CHAPTER 17: A TASTE OF POWER

The underground arena was electric with anticipation, the crowd buzzing with excitement as the tournament reached its final round. Gohan, barely able to keep his balance after a series of brutal matches, stood in the center of the arena, his chest rising and falling with every strained breath. His once-pristine battle gear was now tattered and worn, a testament to the grueling fights that had led him here. 

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, turning the atmosphere electric.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer’s voice crackled, his holographic projection appearing beside Gohan in the center of the arena. The crowd roared, eagerly awaiting the final showdown. “It’s time for the final match—the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The fight of a lifetime, and you won’t want to miss it! Place your bets now, folks, because this one’s about to get interesting.”

The hologram of the announcer turned to Gohan with a mischievous grin. “And this fighter here, the unexpected crowd pleaser, the Great Saiyaman—he’s already proven himself an underdog tonight. But what happens next? Let’s see if he can hold his ground against an opponent like no other…”

The announcer paused, letting the tension build as the crowd murmured in excitement. “This fighter comes from a race long thought to have been wiped out by a meteor! Known for their fierce fighting spirit and unmatched strength, this warrior has come to prove that extinction is just a word.”

A hush fell over the crowd as the announcer’s voice dropped, building suspense. “Noppal!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, the noise deafening as Noppal entered the arena. His scouter beeped softly as he surveyed the room, his no-nonsense demeanor sending a chill through the air. His black and gray battle suit, scuffed from countless battles, clung tightly to his muscular frame. Close-cropped dark hair framed his face, and his bulkier physique spoke of raw power and endurance—this was a fighter built for destruction. The audience locked their eyes on him, the tension thickening in the air.

The announcer’s voice rang out, cutting through the noise. “Folks, you’ve never seen a fight like this. Prepare yourselves, because it’s about to get intense.”

Vegeta and Broly exchanged looks, their instincts alert as they watched Noppal with calculated precision. Both were focused, sensing the danger this fighter presented.

The announcer’s voice broke the tension. “This is the fight of the century, folks! We’ve got the underdog of the hour, the mysterious fighter known as Great Saiyaman, and he’s about to face a real challenge! Can he survive the might of Noppal?”

Gohan’s heart raced as the spotlight shifted to him. The crowd cheered, their support unwavering despite the odds stacked against him. But Gohan was far from confident; he was exhausted, his energy reserves nearly depleted. Noppal towered over him, his aura crackling with power.

“Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.” Noppal’s voice echoed across the arena, a smirk spreading across his face. 

As the fight began, Noppal wasted no time, charging forward with blinding speed. His fists slammed into Gohan with brutal force, each blow landing with a bone-shaking impact.

Gohan struggled to keep up, his body aching from the previous rounds. Despite his exhaustion, he knew he couldn’t afford to back down—not now, not with so much at stake.

“You’re not even close to being my match, kid,” Noppal taunted, his voice laced with mocking amusement. “You really think you can stand up to me?”

Gohan gritted his teeth, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “I’m not here to win for the crowd. I’m here to find out the truth. Where’s my father?”

Noppal’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “Your father? What are you talking about?”

Gohan didn’t back down, charging forward and forcing Noppal into an exchange of blows. Between strikes, Gohan’s words cut through the noise. “Several days ago, your King fought two Saiyans—and took one of them.”

Noppal’s expression shifted as realization dawned. His movements slowed just enough to betray the connection forming in his mind. “So that’s who you mean...” He suddenly slammed his fist into Gohan’s helmet, shattering it.

The pieces clattered to the ground, revealing Gohan’s face. Noppal froze for a split second, his sharp eyes narrowing. Recognition burned in his gaze, and his lips curled into a contemptuous smirk. “You...you kinda look just like him. You’re his son, aren’t you? That explains the power. But it won’t matter. You’re just another piece on the board, a tool for King Turles’s plan. Nothing more.”

Gohan clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. “We’ll see about that.”

As the battle raged on, Noppal’s overwhelming strength, amplified by the fruit of the Tree of Might, made each strike devastating. Every punch and kick carried a force that pushed Gohan to his limits. Yet Gohan refused to falter. He wasn’t just fighting for survival—he was fighting for answers. He couldn’t let Noppal escape with the truth he sought.

***

Back in the VIP booth, Truffle, disguised and keeping a low profile, watched the fight unfold. Her eyes weren’t on the battle itself, but on Dakon, who was holding the seeds of the Tree of Might close. Truffle knew those seeds could provide the key to understanding Turles’s plans, and she needed to get her hands on them. She adjusted her position, inching closer under the pretense of mingling.

Borzak leaned back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You’re a persuasive man, Dakon. And I’m a businessman. Whatever your king needs, name it. Planets, resources, distribution networks—I’ll make it happen. I’ve got contacts across the galaxy willing to pay any price for something like this. And if this power can rival the Frieza Empire…” He let the implication hang in the air.

Dakon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “The Frieza Empire is merely one obstacle in a much larger plan. But for the right price...”

Borzak grinned. “Consider it a deal in the making. Seeing this power in action is all the proof I need.”

As the two spoke, Truffle edged closer, feigning disinterest in their conversation. Her eyes darted toward the seeds, her mind racing with plans. If she could just get close enough…

Her first attempt was cautious. Pretending to adjust her position for a better view of the fight, she moved behind Dakon, her hand inching toward the seeds. But Dakon shifted slightly, blocking her with a casual, deliberate movement that seemed almost unconscious.

Borzak, still unaware, continued. “Dakon, your king must be bold to take on the galaxy like this. I respect that. But to think he’d defy even the Frieza Empire—now that’s ambitious.”

Dakon’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Ambition without strategy is reckless. My king’s plans are calculated, and this,” he gestured subtly toward the seeds, “is only one piece of the puzzle.”

Truffle retreated momentarily, pretending to admire the arena below, but frustration burned in her chest. She needed those seeds, and Dakon wasn’t making it easy. She waited for another opening, her gaze flickering to Borzak’s goons stationed nearby.

Her second attempt was bolder. She pretended to stumble, dropping her drink near Dakon’s seat. As she crouched to retrieve it, her fingers brushed close to the seeds.

Dakon’s voice cut through the air, soft but sharp. “Careful, miss. Some things are more dangerous than they appear.”

She froze, her heart pounding as she looked up to find Dakon’s gaze locked onto her. He knew. And worse, he was baiting her.

Before she could retreat, Dakon gave a subtle nod to Borzak’s goons. They moved in, grabbing her arms with a force that left no room for resistance.

Borzak raised an eyebrow, finally noticing the commotion. “What’s this?”

Dakon’s tone was calm, almost amused. “It seems we’ve had an unexpected guest. A little too curious for her own good.”

Just as the situation seemed to spiral, the booth doors burst open with a resounding crash. Tarble strode in, his presence commanding the room as his sharp eyes scanned the scene. Dakon and Borzak exchanged confused glances, neither recognizing him at first.

“Who the hell are you?” Borzak demanded, his voice dripping with suspicion.

Before Tarble could respond, one of Borzak’s goons froze, his eyes widening in recognition. “Wait a second…Nightshade?” The goon’s tone was incredulous. “It’s you, isn’t it? Cooler’s shadow enforcer. I never thought I’d see you again!”

Tarble blinked, momentarily taken aback by the name. It had been years since anyone had called him that. A flicker of nostalgia crossed his face before he shook it off. “I did go by that once,” he admitted, his voice low. “But those days are behind me. I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

Borzak leaned back in his seat, unimpressed. “I don’t care what you call yourself or who you used to work for. You’ve made a mistake walking in here.” He waved dismissively at his goons. “Take him down.”

The goons rushed forward, but Tarble was faster. In an instant, his energy flared, and with a single, fluid motion, he incapacitated the nearest attacker and freed Truffle from their grasp. She stumbled briefly before regaining her balance, her eyes lighting up with relief.

“About time,” Truffle muttered, brushing herself off.

Tarble turned to her with a sharp look. “Stay close. I’ll handle this.”

But Truffle didn’t back down. As another goon lunged toward her, she spun gracefully, delivering a swift kick to his chest that sent him crashing into the wall. Tarble raised an eyebrow, momentarily caught off guard by her skill.

“You’ve got some moves,” he remarked, a hint of surprise in his tone.

“Thanks,” Truffle shot back, dodging another attack and countering with a precise strike. “But we don’t have time to mess around. We need those seeds, and Dakon’s not getting away.”

The two of them moved in perfect synchronization, fighting off the goons with a combination of martial prowess and raw power. Tarble’s energy blasts lit up the room, while Truffle’s speed and precision kept the enemies off balance.

Dakon, meanwhile, watched the chaos unfold with a calm exterior, his hand still resting on the seeds. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes darted between Truffle and Tarble, calculating his next move.

Borzak, still seated, shouted over the commotion. “Don’t let them get the seeds! Do you have any idea what those are worth?!”

Tarble and Truffle exchanged a quick glance, their mutual understanding clear. They weren’t leaving without those seeds—or without apprehending Dakon.

***

Meanwhile, Gohan’s battle with Noppal raged on, the clash between them reaching a fever pitch. The arena was an inferno of raw energy, every blow reverberating through the structure. Gohan was battered, his body pushed to its limits, but his determination never wavered. He gritted his teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he locked eyes with Noppal, who smirked with the confidence of a predator closing in on its prey.

“You’re slowing down,” Noppal taunted, his voice carrying over the deafening cheers of the crowd. “I thought you’d at least be a challenge.”

Gohan tightened his fists, refusing to falter. Just as he was about to launch another attack, a strange sensation washed over him. For a fleeting moment, he felt a presence—faint yet familiar—brushing against his mind like a whisper in the wind. His heart raced, his senses sharpening as an aura seemed to pulse within him, a strength he hadn’t fully tapped into.

The realization struck him like lightning: someone—or something—was reaching out to him, fueling his resolve.

Noppal lunged, his fist aimed straight for Gohan’s chest, but Gohan’s aura exploded around him, golden light shifting to a radiant, ethereal glow. His Ultimate Form ignited, his power surging beyond anything the audience—or even Noppal—had expected. The crowd gasped, the air thick with a mix of awe and dread as the arena trembled beneath their feet.

Gohan’s voice was firm, his energy crackling. “This ends now!”

The two clashed with renewed intensity, their blows shattering the ground and sending shockwaves through the arena. The walls began to buckle, debris falling as the structure struggled to contain the overwhelming power.

From the sidelines, Vegeta’s sharp eyes scanned the scene, his jaw tightening. “This place won’t hold much longer,” he muttered. “If they keep this up, the entire arena is coming down.” He turned to Broly, who stood nearby, watching intently. “We need to get the crowd out of here.”

The arena’s foundation groaned under the pressure, cracks spreading like spider webs across the walls and floor. In the ring, Noppal let out a roar, his power spiraling out of control. With one final surge, he smashed through the fencing, leaping into the chaos of the fleeing crowd.

“No!” Gohan shouted, his voice ringing with urgency. He glanced at Vegeta, who nodded in silent agreement. Without hesitation, the two Saiyans took off after Noppal, their ki trails streaking through the chaos.

Meanwhile, in the VIP booth, Truffle and Tarble were locked in combat with Borzak’s goons. Truffle’s sharp movements and calculated strikes kept the attackers at bay, while Tarble’s energy blasts carved a path through the chaos. Despite their skill, the sheer number of enemies threatened to overwhelm them.

Just as one of the goons aimed a strike at Tarble’s back, a massive shadow loomed over them. Broly crashed into the scene like a force of nature, his raw power sending the attackers flying.

“Need some help?” Broly asked, his voice calm but his eyes blazing with intensity.

Tarble smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “Perfect timing.”

As the trio fought their way through the booth, Truffle kept her eyes on Dakon, who stood at the edge of the chaos, clutching the seeds of the Tree of Might in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but his stance was clear—he wasn’t going to fight.

“Stay close!” Tarble instructed, shielding Truffle from an incoming blast.

Truffle nodded but didn’t hesitate to retaliate, her movements swift and precise. As the last of Borzak’s goons fell, she turned to Dakon, who raised his hands in surrender, the seeds still clutched tightly.

“I’m not a fighter,” Dakon said evenly, his eyes flicking to Tarble. “But I can tell you’re a Saiyan. I don’t want any trouble—I’ll cooperate.”

Truffle stepped forward, her gaze hard. “Hand over the seeds, and you might get out of this unscathed.”

Dakon hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand, the seeds gleaming in the dim light. “Fine. But if you’re looking for answers, you’re not going to like what you find.”

As Truffle secured the seeds, she signaled the Galactic Patrol. Moments later, their forces swarmed the club, apprehending the remaining criminals and restoring order.

Outside, Gohan and Vegeta continued their pursuit of Noppal, their energy blazing as they closed the distance. The chase wasn’t over, and neither was the fight for answers.

CHAPTER 16: SEED OF DESTRUCTION

The noise from the arena below was muffled inside the lavish VIP booth, but the occasional cheers and chants from the crowd seeped through the walls—faint reminders of the chaos unfolding beyond the polished confines. Inside, the air was stifling, thick with the cloying tang of expensive liquor and the acrid glow of Borzak’s cigar-like contraption.

Truffle sat stiffly at the edge of the room, her every movement calculated, her expression a perfect mask of neutrality. Beneath her calm exterior, her pulse raced, but she couldn’t afford a single slip. She had to play the part—just another nameless showgirl in Borzak’s inner circle. Blend in, stay unnoticed, she reminded herself.

Borzak himself was impossible to ignore. The mogul was a grotesque mix of wealth and menace, his hulking frame adorned with layers of gaudy jewelry that clinked with every exaggerated movement. Gold rings encrusted with gemstones gleamed on his thick fingers, and a fur-lined coat draped over his broad shoulders despite the room’s oppressive heat. Everything about him screamed indulgence and arrogance, as though his ego was as much his armor as his wealth.

The glowing blue smoke from his cigar spiraled lazily upward, forming a haze that made the air almost unbearable. Truffle fought the urge to cough, taking shallow breaths through her nose to avoid inhaling too deeply. Her sharp eyes flicked across the room, cataloging details—the position of the exits, the guards stationed at the door, the behavior of Borzak’s entourage sprawled in nearby seats.

Her disguise as a showgirl was holding for now, but she could feel Borzak’s leering gaze on her, sizing her up like a predator. It made her skin crawl, but she kept her composure. I’ve been in worse situations, she thought, clinging to her focus. Just get the intel and get out.

“More drinks,” Borzak barked suddenly, his voice a low growl as he waved lazily in her direction.

Truffle forced a smile, her movements smooth and practiced as she stepped forward to refill his glass. “Of course, sir,” she said sweetly, her voice light and unassuming.

Her mind raced as she poured, wondering how long she could keep up the charade. Every second here felt like an eternity, each moment increasing the risk of exposure.

The hiss of the booth door sliding open cut through the tension, and Truffle’s body tensed instinctively. She kept her expression neutral, carefully stepping back into the corner, the tray in her hands a convenient prop.

A burly goon entered the room, bowing slightly. “Boss, your business associates have arrived.”

Borzak’s lips curled into a smirk as he set his drink down with a loud clink. “Bring them in.”

Truffle’s stomach tightened as her eyes flicked toward the door. Business associates? she thought, her mind already spinning with possibilities.

The air seemed to shift as two figures entered the room, their presence immediately commanding attention.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized them—Saiyans.

The first saiyan was tall and lean, his spiked crimson hair giving him an almost fiery appearance that stood out even in the dimly lit booth. His sleek black and gray battle suit gleamed under the low light, though its intricate gold accents—carved in sharp, regal patterns—betrayed its purpose as a statement of status rather than practicality. This wasn’t armor meant for combat; it was crafted to signify power and position, the mark of someone accustomed to courtly dealings rather than battlefield skirmishes. His confident smirk never faltered, and his piercing, almost lazy gaze swept the room as though every detail had already been measured and deemed unworthy of his concern.

The second saiyan, in stark contrast, was bulkier, his physique built for brute strength and endurance. His close-cropped dark hair and the faint hum of his scouter added to his no-nonsense demeanor. His battle suit was also black and gray, but it was stripped of ornamentation, worn and scuffed in places, a testament to countless battles. It clung tightly to his frame, designed for function over flair, emphasizing practicality over grandeur. His sharp eyes darted across the booth with deliberate precision, every corner of the room scrutinized with the intensity of a warrior who expected trouble at any moment. While his demeanor was quieter than his companion’s, there was a palpable menace in his measured movements, a sense that his calm exterior concealed devastating power.

Truffle’s heart nearly stopped, her pulse hammering in her ears as the realization hit her. They’re here? she thought, her breath catching for a moment. She had been hoping to find some lead on their whereabouts, but not like this—not while trapped in Borzak’s booth, playing the part of a nameless servant.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the tray she held, the edges digging into her palms as she fought to keep her expression neutral. Stay calm. Stay unnoticed, she told herself, retreating further into the shadows. She lowered her head just enough to appear deferential, though her sharp eyes remained fixed on the two Saiyans.

Borzak rose from his seat, his jewelry jingling loudly as he spread his arms in a mock display of hospitality. “Ah, my esteemed guests! Welcome, welcome. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

The crimson-haired saiyan, Dakon, sneered, his voice sharp and cutting. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Borzak. We’re here for business, not small talk.”

Truffle’s grip on the tray tightened ever so slightly as she edged further into the corner. Her sharp ears caught every word, her mind working furiously to piece together what was happening.

Dakon’s gaze briefly swept the room, pausing for a moment on Truffle. Her heart leaped, but she didn’t flinch, keeping her head low and her expression blank. His attention passed as quickly as it landed, and he moved further into the booth.

Borzak gestured toward the plush seating area, his smirk widening. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

As the saiyans settled into their seats, Truffle’s mind was a storm of questions. Why are they here? What could they possibly want with Borzak? Still, she kept her composure, careful not to give herself away. She had a job to do, and any mistake now could cost her dearly.

***

Meanwhile, in the stands, Meelo hovered up to Vegeta, Tarble, and Broly, its beeps frantic and insistent. The little droid’s lights blinked in rapid succession, the urgency impossible to ignore. Vegeta frowned, uncrossing his arms as his sharp gaze narrowed on the droid. 

Broly leaned in slightly, his large frame moving with surprising care as he studied Meelo. “It’s… trying to tell us something,” he said slowly, his voice thoughtful as he focused on the sequence of beeps.

Tarble’s expression shifted, concern flickering across his face. He glanced around instinctively, scanning the stands. “Wait…” he said, his voice growing quieter. “Where’s Truffle? She hasn’t checked in with us in a while.”

Vegeta stiffened at that, his posture no longer as composed. His eyes darted to the corridors before settling back on the beeping droid. 

Meelo let out another rapid series of beeps and turned toward the shadowed corridors, its blinking lights almost frantic as it rolled a few feet away, then back, as if beckoning them to follow.

Vegeta’s brow furrowed deeply, a rare flicker of worry crossing his features. “She wouldn’t just disappear without letting us know,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His eyes lingered on the path Meelo seemed desperate to lead them down. “If something’s wrong…”

Tarble stepped forward, his tone resolute. “I’ll check it out. You and Broly stay here and keep an eye on Gohan.”

Vegeta turned to his brother, his usual commanding presence tempered by visible concern. “Be careful,” he said firmly, his voice low but weighted with warning. “If there’s trouble, don’t engage unless you have no choice. And don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Tarble nodded, his expression steady. “I’ll handle it. I won’t cause a scene.”

Broly glanced between the two brothers, his quiet gaze lingering on Tarble. “Do you want me to go with him?” he asked, his tone calm but ready.

Vegeta shook his head. “No. If something’s happening, it’s better we don’t all leave. Gohan might need us.” He looked back at the arena, where Gohan’s match was about to start, though his focus remained split. “Tarble can handle this.”

Tarble gave a reassuring nod before turning to follow Meelo, who had already started zipping ahead toward the shadowed corridors. Vegeta’s gaze lingered on his brother’s retreating figure for a moment longer than usual before he forced himself to turn back to the ring.

Broly leaned slightly toward him. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Vegeta didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he watched Gohan square off with his opponent. Finally, he muttered, “She’s strong…but if she’s in danger, we’ll make whoever’s behind it regret it.”

As Tarble disappeared into the crowd, Meelo leading the way, Vegeta and Broly watched the next fighter enter the ring. This opponent was a disciplined martial artist, his movements precise and fluid. For Gohan, it was a more familiar style of combat, but the match was far from easy.

***

Back in the booth, Truffle moved carefully, refilling glasses and avoiding eye contact as the conversation between Borzak and the Saiyans unfolded.

“You’ve been a valuable partner to us,” Dakon began, leaning back in his chair, his crimson hair catching the dim light. His voice was smooth, almost conversational, but carried an undertone of authority. “Your networks of weapons and resources have kept certain… operations running smoothly.” He smirked, swirling the drink in his hand. “But now, we’re offering you something far more valuable—a trade that will elevate you beyond even your wildest ambitions.”

Borzak raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “I’m listening.”

Dakon reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small, sealed container, setting it on the table with deliberate care. “These,” he said, his voice lowering, “are seeds from the Eternal Tree of Might.”

Borzak’s sharp gaze fell on the container, his curiosity piqued. “Tree of Might?” he repeated, skeptical.

Dakon’s grin widened, his confidence unwavering. “The fruit of the Eternal Tree is no ordinary harvest,” he said smoothly. “It’s a source of unmatched energy and power—concentrated life force drawn from the planets it grows on. One bite, and the strength it grants rivals that of the gods themselves.” He gestured toward the container, his tone turning almost enticing. “And now, we’re offering you a chance to harness that power.”

Borzak’s skepticism lingered, his expression unreadable. “Even if I believed you, why would you offer such a resource to me?”

“In return for your help,” Dakon said smoothly, his tone growing sharper. “The fruit is…particular. It requires planets capable of sustaining its growth, and not every world is strong enough to handle its power. Most…fail.”

“Fail?” Borzak asked, tilting his head.

“They wither,” Dakon explained, his smirk deepening. “And die. But in exchange for the tree’s fruit, that’s a price worth paying, wouldn’t you agree? With your reach, your resources—you could help us find the planets we need to expand its influence. In return, you reap the rewards.”

Borzak leaned back, swirling his drink. “You’ve certainly got my attention…but this feels like a tall tale, Saiyan. Divine fruit? Power beyond imagination? Where’s your proof?”

Dakon chuckled softly, motioning to his companion. “Noppal?”

The bulkier Saiyan stepped forward, his dark eyes glinting as he reached into his pouch. He produced a gleaming golden fruit, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly glow, and set it on the table. The energy radiating from it was almost tangible, making the air feel heavier.

“One bite,” Dakon said, gesturing to the fruit, “Just one bite, and even the weakest among us would rival the gods.”

Borzak’s gaze lingered on the fruit, his intrigue obvious. He reached for it, but Noppal’s large hand shot out, stopping him.

“Not so fast,” Noppal rumbled, his voice calm but carrying a hint of menace. “This one isn’t for you.”

Without waiting for a response, Noppal raised the fruit to his lips and took a deliberate bite. The room seemed to grow heavier as his energy spiked, muscles rippling as his already imposing frame seemed to expand. Power radiated off him in waves, causing glasses on the table to tremble.

Borzak’s eyes widened, but before he could speak, Dakon gestured to one of Borzak’s bodyguards—a massive brute who stood silently by the door. “Your toughest man,” Dakon said, his grin widening. “Let’s see how he fares.”

Borzak hesitated for a moment before nodding. The guard stepped forward, cracking his knuckles as he squared off with Noppal.

The fight was over in an instant. With a single strike, Noppal sent the brute flying across the room, slamming him into the far wall with a sickening thud. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Dakon leaned back, clearly enjoying the stunned look on Borzak’s face. “Still think it’s a myth?” he asked, his tone almost mocking.

Borzak exhaled slowly, his expression shifting from disbelief to intrigue. “Impressive,” he admitted, his voice steady. “And you’re telling me… this fruit can do that to anyone?”

“Anyone,” Dakon confirmed. “But its effects are amplified for those who are already strong. Imagine what it could do for you…or the mercenaries you employ.” He leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes locking with Borzak’s. “My companion here—” he gestured to Noppal, who stood with an air of quiet menace—“will be the final opponent in your little tournament. A live demonstration, if you will.”

Borzak smirked, clearly entertained by the idea. “I like it. But I assume your king—what’s his name? Turles?—has his own reasons for this…generosity.”

Dakon chuckled, leaning back again. “King Turles has big plans. This quadrant? Frieza’s empire? They’re all ripe for the taking. With your help, Borzak, you could be part of something far greater.”

As the conversation continued, Truffle’s hands tightened around the tray she carried. Her heart pounded as the pieces began to fall into place. The appearance of these saiyans, the connection to the dying planets, and the mention of King Turles—it was all starting to make sense. Truffle’s heart raced as she realized the scale of what might be happening, but the full extent of his plans still eluded her.

She had to get this information to the Galactic Patrol. But how?

In the arena, Gohan’s match reached its climax. The martial artist was skilled, but Gohan’s training and adaptability gave him the edge. With a decisive blow, he secured his victory, the crowd erupting into cheers.

In the VIP booth, Noppal’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk as he stood, his energy still radiating from his earlier bite of the fruit. “Now,” he said, his voice deeper and more menacing, “let’s see how this Great Saiyaman fares against true power.”

___________

Writer’s Note:

Meet Dakon and Noppal—two new Saiyans I created specifically for this story. This chapter juggles multiple threads, with each character playing a role as the plot slowly converges on the key goal: uncovering the location of Idun.

Putting Truffle in the middle of all this chaos added a layer of tension and created the perfect opportunity for some mayhem to unfold. Her presence helped elevate the stakes and made the situation more dynamic.

When I decided to include Tarble in the story, I knew I wanted to explore his relationship with Vegeta. A lot of time has passed between them since they reconnected during Cooler’s Wrath, and I see Tarble as the younger brother trying to rebuild that lost connection. This dynamic adds depth and emotional weight to their interactions, and it’s something I’ve enjoyed developing throughout the story.

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.