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Frieza didn't warp my mind so much that my pride prevents me from recognizing great potential. I did with Kakarot despite his many unwise actions. He should have listened from the beginning and further capitalized on the supremacy that led to Frieza’s well-deserved demise by his Saiyan hands. Instead, he ran off into deep space and won’t return -- yet. Utterly preposterous. And what was I left with? A yawning power gap between us and dearth of insight about achieving what should have been mine.
Yet the boy’s presence has forced me to reflect about where and what I am now.
Raditz is dead. Though I will admit to seeing as him a friend of sorts, I had to cut my losses due to the impulsive decision-making that led to his slaying. I killed Nappa because, after his ruinous fight with those determined earthlings, from the moment he begged for his life, I knew he would eventually betray me. I sensed it. His sniveling that day made me volcanic with rage. We endured miserable years under Frieza’s reign, but do you think he worked just as hard as I did during our assignments? Never – and I started as a child! After the planet I was destined to rule went up in flames, the conniving fool hedged his bets that “we” would ultimately prevail because of my resolve. After all, I was the prodigy, right?
Heh. Yeah, he had it coming. Sometimes it boggles my mind how that hairless, mush-mouthed cretin led any part of the Saiyan forces. Then again, I wonder if my father kept Nappa in that role mainly because the man was a useful quisling who would never challenge him. While that bastard got to play strategist between excursions or chase at my coattails, worthier warriors on the front lines took the hits.
I suppose I should show some gratitude for the training I received from Nappa, but as much as I loathe Frieza and his now-dead retinue of gap-toothed henchmen, my battle sense took careful notes over the years. And I absorbed as much knowledge as I could to make the most of my talents, becoming a polymath of sorts. So I learned just as much from them. Sure, I wasn’t as strong as some originally, but countless people were justifiably spooked about the damage I could inflict. My bloodlettings and body counts are ample proof. Frieza kept close eyes on me because of my capability. Why else would he have taken me against my family’s will? That’s in addition to his merciless mind-fucking of my father.
Do I like killing? Well…yes and no. (I don’t give a shit about your skepticism. This is my retelling.) I’ve done what I had to do. I got good at it. I lived in a manner that sustained me amid the nagging lack of purpose I felt more than I wanted. I can recite my people’s history inside and out, courtesy of Saiyan technology and the lore shared with me. So I guess I am also thankful for that. Nappa and Raditz missed what they had lost just as much as I did. Nevertheless, I had more on the line and still do.
When my mind wanders in ways that it shouldn’t, I ponder whether Frieza and his criminal clan could have been defeated had rebels in the PTO organized better and shown more courage. That sticks in my craw especially. Indeed, the Kolds’ inborn strength and capacity for destruction were off the charts. They were terrifying, but they were also exceptional masters of psychological manipulation. Other societies were complicit in their rise to authority, including my own, until being “annexed” into servitude when Frieza’s dictatorial whims were engaged. Regarding the nations that compensated Frieza to clean-sweep other planets and take them as their own, I can’t muster any pity if they got fucked over later. Some did. Raditz, Nappa and I wrecked a few.
I will never admit this to anyone, but my mistake was believing I could do it all myself at first. But from my perspective, too many in the PTO -- including the vassal states that Frieza kept for himself – were more invested in basic survival rather than emancipation. There was too much risk for betrayal, and I hadn’t made many friends for obvious reasons, though there were those among our ranks who – peculiarly – approached me for comradeship.
Despite their failures, however, the earthlings who fought initially were tenaciously devoted to their cause, and even I could tell that not all of them liked each other. I can respect that, but it’s not in my interest to say it. Fear remains a useful fallback, and they have all reasons in the universe to never completely trust me or my intentions. That would be idiotic.
But the boy.
Gohan is his given appellation as an earthling, but he has another name that reflects my view.
That whelp threw hands at me constantly, and at other foes, with the kind of rage and fortitude that kept me intrigued. His father infuriated me to near madness when we met, of course, but fighting with Kakarot that first time on Earth was extraordinary and exhilarating. My pride was severely wounded, and I wanted to take everything down then, but after the son of Bardock laid waste to Frieza on Namek and my life was restored, other considerations arose. Gohan became one of them. The Namekian Piccolo, who laid the groundwork for maximizing the boy’s talents, among others, has held considerable sway. But that influence has limits.
Despite his visceral disgust over my behavior on Earth and elsewhere, Gohan is drawn to me, just as I am to him. Some would say he acted out of misguided loyalty on Namek, fueled by Frieza’s sadistic cruelty and an emotion-driven sense of justice. But he and his companions wisely grasped who the biggest threat was and acted accordingly -- and, yes, courageously. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Well certainly. That’s how I operated while I collected the Namekian Dragon Balls. I desired immortality, which in the end shames me. Again, a realization I’ll never confess. It was an at-all-costs gambit to overtake Frieza because I wasn’t assured that I could do it by my strength and cunning alone.
And I didn’t. As I lay dying and humiliated from Frieza's torture, Kakarot did exactly what I begged him to do: vanquish. He became a Super Saiyan, an even greater reward. Meanwhile, because of a wish, I languished on Earth. The outcome I wanted for so long as a bondsman -- freedom, after I received it -- emptied acid on decades of mental distortion. And then, even more, I hated the same low-class warrior who ensured my manumission for doing exactly what I couldn’t.
The complexities of poetic justice are infinite.
I have done terrible things. What if I had engaged in fewer of them? Ah well. That question is posed fairly… facetiously. I have the capacity for remorse, but self-doubt is a pesky parasite waiting for an opportunity to take root. In the universe of horrors I inhabited, allowing that pest to burrow too far invited brutalization and collapse, and the disavowal of the qualities that Saiyans are supposed to embody. I am a prince, and for better or worse my life depended on my intractable hold on those qualities, namely pride. Even Kakarot came away realizing that as Frieza’s blasts shredded my flesh and organs.
I call the boy Palmata. It suits a Saiyan, and “Gohan” eventually will find that it befits him. The name is derived from the plant that our warriors received as symbolic prizes after victories. Even though the boy has asked about its origin, I won’t tell him until his conduct and beliefs demonstrate his readiness to me. The traces of wide-eyed innocence must still be slashed. That part of his character makes my skin crawl, in fact, but it can be exploited to reach higher goals. Palmata is unlike his father and should embrace his power differently. I won’t abandon my destiny to become a Super Saiyan, but he will watch and learn.
That Namekian is in an unenviable position, though I am not sympathetic. Piccolo’s ambivalence over Palmata’s lingering reluctance reeks of mawkishness. Emotional investment has overtaken the pragmatism that led to his training of Palmata. Allowing the boy’s potential to lie fallow offends and enrages me. Palmata has seen his fair share of calamity and death by now, but Piccolo and I are conscious of depravity’s extremes. Killing is one thing, but death can be preferable to becoming the target of another’s grisly and debauched fantasies. Neither Nappa nor Raditz engaged in those atrocities anywhere near me. Had they, slaughtering them on the spot would have been a just reward.
The woman, Bulma, seems the least uneasy each time the boy finds me. He came as soon as I returned from space, after I was unable to find his father during a year of searching. Bulma looks the other way, not caring about others' disapproval, keeping her domicile accessible and equipped. It’s aggravating to feel like I’ve received her permission, though, whereas high-strung protests from the boy’s mother don't concern me.
In the end, Palmata has chosen me. I am no father figure. I am no role model. I am an avatar of the force and promise that lie within him. The boy has freewill now in a way that I did not under Frieza’s regime. My instruction will be the hardest he’ll ever experience. I can swear to that.
Let him try to surpass me for as long as it takes.
I think I can keep up.
What do they have to lose?
And when Kakarot comes back as promised, I look forward to rubbing our accomplishments in his face. And I will laugh and laugh and laugh...
Notes: Like many others, the "what-ifs" around Vegeta and Gohan have always intrigued me. (Putting Vegeta on the psychiatrist's couch too.) What better way to shock Kakarot than by fully co-opting his son? Would Piccolo put up more of a fight to prevent this from happening? What are your head canons? Of course, other comments are more than welcome here.