least I don't have to wear a little uniform."
"Yeah. Dad thought I looked pretty funny, too," Gohan admitted, remembering his father's similar reaction.
"I don't know why. I think it makes him look like the cutest thing. Don't you think so, Gohan?" His mother's hopeful tone made him stay silent. He could give her this too, before leaving again.
His mother's detailed inventory of his excessive luggage - everything from extra uniforms to study materials - made Krillin's eyes widen. But Gohan understood. She was trying to mother him the only way she could now.
"Can we go now?" Bulma asked from her spot against Kame House. "This suit is heavy. I'm looking forward to zero gravity."
As they boarded for their month-long journey, Gohan felt the weight of their mission. He was choosing this path - not just for Piccolo and their friends, but for himself. Somewhere beyond Earth, new challenges waited. This time, he was ready to face them.
The rhythmic hum of the space pod's life support systems did little to soothe Cellera's racing thoughts. Her father lay unconscious beside her in the cramped pod, his labored breathing mixing with the occasional beep of their navigation computer. She pressed her thumb to her lip, analyzing their situation with the same tactical precision her father had drilled into her. The pod's emergency protocols had automatically rerouted them to Frieza Planet 79 after detecting their severe injuries - a logical choice, but one that made her tail want to tighten anxiously before she remembered its absence.
She tried not to look at the space where her tail had been. The phantom sensation still lingered, an echo of what she'd sacrificed. Instead, she focused on monitoring her father's vital signs on the pod's medical display. Each steady pulse helped quiet the voice in her head questioning if she'd made the right choice.
"You've grown weak," she imagined him saying when he finally woke. The words he'd surely speak burned in her mind, but they didn't carry the same weight they once had. She'd seen something different on Earth - strength that came from protection rather than destruction. The boy Gohan, the same age as her, fighting not for pride or power but for those he loved.
The pod's computer chirped, announcing their approach to Frieza Planet 79. Cellera's hands tightened on the controls as she initiated landing procedures. She knew what awaited them - not just the healing tanks, but the questions. How had the mighty Prince Vegeta been so thoroughly defeated? What would Frieza do when he learned of their failure?
As they entered the atmosphere, her father stirred slightly. His face contorted in pain, but even unconscious, he maintained that iron control he'd always demanded of her. No sounds of weakness escaped him.
"We'll be there soon, Father," she whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear. "Just hold on a little longer."
The medical bay staff scrambled to attention as their pod crashed into the landing pad. Cellera ignored their shocked expressions at her missing tail as she helped transfer her father to a stretcher. She caught fragments of their whispered conversations - speculation about what could have happened to leave the proud Saiyan prince in such a state.
Cellera's eyes darted around the medical bay, cataloging potential threats and escape routes - another habit inherited from her father. "Prepare two healing tanks immediately," she commanded, adopting the same tone she'd used to control Nappa. Her usual calm expression masked her exhaustion, though she caught herself pressing her thumb to her lip as she calculated their vulnerability in this position. The medical staff hurried to comply, but the head doctor held up a hand.
"Your injuries are minor compared to your father's, a few hours' rest should-"
"Two tanks," she repeated firmly. She wouldn't leave her father vulnerable, not here.
As the healing tank's blue fluid rose around her, Cellera watched through the glass as the doctors worked to stabilize her father in the adjacent tank. The familiar sensation of accelerated healing began to take hold, but her mind remained active.
She thought of Gohan's words about fighting to protect, so similar to her mother's teachings that she'd nearly forgotten under years of her father's training. Of Kakarot's inexplicable mercy, reminding her of stories Nappa used to tell of how her father was different before Frieza. Of the way they'd all fought together, supporting each other instead of competing for dominance - a tactical advantage she couldn't help but analyze even now.
Her gaze drifted to her father's tank. What would he say when he learned she'd allowed their enemies to live? That she'd removed her own tail to prove their sincerity? The doctors' surprised murmurs when they'd discovered the clean, self-inflicted cut told her that news would spread quickly.
But she remembered too the way her father's grip had weakened on her wrist in those final moments. How he'd tried to push her away from Krillin's attack, perhaps his own way of showing protection. There was something there, buried beneath years of Frieza's influence and the weight of their lost heritage.
As the healing fluid dulled her senses, Cellera made a silent promise, her analytical mind already forming strategies. She would find a way to show him the strength she'd discovered on Earth, the same strength her mother had tried to teach her about mercy. And somehow, she would help him remember what it meant to fight for something beyond pride and power. Perhaps then they could both be free of Frieza's influence - a tactical goal worth far more than any planet's destruction.
The tank's sedatives finally took hold, pulling her into unconsciousness. Her last thought was of Gohan's determined face as he'd stood up to her father. Perhaps they weren't so different after all - two children trying to live up to their fathers' expectations while forging their own paths.
In the adjacent tank, Vegeta's vital signs slowly stabilized, father and daughter healing together yet separated by more than just glass.
The healing tank's sedative pulled Cellera deeper into unconsciousness, past the clinical analysis of their current situation into older, rawer memories….
The training room's familiar walls blurred around her as she dodged her father's strikes. Even at three, she knew to watch his eyes for tells, to analyze each movement for tactical advantage. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind from their last training session: "Remember, power alone isn't enough. Even a stronger opponent can be defeated with proper strategy."
"Your stance is too wide," her father critiqued, though his tone carried none of the bitter edge it would develop in later years. Back then, pride in their Saiyan heritage still outweighed fear of Frieza's growing control. "Strategy is what separates elite warriors from common soldiers."
The door burst open, breaking their routine. Two of Frieza's soldiers entered - not unusual, but something in their stance made her young tail tighten anxiously around her waist. Behind them lurked Dodoria, his presence immediately setting off warning signals in her mind, young as it was. High-ranking officers didn't deliver routine mission reports.
"Vegeta," the first soldier began, then hesitated. Even at three, she recognized the tension in his posture. Her father must have seen it too because he stepped slightly in front of her - a protective gesture that would become increasingly rare after that day.
"What is it?" Her father's voice carried that dangerous edge she'd learned meant trouble.
"It's about the mission to Planet Tarius..." The soldier's eyes darted to her, then away. "Rhuba's squad encountered... unexpected resistance."
The memory blurred, fragments surfacing through the healing tank's sedative. Her father's face hardened into the mask she'd come to know so well. Her mother's pendant retrieved from the mission site, pressed into her small hands. The whispers that followed them through Frieza's base - not just about the "accident," but about other Saiyan squadrons that had met similar fates.
Dodoria's satisfied smirk remained sharp in her memory as he delivered the "official" report. "Such a shame," he'd said, voice dripping with false sympathy. "First that meteor destroyed Planet Vegeta, now this... It seems the mighty Saiyan race isn't as invincible as they thought."
Her young mind hadn't understood then why her father's hands had clenched at the mention of Planet Vegeta's destruction. Hadn't recognized the calculated cruelty behind Dodoria's words. But now, with analytical clarity honed by years of observing Frieza's methods, she understood.
Every "accident," every "unexpected resistance," had targeted the strongest Saiyan warriors. Those most likely to band together, to question orders, to remember what it meant to be truly free. Her mother had been one of those warriors - too strong, too independent, too likely to nurture those same qualities in her daughter.
The memory began to fade as the healing tank's systems deepened her sedation. But her tactical mind, even in sleep, cataloged every detail of Dodoria's expression that day. The same way she'd learned to analyze opponents' weaknesses during combat, she analyzed this memory for the truth it revealed.
Her last conscious thought carried the cold precision her father had taught her: some deaths deserved to be quick, but others...others required a calculated response. After all, strategy was what separated elite warriors from common soldiers.
The pod's hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss, releasing healing fluid onto the medical bay floor. Cellera's eyes snapped open immediately, awareness engaging before her body had fully recovered out of reflex. Her father remained unconscious in the adjacent tank - stable, but still requiring several more hours of healing.
She glanced at the current spectators of her awakening, analyzing the changed dynamics in the room. The medical staff's nervous glances and hurried movements suggested news of their Earth defeat had already spread. More concerning was the presence of Zarbon waiting near the doorway, his perfectly styled hair and gleaming armor a stark contrast to the utilitarian medical bay.
Even at her young age, Cellera understood why many found Zarbon handsome. His graceful stance reminded her of the way some of Earth's fighters had moved - efficient, precise. But she noted how that beauty masked deadly capability, like poisonous flowers on planets they'd purged.
"Lord Frieza requests your presence," Zarbon announced, his cultured voice carrying an edge of command. "Since your father is... indisposed, you'll be accompanying Dodoria and myself on several priority missions."
Cellera's hand twitched, wanting to tighten around a tail that was no longer there. The movement didn't escape Zarbon's notice, his perfect features arranging themselves into a look of false concern.
"Such a shame about your... modification," he said smoothly. "Though I suppose it makes you look slightly more civilized than the average monkey."
She maintained her neutral expression, the same one she'd perfected watching her father handle Frieza's taunts. "I'll prepare immediately," she replied, her voice carrying the crisp authority she'd learned to project despite her age. "Will Lord Frieza be briefing us personally?"
"Indeed." Zarbon's eyes flickered to Vegeta's healing tank. "He's quite interested in hearing about your... experiences on Earth."
Cellera's analytical mind raced through the implications. Being separated from her father while he was vulnerable, paired with Dodoria of all people... She forced down the memory of that smirk from years ago. Now wasn't the time for revenge. Strategy first, just as both her parents had taught her.
"I'll report to Lord Frieza's chambers within the hour," she stated, already cataloging potential scenarios and responses.
"Don't keep us waiting, little princess." Zarbon's mocking tone carried just enough threat to be noticeable. "Your father's not here to protect you anymore."
As he turned to leave, his cape swirling with practiced elegance, Cellera allowed herself one small gesture of defiance - the same thumb-biting tell that drove her father mad, now deployed intentionally to project childish uncertainty rather than the analysis actually racing through her mind.
Let them think she is weakened, changed by Earth's influence. Let them believe her father's absence made her vulnerable. She glanced at his healing tank, remembering his lessons about appearing weak when you were strong.
They'd learn soon enough that some things ran deeper than tails or titles. The analytical mind she'd inherited from her father, the strategic patience from her mother - those were weapons no one could take away.
She began her preparations, each movement precise and measured. After all, she'd learned from Earth that true strength came in many forms. And revenge, like any good strategy, was worth waiting for.
First Mission - Planet Sorus:
Cellera kept pace behind Zarbon as they traversed the crystalline terrain, his movements graceful despite the treacherous surface. She caught herself studying the way his braid swayed with each step, almost hypnotic against his gleaming armor.
During quiet moments between patrols, she tried what she'd observed on Earth - reaching out with her senses, trying to feel energy without the scouter. The attempt at concentration earned her a headache and nearly missed an incoming attack.
"Careful, little princess," Zarbon's cultured voice cut through her frustration. "The locals are known for ambush tactics."
As if summoned by his words, crystal spikes erupted from the ground around them. Cellera leapt back, but one shard caught her arm, drawing blood. If she could just sense energy like the Earthlings... but the skill remained frustratingly out of reach.
The mission
Second Mission - Planet Raxus:
The healing tank's fluid drained away, her first major recovery in two weeks. The emergence left her stronger, a fact that didn't escape Dodoria's suspicious glares. During the quiet hours in the tank, she'd practiced focusing on energy signatures, finding it easier in the tank's isolation.
Today she'd try masking her own power level - another technique she'd seen on Earth. Her first attempts felt like trying to hold her breath underwater. The moment her concentration slipped, her power level spiked back to normal.
The planet's defense forces had actually managed to coordinate a decent resistance. As Dodoria dealt with their ground troops, Zarbon engaged their aerial fighters. Between dodges, Cellera kept trying to suppress her energy, managing a few seconds at most.
"Lord Zarbon," she called up, noting how his power level fluctuated erratically. "The eastern quadrant still requires-"
"Silence!" The snarl in his voice broke her concentration completely, her power level flaring with startled response.
Final Mission - Planet Keras:
"How disappointing." Zarbon examined his reflection in a shattered piece of architecture. "All this dust is terrible for one's complexion."
Cellera barely heard him, straining to sense approaching enemies without her scouter. After weeks of practice, she could detect large power signatures if she concentrated hard enough, but the fine control the Earthlings possessed still eluded her. Her right leg throbbed from a blast she hadn't sensed coming.
She managed to mask her power level for nearly a minute now, but maintaining it while fighting proved nearly impossible. Each blast or quick movement required starting over. Still, even this limited ability had saved her twice already when her scouter malfunctioned.
A massive energy signature suddenly flared behind Zarbon - clear enough that even her developing senses screamed warning. "Behind you!"
The blast caught Zarbon square in the face...
"You..." His voice deepened, flesh rippling. "You damaged my face."
What happened next burned away any lingering fascination she might have held. Zarbon's transformation was nothing like the efficient power of the Saiyans' Oozaru form. This was grotesque, his refined beauty splitting and bulging into a monstrous form.
"Pity you had to see this, little princess." The guttural voice barely resembled his usual cultured tones. "I do so hate showing this form to an audience."
The next few minutes taught Cellera more about true monsters than any of her father's lessons. When she emerged from the healing tank days later, her newfound strength was accompanied by a deeper understanding: true ugliness had nothing to do with outer appearance.
She found herself missing the straightforward battles on Earth, where enemies and allies were clear, and transformations came from training rather than deception. Even Kakarot's strange power-up had held a certain honor to it.
Her hand brushed the scar from that final mission - a reminder that beauty, like any weapon, could be wielded to deceive. She thought of Gohan and his father, their power coming from protection rather than pride or pretense. Perhaps there were worse things than being a "monkey" who fought with honest strength.