Goku had never met that elder. But he had saved Dende. He had protected the village. He had fought not for glory, but for his friends.

The Namekian sky, usually a serene green under twin suns, was now a bruised, apocalyptic violet. The planet groaned, its core mortally wounded by Frieza’s spiteful energy blast. In five minutes, Namek would be stardust.

“What are you doing?” Frieza screamed, sensing the sudden drop in Goku’s energy. “You’re wasting your power!”

He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar pulse of Instant Transmission—not for himself, but for the wish. He had learned the technique on Yadrat, but he had never attempted this .

Frieza laughed—a wet, broken sound. “No Dragon can save you now, Saiyan. The Grand Elder is dead. The balls are stone!”

Because Goku wasn’t going to summon Porunga.

The white light exploded outward.