They have lychees in Sadala.

Because God has a sense of humor, I suppose.

Or Panspermia is a thing in this universe, because seriously, lychees.

That’s the only Earth-thing I’ve seen here, every fruit and vegetable, and even the edible roots are all different things, except for lychees, which is interesting.

They’re also tastier than I remember them being, and they go well with ‘nichem’, which is the Sadalan equivalent to chickens.

And also half the size of an ostrich, which would be problematic for humans, but since Saiyans eat a lot, it’s more like eating half a rotisserie chicken by yourself, which is impressive in itself, but that’s not the point here.

Saiyan food is delicious.

“Fight me!”

The company is less so.

“I’m eating.” I remind my cousin, because I have one of those.

The three-year-old frowned, crossing his arms and petulantly sitting on the floor, pouting.

Joke’s on him, I’m a hundred-and-whatever, and I can be quite stubborn, even if my current attention span isn’t as big as my old one, so attrition tactics don’t work on me.

So I very pointedly bit into the nichem thigh I had been served while staring directly at him.

“You gotta fight him at some point,” My mother chuckled, earning my attention, the woman leaning on one of her arms with a smirk, “Else he’s gonna think you hate him!” She elbows my equally amused aunt’s arm, who looks nearly identical to the woman who’s been fussing over me for the past week.

That’s twins, I guess.

“Uh-huh.” I nod at Avoca, taking another slow bite of my meal, earning a snort of amusement from her.

“Tone down the sass, brat,” Her smirk turns a little challenging. “You’re too young to be butting heads with me.”

That just means I can get away with a lot, lady.

“She’s very much like you, Avoca,” Aunt Cassa mused, idly pulling on the straps of her leather gloves, which were more like strips wrapped around her hands up to her elbows.

It looked cool.

“I foresee a few spars in the near future.” She concluded, clenching and unclenching her fists a few times.

“I’m not fighting my year-old kid.” My mother deadpanned at her twin, moving to poke her on the forehead, which my aunt intersected with a slap to the appendage.

“I didn’t mean her.” Cassa peacefully hummed, sparing a glance at me and my still-pouting cousin.

“Oh, you’re on!”

And then my mother honest-to-god tackled my aunt from her seat, the two of them tumbling down the hill next to the barbecue area.

We had come to my aunt and uncle’s house to celebrate my leaving the pod almost a full month after the fact.

It’s a whole thing in Saiyan culture, kind of like a birthday celebration, which is a different celebration than Pod Release Day.

And as it turns out, Saiyan culture is heavy on the fighting and challenges thing, who’d have thought?

At least there’s something similar to what I expected out of them, because so far? It’s been very different.

It almost felt like I was back on Earth, if you didn’t think about the hairier bodies and slight slouch to account for the tail.

The tails were handy little things, I came to learn, because not only were they flexible enough for you to do some tricks with,

“Stop coiling your tail, Cetulla.” My father idly reminded me.

It was also strong enough to pick stuff up, like my chicken thigh when my cousin decided to copy my mother, tackling me out of my seat with vindictive glee.

So I poked him in the eye.

“That’s cheating!” He whined, like an absolute brat.

“You tried to ruin my food.” I smarmed, fixing him with a sarcastic look, dusting my clothes off as I stood up. “Now I’m going to ruin your fight.”

“We’ll see about tha—Ack!”

Forehead poking, truly an unbeatable strategy, Itachi knew what he was doing.

Speaking of; “Foolish little cousin,” I spurred him on, holding back my mirth once he growled. “You’re not strong enough,” Poke, “You lack hatred.” Poke-poke.

“I’ll show you—” Poke-poke-poke. “RAAAAH!”

Aaand kick.

“That’s so cheating…” My cousin rasped, trembling from his place on the floor, clutching the weak spot of most men.

What? I’m barely over a year old and legs are stronger than arms more often than not, so I used what I could to not lose to my annoying cousin.

…Again, what? I’m not gonna let him win just because I’m not keen on fighting, I still got my pride, damn it!

Besides, a fight—A real one—Doesn’t have any rules.

Rules are for chumps who can’t win.

“Now you know you need to defend against such attacks, Cabba.” Uncle Rugool intoned, walking over to his son and picking him up in one fluid motion. “Females have a bit of an advantage.” He taught, pointing at my mother and aunt ducking it out a little ways away. “Until they grow up, that is, but I’ll explain that to you another day.”

Great, I’m gonna have to deal with boob-punching in the future, not that I know what it’s like, but considering nearly every woman I’ve ever asked informed that having one’s breasts punched hurts, I don’t really like my chances.

Though, if I turn out anything like the other women in my family, perhaps I won’t have quite as much difficulty in dealing with it.

Stacked they are not, and if genetics still work similarly to how they did on Earth, I’ll be good-ish.

…Actually, how do genetics work for Saiyans?

“Hah!” My uncle’s sudden laugh cut me out of my musings. “She’s got the same thinkin’ face you do, Pak!”

“So she does,” My father hummed along, looking at me in consideration. “Remind me, what’s the youngest that someone can enter in the JFT?”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

I hate it when people speak in acronyms.

“Four,” Uncle Rugool informs, taking a drink from a can of what I assume to be the Sadalan equivalent of beer. “Cabba’s been running up the walls asking if he can join early.”

“Can I?!” The boy in question excitedly called, hope gleaming in his eyes.

“No.”

And there goes the hope.

“Why rush?” I call, moving my tail around to bring the chicken—Sorry, nichem—Thigh to my mouth, biting into it and taking a moment to savor the spices. “It’s not like it’s gonna go away forever tomorrow.”

“Well, you’re one, so you can’t go either!”

I blink at my cousin, What type of—When did I even—Nevermind. A sigh escaped me as I gave up trying to follow the logic of a three-year-old. “Well, I’ll be four one day.”

“Yeah, well,” My cousin puffs up his cheeks and chest and… Well, everything, he’s looking quite fluffy right now. “By then I’m gonna be six, and stronger, so there!”

Poke.

“Dad!”

“What are you looking at me for?” Uncle Rugool snorted in amusement. “It’s your fight, kid!”

Ah, Saiyans.

My cousin spent a few seconds looking between me and his father before deciding he would try his luck again.

So I jumped over him.

This went on for a while.

So long, in fact, that my mother and my aunt had time to finish their fight, clean up, and then tell me and Cabba to stop, which was a good thing, because I was getting seriously tired and running out of ways to dodge the angry toddler.

We ended up in the living room with Avoca hugging me to her body as if I were a teddy bear, watching something very similar to rugby on the TV.

“Well, so much for the ‘prodigy’, huh?” My mother snarked, all of us watching the so-called ‘up-and-coming star’, some blue-furred Saiyan who kind of looked like Hulk Hogan, struggling to do anything in the game.

“And it seems like today is not Fisher’s day!” The commentator voiced his opinion, her tone somewhere between amused and understanding. “Well folks, not everyday can be a win, especially for the Red Moons!” She chuckled. “But now it’s half-time, so hold on tight during the ad-break!”

Oh yeah, Saiyans have family names, apparently.

I’m Cetulla Liberty, because as it turns out, my mom is Raditz’s granddaughter, and he got the name Liberty because Saiyans called Bardock ‘The Liberator’ so much that, well, it stuck.

It also began a whole family name thing, because Kakarot gained the name of ‘Crownfist’, because he was such good friends with King Vegeta the Fourth that the now deceased king officialized the name.

And there was the local equivalent to Gohan with Gorlick the Thinker.

You will not believe what the family name is.

It’s ‘Thinker’, wow, such shock, much awe.

Of course, there were many other names that came to be because of people’s professions, such as Fisher, or Baker and et cetera.

“This team’s been going downhill since Kraft left.” My uncle scoffed, sinking into the couch with a pout.

“No kidding, he was pretty good.” My mother added, nodding into my hair. “Isn’t that right, Cets?”

“Okay.” Because what else am I supposed to say? I didn’t care too much about sports in my past life, why change anything in this one?

Hell, even with the changes, football was still football, tennis was still tennis, so on so forth, ad infinitum.

Something that was interesting, however, was whatever my father was messing with on the tablet-thingy he’s been tapping on for the whole first half of the game, and since he was sitting right next to my mother, I could just lean a bit to the side to read what he was working on.

Lot’s of complicated words that I’m assuming are chemicals and algorithms of something, the assumption born from the pictures of the device I got a look at after exiting my pod.

It was the AKI, the thing with the needle that is likely responsible for my being here, maybe, possibly.

I mean, who else would I blame? God?

Bro is probably making a star, the heck he’s gonna bother with me for?

“Well, I guess Cets will never be a fly-half.” My mother suddenly groaned in misery, sinking her face into my fluffy hair.

Seriously, I should’ve realized I was related to Raditz sooner, thankfully, I don’t have his hairline, otherwise I’d coin the handle ‘MC Widow’s Peak’.

But as I am, I’ll just have to content myself with being fluffy.

…And being my mother’s squeeze-toy, which is a lot more pleasant than I thought it’d be, because Avoca gives good hugs, it turns out.

“What did I tell you about working from home, anyway?” My mother half-heartedly admonished my father, still leaning her head on mine.

“Not to,” Pakcho dutifully supplied, scrolling down his screen, “But this is rather important.”

“Wha—The Red Moons are important, Pak!” Avoca gasped in outrage. “You’re reading about… The heck—Is that the thing you shoved in Cetulla’s skull?”

“The AKI, yes,” By his tone of voice, it’s safe to say my father is done trying to explain how the thing actually works. “Just some reports.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.” There was equal parts a threat and heavy worry in my mother’s tone, the woman leaning to the side to look over her husband’s shoulder, tilting me to the side as a result.

“Not like you think, no,” Pakcho assured, lips curling in annoyance as he read over the digital file. “Results are inconsistent, some children only got a slight bump in their knowledge, like being able to count and other such things, all the way up to Cetulla, who’s been mostly coherent.” He explained, sparing a moment to run a hand over my head, slightly ruffling my hair. “It might be the reason behind her spacing out sometimes.”

Right, that.

Well, it’s not like I didn’t do that in my previous life, it’s just been a bit more common in this one, with all the stuff I’ve been needing to process.

And also the denial.

Seriously, one would think I’d have accepted this situation already, but one month in and I wake up every morning expecting to feel like a motionless sack of bones only to have trouble associating that I am indeed a young and energetic monkey girl.

It’s frustrating.

“What, she’s… Absorbing stuff?” My mother questioned, sounding somewhat confused.

“More like integrating it,” My father corrected. “See, the brain is a very intricate organ that we still don’t know everything about…”

Oh hey, future science stuff!

I wonder if this will keep up non-stop in the future?

________________

Needless to say it didn't, because apparently, I was born into interesting enough times again.

And by 'interesting times', I mean a war.

The 'enough' part was eventually learning that said war was occurring between the Saiyans and the Citadel.

That was a scary little surprise.

Sadala itself wasn't attacked. Though, they’d gotten real close, one planet over, before the Saiyan fleet literally ran straight into the enemy ships.

The defense force was led by Kakarot's second son, Gurki, whom I assume was this world's stand-in for Goten.

He died.

And if the news were anything to go by, one of the most important Citadelian generals had perished in the collision as well.

But with one of our main ships now a wreck orbiting the nearest planet, the Sadalan Solar System had become a bit more vulnerable, which led to us having to send out a lot more ships to compensate, to keep our system safe.

Mom had gone in one of those ships.

She seldomly came back, especially when the attacks became more frequent, which left me with dad a lot.

That wasn’t a bad thing, no, I just missed her.

My past life lacked good parents—My main problem, really, was the thought of never having a complete family—And right now, this was feeling vaguely similar to that.

Thankfully, there were none of the problems that screwed my past family over here, so that only left the ever-present fear that I might lose a good family because the universe thought it’d be funny.

I’m startled out of my thoughts once the front door of my house opened, my tired-looking father ambling towards the sofa after locking the door behind him and sinking into the cushions next to me, “What are we watching?” He muttered the question, unfocused eyes not really seeing the TV.

“Ultimate Saiyan Warrior season three rerun,” I supply, looking back to the show in question.

It was basically American Ninja Warrior but more violent. “I like the blonde guy.”

It was just Tobey Maguire as a Saiyan, really.

My father hummed along, only half-listening.

Okay, I’m worried now.

“Is mom okay?” I slowly inquire, dreading the answer.

“Yeah,” He immediately assured, sparing me a glance. “She got injured, is all, she’s down in Arecas.”

“Arecas…” I mused, thinking back on the conversations I had with my mom through the scouters.

She did mention being in this ‘Arecas’ sometimes, it was something…

“It’s the colony on our neighboring planet.” My father explained, tiredly rubbing one of his eyes. “There were signs of civilization but… Well, we haven’t found anyone yet, and it’s been ten years.”

Is… That supposed to be planet Vegeta, then?

Or… Tuffle, I guess?

“Oh.” I eloquently input.

“Avoca is fine, Cetulla,” Pakcho sighed in exhaustion, gently reaching over to wrap me in a hug, which is nice of him.

Hugs are nice.

“Things will be fine.”

_______________

Things were not fine.

The war had waged on relentlessly for another solid two years, and in all that time my mom came home a grand total of twice.

And to top it all off, our current king reinstated the Attack Orb Units, which basically means throwing children at the issue.

Me and my newfound group of ‘friends’ were a few of these children.

“Are you gonna eat your food or can I…?” The biggest of us all, Pumkim, at eight-years old and built like a mini-Nappa, called, half-reaching for the uneaten piece of bread filled with onion bits in the dipped center, which I made quick work of once prompted. “Nevermind.” The boy pouted.

“The standard ration for your size really doesn’t cover you?” Our resident royal, the ever bright-eyed Princess Okora, inquired, idly running a hand over her hair.

Really, she was just Vegeta but a young girl, appearance-wise.

“Pumkim just eats more than a fully grown ochre ruga,” My cousin—Now resembling Raditz even more than I do, albeit with a mohawk, because there’s this trend going on—Snorted in amusement, lightly punching the other boy of the group´on the arm. “He could probably eat one of the damn things whole!”

Ochre rugas being the Sadalan equivalent to elephants.

And carnivorous.

“Oy, I don’t eat that much!” Pumpkin defended, returning my cousin’s hit a little less gently.

“Hey, watch it, wide-size!” Cabba snapped, readying himself for a fight.

Saiyan clothes come in small, medium and wide.

It’s… a strange difference.

“Before we get to that,” I interrupted, stepping between the two boys, looking rather comically small in comparison to them.

Really, picture Gine standing between Raditz and Nappa, it’s kind of like that.

“How about we finish our mission?”

“I agree with her,” Okora, ever so prim and proper, stood up from her seat, an overturned metal column that used to support the remainders of the building we’re in. “We still have a few outposts to destroy.”

“Yes, princess.” The three of us non-royals intoned, much to the girl’s embarrassment.

“Stop that!” She fumed, blushing.

“We’re just showing proper respect, your highness,” My cousin, ever the shit-stirrer, smirked. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“The way you say it!” She stomped her foot, glaring at us all.

“Let’s go, Cabba, Pumkim…” I paused. “Your Highness, Princess Oko—”

“Let’s just go!” The royal in question snapped, stomping away ahead of us.

The sense of levity accompanied us for a little while, until we reached our next target.

I’ll take what I can get, kids really shouldn’t be put in these situations.