Chapter 73
The fatigue hit me before I even opened my eyes—head full of cotton, skull throbbing like I'd headbutted a freight train. Except I couldn't remember fighting Or having a head. Or breathing this wet, metallic air.
Sticky warmth pressed against my cheek as something heavy shifted beneath me. A heartbeat—too fast, too loud—echoed through my ribs. My limbs flailed, useless stubs batting against softness that smelled like sweat and something vaguely herbal. A high-pitched noise escaped me. It was a baby's cry.
My vision swam into focus on a blur of crimson—thick, corded muscle shifting under scarred skin as the enormous figure above me adjusted their grip. A tail, dark and twitching, curled around my tiny body. The scent of ozone and iron flooded my nostrils as realization slammed into me: Saiyan armor. The bastard who'd scooped me up wasn't just some random alien—he was my *father*. Bardock's scowl filled my view, his battle-worn fingers prodding my ribs like he was inspecting livestock.
"Tch. Scrawny," Bardock muttered, his voice gravelly as a landslide. His calloused thumb pressed against my forehead—not gently—and a flicker of blue ki sparked against my skin. I gasped as the energy seeped into me, jumpstarting my nerves with an electric clarity. My tiny fingers flexed, suddenly responsive, and I grabbed his wrist with a grip that made his eyebrows shoot up.
Bardock's smirk twisted into something between amusement and predatory interest as my grip tightened further—Saiyan infants weren't supposed to have that kind of strength. His tail flicked once, a lazy arc through the humid air, before curling around my ankle as if testing my reflexes. I kicked instinctively, my tiny muscles coiling with unnatural precision, and his grin widened. "Hn. Not completely useless," he rumbled, tossing me carelessly toward a startled woman with wild, dark hair—Gine, her name surfaced in my foggy memory. She caught me with a yelp, her calloused hands gentler than Bardock's, but her pulse hammered against my back.
By my first birthday, I'd brute-forced my vocal cords into cooperation, my first words dripping with sarcasm as Raditz loomed over my crib. "Move your rancid breath out of my face, *brother*," I croaked, relishing the way his tail puffed up like an offended cat's. The room went silent except for the distant hum of spacecraft engines. Gine dropped a pot, Bardock's drink halted mid-sip, and Raditz's face cycled through shock, indignation, and finally, a slow, toothy grin. "Finally," he sneered, "something less boring than Kakarot."