Grab Frieza’s Head—A Prince’s Plea and the Earth’s Defenders Face the Tyrant’s Legion

In the heart of Bulma's Western Capital mansion, the security department's command room hummed with the soft whir of tech. Bulma stood before a glowing console, her custom combat detector flickering with data as Frieza's forces registered on-screen. Frieza: 530,000 (hoverchair form). Dodoria: 22,000. Sabo: 23,000. Qiu Yi: 18,000. Senior Combatants: 5,000. Mid-tier: 3,000. Low-tier: 2,000. Grunts: 1,000. She smirked, tapping the device off. "Frieza's crew, huh? Just like Renkai said. Their boss might need a Super Saiyan to squash, but the rest? Small fry—barely worth the team's time, let alone Big Brother's."

The room erupted in eager chatter. "Bulma, let me at 'em!" Yamcha called, fists clenched, his eyes alight with hunger for a real fight. Krillin chimed in, "Yeah, I've been itching for action!" Tien and Chiaotzu nodded fiercely, their usual calm replaced by restless energy. Even Blond Lan Qi, Renkai's maid and an outsider to the department, shoved forward, snarling, "I'm not sitting this out!" Years of sparring with friends had honed them, but worthy foes were rare—Frieza's name alone promised a thrill.

Vegeta, Raditz, and Nappa stood apart, their faces a gallery of conflicted emotions. Vegeta's jaw tightened, shame and fury warring in his chest. Once, Frieza's 530,000 had been an abyss he couldn't fathom, a weight that crushed his pride. Renkai had laid bare the tyrant's trump card: only a Super Saiyan could topple him in his final form. Vegeta had seen that power firsthand—Renkai's golden blaze, Goku's lightning—and knew he didn't measure up. "Damn it," he growled, fists trembling. "I will become a Super Saiyan—mark my words!"

Nappa and Raditz, wielding their own detectors, scanned the room. Yamcha: 7.5 million. Krillin: 9 million. Tien: 8 million. Chiaotzu: 5 million. Bulma: 3 million. Blond Lan Qi: 3.2 million. Cell: 800 million. Siru: 500 million (Level 1). Piccolo: 1.2 billion. Raditz: 600,000. Nappa: 900,000. Vegeta: 2 million. Oolong: 3,000. Puar: 3,000. They gaped—aside from the pig and cat, dismissed as snacks in Saiyan eyes, the Earth crew towered over them, untouchable peaks.

Bulma clapped her hands, silencing the clamor. "Enough squabbling! We'll settle this fair—rock, paper, scissors. Winner gets Frieza's head." The team grinned, nodding—Vegeta alone scowled, his pride twisting at the casualness. To him, Frieza was a nightmare; to them, a prize to bicker over.

After a flurry of gestures, Chiaotzu emerged victorious, his small frame puffing with pride as groans rippled through the losers. Vegeta stepped forward, raising a trembling hand. "Bulma," he said, voice low, "I know I'm no Super Saiyan yet—Frieza's beyond me. But I beg you—let me face him. If he dies by another's hand, I'll carry that regret forever." He bowed, a prince humbling himself, stunning Nappa and Raditz into silence.

Bulma's gaze softened. Renkai had spoken highly of Vegeta's potential—less than Goku's, perhaps, but worth nurturing. "Alright, Vegeta," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're in."

Vegeta straightened, gratitude flashing across his face. "Thank you—I won't forget this."

"Chiaotzu, take Vegeta, Nappa, and Raditz," Bulma ordered. "That's enough for Frieza. The rest of you—back to your posts." The dejected crew shuffled out, muttering, as Bulma settled with Blue-Haired Lan Qi—shifted by a sneeze—for a chat, leaving the mission in motion.

With a shimmer, Chiaotzu teleported the quartet to Frieza's landing site, a dusty plain near a sprawling city. The donut ship loomed, its hatch open, disgorging Frieza in his hoverchair, flanked by Dodoria, Sabo, and a swarm of armored grunts. The tyrant's eyes glinted with surprise as the group materialized. "Oh ho ho, Mr. Vegeta!" Frieza's voice dripped with mockery. "Sparing us the hunt? No groveling hello for your old master?"

Vegeta squared his shoulders, staring down the chair-bound fiend. Once, that gaze had paralyzed him; now, he felt a flicker of power. "Frieza, I'm not the man you broke. You shouldn't have come to Earth."

Frieza tilted his head, amused. "Oh? And why's that, Mr. Vegeta?"

"Because you'll die here," Vegeta snapped, his voice ice-cold, "and it kills me that it won't be by my hand."

Frieza's laugh rang out, sharp and cruel. "Oh ho ho! You think this pint-sized tagalong can slay me, the Universe's Emperor?" His eyes, cold as death, flicked to Chiaotzu, then back to Vegeta. "Foolish to the end. But first—Dodoria, Sabo, wipe this scum planet clean. Let its natives pay for Vegeta's idiocy."

"As you command, King Frieza!" Dodoria and Sabo grinned, feral and eager, motioning the legion forward.

Raditz sighed, cracking his knuckles. "Guess I'm on trash duty again—weakest link, huh?" His tone was wry, self-deprecating.

Nappa smirked, stepping up. "I'll be generous, Raditz—let's clear the riffraff together." They unleashed the Prince's Fighting Technique, twin barrages of fist-sized qigong bombs ripping through the air. Frieza's soldiers shrieked, plummeting like shot birds, their armor no match for the onslaught. In seconds, dozens littered the ground, smoldering wrecks.

Dodoria's eyes bulged, fury overtaking shock. "Nappa! Raditz! You dare strut before King Frieza?!" Sabo snarled beside him, both unleashing qigong waves—searing beams aimed to blast the Saiyans skyward.

Chiaotzu floated forward, his small hands glowing. "Enough warmup," he muttered, flicking a finger. The beams froze mid-air, then shattered, dissolving into sparks. Dodoria and Sabo staggered, gaping as Chiaotzu's aura flared, a quiet menace belying his size. Vegeta watched, fists clenched—Frieza's lieutenants, once his jailers, were ants here.

Frieza's grin faltered, his tail twitching. "Well, well… this speck has teeth." His voice held a new edge, curiosity sharpening into wariness.

Vegeta stepped closer, locking eyes with his old tormentor. "This is just the start, Frieza. Earth's not your playground anymore." Behind him, Nappa and Raditz finished off the last grunts, the plain a graveyard of broken armor. Chiaotzu hovered, ready, his gaze fixed on the tyrant.

The air thickened, a storm brewing as Frieza's arrogance met Earth's unyielding might. The real fight was seconds away.

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