My name in this life was Taro.
A not so normal low-class Saiyan infant with a similar appearance to turles but slightly darker in tone, born in a medical pod in one of Planet Vegeta’s outer districts.
Not elite.
Not royal.
Disposable and that was perfect for me.
I was a weakling and Saiyans valued power, and power could be earned.
As my infant mind stabilized, I realized something terrifying:
I didn’t just remember Dragon Ball.
I remembered everything.
Panel by panel.
Dialogue.
Hidden lore.
Manga-only details—things even the anime never touched on.
I knew that scar faceBardock would rebel against the space lizard .
I knew Frieza would smile as the planet burned.
I knew Kakarot would be safely sent to Earth.
And I knew very well that if I did nothing, I would die like rest of my new people.