A week had passed since 18 talked with everyone on Earth — a week of quiet winds, soft days. The planet, which had suffered so much devastation, now breathed again. Verdant shoots broke through scorched earth, rivers ran clear where ash once choked them, and laughter — cautious but genuine — had begun to return among the survivors.
Outside the modest home built by 18, the faint sound of fists cutting through air broke the silence. Whish! Whish! Whish! Each strike was sharp, deliberate — the rhythm of someone who knew discipline better than rest.
Inside the house, a faint light pulsed from the cylindrical pod standing near the wall. Bubbles rose through the glowing liquid inside, swirling around a still figure suspended within. The medicinal fluid drained away gradually, leaving only silence and the hiss of decompressing seals. A pair of eyes — black, intense — flickered open.
Razor stirred.
He exhaled sharply, breaking through the mist as the pod door lifted. The stale air of recovery gave way to the scent of life — damp soil, wind, and distant energy signatures. His body felt… different. Stronger. More refined. His fingers curled into a fist, and the subtle tremor of immense power coursed through him.
A smirk crossed his face. "So that bastard's experiment killed him off… how ironic." He looked down at his reflection in the medicinal pod's glass, his expression tightening. "You made me your project, Tarix. And now even in death, you're still boosting my power."
The house was small — humble, almost human in its simplicity. It was clear someone had built it themself, a mixture of practicality and comfort. Razor recognized his surroundings: the pod he'd used for healing, the shelf lined with scavenged components, and a corner where someone had been repairing.
But he didn't see her.
For a long moment, the quiet pressed down on him like a weight. His smirk faded. The pod's glow dimmed behind him as he stepped outside, each footstep deliberate, heavy — almost cautious.
"She left again…" he muttered under his breath. "Figures." His voice held no anger — just a dull ache buried beneath pride. He hated how empty the silence felt.
He sniffed the air instinctively, half out of hunger, half out of habit. His stomach growled — loudly. He rolled his eyes. "Great. Back from near death and still need to eat."
He took off into the trees, but before he could start hunting, a sharp crack of sound reached his ears — the distinct rhythm of air being split. Razor froze. That sound — familiar, precise, sharp. He followed it.
Through the clearing, dust rose in small bursts as a lone figure practiced combinations of punches and kicks. Golden hair shimmered under the sunlight, each movement fluid and effortless. Razor stopped at the edge of the clearing, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.
"Guess I was wrong," he murmured. "She didn't leave."
18 paused mid-combination, her senses catching his energy signature immediately. She turned, her expression lighting up with a teasing smile. "Look who finally decided to wake up," she said. "Enjoyed your beauty sleep, Sleeping Saiyan?"
Razor chuckled lowly, that trademark smirk returning. "Needed it. Some of us actually fight instead of just throwing sass around."
"Oh please," she shot back. "You looked peaceful enough to make a rock jealous."
He was about to retort when a deep grrrooowwwl erupted from his stomach, echoing embarrassingly across the clearing. 18 blinked — then burst into laughter. "Guess our mighty warrior is starving."
Razor grunted. "Apparently so."
As she caught her breath from laughing, she added, "Oh right — I almost forgot. The survivors rebuilt their village. They wanted to thank you properly once you woke up. Kept asking about you every time they came to check on me."
Razor frowned slightly. "Thank me? For what?"
"For saving their lives, genius," she replied, smirking. "You really need to get used to people not screaming and running from you."
The words made him pause. Thank him? No one had ever thanked him for anything. His life had been about strength, survival, and violence — never gratitude. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly."…Guess I'll give it a try."
By the time they reached the village, the air was alive with chatter. Makeshift homes lined the horizon, smoke from cooking fires curling gently into the blue sky. The moment Razor and 18 stepped into view, conversation ceased — only for the silence to shatter into cheers.
"He's awake!" someone shouted.
"The warrior's awake!" cried another.
Razor blinked, momentarily stunned as people swarmed toward him — not with fear or weapons, but with smiles and relief. Children pointed, eyes wide with admiration. A group of older villagers approached and bowed, offering baskets of fruit and roasted meat.
18 glanced sideways, smirking. "See? Told you they like you."
He just stood there, uncertain how to respond. "This… is new," he muttered."Try smiling," she teased. "Or at least don't glare at them like you're planning to eat them."
Before he could answer, one of the elders laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder. "Your battle saved this world, warrior. You and the woman beside you — our children can breathe because of it."
Razor didn't know what to say. His throat felt tight, and for once, words escaped him. He simply nodded. "...Hmm."
The elder chuckled. "A man of few words. Come — you'll speak more after food."
The crowd parted as Razor was ushered into the center of the village. Several villagers whispered and laughed good-naturedly at his tattered armor, he glared at them, but soon a group of them ran off, returning with new clothes. When he emerged from the small hut where he'd changed, 18 was waiting — and the moment she saw him, she burst out laughing.
Razor frowned. "What?"
"Those clothes — you look like you raided a farmer's closet!" she said between giggles. The loose fabric and bright colors were a sharp contrast to his usual battle gear.
He glanced down, unimpressed. "Yeah it's not that good and doesn't have any practicality for battles."
"Of course it doesn't," she grinned. "It's made for plowing field not crushing enemies."
He rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his voice when he muttered, "You talk too much."
The feast began soon after. Tables were filled with steaming dishes — roasted meat, fresh fruits, and baked bread. Razor sat cross-legged, his patience lasting exactly two seconds before hunger took over.
Then, he devoured everything in reach. Entire platters vanished at terrifying speed, his movements a blur. The villagers froze — wide-eyed — then started laughing and cheering, thrilled to see him eat like a man who'd earned it.
"More food!" someone shouted, and the cooks hurried to bring out more.18 just leaned back, arms crossed, smiling. She'd seen this before — Razor's bottomless appetite was nothing new to her. But the sight of him surrounded by smiling faces instead of blood and smoke was… refreshing.
By the time Razor finally stopped, sighing with satisfaction, the sun had dipped low. The villagers toasted his health and 18's courage, singing in languages neither fully understood but found strangely comforting.
Razor stood, glancing at 18. "Let's go. Before they get more excited."
18 chuckled and followed him out. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and reborn grass. Behind them, laughter and music still echoed faintly — a sound Razor wasn't used to.
As they reached the edge of the clearing, 18 nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You did good today," she said softly.
He snorted. "All I did was eat."
"That's a start," she replied with a small smirk. "Maybe next time you'll actually talk to someone without looking like you want to punch them."
Razor didn't answer. He just glanced toward the distant setting Sun, a rare, almost peaceful look crossing his face. "...Maybe."
They reached the house again, the soft glow of the pod still dimly illuminating the room. 18 stepped inside first, then turned to him. "Get some rest, Saiyan. You've earned it."
Razor lingered for a moment, watching the sky through the doorway. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something unfamiliar — not battle-hunger, not pride… but calm.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Maybe I have."
As the door slid shut behind them, the laughter of the villagers faded into the background — a reminder that even monsters could find moments of peace between wars.