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Power doesn't rise just because you wish it would.
Even as a lifelong Dragon Ball fan—someone who knows every twist and turn of the story, every arc, every secret to getting stronger—Harry quickly learned that actually living in this world was a whole different beast.
No matter how much he knew, the reality of training, bleeding, and growing stronger hit him like a cold bucket of water.
Sometimes, he couldn't help but envy those other "travelers" in the novels.
You know the type—guys who drop into the Dragon Ball world and instantly become a candidate for God of Destruction, or an apprentice angel, or even someone who casually chats with Zeno like they're old pals.
And even if they didn't luck out that hard, they'd still get some kind of system: a daily check-in bonus, passive power-ups, battle power increasing by one point per second—basically, pure hacks.
They didn't need to lift a finger, and their strength skyrocketed to ridiculous levels. Gods, demons, universes—they'd blow through them all.
And then there was him. Harry.
No system, no divine mentor, no cosmic buddy. Nothing.
Reality hit him hard: not every transmigrator gets a cheat-code start.
Some, like him, have to grind it out the slow, steady, sweat-and-blood way.
Still, he consoled himself—it could've been worse. At least he'd landed as a Saiyan. If he'd been reborn as literally any other race, no amount of effort or early-game cleverness would've saved him.
Because in the end, this world always belonged to the Saiyans.
No matter how high someone's potential or how deep their cultivation, it all meant nothing once a Saiyan transformed.
When a Saiyan changes form, nothing shines brighter in the universe.
Harry took a deep breath, pushing the envy and pointless thoughts aside.
For now, he was content.
He'd never been one to chase after the impossible anyway.
Five years—no, not even that. Closer to four.
Sure, compared to those cosmic-level powerhouses with millions or billions in battle power, his numbers were laughable. But it wasn't nothing.
He'd climbed from 200 to 990. That was strong enough to blow up a planet. And this wasn't some system-gifted stat boost—it was earned. Through sweat, pain, and persistence. That kind of strength felt real.
"Next, I need to figure out how to get off Planet Vegeta…" Harry muttered to himself, frowning. "According to the news Raditz brought back, Prince Vegeta's about to lead the elite squad on a mission to conquer a high-level world."
And that meant the clock was ticking.
If everything unfolded like in the story, Planet Vegeta had less than a year—maybe half that—before Frieza destroyed it.
When that happened, almost the entire Saiyan race would be wiped out. The few survivors left behind would exist only as Frieza's playthings.
Harry had thought about that a lot.
If he'd been born a lower-class warrior, he might've been sent off to some backwater planet as a baby. That kind of life was dangerous, sure, but at least he wouldn't be sitting here, waiting for doomsday.
Then again, that wasn't exactly a good deal either.
Plenty of Saiyan infants were sent off every year—how many actually survived?
Kakarot was the exception, not the rule. That kind of luck came with protagonist-level plot armor.
Anyway, that ship had sailed. What mattered now was finding a way out—his way out.
Fighting Frieza? Forget it. He couldn't even handle most of Frieza's soldiers.
That wasn't an exaggeration. He'd seen it firsthand.
Ever since Frieza replaced King Cold and rebranded the Cold Force as the Frieza Army, Planet Vegeta had been under tight surveillance. "For cooperation," they said—to "help manage" Saiyan affairs.
Yeah, right. Everyone knew it was really just to keep the Saiyans in line—and to remind them who ruled over them.
Those stationed soldiers weren't pushovers either. The weakest of them had battle powers in the hundreds. Some broke past a thousand. Others—several thousand.
Harry couldn't take one of them head-on, let alone all of them. Even most grown Saiyans would struggle.
Numbers alone didn't decide a fight. Experience, technique, instinct—they all mattered.
As he was thinking all this, something made him freeze.
A strange pulse—an unfamiliar energy—brushed against his senses. His whole body went rigid, every hair standing on end.
"What… is this feeling?" His heart tightened. A chill crawled up his spine.
His instincts screamed danger.
Ever since he'd started training in ki, his senses had gotten sharper, sometimes too sharp. Maybe he'd gone wrong somewhere in his training, but lately, his awareness of danger was becoming downright eerie.
His body trembled on its own.
This feeling—this suffocating pressure—he'd only ever felt it once before.
When he saw Frieza.
And Dodoria.
Tarot quickly tore his gaze away and looked again toward the distant royal city.
"Frieza again? No… that's not right! I can't sense Frieza's evil energy—nor the presence of Dodoria or Zarbon, those elite commanders!"
A chill crept up his spine. His instincts screamed danger, yet he couldn't sense a single trace of life anywhere. The scouter didn't show a thing either.
That kind of unknown—the kind that crawls under your skin—was the worst kind of fear.
His breathing grew faster, heartbeat pounding louder and louder in his chest.
And then, suddenly, a strange tightness gripped his throat.
No mistake—this wasn't an illusion.
"Who… who could make me feel like this? At a time like this—wait a sec… no way!!!"
An image flashed through his mind—two figures, clear as day.
The God of Destruction.
And his Angel attendant.
"Of course! It has to be them! Who else could I not sense? Only divine beings are beyond my perception—and they're the only ones who could radiate this kind of overwhelming pressure…" Tarot sucked in a sharp breath.
Fragments of the original story began to surface in his memory.
Before Planet Vegeta was destroyed by Frieza—didn't Beerus, the God of Destruction, and Whis, his angel, visit the planet to dine?
In the original timeline, it was just a brief, almost throwaway scene—but as someone who'd crossed over into this world, Tarot knew every little detail by heart.
Ever since arriving here, he'd focused only on one thing: escaping Planet Vegeta before Frieza destroyed it.But he'd never really stopped to think why that destruction was inevitable.
Sure, Frieza was the one who pulled the trigger—but the real cause was deeper than that.He'd acted under Beerus's direct order.
That's why he hadn't hesitated.Destroying Planet Vegeta not only wiped out a potential threat but also proved his loyalty to the God of Destruction.
"Damn it… if I recalculate based on this timeline, then at most—two months before Frieza makes his move!"
A wave of anxiety twisted in his gut. Tarot quickened his pace toward home.
He needed to confirm one thing—when would Bardock return?
The countdown to Planet Vegeta's destruction began right after Bardock came back from his mission to invade Planet Cereal.
One thing was certain: without Bardock and Gine's care all these years, Tarot wouldn't have survived so comfortably.
Especially Gine—she'd treated him like her own son. Honestly, maybe even better than she treated Raditz.
As she and Bardock always said, his parents had been their close friends—almost like family.
"..."
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