CHAPTER 15: THE PHANTOM BLADE

The crowd roared as the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, his words cutting through the pandemonium of cheers, jeers, and the pounding bass of music that reverberated through the arena. The tournament was in full swing, and the energy in the air was electric—thick with excitement, sweat, and the tension of high stakes. Spectators of every shape, size, and species packed the stands, their faces lit by the neon glow of pulsating lights that danced across the room.

Vendors weaved through the rows, shouting over the din as they hawked glowing drinks, exotic snacks, and other questionable substances to the rowdy crowd. A pair of alien gamblers argued loudly, exchanging insults as one tossed a handful of credits at the other in frustration. Near the front rows, a group of heavily armed mercenaries clinked their glasses together, hollering at the fighters in the pit below.

Fighters had been battling fiercely in the sunken arena—a metallic pit surrounded by a reinforced energy cage designed to keep stray blasts contained. The scent of scorched metal lingered in the air from the last match, where a fiery alien had left deep gouges in the floor. The audience buzzed with anticipation, still on edge from the explosive finale of the previous bout.

Above the arena, a massive screen displayed slow-motion replays of the most brutal hits, accompanied by flashes of commentary in various alien languages. The announcer’s voice, amplified by the state-of-the-art sound system, kept the crowd engaged, hyping up the next round with practiced bravado.

In the stands, Vegeta, Tarble, and Broly found seats near the middle rows, positioned close enough to get a clear view of the action without drawing too much attention. Vegeta crossed his arms, his expression sour as he scanned the chaotic scene below.

Tarble leaned forward, his wide-eyed expression betraying a mix of nervousness and curiosity. “This place is... intense,” he muttered, glancing at the eclectic mix of spectators.

Broly remained silent, his large frame making him stand out even in the crowded arena. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail with quiet intensity. Though he said nothing, the way his muscles tensed suggested he was ready for any sudden trouble.

A pair of insectoid aliens in the row behind them began loudly debating the odds of the upcoming fighters, their rapid chittering punctuated by occasional slaps on the back as they placed their bets.

“It’s more than just intense,” Vegeta said, his voice low but cutting through the noise. “This place reeks of desperation. Look around—most of these people aren’t here for the sport. They’re here for the blood, the violence. For many of them, this is survival.”

Tarble nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. The flashing lights, the shouts of the audience, the muffled sounds of punches and energy blasts from the arena—it all blended together into a chaotic symphony of raw energy.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated the arena. The crowd hushed, leaning forward as the announcer’s voice rang out again. “Ladies and gentlemen, creatures of all kinds! Prepare yourselves for the next match in tonight’s ultimate showdown! This tournament waits for no one, and the stakes only get higher as we move closer to the finals!”

The crowd erupted into cheers again, and the tension in the room spiked. For all the chaos, there was a strange unity in their shared anticipation—everyone was here for the fight, for the thrill of watching strength tested and bones broken.

Vegeta glanced toward the arena, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s see what kind of fighters they have in this cesspool,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat as the next fighter prepared to enter.

The announcer’s voice cut through the noise. “And now, we have a late entry!” he shouted. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for…The Great Saiyaman!”

Vegeta groaned audibly as Gohan stepped into the arena, clad in his classic Great Saiyaman outfit—complete with a flowing cape, gloves, and his signature visor. He struck a dramatic pose, pointing to the crowd.

“Fear not, evildoers! For justice has arrived!” Gohan announced, his voice carrying over the crowd. He followed it up with a series of exaggerated poses, each more ridiculous than the last.

A stunned silence hung over the audience before someone shouted, “What is this nonsense?!” followed by a wave of laughter and boos.

Vegeta’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. “What the hell is he doing? This is an underground tournament, not a stage for his ridiculous antics!”

Tarble, sitting next to him, tilted his head curiously. “The Great Saiyaman?”

Vegeta sighed, clearly frustrated. “It’s Gohan’s idiotic attempt at being a superhero back on Earth. A pathetic gimmick if you ask me.”

It’s kind of…cool?” Tarble ventured cautiously, only to be met with a sharp glare from Vegeta.

Broly, sitting quietly, glanced at Gohan in the arena, his expression neutral but intrigued.

As the crowd continued to boo and jeer, the announcer regained control of the situation. “Alright, alright, settle down! Let’s see if this Great Saiyaman can actually fight! His opponent—straight from the shadows of planet Nyris—Nihru, the Phantom Blade!”

A sleek, ninja-like alien stepped into the ring. Nihru’s skin was a deep blue, and his movements were so fluid and quiet he seemed to glide across the arena. Dual blades were strapped to his back, and his piercing red eyes never left Gohan.

Gohan remained in character, striking another exaggerated pose. “Prepare yourself, villain! Justice will always prevail!”

The crowd groaned and booed louder, with a few voices shouting insults about his "ridiculous act." Gohan ignored them, staying focused on the mission.

Nihru, however, didn’t respond. His crimson eyes locked onto Gohan, his body unnervingly still. The lack of reaction threw Gohan off for a split second, but he quickly realized this wasn’t an opponent to take lightly.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the arena, interrupting the tense silence. “Alright, fighters! Just a reminder—this is a no-holds-barred match! Anything goes, and it doesn’t end until one of you is on the ground and unable to get up! Make it entertaining!”

Gohan blinked, caught off guard. He glanced toward the announcer’s hovering hologram. “Wait, isn’t that a bit…much?” he asked, his tone more serious now.

The announcer laughed loudly, a mocking edge in his voice. “Too much? Kid, you clearly don’t know where you are! This is The Last Round! Now—fight!”

With that, the hologram vanished, and the fight officially began.

Nihru wasted no time. In an instant, he blurred out of sight, his speed almost imperceptible. Before Gohan could fully process, Nihru reappeared behind him with a swift, spinning kick aimed at his head.

Gohan barely managed to duck in time, the wind from the strike brushing past his helmet. He quickly dropped his superhero theatrics, his stance shifting into something more practical. This was no time for flair—this was serious.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Nihru pressed the attack, his movements sharp and calculated. Gohan could feel the intensity radiating off his opponent. This was going to be tougher than he thought.

***

While the fight raged on in the arena, Truffle and Meelo navigated the shadowed corridors of The Last Round, slipping unnoticed through the throng of patrons and staff. The din of the crowd was a perfect cover for their movements, but Truffle remained on high alert, her sharp eyes scanning every face and every whispered interaction.

“There,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as she observed a nearby VIP booth. Several imposing figures sat around a table, their laughter and conversation muffled under the pounding bass of the music. Meelo’s small frame hovered behind her, his single optic lens swiveling to capture the scene.

She tapped her communicator, keeping her voice low. “We’ve got eyes on some big names. I see at least three from your most-wanted list: Alaka the Smuggler, Sambal the Arms Dealer, and I think that’s Wasa—isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

The informant’s voice crackled softly through the comm. “Dead? More like laying low. If he’s there, this is bigger than we thought. Keep transmitting the visuals—this is gold. And be careful. These are dangerous individuals after all.”

Meelo emitted a series of quiet beeps as he scanned the room, transmitting the footage to the Galactic Patrol. Truffle’s eyes flicked around the club, searching for an opportunity. Then, she spotted it—a side hallway marked “Authorized Personnel Only.”

She glanced at Meelo. “Stay close and keep watch,” she whispered before slipping toward the restricted area.

The door was secured with a keypad, but Truffle smirked, pulling a small device from her belt. It hummed quietly as she pressed it to the lock, overriding the security in seconds. With a soft click, the door slid open, and Truffle stepped inside.

The hallway beyond was dimly lit, with security cameras mounted at regular intervals. Truffle pressed herself against the wall, her heart steady as she navigated past the cameras’ line of sight. Meelo hovered silently at her side, scanning ahead.

They reached a small data terminal tucked into the wall. Truffle crouched down, pulling out her tools. “Alright, let’s see what they’ve got,” she muttered, her fingers flying across the console.

Meelo beeped softly in warning, his optic swiveling to the corridor.

“I know, I know,” Truffle whispered. “Almost there.”

The data transfer began, the progress bar crawling painfully slow across the screen. Truffle’s communicator beeped softly.

“We’re getting the feed,” the informant confirmed. “This is perfect. We’ve got records of transactions, communications logs—everything. Just hang tight a little longer.”

The transfer completed with a quiet chime, and Truffle exhaled in relief. She tapped her comm. “You’ve got it all. Making my exit now.”

As she shut down the terminal and prepared to leave, Meelo emitted a series of frantic beeps.

“What is it?” Truffle whispered sharply. Then she heard it—footsteps approaching.

Thinking quickly, Truffle ducked behind a supply rack, her mind racing. The footsteps grew louder, and a shadow fell over her hiding spot. She peeked out, spotting a patrolling guard heading straight toward her position.

Her eyes darted to an open doorway nearby. Inside, a group of showgirls were preparing for their next routine, adjusting their elaborate costumes and chatting amongst themselves.

Truffle smirked, an idea forming. She activated her wristband, projecting a holographic overlay around her body. Within seconds, her outfit transformed into a perfect replica of the showgirls’ attire—glittering fabric, exaggerated heels, and all.

With confidence, she grabbed a tray of drinks from a nearby server bot and strode casually out of the restricted area, intercepting the patrolling guard.

“The boss said you’re due for a break,” she said, her voice calm and commanding as she gestured toward the showgirls.

The guard blinked, clearly thrown off by her sudden presence. “Oh…thanks,” he muttered, stepping aside.

Truffle didn’t linger. She slipped into the group of showgirls, blending in seamlessly. As they made their way onto the main floor, she whispered into her communicator. “Meelo, stay out of sight and follow me. We need to get back to Vegeta and the others.”

Meelo trailed behind her, sticking to the shadows as Truffle navigated the bustling floor of The Last Round. Her heart was racing, but her expression remained calm and composed. They were one step closer to completing the mission—and she wasn’t about to let anything stop them.

***

Gohan struggled at first to keep up with Nihru’s speed and unpredictable movements. The alien ninja was relentless, vanishing and reappearing in flashes of light, his strikes precise and calculated. Gohan was forced on the defensive, barely dodging a spinning kick that whistled past his face, followed by a barrage of sharp jabs that left him staggering. The crowd burst into laughter, jeering at his inability to keep up.

From the stands, Vegeta sat stoic, his arms crossed as his sharp eyes tracked every movement in the ring. “He’s overthinking it,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “But he’s adapting.”

Tarble, seated beside him, leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. “Do you think he can win?”

“He’s Kakarot’s son. Of course, he can,” Vegeta replied flatly, though his narrowed eyes betrayed his scrutiny. “But he needs to stop playing around and focus. That costume’s bad enough—he doesn’t need to make a fool of himself even more.”

Broly, seated on the other side of Tarble, remained silent, his intense gaze fixed on the fight. Unlike Vegeta, he didn’t seem annoyed. Instead, there was a quiet admiration in his expression as he watched Gohan endure the flurry of attacks.

In the ring, Gohan winced as Nihru’s blade grazed his shoulder, leaving a shallow cut. The ninja didn’t let up, following the attack with a spinning kick that forced Gohan to block, his arms stinging from the impact. Gohan grimaced as he took a few steps back, trying to create some distance. The crowd roared with laughter again, clearly enjoying his struggle.

Gohan took a deep breath, pushing aside the noise of the jeers. Focus, Gohan. Stay calm. His thoughts turned to his training. He could hear Piccolo’s voice in his mind, stern and direct: “Every opponent has a weakness. Find it and exploit it. But don’t rush—patience is key.”

He remembered the image training with Vegeta, where every mistake was punished without mercy. Vegeta’s words echoed next: “You think too much. Trust your instincts, or you’ll lose before the fight even starts.”

Recentered, Gohan analyzed Nihru’s movements. The alien had a pattern—he always struck at Gohan’s blind spots, using speed and misdirection to keep him disoriented. Gohan tightened his stance, watching closely. When Nihru disappeared again, Gohan didn’t panic. Instead, he honed in on his opponent’s energy, tracking it. At the last moment, he sidestepped a slash aimed at his back and countered with a quick elbow to Nihru’s ribs.

The ninja stumbled, clearly surprised. The crowd gasped, their laughter fading as Gohan pressed the advantage. He blocked Nihru’s next flurry of attacks with precision, his movements more fluid now as he adjusted to the ninja’s technique. Blow by blow, Gohan began to turn the tide of the fight.

In the stands, Vegeta smirked faintly. “There it is,” he said under his breath. “He’s figured it out.”

Tarble glanced at him. Vegeta’s smirk grew.

Back in the arena, Gohan seized the momentum. With a perfectly timed dodge, he avoided Nihru’s blades and countered with a swift kick to the chest that sent the ninja staggering backward. Gohan followed up with a powerful uppercut, his fist connecting with Nihru’s jaw. The ninja was launched off his feet, crashing into the arena floor in a heap.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their earlier jeers forgotten. The Great Saiyaman had won them over with his skill and determination.

Gohan stood in the center of the ring, catching his breath. He raised his fist in victory, the cheers of the audience washing over him. But as he lowered his arm, a strange sensation rippled through him. The noise of the arena seemed to fade, and for a moment, he felt… something. A faint, warm energy brushed against his consciousness, ancient and unfamiliar.

“What…was that?” Gohan muttered to himself, his brow furrowing. He shook off the feeling as the announcer’s hologram reappeared, declaring him the victor with great enthusiasm.

The roar of the crowd brought Gohan back to the moment. Nihru lay unconscious on the ground, and Gohan let out a small sigh of relief. At least he’s not dead, he thought. For all the theatrics and tension, he was grateful that he’d managed to hold back just enough.

As he left the ring, Gohan couldn’t shake the lingering sensation that something—or someone—had briefly connected with him. But for now, there was no time to dwell on it. The mission was far from over.

***

The crowd roared with excitement, the energy in the arena reaching its peak as the announcer declared Gohan the victor. Fans chanted, drinks spilled, and the floor seemed to vibrate under the thunderous applause. Truffle, still in her showgirl disguise, weaved through the throng of cheering spectators, keeping her head down as she made her way toward the stands where Vegeta and the others were seated.

Meelo trailed behind her, sticking to the shadows, his small frame barely noticeable amidst the chaos. The droid’s beeps were soft and cautious, a reminder to stay alert. Truffle scanned the sea of faces, her sharp gaze searching for any signs of trouble. Her mission was nearly complete, and she couldn’t afford any slip-ups now.

Just as she neared the edge of the crowd, a burly figure stepped directly into her path. He was a tall, broad-shouldered brute of a man, his bald head glinting under the neon lights. His attire was expensive but garish—a bright purple suit with gold trim that screamed both wealth and bad taste.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the man sneered, looking her over with a lecherous grin. “The boss wants to see you. Come with me.”

Truffle froze for a split second, her mind racing. She forced a pleasant smile, her voice light but firm. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m just on my way to—”

The man’s grin vanished, replaced by a scowl. He stepped closer, his sheer bulk intimidating as he leaned down to her level. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. When the boss says he wants someone at his booth, they don’t say no.”

Truffle’s heart raced, but her expression remained composed. She stepped back slightly, feigning confusion. “I’d love to help, but I’m actually—”

“Enough!” The man grabbed her arm roughly, his grip like a vice. “Let’s go.”

Around them, the crowd continued to cheer for Gohan, oblivious to the scene unfolding. Truffle glanced over her shoulder toward the shadows where Meelo was hidden. The droid emitted a series of faint, worried beeps but stayed where he was, not risking drawing attention to her.

Stay put, Meelo, she thought, forcing herself to focus.

As the man began dragging her through the crowd, Truffle bit her lip, quickly assessing her options. Resistance here would draw too much attention, potentially blowing her cover. She’d have to play along—for now.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, her tone laced with annoyance. “But tell your boss he owes me double for this. I was about to go on break.”

The man didn’t respond, only yanking her forward. As they pushed through the throng of spectators, Truffle’s sharp eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. When they arrived at the private booth, her stomach tightened. The area was lavishly decorated, with velvet seats, holographic screens, and a stocked bar. But what caught her attention was the group of shady figures seated nearby.

They spoke in hushed tones, their expressions serious as they exchanged what looked like encrypted data drives. Truffle’s trained instincts kicked in. This is big. Galactic Patrol-level big.

The man shoved her into the booth, where an even larger figure awaited—a man oozing arrogance and authority, his beady eyes gleaming with entitlement. He lounged in his seat, puffing on a cigar-like device that emitted glowing blue smoke.

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” the businessman drawled, motioning for her to come closer. “Join me. I could use a little… entertainment after such an exhilarating match.”

Truffle forced a smile, masking her irritation. “Of course,” she said sweetly, stepping forward. But as she did, her mind raced. She needed to figure out a way to extract herself from this situation without compromising the mission—or missing whatever deal was going down at the adjacent table.

Time to think on my feet, she thought, her hand subtly brushing against the hidden tech on her wrist, ready to act if needed.

___________

Writer’s Note:

And the first round goes to GOHAN!

I decided to bring back the Great Saiyaman as Gohan’s disguise—it felt natural. It’s a fun way to show how he’s underestimated, seen as a joke, only to prove everyone wrong once the fight begins.

For Gohan’s first fight, I didn’t want him going up against just another martial artist. This is an underground tournament, so his opponents should have unique fighting styles and techniques that reflect the gritty, unpredictable nature of this world. This fight serves as Gohan’s warm-up, a moment for him to shake off the dust and get back into the fighting spirit. But he’s not doing this for sport—it’s all for the sake of finding his father.

Writing this segment in the Last Round was a lot of fun. It’s a chance to explore a different side of things and really dive into the culture of the South Quadrant, with its thriving underground dealings.

CHAPTER 14: THE LAST ROUND

The ship touched down in the busy port of Vornis, a planet located in the South Quadrant of Universe 7. As the ship’s engines powered down, the sprawling city beneath stretched out in a dizzying maze of neon lights, towering skyscrapers, and the ever-present hum of energy that pulsed through the streets. The skyline was a mix of sleek, modern architecture and older, industrial buildings, reflecting the planet's rapid development and its complex history. Despite the advanced technology, there was an undercurrent of something darker, as if the city itself held secrets hidden behind its pristine exterior.

Vornis was a world where the hustle of the cosmopolitan lifestyle clashed with its deep-rooted, mysterious past. The climate was temperate, with long warm days that gave way to cooler nights, though the air always felt thick, as if the city was constantly on the brink of something. Humidity lingered in the atmosphere, carrying the scent of metal, oil, and the faintest trace of ozone from the massive energy fields that powered the city. The streets were filled with a variety of species, many of whom were part of the bustling trade networks that passed through this central hub. Most people moved quickly, eyes downcast or focused ahead, either too busy with their own affairs or deliberately avoiding something—or someone.

The people of Vornis were diverse, their appearance as varied as the cultures they came from. Many were hardened by the challenges of city life, their faces weathered by long days of work or dangerous deals. While the wealthier classes enjoyed the upper levels of the city, indulging in high-end luxury, the lower levels of Vornis told a different story. The city was alive with energy, but it was also steeped in an almost palpable tension. Shady dealings were common, and while the law may have been present, the lawlessness of the streets was an open secret. The people here were survivors, constantly adjusting to the flux of life on a planet that straddled the line between order and chaos.

As they stepped out of the ship, the air seemed to hum around them, the pulse of the city inescapable. The streets were crowded, but not overly so, with various species from all over the galaxy, each with their own story. Some appeared focused, others more relaxed, but all shared the same air of caution, as though each person was constantly on the lookout for what could go wrong next. Neon signs flickered in the distance, advertising everything from high-end restaurants to… less reputable establishments.

In the distance, the towering structures loomed like giants, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the soft light of the setting sun. Yet, beyond the bright façades and the glistening tech, the lower city remained shrouded in mystery, a place where the true power of Vornis lay. It was a planet of contrasts, where the world above thrived on luxury, and the world below simmered with intrigue and hidden dealings.

Vegeta stood by the viewport, his gaze focused on the planet’s chaotic beauty. Beside him, Gohan, Tarble, and Broly remained silent, each processing what lay ahead. The mission was clear: meet the informant and gather the intel that would lead them to the planet where the Saiyans now lived. From there, they could track down Goku and stop Turles before more planets fell victim to destruction.

Before they could step out, Truffle took a moment to study the four of them—Gohan, Vegeta, Tarble, and Broly. She could already see how they would stand out in a crowd on a planet like this, especially with their distinct looks. It wouldn’t take long for someone to notice them. Meelo beeped from the corner of the ship, offering a quiet but insistent reminder. Truffle nodded in agreement. 

"Disguises are in order," she said, her voice calm but firm. "We need to lie low in case we run into anyone who could blow our cover. It's best not to attract any unwanted attention." She opened a compartment of the ship and pulled out jackets. “These should work for you.”

She handed them out without hesitation, knowing full well the kind of attention they could attract on a planet like this. Vegeta’s jacket was sleek and black, with angular designs along the arms and a high collar that screamed authority. It looked tactical, fitting for the warrior he was, yet subtle enough not to raise any suspicion. Gohan’s jacket was a muted grey, the fabric light but functional. It had metallic accents along the seams, a practical yet fashionable choice for a planet where power and appearance both mattered. Tarble’s jacket was darker, a faded green that was less flashy and more utilitarian. It suited him well, a quiet and unassuming look, perfect for blending in. Broly’s jacket, the most rugged of the bunch, was brown and fur-lined, giving him the appearance of someone who had survived the toughest of conditions. Though it stood out a bit, it was still practical for the atmosphere of the city.

Once they were dressed, Truffle paused, eyeing the group with a smirk. “At least you won’t have to worry about your tails,” she said, as if the lack of them was a blessing in disguise. “You’ll blend in just fine.”

With that, they exited the ship, the city’s noise and energy surrounding them. Vornis was a world of contrasts: a bright, modern skyline above, and a grim, gritty underbelly below. The streets were alive with people from all walks of life—locals hustling through the crowd, merchants peddling their goods, and shady figures lurking in alleyways, keeping a careful watch on their surroundings. Neon signs flickered overhead, casting colorful glows over the faces of passersby, while loudspeakers blared advertisements for everything from entertainment to warnings of illegal activities to look out for. 

As they walked through the crowded streets, Truffle led the way with Meelo at her side, her eyes scanning the movement around them. Vegeta and Gohan followed closely behind, taking in their surroundings with calculated vigilance. Tarble and Broly kept to the rear, their eyes scanning the environment, always alert, noting the subtle tensions in the air—the glances exchanged in hidden corners, the way people moved just a little too quickly when the wrong eyes were on them.

They reached a quieter part of the city, where the noise and bustle began to fade. The neon lights dimmed as the buildings grew older, their façades worn by time, with cracks running down the sides and rust creeping along metal doors. The air grew cooler, tinged with the scent of oil and old brick, the energy of the streets replaced by a heavy, almost oppressive stillness. An inconspicuous door tucked between two rundown buildings marked the meeting spot, its peeling paint barely visible beneath the grime. The contrast from the chaos of the streets to this secluded area was striking, as though the door led to another world entirely.

Inside, the dim lighting cast long shadows against the cracked, uneven floors. The air smelled faintly of stale smoke, mingling with the scent of old wood and rusted metal. A few patrons sat hunched over tables in the corner, nursing drinks in quiet conversation, their faces mostly obscured by hoods and low hats. The walls were lined with old posters advertising long-forgotten events and outdated tech, the colors faded from years of neglect. The atmosphere was thick, heavy with the kind of secrecy that only a few people in the room were privy to.

Truffle, however, moved with ease through the dimly lit space, her eyes darting to each table, picking out the subtle details that set her informant apart. She recognized the posture first—the subtle way he sat, not as a regular in a place like this, but as someone who knew how to remain unnoticed when necessary. His eyes, though, were the dead giveaway—sharp and calculating, scanning the room, never fully relaxing. Truffle's gaze locked on him almost immediately. He was at a corner booth, his back to the wall, his fingers drumming lightly on the table, as if waiting.

She moved toward him with a steady pace, her movements calm but deliberate. Her sharp eyes noticed the small, concealed communicator at his side and the way he subtly shifted his position as they drew closer. He looked out of place among the otherwise rough clientele, his clean-cut appearance and well-maintained attire marking him as someone who didn’t quite belong here—yet that was precisely why Truffle knew he was the right contact.

Truffle wasted no time as she approached the booth. She slid into the seat across from the informant, causing him to briefly tense at the sudden motion. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes widening slightly as Truffle’s presence startled him. His hand instinctively hovered over his drink, as if ready to react, but she spoke first.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Truffle said, her voice calm but commanding. “I know you were expecting me, but I didn’t come alone.” She glanced over her shoulder, motioning for the others to join her. Gohan, Vegeta, Tarble, and Broly took their seats, their quiet movements and stoic expressions giving the informant a sense of how serious this meeting was.

The informant, a tall humanoid with sharp, calculating eyes, blinked at Vegeta before returning his gaze to Truffle. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice low, almost in disbelief. Truffle raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Before the informant could elaborate further, Vegeta’s voice cut through the murmur of the room, sharp and no-nonsense. “What do you have for us?” His tone left little room for small talk.

The informant cleared his throat, briefly glancing between the group. “Right…straight to business,” he muttered, pushing his drink aside. “Following the intel you shared with us, Truffle, those you’re looking for—that fit the description—have been appearing frequently at a club here on Vornis. It’s called ‘The Last Round.’ It’s a popular spot for certain...types. A place where people let their guard down, blow off steam, and, well, test their strength.”

Truffle leaned forward slightly, her expression sharp. “And what else?”

The informant hesitated for a moment, glancing at the group again before continuing. “From time to time, some of them participate in an underground tournament there. It’s brutal, even by Vornis standards. Recently, a few new fighters have shown up with...tails.” He paused, letting the weight of the information settle. “That’s your lead. If you’re looking to dig deeper, that’s the place to be. But getting in isn’t simple. Entry’s restricted—you either need to place bets or participate in the tournament to get in.”

Truffle nodded, taking in the information. “It’s the best lead we’ve got as of now.”

The informant leaned forward, lowering his voice even further. “There’s something else. The Last Round isn’t just an underground fight club. It’s a hub for criminal activity. Crooks, gang members, smugglers—this place attracts everyone, from small-time thieves to the elites of the quadrant. The Galactic Patrol has been trying to shut it down for some time now, but it’s been impossible to gather enough evidence or create the right opportunity to take it down.”

Before Truffle could reply, the informant leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “That’s where you come in. Whoever you’re looking for is hiding out in the exact place we’ve been targeting. This might be the break we’ve been waiting for. While you’re tracking your lead, I need a favor in return—gather enough intel on who comes and goes from that club, its inner workings, and, if possible, create a disruption. Give us a window to move in and shut the place down.”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened, and his arms crossed over his chest. “We don’t have time to play errand boy for the Galactic Patrol. Our focus is on finding their homeworld. That’s it.”

The informant didn’t flinch under Vegeta’s glare. “I understand. But think of it this way—if this club stays operational, there’s no telling how many more planets will be affected. You’re not just chasing one lead; you could stop a chain reaction of destruction.”

Truffle stepped in, her voice calm but decisive. “Don’t worry about it, Vegeta. You and the others focus on the mission. Meelo and I will handle the Galactic Patrol’s request. We’ll gather the intel and create a distraction. That way, nothing sidetracks.”

Vegeta’s expression remained skeptical, but he gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

The informant gave a small sigh of relief. “Good. The Last Round is crawling with danger. Just keep your heads down and don’t draw too much attention.”

Truffle turned toward the group, her expression firm. “Let’s move. We’ve got what we need.”

As the group left the booth and stepped back into the streets of Vornis, their mission was clear. The Saiyans would focus on uncovering their lead while Truffle and Meelo worked to lay the groundwork for the Galactic Patrol’s operation.

***

When they arrived at The Last Round, the entrance loomed like a gaping maw at the end of a shadowy alley. Dim lights flickered above the doorway, barely illuminating the hulking silhouette of the bouncer standing guard. The air was thick with tension and the faint sound of pulsing music that seeped through the walls. As they approached, the bouncer’s eyes swept over the group, his expression hardening.

“No late entries,” the bouncer said flatly, crossing his massive arms over his chest. His voice was deep and carried the weight of someone who had dealt with all manner of trouble before.

Truffle stepped forward, flashing a disarming smile. “We’re here for the tournament,” she said smoothly, her tone dropping just enough to suggest she was in on whatever illegal operation was happening inside.

The bouncer barely budged. “Rules are rules. You’re not on the list, you’re not getting in.”

Truffle hesitated, her mind racing for an angle. “Look, I don’t think you want to turn us away,” she said, her voice lower, more suggestive. When the bouncer gave her a skeptical glare, she motioned toward Broly, who stepped forward silently, his massive frame practically blocking out the light.

The bouncer’s bravado faltered for a moment as he took in Broly’s sheer size. Broly didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. His piercing gaze and imposing presence spoke volumes. The bouncer, clearly rattled, coughed and stepped aside. “Fine. Go ahead. Registration’s straight through, to the right. Take this.”

He handed Truffle a sleek black ID card. She took it, eyeing the bouncer carefully. “And this?”

“You’ll understand once you’re in,” the bouncer muttered, clearly eager to have Broly and the rest of the group out of his immediate vicinity.

“Much appreciated,” Truffle said, tucking the card into her jacket and leading the group inside.

The interior of The Last Round initially seemed like a standard club. Loud music thumped through the air, and neon lights danced along the walls, casting everything in sharp, vibrant hues. A haze of smoke lingered near the ceiling, mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Patrons from across the galaxy filled the space, some gathered in booths, others pressed together on the dance floor.

But as Truffle led the group deeper into the club, following the bouncer’s directions, the atmosphere began to change. They approached a sleek reception desk tucked away near the back, where a well-dressed alien with sharp features greeted them. Truffle handed over the ID card, and the receptionist scanned it before nodding.

“This way,” the receptionist said, motioning for them to follow.

They were led through a concealed door into a separate part of the club. Here, the air was different—thicker, with a palpable sense of wealth and danger. The music was softer, more refined, and the decor was polished to perfection. This area was clearly reserved for the elite, a place where moguls, mob bosses, and other powerful figures gathered to conduct their business away from prying eyes.

Truffle leaned in toward the group, her voice barely audible. “This is it. I’ve heard rumors about places like this—the real power players of the South Quadrant gather here. The underworld doesn’t just operate; it thrives.”

She discreetly pointed out a few individuals scattered throughout the room, each exuding an aura of authority or menace. “That one over there? A weapons smuggler. And that one? Runs a whole planet’s black market.”

As they continued through this elite section, the group was finally led to another desk where tournament registrations were taking place. Behind it, another attendant, this one bulkier and rougher-looking, eyed them suspiciously. Beyond the desk, Vegeta noticed the arena itself.

The centerpiece of the room was a pit encased in a cage, with sharp edges around its rim and a gritty, makeshift floor. Spectators surrounded it, some cheering, others exchanging credits or drinks as bets were placed. The roaring of the crowd echoed through the space as a current match ended, one combatant dragging himself out of the ring while another celebrated their victory.

“This is brutal,” Truffle muttered, her gaze sweeping over the pit.

The attendant at the registration desk looked up impatiently. “Name of the fighter?”

Truffle turned to the group, clearly considering Broly. “It should be you,” she began. “With your size and presence, you’ll draw enough attention away from the rest of us.”

Broly frowned but said nothing, waiting for the others to decide.

Gohan, however, stepped forward. “It has to be me,” he said firmly.

Truffle raised an eyebrow. “You? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not exactly the most intimidating choice.”

“Maybe not,” Gohan replied calmly. “But think about it. Vegeta’s face is too recognizable. If anyone here has ties to the Saiyans we’re looking for, they’ll know him immediately. Broly’s too powerful—we risk blowing our cover if things get out of hand. And Tarble… well, he’s too well-known in the wrong circles.”

Truffle looked at Vegeta, who gave a small nod of approval. “He’s got a point.”

Gohan turned back to Truffle. “I can handle this. I’ll keep my power in check, and I won’t cause any trouble. Trust me.”

Truffle hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But you’re not using your real name. We’ll need an alias.”

Gohan smirked. “I’ve got just the one in mind.”

With that, Gohan stepped forward, ready to register, while the rest of the group prepared for the next phase of their mission. The tension in the air was thick, and all eyes were on the pit ahead, where Gohan would soon make his stand.

___________

Writer’s Note:

Welcome to Vornis. The concept for this planet evolved over time. Initially, I envisioned it as subtle, quiet, and barren, but a bustling cityscape with a thriving criminal underworld ultimately felt like a better fit for the South Quadrant, especially as our heroes search for intel.

Gohan was always intended to be the tournament participant, but with the addition of Broly and Tarble to the story, I needed to ensure there was a solid reason why neither of them took his place. Their roles while Gohan participates are crucial and will become even more significant in the next few chapters.

It’s time for Gohan to step into the spotlight.

CHAPTER 13: EMBRACE YOUR INNER SAIYAN

Truffle leaned back in her seat, her feet propped on the control panel, lazily flipping through a magazine while Meelo floated over her shoulder, watching silently as the hum of the ship’s engines filled the air. The navigation system chirped softly, signaling that they were still on course. Peering over her shoulder, Truffle glanced into the back compartment where Gohan and Vegeta sat across from one another, their eyes closed, perfectly still.

Tarble and Broly stood nearby, silently observing the two Saiyans. After a moment, Tarble broke the quiet. “What are you guys doing?”

Without opening his eyes, Gohan answered calmly. “Image training.”

Tarble tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What’s that?”

“It’s a mental exercise,” Gohan explained, his tone steady and focused. “You create a mental image of your opponent and spar with them in your mind. It’s not just about visualization—it requires syncing your ki with your training partner. Done properly, it can feel as real as an actual battle.”

Tarble frowned slightly, processing the explanation. “So, you’re training without physically fighting?”

“Exactly,” Gohan replied with a slight smile, his eyes still closed. “It’s a useful method when space is limited—or when it’s better not to risk a real fight.”

Broly continued to watch in silence, his curious gaze fixed on the pair as their ki gently pulsed in the still air.

As Gohan and Vegeta returned to their mental battle, Broly and Tarble exchanged glances. The concept was fascinating but foreign.

***

Inside the mental arena, Gohan and Vegeta clashed with explosive force. Their movements were a blur—precision and power combined in every strike. Gohan unleashed a barrage of punches, his attacks sharp and calculated, each one backed by years of relentless training. Vegeta met them head-on, his defenses impenetrable, countering with swift, punishing blows that tested Gohan’s limits.

The simulated battlefield trembled under their combined energy. Each kick and punch sent shockwaves rippling through the air. Gohan's aura flared with determination as he dodged a powerful strike from Vegeta, countering with a spinning kick aimed at his opponent’s ribs.

Vegeta blocked it with ease, retaliating with a rapid series of punches that forced Gohan onto the defensive.

The battle’s intensity ramped up as Vegeta’s ki exploded, his body radiating the distinct, ominous purple glow of Ultra Ego. His grin was sharp and wild, his eyes gleaming with a thirst for the fight. 

Gohan gritted his teeth, the pressure mounting under Vegeta’s relentless assault. He knew this wasn’t just about holding his ground—it was about pushing himself past his limits. With a roar, Gohan’s energy spiked, his aura erupting into a violent, untamed blue-gray glow. His hair lengthened and sharpened, turning silver-white, and his eyes burned with crimson intensity.

Beast Gohan had emerged.

The battlefield trembled under the sheer magnitude of their combined power. Gohan wasted no time, launching himself at Vegeta with a speed and ferocity that made the Saiyan Prince’s grin widen. Their fists collided, sending shockwaves that cracked the ground beneath them.

The fight was brutal, each exchange more devastating than the last. Gohan’s raw power in Beast form was overwhelming, his punches carrying enough force to shatter mountains. He managed to press Vegeta back, landing a flurry of strikes that made even the Saiyan Prince falter for a moment. But Vegeta’s Ultra Ego thrived in the chaos, and each blow he endured only seemed to make him stronger.

Vegeta countered with a powerful kick to Gohan’s side, sending him skidding across the ground. Gohan caught himself mid-slide, his aura flaring violently as he charged forward again, this time releasing a massive energy wave. Vegeta took the hit head-on, emerging from the smoke with a laugh, his energy surging even higher.

Gohan growled, his frustration mounting. He could feel the raw, untapped energy of his Beast form threatening to spiral out of control. He pushed harder, trying to find a balance, but the more he fought, the more unstable his energy became.

Vegeta capitalized on the opening. In a flash, he closed the distance and delivered a punishing blow to Gohan’s midsection, knocking the wind out of him. Gohan staggered but refused to fall, his aura flickering wildly as he tried to regain control.

With one final, devastating combination, Vegeta broke through Gohan’s defenses, landing a blow that sent him crashing into the ground. The mental arena trembled, then dissolved, leaving the two Saiyans back in the real world.

Gohan opened his eyes with a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. His breathing was steady, but his frustration was evident. “I was so close,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “I could feel it. I’ve gotten stronger, but…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing.

“You’ve got power, Gohan,” Vegeta said, his voice cutting but not unkind. He crossed his arms, his sharp gaze fixed on the younger Saiyan. “I’ll give you that. But power without control is useless—and it wasn’t enough. There’s still something missing—something holding you back.”

Gohan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve been training nonstop since Cooler, honing everything I’ve got. And yet, this form…” He paused, glancing at his hand as if he could still feel the raw energy. “Beast. It’s incredible, but I can’t fully control it yet. It’s like trying to hold onto a storm.” He exhaled sharply, his brow furrowed. “I’ve found a way to manage it—powering up to the edge of losing control and staying there. It lets me unleash the form’s full potential for a massive burst of power and speed, but…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a stopgap at best. It drains my stamina so fast, and if I slip even for a second, I could lose control completely. It works for now, but I know it’s not enough. I need to master it—really master it—or it’s just going to hold me back.”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, his tone turning serious. “Then you’ll need to find a way to. Whatever that power is, it’s the key to breaking past your limits. Turles won’t hold back, and neither will the others. You’ll need every ounce of strength you’ve got to survive.”

Gohan straightened, determination flickering in his eyes. “I’ll figure it out. I have to.”

Vegeta gave a curt nod. “Good. Because anything less won’t be enough.”

For a moment, Vegeta said nothing, his arms still crossed as his gaze lingered on Gohan. Then his expression softened slightly, a rare, almost reflective look crossing his face. “You know, Gohan,” he began, his tone quieter but still firm, “I’ve watched you grow up—seen the power you’ve wielded, the potential you have. You’re different from Kakarot and me. You fight for something else, something deeper. And because of that…I believe you have the potential to surpass us both.”

Gohan blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. “Surpass…you and Dad?”

Vegeta’s smirk returned, faint but genuine. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said with a faint scoff. “But yes. You have that power. The problem is, you’re still clinging to it—overthinking it, trying to control it too much. I’ve been where you are, trying to force my way through barriers with sheer effort. It doesn’t work.” He closed his eyes briefly, recalling his own training with Beerus. His voice took on a sharper edge, not harsh but deliberate. “Let it go. Only then will you see your true potential.”

Gohan was silent, his mind processing Vegeta’s words. He’d never expected to hear something like this from him, of all people. “Vegeta…” he started, then stopped, a small, grateful smile forming on his face. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Vegeta turned away, his expression already back to its usual stoic demeanor. “Don’t waste it. Potential means nothing without results.”

Gohan nodded, his resolve stronger than before. Vegeta’s words stayed with him, echoing in his mind like a guiding mantra: Let it go. Only then will you see your true potential.

Broly and Tarble, who had been watching the scene unfold in silence, exchanged a glance. Tarble’s curiosity was evident, while Broly’s expression remained thoughtful as he absorbed what he had just witnessed.

“Want to give it a try?” Gohan asked, motioning toward the empty space.

Tarble hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting toward Broly. Broly met his eyes, the two exchanging a brief, silent look. With a subtle nod, as if silently agreeing “sure,” they both stepped forward and sat across from each other.

As they both closed their eyes and began channeling their ki, Tarble was immediately struck by the overwhelming difference in their power. Even though Broly was clearly suppressing his energy to match, the sheer depth and weight of his aura felt like standing at the edge of a raging storm. It wasn’t just the raw strength—it was the primal intensity, as if Broly’s energy carried a wild, untamed force that was barely held in check.

Tarble’s brows furrowed as he concentrated, trying to steady his own ki, but the gulf between them was undeniable. A bead of sweat formed on his temple, his body tensing under the pressure.

After a long moment, Tarble opened his eyes and stepped back, letting out a quiet breath. “Maybe…another time,” he said, his tone calm and measured. There was no fear in his voice, only a quiet understanding of the challenge Broly represented, even in a controlled scenario.

Broly opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly as if trying to understand. He shrugged after a moment, his expression unreadable but accepting of Tarble’s decision.

Truffle’s voice echoed from the cockpit. “We’re approaching. Everyone, get ready for landing.”

As the group moved toward the ship’s viewport, Vegeta stayed behind, his thoughts elsewhere.

Seating himself cross-legged, he closed his eyes again. This time, he envisioned a new opponent—Turles. The rogue Saiyan appeared before him in his mind, his smirk taunting, his aura dark and menacing.

Vegeta charged forward, his attacks swift and powerful, but Turles countered each one effortlessly. No matter how many times Vegeta replayed the scenario, the outcome remained the same—defeat. Turles seemed insurmountable, his power always one step ahead.

The frustration boiled within Vegeta as he clenched his fists. Memories of his training with Beerus surfaced, the god’s stern words ringing in his ears:

"You’ve fallen time and time again. And yet, you rise. That is your strength. But clinging to that cycle—falling and rising endlessly—will only keep you shackled. Destroy that weakness. Let it go. Only then will you see your true potential."

Vegeta’s eyes snapped open, determination burning in his gaze. He rose to his feet, his aura flaring briefly as he resolved to break past his limits once more.

“I am not the same man I was,” he muttered to himself. “Turles…you won’t win.”

The ship jolted slightly as it descended into the atmosphere, and Truffle’s voice called out again. “Welcome to Vornis.”

Vegeta joined the others at the viewport, his expression hard but focused. Below them, the sprawling city of Vornis unfolded—its towering skyscrapers and neon-lit streets contrasting sharply with the dark, dangerous underbelly of the planet. The tension in the air was palpable as they prepared for what lay ahead.

___________

Writer’s Note:

This chapter stays true to my original idea, focusing on Gohan and Vegeta, who are the main characters of this story arc. I thought it would be cool to bring back Image Training, a concept that’s only been used a handful of times (once in Z and, if I’m correct, once in Super, with Frieza also mentioning it during his time in hell). It felt like the perfect opportunity to reintroduce it here—similar to how Krillin and Gohan used it on their way to Namek.

The focus is on Gohan embracing his inner Saiyan, and who better to guide him than Vegeta? Vegeta sees untapped potential in Gohan but often views his focus on studies as a waste. Over time, though, Vegeta seems to understand that Gohan is on a different path than he or Goku, and part of him has come to accept that. At the same time, you can sense that Vegeta’s feelings toward Turles are deeply personal, adding another layer to his motivation.

As for the bit with Tarble and Broly, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to include it. The thought of anyone Image Training with Broly—whose ki, even when controlled, has a primal, immense aura—was too funny not to explore.

This chapter sets the stage as the team arrives on a new planet in search of answers. It’s just the beginning!

CHAPTER 12: LOST HERITAGE

The twin suns of Planet Idun cast a golden hue over the bustling Saiyan kingdom. Goku walked leisurely down the dusty paths, his hands resting behind his head, his gaze taking in the sights around him. Despite the alien architecture and unfamiliar energy of the place, there was something oddly nostalgic about the scene. Saiyan children sparred with wooden staves in the courtyard, their laughter ringing out as they mimicked the moves of warriors they admired. Merchants hawked wares from stalls filled with peculiar fruits and strange gadgets, while citizens conversed and moved about their routines.

Yet, beneath the charm, Goku felt a disconnect. These were his people, his heritage, but they were strangers to him. He smiled warmly at a group of children who waved excitedly in his direction. A part of him wanted to join their training, to feel that shared connection, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same. “Guess I’ve been an Earthling for too long,” he mused.

A massive ship descended, its shadow stretching over the kingdom as it approached the shipyard—a bustling docking area filled with numerous other vessels. The hum of powerful engines reverberated across the expanse as the Crusher Corps’ ship touched down with precision. Saiyans working in the area paused their tasks, stepping aside to make way for the returning warriors.

The ship’s ramp lowered with a mechanical hiss, and from within emerged five figures whose commanding presence demanded immediate respect. Amond, Cacao, Daiz, Rasin, and Lakasei strode confidently down the ramp, their armor gleaming under the sunlight. Saiyans in the shipyard bowed their heads or stepped back in reverence, a testament to the Crusher Corps’ authority and reputation.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, Goku observed the scene with a mix of curiosity and intrigue, his eyes following the five warriors as they made their way toward the palace.

“Who are they?” he asked a nearby Saiyan.

The Saiyan, a middle-aged man with a scar across his cheek, glanced at Goku with surprise. “You don’t know? That’s the Crusher Corps—the King’s army. Those five are his most trusted commanders. They’ve protected worlds, forged alliances, and stood as the shield of our people for years. To serve under them is an honor.”

Goku’s eyes lit up. “Wow, they must be strong, huh? I can feel it from here. They’ve got some serious power levels.”

The Saiyan smirked. “Strong doesn’t even begin to cover it. They’re practically legends.”

Intrigued, Goku followed the Crusher Corps from a distance as they made their way to the palace. The grand structure loomed at the edge of the village, its spires reaching for the sky. Inside, the group was led into a vast throne room, where Turles sat with an air of authority. His armor reflected the dim light, and his piercing gaze landed on his commanders as they entered.

“My King,” Amond began, bowing deeply. “The mission was a success. Trade negotiations have been initiated with the outer rim planets. The agreements are holding.”

Turles leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled as his gaze fixed on Amond. “And the results? Were they able to sustain?”

Amond hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly before he spoke. “Not as we’d hoped, my King. The agreements bore fruit, but the… conditions were too harsh. The foundations crumbled under the strain.”

Turles’ lips pressed into a thin line, his disappointment measured. “Unfortunate. But not unexpected. There must be a way to cultivate stability without everything falling apart. Keep refining the process. There’s potential here yet.”

Amond gave a solemn nod. “Of course, my King. We’ll focus our efforts on finding better conditions for the next...arrangements.”

Turles leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Good. You leave again in three days. Prepare accordingly.”

Amond bowed once more. “As you command.”

The Crusher Corps turned to leave, their footsteps echoing in the vast hall. It was at this moment that Goku stepped forward, his enthusiasm breaking the solemn atmosphere. “Hey!”

Turles smirked, rising from his throne as Goku entered the room. “Ah, Goku. Perfect timing. I was just about to call for you to meet my commanders. Everyone, this is Goku—a Saiyan who’s proven himself far more than capable.” He gestured toward the group. “And Goku, these are my most trusted warriors—Amond, Cacao, Daiz, Rasin, and Lakasei—the Crusher Corps.”

Amond stepped forward first, his towering frame casting a long shadow. “So you’re the one we’ve heard so much about. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Goku grinned, his hand reaching behind his head in his usual sheepish manner. “You can call me Kakarot if you want—either works for me. You guys are incredible! I can feel how strong you are just standing here.” His grin widened. “Honestly, I’ve been itching for a good fight. What do you say?”

The commanders exchanged amused glances, and Daiz was the first to step forward, rolling his shoulders. “We just got back from a mission, but I’ve been dying for a real fight. I want to see your strength for myself.”

Before anything could proceed, Turles raised a hand, his smirk deepening. “Hold on, Daiz. Before we get to the sparring, I think it’s worth mentioning that Kakarot here faced Cumber already.”

The room fell into a brief silence. The Crusher Corps looked at each other in surprise, and Amond let out a low whistle. “Cumber? Seriously?!”

Goku nodded earnestly, crossing his arms. “Yeah, he’s tough. Really tough. I had to go all out just to keep up with him. I haven’t seen him around, though—where is he?”

Avoca, who stood beside Turles, answered calmly, her voice carrying a matter-of-fact tone. “Cumber is…contained. He remains within a stasis chamber, where he’s constantly monitored. It’s an effort to help him control his temper and his overwhelming rage. For now, it’s the safest option for everyone here.”

Goku’s expression shifted into one of understanding, his thoughts briefly flickering to Broly being similar. “Makes sense. He’s a handful, that’s for sure.” His excitement returned as he turned his attention back to the group. “But enough about that—how about that spar? I want to see how strong you guys are.”

Turles chuckled, gesturing toward the training grounds. “Very well. Let’s see what Kakarot is capable of. Daiz, since you’re so eager, I’ll leave it to you.”

Daiz cracked his knuckles, stepping forward with a confident grin. “This’ll be fun.”

***

The training grounds buzzed with anticipation as Saiyans gathered to watch the match. Goku and Daiz stood across from each other, their stances relaxed but ready.

Daiz smirked, energy crackling around him. “Let’s see if you live up to the stories.”

Goku grinned. “Same to you. Show me everything you’ve got!”

The two launched at each other with blinding speed, their fists colliding in a burst of energy that sent shockwaves through the crowd. Daiz hurled a series of neon-colored ki blasts, their vibrant hues streaking through the air. Goku deflected them effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise.

“Your energy attacks are cool,” Goku said, genuinely impressed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Daiz smirked. “Glad you noticed. Let’s see how you handle this!”

He surged forward, his speed catching Goku off guard for a moment, forcing him to block a rapid flurry of strikes. Their exchange of blows was lightning-fast, each attack sending shockwaves through the training grounds. Daiz fought with calculated aggression, testing Goku’s limits, while Goku grinned, meeting the challenge head-on.

The crowd roared as the clash intensified, the ground beneath their feet trembling from the sheer force of their strikes. Daiz leaped into the air, firing a barrage of neon-colored ki blasts that rained down like meteors. Goku weaved through the onslaught, deflecting the blasts with precise movements before closing the distance with a burst of speed. Their fists collided midair, creating a shockwave that sent dust and debris flying.

Goku's grin widened. 

Daiz smirked, his breathing heavy but his resolve unshaken. “You haven’t seen anything yet!” He unleashed a powerful wave of energy, forcing Goku to leap back and reassess.

Deciding to up the ante, Goku took a deep breath. His energy spiked, and the ground beneath him cracked as a golden aura erupted around his body, illuminating the field. His hair stood on end, glowing like molten gold, and his eyes turned an intense shade of teal.

The crowd fell silent, their cheers replaced by gasps of awe. Daiz froze, his eyes wide as he took a step back. The sheer energy emanating from Goku was overwhelming, almost suffocating.

“This…this must be the legendary Super Saiyan form,” Daiz murmured, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief.

Goku smirked, his golden aura crackling with power. “Pretty neat, huh? Think you can keep up?”

Daiz clenched his fists, the thrill of the fight outweighing his hesitation. He charges forward with renewed determination.

Their clash resumed, but the dynamic had shifted. Goku’s movements were faster, his attacks more powerful, and Daiz struggled to keep up. Yet, his spirit burned fiercely, each strike fueled by a mixture of admiration and his Saiyan pride.

Goku deflected a rapid punch and countered with a spinning kick, sending Daiz skidding across the ground. Daiz gritted his teeth, refusing to back down. He launched himself at Goku again, pouring everything he had into his attacks.

“You’re incredible, Daiz!” Goku said, genuinely impressed as he parried a strike and countered with a controlled blast of energy that sent Daiz flying.

Daiz landed hard but rolled to his feet, panting heavily. He raised his hand in surrender, a smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, you win. That power… it’s unbelievable. No wonder the King has his eyes on you.”

Goku powered down, his golden aura fading as he extended a hand to Daiz. “You’re amazing too. That was a great fight!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch as the two Saiyans shared a nod of mutual respect.

As the fight ended, other Saiyans crowded around Goku, bombarding him with questions about how he achieved Super Saiyan. Goku tried his best to explain, though his answers were vague. “It’s hard to say. It was just… this feeling. Like I had to protect the people I cared about, no matter what.”

From a distance, Turles and Avoca watched the scene unfold. “Do you think he’s the key?”

Turles’ eyes stayed on Goku, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Willing or not, his connection to divine power is exactly what I need. The true potential of the fruit requires energy like his—pure, unyielding, and extraordinary. Power like that…” His voice lowered, almost a whisper, yet heavy with intent. “…cannot be ignored.”

___________

Writer’s Note:

In this chapter, my goal was to make Goku feel like a fish out of water, even though he’s in a familiar pond. He’s face-to-face with a heritage he knows little about, which creates so much opportunity for exploration. To ground himself in the midst of this unfamiliarity, Goku naturally falls back on what he loves most—fighting.

Turles, on the other hand, has a hidden agenda, but there’s still so much more to uncover about his motives and the bigger picture at play.

CHAPTER 11: WHAT MAKES IT A RIGHT?

The hum of the ship’s engines was a constant, steady rhythm as Truffle’s vessel cut through the void of space. The group sat scattered in the ship’s lounge, a rare moment of calm before they reached their destination. The interior of the ship was sleek and functional, with a modern design emphasizing efficiency over extravagance. The lounge’s walls were lined with storage compartments and subtle lighting that gave the room a warm yet utilitarian feel.

Vegeta stood near a viewport, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the stars streaking past. The glass was reinforced, offering a clear view of the endless expanse of space. Nearby, Tarble sat on one of the padded benches built into the room’s corners, clearly hesitant, as if deciding whether to speak.

At the center of the room sat Truffle in a chair surrounded by holographic projections. The glowing displays floated in midair, cycling through data streams, star charts, and logs of her research. Her chair was part of a control panel embedded into the floor, with multiple interfaces allowing her to access the ship’s systems and monitor their journey. She leaned back, arms crossed, her eyes sharp and focused, as if weighing the worth of the group before her.

From the cockpit, the faint sound of Meelo’s beeping occasionally drifted into the lounge. The spherical droid hovered calmly in place, his optical lens glowing faintly as he monitored the ship’s systems. The controls were fully automated under his supervision, with the ship navigating its course towards the South Quadrant. Through the transparent partition separating the lounge from the cockpit, rows of blinking lights and a panoramic screen displayed their trajectory, the soft glow casting subtle reflections on Meelo’s metallic surface as he hummed a cheery tune to himself.

Finally, it was Tarble who broke the silence. “It’s strange…Cooler told me that all of our people were gone. That no one survived the destruction of Planet Vegeta except for a few like you, Nappa, and Kakarot. But now, there are more of us out there. A whole clan, even.”

Vegeta didn’t look away from the stars. “I thought the same,” he admitted, his voice low. “Raditz and Nappa were the only ones I knew survived, and even they didn’t last long. Raditz got himself killed by Kakarot and Piccolo. As for Nappa…I killed him myself.”

Tarble flinched slightly at the bluntness. “But they were still Saiyans. Our people. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Vegeta turned to face his younger brother, his expression unreadable. “It didn’t back then. I was ruthless—a monster. I cared only for power, for conquest. I killed Nappa because he failed me, and I felt nothing about it. That’s who I was.”

“And now?” Tarble pressed, his voice trembling. “Would you do the same now?”

“No,” Vegeta’s gaze softened, ever so slightly. “I’ve changed. I’ve seen the price of that kind of thinking. Compassion was something I learned…painfully, over time. I wouldn’t have survived without it.”

Tarble’s brow furrowed, his voice low but tense. “And yet…Kakarot killed Raditz. His own brother. What kind of bond do Saiyans really have if that’s what we do to each other? What about me, Vegeta? If I hadn’t listened to you back then—if I’d stayed on Cooler’s side—would you have killed me too?”

For a moment, Vegeta didn’t answer. His jaw tightened as if struggling to suppress the truth. Finally, he exhaled deeply. “Perhaps. If you’d found me when I was still that man, perhaps I would have.” He glanced at Tarble, his tone firm. “But you’re here now. You survived. And I will not fail you as I once failed our people.”

The air hung heavy between the brothers until Truffle’s voice cut through the tension. “You speak of failure, Vegeta, but tell me this: If you were king back then, would you have been any different?”

Vegeta turned toward her, his eyes narrowing. 

Truffle leaned forward, her tone sharp. “You’re so quick to dismiss this Turles guy as some saiyan unworthy of the title of King. But what gives you the right to claim it? What makes you think you’d be any better?”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened. “The bloodline of kings runs through me. Turles has no such claim.”

“And yet your bloodline didn’t stop your people from destroying my planet,” Truffle said, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of pain. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, her gaze focused on Vegeta. “I grew up learning about the Saiyan-Tuffle War. My people preserved what little history we could after the Saiyans conquered our world. It was said you arrived as refugees, seeking a new home—but it didn’t stay that way.”

Her eyes darkened as she continued, carefully choosing her words. “The Saiyans turned on us. You waged war against my people, slaughtered us, and took everything. Our cities, our technology—our lives. You didn’t just fight us; you hunted us to near extinction. My ancestors barely survived by fleeing across the stars. I’ve read the stories, heard the accounts of those who lived through it. Growing up, I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so cruel.”

She exhaled deeply, as though trying to keep her emotions in check. “You say the bloodline of kings runs through you. Maybe it does. But that same bloodline didn’t stop the atrocities your kind committed. And let’s not forget—your brother shares that same bloodline, doesn’t he? So tell me, Vegeta, if you hadn’t changed… if your path had stayed the same… would you truly be any different from Turles?”

The room was silent as Vegeta’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t respond immediately, his mind racing with memories he’d buried long ago.

Vegeta’s voice was low, almost a growl. “I’ve faced my past. I don’t need you to remind me of it.”

Truffle didn’t back down. “I’ve seen what’s out there, Vegeta. If you want to stop them, then prove you’re different. Prove you’re worthy of the title you cling to so tightly.”

The tension between them was palpable, but before Vegeta could respond, Broly’s voice broke through.

“Vegeta...”

Both turned to see Broly and Gohan sitting off to the side, watching the exchange. Broly’s tone was calm, almost hesitant. “Fighting each other won’t change anything.”

Gohan nodded in agreement, raising a hand in a lighthearted gesture, a small smile tugging at his lips as though hoping to diffuse the tension. “Broly’s right. Let’s save the energy for where it really matters.”

Truffle exhaled sharply, stepping back and glancing toward the stars outside the viewport. “He’s right. We’ll be arriving in the South Quadrant soon. I know someone there—an old Patrol member who might have answers. If anyone knows where Turles and his Saiyans are hiding, it’ll be them. Let’s hope they can help.”

As the ship continued its journey through the stars, Gohan turned back to Broly, grateful for the chance to break the tension. “I didn’t get to say this before, but I’m glad you’re here with us, Broly.”

Broly’s expression softened. “Thank you. Your father…I admire him. Part of me wishes my father cared for me the way yours cared for you.”

Gohan frowned, sensing the weight of Broly’s words. “Your father, Paragus… he pushed you too far. But you’re stronger now, and you’ve made your own path.”

Broly hesitated. “Even so…I still cared for him. If someone had taken him from me, I would have fought to get him back, no matter what.”

Gohan nodded, understanding. “It’s not easy. But you’ve got us now. We’re in this together.”

Broly gave a small, grateful smile, and the two sat in companionable silence as the ship streaked through the stars, carrying them closer to their next battle—and the answers they all sought.

___________

Writer’s Note:
This chapter takes a tense turn, and that was entirely intentional. I wanted to highlight a central question driving this story: What makes someone truly worthy of power? Royalty, as a concept, fascinates me. What defines a ruler’s worth? Is it nobility, a divine connection, the weight of legacy—or something else entirely?

I wanted to explore this idea through Vegeta, the “prince of no one.” Here’s a character whose surviving Saiyan peers now bow to someone without royal blood—and not to him. This dynamic challenges Vegeta on a deeply personal level, forcing him to reflect: If I were given the throne, would I truly be worthy? It’s a question that pushes him to confront his past, examine his growth, and consider what it truly means to lead.

Note (2025):
From this point forward, the story enters uncharted territory for returning readers. The original version of Chapter 10 was posted on February 3rd, 2023, and that marked the last chapter I shared—until now. In 2025, I’m thrilled to finally bring you new material. While the core of the story remains intact, I’ve added significant details to enrich the narrative, including the inclusion of Tarble and Broly, who bring added depth to the story.

I’m genuinely excited for both new and returning readers to explore this updated journey. After fine-tuning the story to a point where I’m truly proud of it, I can’t wait to share this next chapter with you all. Thank you for being part of this experience!

CHAPTER 10: WHAT DRIVES YOU?

The dining hall within Turles's palace was vast, a long table stretching nearly the entire length of the room, covered in piles of food from across the galaxy. Goku devoured everything within reach, his hunger ravenous after days of non-stop fighting. Each bite was bliss, and he shoved another piece of bread into his mouth with childlike enthusiasm.

Turles sat across from him, calmly eating from his plate, observing the younger Saiyan with a faint smirk. A palace attendant arrived with another platter, and Goku beamed.

"I gotta hand it to you, Turles—this is great!" he said between bites, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.

Turles chuckled, taking a sip from his chalice. “You are our guest. It’s my pleasure. Saiyan appetites are legendary, after all.”

“You can...say...gulp...that again!” Goku replied, crumbs flying as he laughed.

The momentary levity faded as Turles set down his chalice and leaned forward. “Tell me, what is it you’re searching for?”

Goku paused mid-bite, his mind catching up to the weight of the question. Turles had been different than he’d expected. Despite their rocky introduction, Goku couldn’t help but feel there was more to the man than ambition and power.

After a moment, Goku swallowed, setting his drumstick down. “I guess it’s to meet stronger fighters,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Power’s never really been my goal. I just want to get better and face the best. It’s like...if I can push myself and my opponent to grow, it’s worth it.”

Turles nodded, intrigued. “Spoken like a true Saiyan.” He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if recalling memories buried deep within. His voice softened. “You truly remind me of someone I once knew…”

Goku tilted his head. “Where have you all been this whole time?”

Turles’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as old memories surged to the surface. Standing abruptly, he looked up at the glass ceiling, the moonlight bathing the room in a pale glow.

“My clan and I are from Sadala—the original homeworld of the Saiyans. It was once a thriving planet, full of honor and nobility, before war broke out. Factions turned against each other, and the constant fighting drained the planet’s resources until it was no longer sustainable. The king at the time—the second King Vegeta—chose to abandon Sadala, searching for a new world to colonize. But I…” His voice tightened. “I tried to save what was left.”

Goku listened intently, captivated.

“But my efforts were in vain,” Turles continued. “My clan and I were left behind, abandoned to die. Yet we survived. Generation after generation, we endured, while the universe around us changed. Now, I refuse to let the Saiyan race fall into obscurity again.”

He turned to Goku, his expression hard yet earnest. “You and I—we were both deemed low-class. But you’ve achieved the power of a god. With your strength and my knowledge, we could lead the Saiyan race into a new era. Together.”

Goku scratched his head, taking in the weight of Turles’s words. He could see the determination in his fellow Saiyan’s eyes, the burden he carried. Yet leadership wasn’t something Goku had ever considered—it wasn’t his style.

“I can see you really care about your people,” Goku said slowly. “But I’m not sure if I’m the guy for something like that. I’ll help you fight, though. If someone’s threatening the Saiyan race, I won’t back down.”

Turles studied Goku for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “Fair enough. For now, let’s put a tab on this discussion.”

The two Saiyans locked eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between them. While their goals might differ, their Saiyan blood burned with the same desire to fight and protect.

___________

Writer's Note:

Well this chapter you get to see the two have a chance to speak one on one. This is the moment we get a few answers on how Turles has just been existing in the universe under the radar. It's up to the reader to determine if what he says of his origins are true or a lie. I will admit certain things he says are true. I wanted to bring in the saiyan history of his home world and such into this story and for Goku to finally learn about it without being told by a saiyan that's shameful of him for not knowing and not having that "pride". 

What I also wanted to dive into was their motivations being nearly the opposite of one another even when you can see Turles as an "evil Goku" on the surface. The original Turles only sought power no matter the means and I felt that motivation was good enough to dive deeper into without drastically changing his character. Him being King he has the power he needs, but there's always a chance people with power will want more. For Turles the question is "why?" and soon we shall find out. Stay Tuned next time on DBS: The Might of King Turles