Five years later…
The once-quiet halls of the Xalurei facility were anything but peaceful.
A blur of blue and white darted between columns, leaving behind giggles, sparks of light, and groaning scientists. A trail of floating papers, spilled nutrient vials, and a frustrated maintenance droid lay in his wake.
"Stop him!"
"I just recalibrated the sensors—why is he in this wing again?!"
"Someone close the west hall blast doors—now!"
Too late.
With a burst of laughter and a skip in his step, the boy launched himself off a crate, flipped midair with unnatural grace, and slipped through the sliding doors just as they began to shut.
"Missed me again!" he called, his voice echoing down the corridor.
Noen stood panting just outside the lab's quarantine wing, hands on her knees, glaring down the hall like she'd just lost a war.
"I swear… I swear he knows exactly what he's doing," she muttered.
"He does," Kirel replied flatly as he walked up beside her, holding a mug of something steaming and bitter-smelling. "He figured out the lab's security grid last year. We just haven't confirmed it yet."
Noen groaned. "He's five. Five."
"Yes," Kirel said, sipping. "And smarter than half the tech division."
Down the west hall, the child skidded to a stop beside one of the observation windows. His white hair—messy, windblown, and naturally spiked—fell just above his amber-colored eyes. Those eyes always held a glow… not just in color, but in depth.
He pressed his palms to the window, staring out into space.
Stars.
Infinite, brilliant stars.
He didn't know what they were called, not officially. The scientists taught him basic words. Object. Light. Planet. Data. But he gave names to things the way only a child could.
The bright blue one he called "Whistler."
The reddish one was "Grouchy."
And the largest of them all, with five orbiting moons?
He named that one "Big Sleepy."
He didn't know why.
It just felt right.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned, grinning.
"Oh no—you're not gonna catch me, Juju!"
Juil froze mid-step, lips twitching in mild offense. "It's Juil."
"Juju," he repeated firmly, then darted past her, snatching a protein stick from her hand as he passed.
"Hey!"
"No stealing from your guardians!" shouted Noen as she rounded the corner behind them.
"He prefers the term chaos goblin," Kirel said calmly from a speaker, sipping his drink from the control room. "Also, he's already rerouted the hallway locks. You're not catching him until he wants to be caught."
They did eventually lure him in, of course.
Not with threats. Not with sedatives.
With stories.
Kirel sat beside the boy in the containment chamber that doubled as a playroom. The child leaned on a soft platform, chewing on the remnants of a snack while looking up at his favorite part of the lab—a rotating globe that displayed known worlds in real-time.
"Tell me the one again," the boy said. "The fire world."
"Planet Vegeta," Kirel said.
"Why is it gone?"
Kirel paused.
"It was… destroyed. Long ago. By someone very strong. Someone who was afraid of the people living there."
The boy tilted his head. "Like me?"
Kirel's throat tightened. "Not quite. But… maybe similar."
The child stared at the holographic display. His fingers twitched.
"Do you think… they could've been friends?"
Kirel blinked. "Who?"
"The destroyer. And the people."
"I don't know," Kirel said quietly. "Maybe, if things were different."
The boy didn't respond. Just leaned his head back and watched the stars spin.
Later that evening, during one of the routine scans, something strange happened again.
The boy sat calmly in the center of the chamber, breathing steadily. Lights dimmed to comfort levels. The sensors were tuned to detect any unusual fluctuations in his ki.
But what bloomed from him wasn't a flare of power, wasn't a pulse of anger or joy.
It was… a song.
Not literal music.
But his energy danced in rhythm.
It swirled like a melody, a soft hum through the entire base, resonating with every living thing. A janitor droid paused and tilted its head, mimicking the motion of listening. The low-power reactor in the eastern wing began to sync its pulsing core with the ki signature, reducing vibration strain by 12%. Several older researchers later reported brief moments of clarity—as if old thoughts were resurfacing with ease.
"He's harmonizing," Juil whispered, staring at the monitor.
"With what?" Noen asked.
"With everything," Kirel murmured.
When the scan ended, the boy opened his eyes slowly.
"Was that bad?" he asked.
"No," Juil said gently from the intercom.
He smiled. "Good. I didn't want to make anything blow up again."
As the day ended, and he lay in his pod under the starlit dome, the boy curled into his sheets and whispered the names of the stars he made up.
"Goodnight, Whistler… Goodnight, Grouchy…"
Then, softly:
"Goodnight… Big Sleepy."
Far above the lab, in the silence of space, a probe drifted undetected past the planet's outer ring. Its origin was unknown, its tech far more advanced than Frieza's, and far older than the Xalurei.
Inside it… was a single blinking light.
A tracker.
Locked onto one ki signature.
The child's.