A shimmer of blue-white light slices through the sky as a portal opens with a low hum.

Trunks steps out from the distortion, boots landing firmly against the ground. His coat settles around him as the portal seals behind him like a closing wound in reality. His hand rests near the hilt of his sword. His scouter scans the area, eyes narrowing slightly as he senses irregular energy patterns.

“This reading matches the distortion Chronoa detected.”

His gaze shifts toward the figure before him. He doesn't draw his blade yet. Instead, he studies them carefully.

Trunk's voice remains steady, controlled. “Explain your presence. If you’re the cause of this anomaly, I’ll have to correct it.” A faint golden spark flickers around him, not yet a transformation, but a warning. “History doesn’t get second chances.”