As the coalition assaulted him, Vegeta’s fury flared. The adaptive echo fed on that anger. For a long moment, it seemed Vegeta might be consumed. Then, in a rare stillness, he chose a different path: rather than venting, he focused on the one memory he could not stand sharing—the first time he smiled in battle at the thought of surpassing someone he admired. He opened that feeling, let it spill out as an energy he’d never admit but always felt—respect.

Then a projection unfolded above the table: a holographic continent—Europe—fractured into glowing sectors. An unfamiliar voice, modulated and melancholy, spoke: "Awaiting champions. Restore the echoes."

The ROM offered a choice: re-integrate fully into Capsule Corp archives for safekeeping, or scatter its echoes across the planet as dormant sigils, ready to awaken if ever needed again. The Z-fighters, tired but thoughtful, voted. Goku, who loved surprises, wanted it scattered—adventures awaited. Vegeta preferred containment—control was power. Bulma argued for research and backup. In the end, a compromise: the ROM would be archived with multiple, encrypted replicas hidden around the world and a single copy set to seed small, harmless echoes bound to nature—playful guardians rather than dangerous phantoms.

Bulma deciphered the lines: the ROM was a lost relic of an old AI tournament program—part entertainment cartridge, part repository of martial memories. Someone had merged ancient Terran fighting archives with residual Kai energies. Over time the ROM had become a beacon, searching for warriors capable of restoring balance to its scattered echoes—memories of legendary fights and the spirits trapped within them.