Five minutes left.
“But Porunga wasn’t even summoned!” Krillian shouted.
Then, a whisper of light. A small, orange sphere—barely a flicker—rose from the wreckage of the elder’s hut. It was the last Dragon Ball. The four-star ball. The one Goku’s adoptive grandfather had given him. It floated gently, almost sadly, toward the sky.
When the light faded, Namek was gone. And so were they. On the distant planet, Krillin wept. Gohan screamed for his father. Piccolo stood still, his gaze fixed on the empty sky.
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.
“You fool,” Frieza hissed, staggering forward. “You saved them… and left yourself here. With me.”
And then Goku understood.
Goku turned, a calm smile on his face. “Krillin, get everyone to the ship. Now.”
Goku was alive. Barely. But the wish hadn’t been for him.