Dragon Ball: The Cold Emperor Frieza — The Last Seven Days of Planet Vegeta - Thirty Years Ago on the Throne — The Origin of Aesthetics

The night aboard the mothership Coldron was quiet—as if a piece of the universe's darkness had been carved out and set adrift. Pale blue light filled the throne room, casting cold reflections across the polished obsidian floor, and the vast space settled into a silence like the bottom of a deep sea. Freeza sat deep in his throne, one cheek resting against the armrest, eyes closed. His breathing was shallow, his small body utterly still, like a statue. But behind those closed lids, a scene from thirty years ago played back with vivid clarity. —It had been shortly after the Saiyans were subjugated by force. Planet Vegeta. A world of rust-red earth and heavy gravity that crushed everything beneath it. Freeza had set foot on that soil for the first time. No escort, no guards—just himself. It was a show of dominance, and at the same time, an observation. He needed to know what kind of place this race he would be using for years to come lived in, and under what kind of king. The path to the royal castle, Saddla, was a stone stairway carved from a rocky mountain. With every step, the planet's gravity pressed down through the soles of his feet. Ten times that of a standard world. An environment where an ordinary species couldn't even stand. But to Freeza, it was nothing more than an unpleasant pressure. If anything, he analyzed it coolly—it was precisely this harshness that had made the Saiyans a warrior race. The doors to the throne chamber opened. A dome structure thirty meters in diameter. A crude construction, as if the rock had been hollowed out as it was, with the battle records of generations of kings carved into the walls in ancient script. Compared to the throne room on his mothership, it was unspeakably primitive—and yet, it possessed a raw power. And there, at its center—a man sat. Wild black hair. Sharp black eyes. An old scar ran across his left cheek, and a royal necklace gleamed heavily at his throat. His muscular frame remained settled deep in the throne, looking down at Freeza. Dozens of Saiyan warriors flanked him on either side, all prostrating themselves at once. But the man on the throne was different. Far from bowing his head, his eyes held a clear, unmistakable hostility. King Vegeta. Fifteen years old at the time. The thirty-eighth king of the Saiyans. Freeza stopped at the center of the throne chamber and looked up at the young king. The height difference was obvious. Freeza had already been small in those days, and the king seated on the throne was more than twice his height. But the air around Freeza was heavier and colder than the planet's gravity. Several of the prostrating warriors were trembling, barely able to breathe. "Do you understand who I am?" Freeza spoke quietly. His voice echoed off the rock walls and filled the throne chamber. Polite phrasing. But with that single sentence, the air froze solid. The backs of the prostrated warriors sank even deeper. King Vegeta did not move. Still seated on his throne, elbow propped, he looked down at Freeza directly. Something burned deep in those eyes. Not fear. Not anger either. Something deeper—a flame that could only be called the pride of a race. "I know. The emperor of the universe, Freeza." The young king's voice was low and calm, unthinkable for a boy his age. The warriors around him flinched. Their king was about to commit an act of disrespect against the emperor. That fact terrified them. Freeza smiled slowly. (Ho. Interesting.) There was no murderous intent. What filled Freeza's heart in that moment was pure curiosity. He had ruled countless worlds and seen countless kings. All of them, when they stood before Freeza, feared him first. They fell to their knees, bowed their heads, begged for their lives. But this young king was different. He remained seated, looking down at him. It wasn't arrogance. It was something else—something rooted in the very core of his race. "Don't you think he's an interesting child?" Freeza murmured to no one in particular. The warriors kept their faces down; no one answered. King Vegeta opened his mouth slowly. "My race was born to fight." His voice resonated through the throne chamber. It wasn't the vigor of youth—it carried a deeper weight, as if he bore the entire history of his race on his shoulders. "If you would use us, then use us. We will throw ourselves into your wars as tools. But do not forget." The king's black eyes pierced through Freeza. "Someday, you will pay the price." That was the moment. Deep within Freeza's chest, something stirred—quietly, but unmistakably. It was not anger. Not fear either. Something colder, something sweeter—an instinct befitting a ruler. (Killing this man would be far too easy.) Freeza thought this as he gazed into the young king's burning eyes. (With a single fingertip, I could obliterate this entire throne chamber. I could send this young king's head rolling across the floor.) But that wouldn't do. (That would create nothing. Leave nothing behind.) For the first time, Freeza understood. What he truly desired was not slaughter. Beyond destruction lay something deeper. To see this proud king realize his own helplessness, to watch him crumble in despair—that, and only that, was the supreme pleasure. "...Truly beautiful. Those eyes. That pride. What a magnificent sight." Freeza smiled. His crimson eyes gazed at the young king, slowly, as if savoring every inch of him. "How long will that pride of yours last, I wonder? I can hardly wait to find out." King Vegeta did not answer. But Freeza clearly saw the flame deep in those black eyes burn even fiercer. —Thirty years since then. Freeza opened his eyes. The ceiling of the throne room floated dimly in the pale blue light. He exhaled slowly and sat up. (That day's decision made me what I am now.) He traced the armrest of the throne with a fingertip, picturing the face of the young king from thirty years ago. The king who had been fifteen then was now forty-five. While harboring the survival of his race and rebellion against Freeza in his heart, he lived on the surface feigning loyalty. But the flame deep in those eyes had not gone out in thirty years. Freeza knew this. That was precisely why he had kept this plan simmering. (I will not simply kill the king. I will shatter his pride, his soul, his race's future—all of it, with these hands. I will make that man know his own helplessness. That is my art.) Freeza rose to his feet. His small shadow stretched across the obsidian floor. "Zarbon. Come." He gave the order curtly toward the communicator. He did not wait for a reply. Several minutes later, the door to the throne room opened quietly. What appeared was a beautiful young man with long, emerald hair tied back in a single bundle. His narrow golden eyes curved as if perpetually smiling. His beauty was enough to be mistaken for a woman's, and every gesture carried a calculated elegance. Freeza Force Supreme Elite candidate, Zarbon. He stepped forward to the throne and dropped to one knee. "You summoned me, Lord Freeza?" His voice was soft and polite. But the depths of his eyes were frozen solid. Freeza liked that about his aide. "Yes. I want to finalize the plan. The Saiyan full-moon transformation protocol—you're familiar with it as well, aren't you?" Zarbon raised his face, golden eyes narrowing. "Of course. Saiyans transform into Great Apes on the night of a full moon. The Freeza Force ordered that full moons be avoided at their deployment destinations. That protocol, yes." "Exactly. I intend to turn it against them." Freeza settled back into his throne and tapped his knee lightly with a fingertip. "On the night of a full moon, Saiyans transformed into Great Apes and went on an uncontrollable rampage. The Freeza Force had no choice but to annihilate them.—That is the official scenario." Zarbon tilted his head slightly. The gesture was graceful, like part of a dance. "I see. We process it as an accident. However, Lord Freeza—if we are to annihilate Saiyans transformed into Great Apes on a full moon night, our own soldiers would suffer considerable losses. Concealing that would be somewhat troublesome." "No, Zarbon. You still don't understand the essence of this plan." Freeza's crimson eyes glinted coldly. "The official scenario is merely insurance. The true objective lies somewhere else entirely." He rose slowly and began to walk through the throne room. His footsteps echoed quietly on the obsidian floor. "I will make King Vegeta realize everything within seven days. What I intend to do. What is about to happen to the Saiyans. I will make that king understand all of it. And then—I will erase him, along with his planet, while he can do nothing." Freeza stopped and turned. His crimson eyes pierced through Zarbon. "This is my art. The king will understand the destruction of his race, his own helplessness—all of it—and vanish without being able to do a single thing. That despair will be my masterpiece." Zarbon was silent for a while. His golden eyes observed Freeza's expression carefully. At last, his lips curved slowly into an arc. "...A beautiful plan. Truly beautiful. As expected of Lord Freeza. Mere annihilation would not shatter that proud king's soul. But to make him understand everything and then erase him while he can do nothing—despair of this magnitude cannot be found anywhere in the universe." Zarbon's voice was filled with genuine admiration. Freeza nodded, satisfied with the reaction. "Now then, Zarbon. I want to hear your opinion on one matter." "What might that be?" "The royal bloodline. What would you do about it?" Zarbon toyed with a strand of his emerald hair, pondering for a moment. It was a habit of his. "If it were me, I would ensure Prince Vegeta is disposed of amid the chaos of the planet's destruction." His voice remained perfectly calm. "If the king's bloodline is allowed to survive, it will inevitably become a spark one day. The Saiyan prince's battle power is still immature, but his blood is genuine. Left alone, he could become a threat to us. Eliminating him here would be the most rational course." Freeza shook his head slowly. "No. Leave Vegeta alive." Zarbon's golden eyes widened slightly. "...Alive, my lord?" "Yes. There is a method crueler than killing." Freeza returned to his throne and sat deep within it. "Let the child witness the moment his father's planet vanishes. Let him know his own helplessness before his child's eyes. And carve that memory—as a wound that will never heal—into that prince's heart." His voice was quiet, cold, and somehow ecstatic. "Death ends in a moment of pain. But memory is different. As long as he lives, that wound will ache. The prince will live every remaining day of his life with the memory of that moment. His father's death, the planet's annihilation, his own helplessness—he will carry it all, forever." Zarbon exhaled deeply. "...I see. Well, well. My thinking was shallow. Killing is not necessarily the cruelest act. Rather, it is letting them live that inflicts the deepest pain. Before Lord Freeza's art, my strategies are mere child's play." He dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. "As you command. Prince Vegeta shall be left alive." Freeza smiled with satisfaction. "Now, let me confirm the timeline. On the fifth night, I will go directly to Planet Vegeta. I will have an audience with King Vegeta and reveal everything before that man's eyes. And on the seventh night—the night of the total lunar eclipse—I will erase the planet, and everything on it." "Understood. Preparations for the fifth night's visit are underway. The official scenario is also being arranged so that it holds up as an accident report." "Good. See that nothing is overlooked." "Of course. Also, Lord Freeza—there is one matter to report." Zarbon's voice dropped slightly. Freeza furrowed his brow. "What is it?" "It has come to light that King Vegeta has sent a cl

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Episode 3

Name: Dragon Ball: The Cold Emperor Frieza — The Last Seven Days of Planet Vegeta
Author: Novelia

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