In the absolute gray, where neither shadow nor light could exist, time itself had no meaning. There was only a single presence drifting through that void—an isolated soul, the consciousness of a young man who could no longer remember his own name.
He had no way of knowing how long he had been trapped there. Months. Years. Perhaps something far longer. Without reference, duration became meaningless.
Before him floated countless small spheres of light. Some shone brightly, steady and confident. Others flickered weakly, trembling like dying candles. Instinctively, the soul reached out to them—but every time he drew close, the lights recoiled, fading into nothingness.
There was no clear reason to chase them.
It was something deeper. Primal. An urge to escape this suffocating emptiness, no matter what awaited beyond it.
In his previous life, he had been nothing special—just another young man lost among millions in a modern world. Work, routine, days blending together without leaving a mark. His final memory was painfully ordinary: a street, a sudden noise, and then darkness.
When consciousness returned, there was no awakening.
Only silence.
At first, there had been excitement. He had read enough stories to imagine reincarnation, transcendence, a second chance at something greater. But time—if it could still be called that—had eroded every illusion. No voice answered him. No guide appeared. No sign of salvation ever came.
Only an endless void.
Hope faded slowly, until it barely remained.
Then—without warning—a different light appeared.
It was not a small sphere like the others. It was vast. Blinding. Its presence crushed the darkness around it, demanding attention, as if calling out to be reached.
The soul moved instantly.
Invisible currents tore through him, sharp and merciless, like blades cutting through thought itself. The pain was not physical—it was deeper, more fundamental. Yet he continued forward, inch by inch, refusing to stop.
When he finally touched the light, the impact was absolute.
Violent energy surged through him, shattering and rebuilding every fragment of his consciousness at once. The gray void collapsed inward like a raging sea, and then—
Everything vanished.
The soul was pulled away.
Planet Vegeta – Infant Growth Chamber
The chamber was filled with advanced incubation pods, aligned with military precision. Inside them, Saiyan infants floated in nutrient-rich liquid, their small bodies connected to monitors that tracked every vital sign.
It was one of the most heavily guarded locations on the planet.
A sharp alert suddenly pierced the silence.
"What is it?" growled an adult Saiyan, striding forward with heavy steps.
Alien technicians with scaled skin—natives of Planet Dadaar—hurriedly examined the screens. Data streamed rapidly, yet no immediate abnormalities appeared.
"Most likely a sensor malfunction in one of the pods," the lead technician replied, his voice tense. "We will replace the capsule immediately."
The Saiyan snorted in irritation. "Do it fast. I don't want any more problems."
The technicians obeyed at once. Without a word, they transferred the infant into a new incubation pod, double-checking every reading before stepping away.
For them, serving the Saiyans was not loyalty.
It was survival.
Inside the capsule, the infant opened his eyes.
For a brief moment, an unnatural clarity flashed within that newborn gaze.
"…Planet Vegeta?"
Awareness struck like lightning.
Memories snapped into place—clean, ordered, unmistakable. He was no longer a wandering soul.
He had a body now.
A Saiyan body.
His name surfaced effortlessly in his mind:
Cesasar.
A shiver ran through him.
This world was not unfamiliar. He knew what was coming—at least in part. And because of that, time had become the most valuable resource of all.
The pod's screen lit up, displaying vital information:
ID Number: 11798
Name: Cesasar
Parents: Garlic, Rethis
Aptitude: Intermediate
Battle Power: 90
Evaluation: Intermediate → Upper-Intermediate
Recommendation: Three years of training on Planet Vegeta. Subsequent deployment to a low-level planet.
Cesasar slowly closed his eyes.
Planet Vegeta still existed.
Which meant only one thing.
The countdown to its destruction at the hands of Frieza had not yet begun.
And this time—
He had no intention of being swept away by the Saiyans' fate as it unfolded in the original story.