Over the years, the Frieza Force had been ground down by a coalition of hostile powers from every direction. Back in the days when Frieza himself sat at the top, the Ginyu Force swept the galaxy clean, the Four Heavenly Kings — Zarbon, Dodoria, Vegeta, and Cui — served as his enforcers, and the combined territories of the Frieza Force and Cooler's Armored Squadron accounted for roughly seventy percent of all habitable planets in the universe.
Cooler kept a lower profile, but calling Frieza the Emperor of the Universe was no exaggeration.
Once Frieza "departed," his core forces either died or defected, and the empire withered. Their current holdings were less than one percent of their peak territory — but a starved camel is still bigger than a horse. There was still something left in the coffers.
The massive warship entered Earth's atmosphere a mere ten minutes behind Tarble's single-pilot craft.
The giant ship descended, the hatch opened, and Frieza blinked. Good grief — why were there so many people here?
Grand Zeno. The Grand Minister. Ino. Whis. Vados. Beerus. Champa. Two chubby Supreme Kais. Shin. Kibito. Then: Goku, Vegeta, Gohan, little Trunks, Goten, Piccolo, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, Satan, Nappa — and on Ino's side, the freeloaders who'd tagged along for the food: Future Trunks, Future Gohan, No. 17, No. 18, Nail, Himawari, Kale.
Champa's Sixth Universe contingent included not just Saiyans Caulifla and Gabe, but also the premier assassin Hit, the hulking yellow bear-warrior Botamo, and the giant-robot-esque Auta Magetta, steam venting from the top of his head…
Frieza: "???"
Who am I? What exactly was I here to do again?
There were certainly no shortage of familiar faces. Vegeta and Nappa aside, he'd crossed paths with the Sixth Universe's top assassin Hit several times. That man — over a thousand years old, his martial arts and assassination techniques honed to an absolute edge — struck Frieza as genuinely dangerous. Even in his Golden Form, he held no great confidence in beating Hit.
What on earth were all these people gathered here for?
This wasn't... a welcoming party for me, was it?
The colossal warship's landing had made quite the impression. The crowd at the eating contest venue had arranged themselves in several layered rows, like they were posing for a massive group photo — and then, as one, they all turned to look at him.
A few of those gazes, by Frieza's read, were frankly insolent — the kind of look you give a dead man.
Frieza studied them right back.
He spotted Nappa immediately — two and a half meters tall, completely bald, scraggly-bearded, normally wearing a face like a war crime. But right now Nappa was hunched over, neck pulled in, radiating the energy of the lowliest grunt imaginable.
He also clocked Grand Zeno, the Grand Minister, and Ino. All three of them were short — each one shorter than the last — yet every single one of them radiated an overwhelming aura of authority. They stood dead center in the crowd, carrying themselves with the bearing of absolute rulers. It was impossible not to notice them.
Some deep instinct screamed danger. Frieza's legs went a little wobbly. There were too many enemies here!
And then he saw Beerus staring at him with undisguised murderous intent, and the fear spiking in his chest hit its absolute peak.
He could shout something bold right now — "Fortune favors the brave, bring the ship in closer!" — but he had a very bad feeling that the moment those words left his mouth, he was a dead man. No one could save him.
He tried to do what he always did: raise a hand to his mouth, fake a polite little laugh, cough a couple of times for show. But it wouldn't come. The pressure in the air was overwhelming. His body was shaking beyond his control.
Frieza had come a long way since his early days of calling everyone "Daddy" and calculating when he'd outlive his father so he could finally be number one. Life had seasoned him. He knew when to bend.
He scanned his surroundings at maximum speed.
He'd studied Earth's language specifically to use the Dragon Balls. Thanks to the Galactic Patrol's endorsements and some promotional coverage — some of it accurate, some of it not — Earth was no longer the backwater planet it used to be. Its language wasn't too obscure; Frieza had tracked down some materials, spent a little time on it, and achieved fluency. Now his eyes swept across the banners hanging in the plaza.
"An eating contest?"
What in the world kind of event was this?
Out of the corner of his eye, Beerus was practically vibrating with readiness, one twitch away from lunging over and tearing him apart with his bare hands. Frieza plastered on a fawning smile. "Hahahaha! Everyone's looking well, I must say… Ha ha, yes, well — I've come to donate ingredients! That's right, exactly that! Quickly now, get all our provisions unloaded!"
He waved cheerfully at his subordinates behind him, then began firing off frantic meaningful looks at a frequency that could give someone a facial tic.
If his men had rocks for brains and tried to charge forward, he was completely finished.
Fortunately, Frieza's luck genuinely held. During his years away in the Sixth Universe, the Frieza Force had been beaten like a wet dog by every faction that could lay a hand on them. The thick-skulled ones had long since died. The survivors all had excellent situational awareness — because those who didn't had never made it to today.
Big head, small body — Sorbet, Chief of Staff of the Frieza Force, read his commander's signals instantly. He barked at the underlings to get moving and get all the food unloaded, now!
Frieza's giant warship was essentially a small city. The provisions were substantial. His crew hailed from dozens of intelligent species across the universe, and some of those ingredients genuinely couldn't be bought for any amount of money. Laid out all at once like this, they neatly filled the last remaining gap in the eating contest's supply chain.
"Come on, come on — let's all pitch in and help! Hahahaha!" Vegeta laughed stiffly and waved the Earth warriors over to help the Frieza Force's space pirates move cargo.
Using the bustle of unloading as cover, Vegeta passed by Frieza shoulder-to-shoulder.
The Saiyan Prince dropped his voice low, his expression dead serious. "I'm warning you — don't start anything today."
Frieza was so furious his nose nearly twisted sideways. Little Vegeta, daring to talk to him like that?
He kept his smile up and fired back in a low, dangerous murmur: "Vegeta, how very brave of you… Once today is over, I'm going to kill you with my own hands."
After Vegeta moved on, the Sixth Universe's premier assassin Hit also strolled past under the pretense of helping with the cargo, his steps unhurried and measured.
Hit was ice-cold — he'd known for years that Frost was effectively Frieza in disguise, and the two of them had crossed paths on multiple occasions.
Same shoulder-brush. Same low warning: "Don't start anything today."
Frieza swallowed his fury. "You don't need to remind me."
The last person to pass by him shoulder-to-shoulder was Beerus.
The Destroyer's eyes were blazing with raw hostility, like he wanted to eat Frieza alive. "You remember who I am, I assume? Let me make this perfectly clear: no causing trouble today. You sit still and you behave. Understood?"
By this point Frieza had been threatened into a state of numb exhaustion. All I came here for was to grab some Dragon Balls. Is it really such a big deal? Was all of this really necessary?
He at least knew what the phrase "know when to fold" meant. He summoned a smile with all the warmth of a man who'd just been told his father died, and said stiffly: "Understood… I understand..."
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