The legendary Super Saiyan...
The image Rhode painted differed from the vague myths she'd heard, but that paled in comparison to the staggering act of trust. He'd shared this celestial secret with her, holding nothing back. A profound, unnamed feeling bloomed deep within her soul, a warmth that was both unsettling and deeply moving.
"I-Is that so?" Aira managed, her voice carefully neutral even as that strange emotion swirled inside her. She quickly masked it, her tone shifting to one of analytical curiosity. "What does it look like? How is it different from the base form?"
Rhode's gaze lingered on her, his own eyes now alight with a different kind of interest—speculative, anticipatory. He'd never seen a female Super Saiyan. He was intensely curious about what she would look like, transformed.
"The appearance changes," he began. "The eyes turn a piercing green, the demeanor becomes colder, more detached. The most dramatic change is the hair—it turns a radiant gold and stands straight up, like a blazing corona. The body is sheathed in a golden aura."
He paused, letting the image sink in, before delivering the real shock. "As for the power multiplier?" He held up his hand, fingers splayed. "Fifty times your base power."
"What? Fifty times?!" Aira's composure shattered. The visual changes were surprising, but this number was earth-shattering. Power was earned through relentless effort, increment by grueling increment. Even in their rapid-growth prime, progress was measured in percentages, not multiples. A fiftyfold leap was inconceivable. It was the difference between climbing a mountain and teleporting to the summit.
"Fifty times…" she breathed, her mind racing with calculations. "That means if I transformed now, with my eight million power… I'd have four hundred million. I could crush Frieza and his 120 million like an insect!"
"Indeed," Rhode affirmed with a nod. "If you can successfully transform."
Hmm? Even as he confirmed her math, a question prickled at the back of his mind. How does she know Frieza's power is precisely 120 million? During Planet Vegeta's destruction, Frieza had never gone all out. Rhode's own refined senses could gauge relative strength, but pinning down an exact number like that was impossible without external data… unless she'd accessed some kind of scouters or galactic database. The thought was almost amusing.
But Aira was already miles ahead, her momentary emotional confusion burned away by the white-hot forge of this new goal. Power was her true language, her ultimate intoxication.
"Rhode!" she declared, her eyes blazing with renewed, focused fire. "Then it's a race! Let's see who becomes a Super Saiyan first!" Her gaze swept over him, sharp and challenging. "If I succeed first… hmph." The unspoken promise of long-awaited payback hung in the air.
Looking at her, vibrant and defiant, Rhode felt his own competitive spirit flare. Doubts about data sources vanished. This was the challenge that mattered.
"Words are cheap," he replied, his voice calm but carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "But I will transform before you."
"Hmph! We'll see about that!" Aira shot back. Further talk was pointless. The race was declared. Now, only action—and the relentless pursuit of that golden, transformative spark—would decide the winner.
Her words were defiant, but a seed of unease had been planted. The three conditions swirled in her mind, especially the second one. S-Cells. Peace and stability. A relaxed mind. How was she, a warrior forged in conflict and driven by a singular, burning rivalry, supposed to cultivate that? The concept felt alien, almost contradictory to her very nature.
As she wrestled with the paradox, Rhode's voice cut through her thoughts. "By the way," he asked, his tone casual but his curiosity evident, "what were your other two wishes when you summoned Shenron for the Time Chamber?"
Still preoccupied, Aira answered absently, "Nothing much. I just asked for your precise power level... and Frieza's."
Of course.
Rhode was rendered momentarily speechless, though he couldn't say he was surprised. Aira's world was starkly binary: her own power, Rhode's power, and the power of the enemy who destroyed their home. Complex desires or abstract boons held no interest for her. Still, using a cosmic wish-granting dragon for what amounted to a glorified scouter reading felt... wasteful. He couldn't help an internal sigh. Talk about a lack of imagination.
But then, considering some of the utterly inane wishes Shenron had been forced to grant over the years, asking for concrete intel was practically scholarly by comparison.
"Never mind," Rhode said, shaking his head and letting it go. He'd have his own long list of questions for Porunga someday. "Since the Gravity Chamber is out of commission, let's head out."
They left the malfunctioning room and made their way through the Capsule Corp complex, intending to find Dr. Brief and report the damage. Before they reached the labs, however, they encountered Mrs. Brief and Bulma in one of the main hallways.
The two were dressed not for lounging, but for an outing—Mrs. Brief in an elegant, colorful dress and hat, Bulma in a sharp little jacket and skirt, her hair impeccably styled.
"Madam," Rhode greeted with a friendly smile. "Heading out?"
"Rhode! Aira! Perfect timing!" Mrs. Brief beamed, her eyes crinkling. "We're going shopping in the city! You should come with us!"
"Ah, thank you, but I have some things to attend to," Rhode declined politely. Then, a mischievous—or perhaps strategically brilliant—idea struck him. He gently nudged Aira forward. "But Aira here is free. Aira, why don't you go with Mrs. Brief and Bulma? Experience a bit of Earth life."
"Shopping?" Aira parroted, her expression a perfect picture of stunned disbelief, as if he'd just suggested she go frolic in a field of daisies. This was clearly not part of her combat regimen.
"Oh, what a wonderful idea!" Mrs. Brief clapped her hands together, catching on immediately. She swooped in, linking her arm with Aira's stiff one. "Aira-chan hasn't seen the best parts of our world yet! We'll have a lovely girls' day out!"
"What 'customs'? Let go of me!" Aira protested, but her resistance was half-hearted, more bewildered than forceful. She was utterly unprepared for the social ambush.
"Come on, Aira! They have the best toy stores!" Bulma added, grabbing her other hand with surprising strength for a child.
Helpless against the dual assault of overwhelming hospitality and a child's enthusiasm, Aira's protests faded into resigned grumbles as she was cheerfully ushered out the main doors and into a waiting limousine. The last Rhode saw was her looking back at him with a glare that promised retribution, before the car door shut and whisked her away towards the consumerist heart of West City. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips. Perfect. Step one of 'cultivating S-Cells through a peaceful, stable life'—enforced civilian recreation.
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