Chapter 3: Cursed Luck
"Planet Vampa? That's a wasteland. Why would there suddenly be a mission there? Did that logistics guy screw me over?
No, no way. He wouldn't have the guts.
So is my luck really just this terrible?
Alone in his pod, staring at that familiar planet designation and clutching the Spirit Tree seed, Turles felt genuinely confused. Even a bit indignant.
Maybe he should try praying to some of the Dragon Ball universe's various gods. He had technically transmigrated without filing any paperwork. Consider it paying respects to the local powers.
Zeno?
Hell no. The Omni-King had the mental capacity of a toddler with a nuclear button. If he got bored and decided to erase something, the entire Seventh Universe could vanish on a whim.
The Grand Priest?
Probably not much better. The Grand Priest was reliable enough, but he managed twelve entire universes for Zeno. Why would he care about some random nobody like Turles?
Whis? Beerus? The Supreme Kai?
After mentally cataloging every major deity in the Dragon Ball universe, Turles reluctantly abandoned this wild idea.
Not that he could blame himself for getting desperate. His luck lately had been absolutely cursed.
First, some unknown cosmic force had dumped him into the Dragon Ball universe—one of the most dangerous fictional settings imaginable. Fine, he couldn't fight beings that powerful. But couldn't they at least give him some compensation? A system, maybe? A cheat ability? Majin heritage? Literally anything?
One advantage wasn't too little. Two wouldn't be too many.
But no matter how many times Turles tested himself, nothing unusual manifested. The only special item he possessed was this Spirit Tree seed—standard equipment from the original movie Turles—and he'd almost missed discovering it entirely.
Okay, fine. Even without cheats, his plot knowledge should let him become a major player. But what kind of opening was "transmigrate while critically injured and nearly dead"? That trope went out of style years ago! Modern stories were supposed to be satisfying from start to finish. This was completely outdated!
Though now that he thought about it... for Saiyans, getting beaten up actually made them stronger.
Wait, really? Then never mind. Next complaint.
What was up with running into Frieza? He'd been so close to escaping, and then BAM—the emperor himself shows up returning to base. Didn't the universe understand Turles was currently weak trash? What was the point of throwing a final boss at him this early? Did anyone think he could win that fight?
Fine, the Frieza encounter had just been a brief scare. They'd passed each other without incident. But now his next destination was literally another major villain's home base. Turles's heart couldn't take much more of this.
That's right—his current flight path was taking him directly to the planet where THAT terrifying man had been exiled. The one who only needed to scream to gain nearly limitless power.
Broly.
Planet Vampa.
If these single-occupant pods didn't have pre-locked flight paths that couldn't be altered mid-journey, Turles would have turned around immediately.
This wasn't fair!
Broly was the Legendary Super Saiyan—a warrior who only appeared once every thousand years among the Saiyan race. Infinite potential. Unlimited power.
In the future, Goku and Vegeta would need years of training to achieve Super Saiyan transformations. Broly? He just needed one good fight with Goku and he'd figure it out.
Worse, Turles had no idea which version of Broly he'd be facing. The gentle, controllable one from Dragon Ball Super? Or the psychotic murder machine from the old movies who went berserk at the mere sight of Goku?
The difference was massive. If it was the former, maybe he'd survive. But if it was the latter, with his face being absolutely identical to Kakarot's... the moment Broly saw him, his Dragon Ball adventure would end before it even started.
Turles's first instinct was obviously to run. Hide for three to five years, use the Spirit Tree seed combined with his foreknowledge to boost his power, then come back when he was strong enough to make Frieza and Broly eat his dust.
But that option was off the table now. He'd just have to figure things out as he went.
According to the ship's navigation system, he'd reach Vampa in approximately one month.
That meant Turles had thirty days to come up with a plan. At minimum, he needed to avoid direct contact with Broly. Current-timeline Broly shouldn't have learned to sense ki yet. If Turles could master hiding his energy signature before landing, then immediately go to ground after touchdown, he might have a chance.
At the very least, he needed to prevent Paragus's scouter from detecting him. Vampa was a whole planet. If he could hide successfully, the advantage would be his.
The thought brought slight relief. Then Turles realized he hadn't even checked his current battle power yet.
"This damn world," he muttered irritably.
Following the technique from his inherited memories, Turles activated the scouter attached to his left ear and scanned himself.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Numbers flashed across the display before stabilizing.
4,862.
Seeing that reading, Turles's briefly-calmed mood immediately soured again. He hadn't expected his base talent to be this pathetic. He'd literally died once already. According to Saiyan physiology, near-death experiences should trigger massive power increases upon recovery. Yet he'd only gained about 3,000 battle power. Far below his expectations.
But the more Turles thought about it, the more it made sense. If near-death experiences automatically granted huge boosts, then given the Saiyans' warrior culture and obsession with combat, they would have produced countless powerful fighters. Frieza would never have been able to wipe out Planet Vegeta. Never underestimate a warrior race's hunger for battle.
Despite low-class warriors having high mortality rates, some always survived major conflicts. Over years of accumulated near-death experiences, the Saiyans had only produced Bardock as a notable low-class warrior who broke 10,000. Clearly there were hidden limitations.
Turles suspected it involved accumulation. While Saiyans spent their entire lives fighting, the rate at which they built potential was incredibly slow. Unlike Goku, who'd trained extensively on Earth and then in high-gravity environments, allowing his recovery boosts to skyrocket.
On Namek, Vegeta had tried to abuse the near-death mechanic to farm power levels. The results had been mediocre at best. Probably for the same reason.
Mental state also affected Saiyan growth. The Sixth Universe Saiyans were significantly stronger on average than their Seventh Universe counterparts. According to Dragon Ball Super's lore, Super Saiyan transformation required both S-Cells and intense emotion. Peaceful environments that promoted S-Cell growth should also contribute to baseline power increases.
The original Turles, like most traditional Saiyans, had relied purely on combat to grow stronger. He'd never trained properly, never cultivated his potential. So this modest boost was actually reasonable.
Reluctantly accepting this depressing reality, Turles forced his mood to stabilize.
The vastness and beauty of space had always captivated humanity. From ancient times to the present, people gazed up at the stars in wonder. But only when you were actually out here did you realize how dangerous this void truly was.
Through the silent expanse, a white spherical pod streaked past, wrapped in a corona of energy like a comet.
Zooming in through the viewport revealed the pod's occupant—a Saiyan warrior. Turles.
Normally during long-distance space travel, pilots would enter deep hibernation. It conserved energy and prevented psychological breakdown from being trapped in a one-person pod with no entertainment, no training, nothing but endless void until you went insane.
But right now, Turles wasn't hibernating. His mind was racing. He needed to learn how to hide his ki signature before reaching his destination. His only resources were fragments of training methods mentioned in his Dragon Ball memories.
Dragon Ball's training system was honestly pretty crude. No fancy techniques or complex methodologies. Mostly just physical conditioning. When your body became strong enough, your internal energy grew proportionally. That energy manifested as ki—the life force everyone possessed.
But unlike the crude ki manipulation common throughout the universe, Earth's warriors had refined it into an art form. Because humans were so physically weak, they'd developed precise control techniques. That refinement had produced abilities with distinct properties: Destructo Disc, Tri-Beam, Evil Containment Wave, and others.
Most importantly, focusing on efficient use of every bit of energy had given Earth's fighters superior sensing abilities. They could detect others' ki signatures and suppress their own. That's what Turles needed now—to control his energy like an Earth warrior and hide his presence completely.
"Be as quiet as the sky, as swift as lightning."
The phrase surfaced in Turles's mind. Words Mr. Popo had spoken when training Goku at Kami's Lookout. After receiving Popo's guidance, Goku's strength at next year's World Martial Arts Tournament would increase exponentially. This was the most reliable advice Turles could remember.
He closed his eyes slowly, trying to calm his mind. It was incredibly difficult. Saiyans were naturally violent. Bloodlust, killing instinct, battle hunger—all of it churned through his consciousness constantly. Combined with memories from his previous life and all the information he'd absorbed there, his thoughts refused to settle. Achieving mental stillness seemed impossible. Even basic concentration was a struggle.
When he opened his eyes again, frustration flickered across his face.
Two full days. He'd made zero progress. All he'd accomplished was exhausting himself until his eyes were bloodshot.
Turles slumped in the pilot seat, staring blankly at his reflection in the viewport glass. A painfully familiar face stared back. Black hair in that signature wild style. Lean features. Sharp, handsome bone structure. Aside from his darker complexion, everything matched. But without Goku's innocent smile, the face looked sinister. Almost villainous.
"Son Goku. Kakarot," Turles whispered the names, mind wandering.
Suddenly, inspiration struck like lightning. He knew what he needed to do.
This time, Turles didn't close his eyes. Instead, he opened them as wide as possible, staring past the glass into infinite space. He stopped trying to meditate. Instead, he simply observed—searching for beauty in the silent void.
Massive stars. Dark planets. Dangerous asteroid fields. Turles looked at everything from a different perspective, appreciating the universe as art.
Gradually, his expression softened. The frustration, anxiety, and worry melted away. A smile emerged on his face—genuine, pure, almost childlike.
He lost himself in the view before him. Slowly, peacefully, his eyes drifted closed. Not the deep hibernation induced by the ship's systems. Just simple, natural sleep.
And he slept with a smile on his face.