The bridge was quiet when he stepped into it. Clean metal. Soft lights. A calm hum under the floor that felt like the ship was breathing on schedule.
He rested his hand on the main console. Information bloomed across the screens. Star charts, fleet routes, energy readings. It wasn't magic, just technology following rules he could understand.
And then he saw it.
A small Saiyan-class ship on long-range sensors. Nothing special at first. But its path lined up with old records in the ship's logs. Launch time, course corrections, expected engine output. When he compared it to Freeza's file on Planet Vegeta, the answer clicked into place.
Two years.
That was how long it would take the scout ship to reach a small blue planet called Earth.
He didn't know it because of some mystical memory or prophecy. He knew it because the numbers matched. The ship's AI had the data. The patterns filled in the rest. Raditz was already on his way. The timeline was moving with or without him.
He leaned back from the console and let the thought settle.
Two years.
Not long.
Not short.
Just enough.
He walked to the window and stared out at the gas giant below. A slow-turning storm the size of a continent twisted under the clouds. It reminded him of a truth he didn't want to accept:
He was the emperor now.
Whether he liked it or not.
Freeza's empire ran on fear. Every officer obeyed because they were scared of him dying on the wrong day. Every planet paid tribute because the alternative was burning. It worked only as long as the emperor stayed alive and angry.
That kind of system had an expiration date.
One man at the top meant one point of failure.
He touched the glass with the tip of his claw. The body still felt wrong. Too smooth. Too cold. Too perfect in the worst way. He still hated looking at his reflection.
But he wasn't stupid.
Hating himself wouldn't fix the empire.
He turned back to the console and opened several system maps at once: command structure, labor routes, weapons production, political networks. It was chaos pretending to be order. Everything shaped around Freeza's moods. Nothing built to last.
He thought about it carefully.
If he wanted to survive, he needed more than raw power. He needed an empire that didn't collapse the moment someone strong enough punched him in the face.
So he started planning.
First, he would clean up the intelligence system. Instead of everyone hiding information out of fear, he would reward officers who actually brought him useful reports. Not mercy. Just efficiency.
Second, commanders needed rules. Not kindness. Rules. He could still punish, but punish for a reason, not for a joke.
Third, he needed the planets to depend on him. If he stabilized trade, rebuilt after destruction, and set predictable taxes, they would fear rebellion more than they feared him. That was real control.
Fourth, he needed to prepare for the Saiyans. Raditz, Vegeta, Nappa, and eventually the one who mattered most: Goku. He didn't need to kill all of them. He just needed to decide how to use them.
He ran the options in his head.
Recruit them.
Crush them.
Control them from a distance.
Each had risks. Each had rewards. But he had something the real Freeza never had:
Time to think.
His fingers drummed once against the console. A small human habit trapped inside a monster's body.
He entered the first set of orders into the system. Training academies reopened. Intelligence reshuffled. Command positions reviewed. Economic reforms scheduled.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing loud.
Just the first steps of building something stable.
The gas giant outside kept turning, slow and uncaring.
He watched it and let out a quiet breath.
He didn't ask to be Freeza.
He didn't want the body or the reputation.
But he had the role now.
And roles could be rewritten.
Two years before Raditz reached Earth, the new emperor began shaping an empire that wasn't ruled by fear alone.
Not out of kindness. Of course not
But because a stable empire served him better than chaos left behind when it will inevitably fall
He planned to survive....No, he planned to thrive.
He closed the last batch of orders and let the console go dark. The room fell into a low, steady hum again.
He didn't feel tired. This body didn't know fatigue the way a human did. But there was a weight sitting in his chest — the kind that comes from realizing you can't fix everything alone.
And there was one man in the universe who understood the empire better than he did.
Freeza lifted a hand and tapped a command into the wall panel.
"Send word to my father. I require a direct transmission. Now."
The nearest soldier jumped as if his bones rattled. The little creature's armor clacked when he stood up straight. He bowed too deeply, too fast.
"Right away, Lord Freeza… c-connecting now… please wait, my lord…"
His breathing was shallow, almost silent, as if even air made him afraid of punishment.
Freeza noticed.
Then dismissed it. Fear was the expected response around him. And right now, he had more important concerns than the emotional stability of a trembling grunt.
The screen flickered twice, then stabilized. A tall, broad figure appeared. Smooth white skin with deep purple plating. Regal posture. A slow, heavy gaze that seemed to weigh everything it saw.
King Cold.
Freeza felt the old instincts lurking in the body. Respect. Wariness. Something close to pride, but heavier. He pushed those feelings aside and kept his face blank.
"My son," King Cold greeted with a low rumble. "A surprise to receive a call from you. You rarely bother with such trivialities."
Freeza managed a controlled smile. Cold, sharp. The kind the body executed perfectly even if he didn't feel it.
"Father. Triviality is not one of my hobbies."
Cold chuckled, deep and amused. "Quite true. So then, what have you broken? Or who?"
The human mind inside Freeza felt a flick of irritation at the assumption. But it fit the role.
Play the monster, but think like a strategist.
"Nothing is broken," Freeza said. "Not yet."
Cold's smile faded. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
That tiny shift said enough. King Cold was old. Experienced. He knew Freeza never called unless something mattered.
"What is wrong?" Cold asked quietly.
Freeza didn't answer immediately. He let the silence sit, let his father feel the seriousness of the moment.
"I require your presence," Freeza said at last. "At these coordinates."
He transmitted the location. Cold's eyes flicked to the side as he scanned it.
"This is far outside your usual patrol routes," Cold muttered. "What business could you possibly have there?"
Freeza met his father's gaze without blinking.
"Help," he said.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Cold stilled.
Freeza didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Freeza never asked for help. Not in the old timeline. Not ever. Even the body's instincts recoiled at the word.
But he said it anyway.
King Cold slowly exhaled. A long breath that said he understood something fundamental had shifted.
"…I see," he murmured. "Very well. I will come."
"When?"
"A week," Cold replied. "That is the soonest my ship can break away from its current path without causing suspicion."
Freeza nodded once. "That will suffice."
King Cold studied his son for a few seconds longer. As if trying to see through the screen. As if trying to understand why Freeza was calm instead of arrogant, measured instead of cruel.
"I'll arrive prepared," Cold said at last. "Do not make a mess before I do."
The screen cut out.
The room fell silent again.
Freeza stood there, staring at the blank screen. No satisfaction. No relief. Just a quiet certainty settling in his ribs.
He needed King Cold. For now. The old emperor understood things Freeza had not yet pieced together. And if he had only two years, he couldn't waste any of them stumbling around blind.
He turned away from the console and looked out at the gas giant again.
A week.
A week to prepare for the conversation that would decide the empire's future.
A week until he revealed the first layer of his new plan.
A week until the old king arrived to meet the new emperor.
---
Drop some stones....Pleaseee l need this
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