Death in the Wind

It was a day like any other, really. Nero had done his daily rounds as Guru as his duty required— and then some further tasks to help his people alone as that was simply who he was in the first place even before awakening to the power gifted by Namek itself.

Though, there was more to it this time, beyond the normal routine. Aside from training and preparing for future threats to the planet and its people; Nero was going to be a father soon. Family was one of the most important things to the Guru, so perhaps the single most important thing he could ever do right now was to be strong and capable for the benefit of his future son Daucus.

Today, on a day much like any other day, Nero had gone to Dend Capital with Zhalla to scout out and search for some baby toys and enrichment items for Daucus. Nero had already crafted a few carefully designed enchanted wooden toys and designed some baby clothes but he couldn’t just do everything himself— Zhalla would cook him if he did, and Nero wasn’t stupid enough to test her on that. Speaking of Zhalla, the two were also out seeking things for her own sake; they had already found some nice beanbags and sent them to their new house but she still needed a few more things such as more comfortable clothes.

They had also made some decent progress at least in making note of a few potentially helpful items for others that wanted to help them out— Nero’s mother Zukha and the rest of the extended family on her end wanted to do something, and Pankaa for all of his teenager-ness or grumpy attitude towards Zhalla was still going to help somehow.

Passing through one of the streets with markets, Nero had noticed a strange newcomer and overheard his musings thanks to his advanced hearing. He had a guess as to who this was; and since he wasn’t immediately causing a shitstorm then Nero could interact with him more casually— maybe even gain some information on the wider situation. “You don’t have to worry, traveller. Destron has no place here. Or anywhere, for that matter.” It was a foul thing, a weapon made for and by cowards after all.

Nero nodded to Zhalla, who seemed pretty eager to have some of the fruit. “I think it’d be good to get some stuff for a planter so that we can grow some of our own. I’ve heard it’s relatively easy to grow them, they’re just slightly particular about light intake, fair warning.” Nero also wondered how the fruit could be used in cooking, as he had only ever tried some as is, or a few drops in some juice bar drinks.

The conversation cycled back to Lottus and his reason for being here. He had a history with Gandigan of all people, so it made sense that he knew about the Mazoku; or at the very least Gandigan’s group within the wider clan.

“Representative of a King, you say?” Strange, given that there wasn’t one until after the Daimaō role was reforged. It was probably a cover-up to gauge Lottus’ reaction at the time, but Nero had grown increasingly suspicious of how things were going surrounding the topic.

Now, making a deal with Lottus directly, that was particularly incriminating, but Nero lets Lottus speak on it further so as to learn the full story. A reaction to Saiyans as a whole, based on two sub-par examples— a broken habitual killer and a thrill seeking idiot, the latter making a bet to the former using a whole planet as a bargaining chip. Having a poor reaction to those two Nero could understand, but every other Saiyan as well by proxy, ignoring any examples of those who do better?

How ignorant and pitiful, especially when Gira was one of Gandigan’s allies.

Nero pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Of course. Racism. I should’ve guessed.”