Omnitrix Tyrant: The Strategist of Universe 7

Chapter 3: Learning the Saiyan Way

Ben's body ached as he walked through the outskirts of the Saiyan training grounds. His fight earlier had left him bruised, but he had survived—and that was all that mattered.

For now.

The lower ranks of Planet Vegeta were brutal. Unlike the elite warriors who had access to high-tech healing pods and personal training facilities, the weaker Saiyans were thrown into the dirt and expected to crawl their way up.

Ben observed everything. Saiyan culture was built on power. There were no friends here—only rivals, enemies, and temporary allies.

If he wanted to thrive, he needed to do three things:

1. Get stronger. His current power level was a joke. Without the Omnitrix, he wouldn't last long.

2. Gain influence. Saiyans followed the strong, but he couldn't afford to attract too much attention yet.

3. Stay alive until Frieza's betrayal. The moment that event happened, everything would change.

For now, he had to play the weakling.

He approached the barracks where low-class Saiyans lived. The stench of blood and sweat filled the air. Some warriors were patching up wounds, others were fighting, and a few were eating in silence.

A large Saiyan with a deep scar across his cheek looked up as Ben stepped inside.

"Well, well, if it ain't the freak from earlier."

Ben ignored him and scanned the room. Beds were limited. Most warriors had claimed their space, but a few open spots remained—next to the weakest fighters.

Perfect.

Ben tossed himself onto an empty bed, arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded. He needed them to think he was just another nobody.

The scarred Saiyan grinned and walked up, cracking his knuckles. "You're new, so I'll be nice. You want a spot? You gotta earn it."

Ben exhaled. He didn't have time for this.

The Saiyan grabbed his collar. "You deaf?"

Ben's eyes flicked up.

In an instant, he twisted his wrist, activating the Omnitrix in secret. The green flash was small—barely noticeable—but he had already made his choice.

His body hardened.

The Saiyan's smug grin disappeared as his punch connected—only for his knuckles to crack against solid, rock-like skin.

Ben hadn't transformed completely—just enough to reinforce his durability using Diamondhead's DNA.

He faked a wince and fell back, acting weaker than he was. "Damn. You hit like a truck."

The Saiyan stared at his own bruised fist, scowling. "Tch. You got lucky."

He turned and walked off, muttering curses.

Ben smirked. Let them underestimate him.

He had just marked his first target.

---

The Next Morning

Ben awoke to the sound of blaring alarms.

"Get up, weaklings! Training starts now!"

Saiyan soldiers stomped through the barracks, kicking over beds and dragging half-asleep warriors outside. Ben stretched, pretending to yawn, and followed the others into the open wasteland where training was held.

There, an elite-class Saiyan stood waiting—tall, armored, and exuding raw power. His scouter beeped as he analyzed the gathered fighters.

"You maggots are pathetic," the instructor growled. "But since King Vegeta believes even the weak can be molded into proper warriors, you get a chance to prove yourselves."

He raised a hand. "Split into groups. The strongest will fight in the advanced rounds. The weakest... will be given 'special treatment.'"

Ben narrowed his eyes. Saiyan training wasn't just about improving warriors. It was also about eliminating the useless.

"Now, let's see what you worms can do."

---

The first phase of training was brutal.

It wasn't just about fighting—it was about survival.

Ben watched as the stronger Saiyans fought in deadly matches, each battle designed to push them to their limits. Broken bones, bloodied faces, unconscious bodies littered the training grounds.

But Ben didn't rush in.

Instead, he used the time to study how the Saiyans fought.

Observation was key. He could see patterns in their movements, weaknesses in their fighting styles. They were strong, but they relied too much on brute force.

That was something he could exploit.

His turn came.

He was paired against a Saiyan with a power level of around 1,000—nothing special, but still stronger than an average human.

The instructor sneered. "This won't take long."

The fight began.

The Saiyan charged forward immediately, aiming for a brutal headshot.

Ben side-stepped, barely dodging. The warrior was fast—but not precise.

Ben let the Saiyan attack, dodging each strike by the smallest margin. It was all about efficiency. The crowd grew irritated.

"Fight back, coward!"

Ben smirked. Not yet.

He had already calculated his opponent's attack patterns. The Saiyan was using predictable combos—all power, no strategy.

When the next punch came, Ben ducked under it and countered with a single, well-placed strike to the gut.

The Saiyan's eyes widened as air left his lungs.

Ben followed up with a low sweep, knocking him off balance. As the Saiyan stumbled, Ben stepped in and slammed his elbow into the back of his neck.

The Saiyan hit the ground.

Silence.

The crowd stared in shock.

The instructor's scouter beeped. "Tch. Lucky hit," he muttered. "Next match."

Ben walked away, rolling his shoulders. Let them think it was luck.

For now, he had proven himself just enough to stay in the game.

Step three: Survive Saiyan training. Completed.

---

That night, as he lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, he thought about what came next.

He had integrated into Saiyan society, survived his first fight, and avoided attracting too much suspicion.

But Frieza's arrival was getting closer.

And when it happened?

He wouldn't just survive.

He would use it to his advantage.

Because in this universe, strength was everything.

And Ben intended to be the strongest.

---

End of Chapter 3