PART THIRTY FIVE: RETURN MATCH FOR SUPER VEGETA

Chapter 172

Translated by npberryhill, edited by Guilarai

Thunderous applause rolled through the circular stands like a tidal wave.

Some fights had been flashier explosions, bigger numbers, more destruction; none had carried this kind of soul. Master versus disciple, close friends, two hearts bound by the same stubborn, stupid, beautiful destiny. The entire arena had felt it: every clenched fist, every flare of aura, every silent promise that neither would ever give up on the other. For thousands of spectators, this wasn’t just the best fight of the tournament; it was the best fight they’d ever seen, period.

Across the multiverse balconies, respect settled like quiet snowfall.

It may not have touched the obscene heights of Vegetto, Broly, Bra, or the pink nightmare that was Buu, but it didn’t need to. Purity had its own weight, and tonight that weight pressed on every chest in the stadium.

Vegeta of Universe 18 folded his arms, a thin, dangerous smirk curling his lips.

He’d known Goku would stand; his rival always did. Yet even he hadn’t expected the fight to be this close. Uub had shattered every limit Vegeta thought the boy possessed. That crimson, impossible Kaioken had turned a promising talent into something downright terrifying.

The last time Vegeta had seen Goku battered; face swollen, gi in ribbons, blood painting the ground; had been twenty years ago against their own Majin Buu. And even then, he’d looked much better than this. In truth, this much more closely resembled their own first battle.

Vegeta’s smirk sharpened into something predatory.

Good. It was Kakarotto’s turn to be the one crawling desperately to survive, as he once was. Because in the next round, Vegeta had zero intention of letting him stand at the end. For decades he’d chased that low-born Saiyan, always one step behind, always watching him hand the future to someone else; first Gohan, now this Earthling that Goku had trained. To think that Uub had been taught to fight primarily because Goku wanted another strong opponent.

Unacceptable. Screw this level three nonsense and their incessant arguments over it. This time there would be no excuse not to face him head-on.

This time the prince would be the one still on his feet when the dust settled.

Vegeta’s smirk vanished the moment Cell opened his mouth.

“Your thoughts are practically screaming, Vegeta,” the bio-android sneered. “Instead of daydreaming about your little revenge match, worry about the one standing right in front of you. I’m going to curbstomp you, followed by Goku, one after the other.”

Vegeta didn’t even turn. “Enjoy that tongue while it’s still attached, Cell. When I’m done, you’ll be swallowing it along with your pride.”

Cell’s grin faltered into a glare. “You realize Goku is even weaker than Gohan, whom I’ve already proven I can defeat. That long-haired gimmick won’t save him, and since you still haven’t reached it, I won’t even get more than a warm up against you. Some things never change, eh?”

Vegeta finally glanced over, eyes cold. “We’ll see.”

He dismissed Cell with a flick of his gaze, exactly the kind of casual disdain that made the bio-android’s blood boil. Cell clenched his fists, his eyes flashing side to side. Vegetto stood on the balcony to his left, Vegeta on the one to his right; same insufferable arrogance, just in a weaker package. He couldn’t do anything about the fused Saiyan, but the latter he would be more than happy to crush.

Vegeta’s attention snapped back to the returning warriors.

Healed by the Namekians, Goku and Uub walked side-by-side, bruised but beaming.

“Well done, Grandpa! Well done, Uub!” Pan bounced like a pogo stick.

“I got chills!” Goten laughed, pumping a fist.

Piccolo and Gohan gave approving nods.

Goku ruffled Uub’s hair, grinning wide. “Outstanding, Uub. Seriously.”

Uub rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “You sure? I messed up plenty… I thought you expected more from me.”

“Quit that,” Goku said, smile softening. “You gave me everything I could’ve asked for and more. I was seconds from losing. Honestly?” He paused, eyes bright. “There’s nothing left I can teach you. From today on, you’ve officially graduated from being my pupil. Now—you’re my rival, Uub!”

Uub froze. The words hit harder than any punch. His eyes went wide, cheeks flushed, and a shaky laugh escaped him.

“Rival…?” he whispered, voice cracking.

Goku turned to Piccolo. “Hey, can you fix our clothes? And, uh… you know.”

Piccolo smirked. “Already on it.”

A flash of green light later, Goku’s gi was pristine orange again. Then Piccolo faced Uub. Another wave of energy; and Uub’s tattered Turtle School uniform vanished. In its place appeared a brand-new fighting outfit: earthy browns and deep reds inspired by his home village, cut sharp and practical for battle.

Uub stared down at himself, speechless.

Goku extended his hand, palm open. “We’re equals now, Uub, and I’m proud of it.. Keep climbing; get stronger than me, if you can.”

Uub’s eyes shimmered. He seized Goku’s hand with both of his, grip fierce, smile unstoppable.

“Yes, Goku.”

Goten, Trunks, Pan, Videl, and Gohan broke into warm applause. Uub bowed deeply, gratitude shining in his eyes.

When his gaze met Vegeta’s, the prince—arms still crossed—lifted one hand in a brief, unmistakable thumbs-up. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Uub’s face lit up; he returned the smile and bowed again, lower this time. Vegeta answered with a single, curt nod.

Recognition from the Prince of Saiyans.

That was worth more than any trophy.

Piccolo stepped forward, arms folded behind his back.

“That Transcended Kaioken was insane, Uub,” he said, voice low with genuine awe. “You should be dead. How the hell did you push it that far?”

Uub scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Honestly? I have no idea. When Master went Super Saiyan 3, I panicked. It felt like the gap was a canyon. So I just… refused to lose. Threw everything I had into it—even my life. Next thing I knew, the aura exploded.”

“You didn’t just break your normal limits,” Vegeta cut in, eyes narrowed in appraisal. “You shattered them.”

Trunks blinked, then pointed. “Dude… you’re taller!”

Uub glanced down—way down—and jolted. The floor was suddenly farther away than it should’ve been.

“No way… I grew?!”

“Your body forcibly adapted to a power it wasn’t built for,” Piccolo explained. “Right now that Kaioken would kill you if you tried it again. But give it time, train it, control it… and it’ll be yours.”

Goku laughed, rubbing the cheek Uub had flattened. “That last punch still stings, even after the healing! Kid, that technique was made for you.”

Uub flushed crimson. “You’re all gonna make me cry, stop it! Next time, Master Goku—I’m winning!”

“That’s the spirit!” Goku beamed, ruffling the boy’s hair like he was still ten years old.

From the neighboring balcony, the Heloïtes erupted in cheers—big grins, pumping fists, thumbs-up raining down. Uub’s cheeks burned hotter; he bowed over and over while Goku just laughed, waving back like a kid who’d won the biggest prize at the fair.

A new rivalry had been born tonight—and the multiverse knew it.

The entire arena buzzed like a hive after a storm. Fighters, spectators, and gods alike couldn’t stop talking about what they’d just seen.

Up in the divine balcony, the Kaioshins were having a collective meltdown.

“Well I’ll be damned!” the South Kaioshin blurted, eyes wide. “I knew Universe 18 had talent, but this? Both of them could wipe the floor with me!”

West Kaioshin whistled low. “Gohan from 16 told us the kid’s literally Buu reincarnated. If that red aura is anything like the original… no wonder that pink terror murdered us in half the timelines.”

“Scary stuff,” North Kaioshin muttered. “Look at Universe 11’s Buu—still growing like a weed. Then look at Universe 4’s version—pure chaos in a gumball. Imagine either of them with ten extra years and a good heart…”

East Kaioshin folded his arms. “And that long-haired Super Saiyan 3? We’ve felt flickers of it from others, but seeing it used like that… flawless.”

A little farther off, the Grand Kaioshin floated beside the pink rubber ball that was currently Universe 4’s Buu.

“Magnificent!” Buu cheered, bouncing in place. “Goku’s stronger than before! Not mainly in power—it’s more the polish, his precision, technique, timing, everything! ”

Grand Kaioshin chuckled. “I enjoyed it too, but I didn’t expect mortals this far above gods. How many are there now?”

“Saiyans can evolve indefinitely,” Buu said matter-of-factly. “Vegetto’s just stuck because no one is strong enough to push him. But Uub…”

“His strength is impressive, but it seems as if he’s gotten a recent boost of some kind,” the Kaioshin quipped, raising an eyebrow. “You slip him some extra juice, Sandman?”

Buu gave an exaggeratedly innocent whistle. “Dunno what you mean—He’s my direct reincarnation. Everything he needed was already inside. This magic we share, with all its uniqueness, it goes way beyond Enma’s abilities to alter during the boy’s reincarnation. Gotta give credit to Bibidi for that, at least. The only thing Uub doesn’t have is that darkness, he got the magic without the evil. He’s what I could’ve been if I had a heart.”

Grand Kaioshin’s eyes softened. “So even the worst darkness can birth light.”

Buu’s wide grin somehow managed to look proud.

“Exactly! Pink terror yesterday—but through Uub, future hero of the universe!”

Universe 7 balcony was dead silent, save for the low hum of the shield nearby.

Gast Carcolh stood motionless, arms folded like armored plating, violet eyes narrowed to slits.

The fight had been exceptional, yes.

But three details gnawed at him more than the spectacle itself.

First was the Earthling’s magic. Round after round, Uub’s spells grew sharper, more instinctive. Techniques he had never displayed before the tournament now flowed as naturally as breathing. That rate of evolution was unnatural—unless something, or someone, had been quietly unlocking doors inside him all along.

Gast’s gaze flicked toward the pink gumball drifting beside the Grand Kaioshin.

Universe 4’s Buu met his stare and answered with an infuriatingly wide, innocent grin.

Suspicion hardened into near-certainty.

Secondly, Son Goku had advanced. The Saiyan would be his final hurdle if everything went according to plan. Honorable, predictable, and—crucially—strong enough to make the victory mean something. Gast allowed himself the ghost of a smile. Goku would fall, but he would fall as a warrior, not a victim.

Third, and most immediate, Son Bra.

Since Babidi’s chains had snapped around her mind and then shattered, the girl had awakened full control of her Super Saiyan 2 form. Raw power so dense it warped the air around her. Against that kind of brute force, only one strategy had ever worked: drain it, starve it, force surrender.

Gast’s jaw tightened.

He hated the idea.

It was efficient, yes.

It was also dishonorable.

He would not win like a parasite.

He would have to find another way—something that let the princess fight at her peak and still break her. A warrior’s solution.

His eyes drifted across the bracket floating in the air above the arena.

Cell or Vegeta.

Buu or XXI.

Then Bra.

Then Goku.

One by one, they would step into the ring.

And one by one, Gast Carcolh intended to give each of them the kind of fight they would never forget—even in defeat.

The Vargas’ voice crackled across the arena.

“Repairs underway! Second quarter-final begins shortly. Thank you for your patience.”

Cell flexed his fingers, tail flicking like a predator tasting the air.

Vegeta rolled his shoulders, blood already singing.

Twenty-seven years.

Twenty-seven years since that smug insect had crushed his pride, mocking and humiliating him.

Today the debt came due.

Gohan’s voice cut through the noise. “Vegeta? A word. Inside.”

Vegeta glanced at the scholar-turned-warrior, read the urgency in his eyes, and gave a curt nod. They slipped into Universe 18’s private corridor, door sealing behind them.

Cell watched them go, lips curling into a razor-thin smirk.

Go ahead, boy. Try talking to that hard-headed fool. It won’t matter.

Inside the room, Gohan wasted no time.

“I needed the door closed so Cell couldn’t hear,” he said, voice low. “He’s stronger than you think, Vegeta. Probably stronger than me now. During Babidi’s rebellion I couldn’t beat him, and that wasn’t just the spell. He’s grown.”

Vegeta folded his arms, unimpressed. “And?”

“He has every technique we do, plus regeneration, plus—”

“Shut up.”

Gohan blinked. “But—”

“I said shut up.” Vegeta’s eyes glinted like sharpened steel. “I’m not the same arrogant fool who walked into his arena twenty-seven years ago. I don’t need a babysitter, and I sure as hell don’t need your coaching. Buu already showed us everything that bug can do. I’ve watched. I’ve learned. I’m ready.”

Gohan opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. He’d done his duty.

Vegeta brushed past him toward the door, then paused shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Stop worrying, boy,” he muttered, almost gentle. “I owe you my life from back then. Today I pay off that debt. I’ll crush that insect… and I won’t screw it up this time.”

A rare, crooked smirk tugged at his lips.

“Watch me.”

Gohan’s eyes widened. He knew exactly which moment Vegeta meant: the Cell Games, twenty-seven years ago, when a terrified teenager had thrown himself in front of a blast meant to finish the prince. One arm gone, half his ki drained, the fate of the planet hanging by a thread.

Vegeta didn’t wait for an answer. He reached the door, paused with his hand on the handle, and spoke without turning.

“One last thing, Gohan. Cell only pretended to grovel for Babidi. He doesn’t get to walk away from what he did. I’ll avenge your wife… and the Videl of that other world.”

The door clicked open. Vegeta stepped through and was gone.

Gohan stood rooted to the spot, memories crashing over him like a tidal wave.

Planet Namek. The cold fury in Vegeta’s eyes when he’d executed former allies without blinking.

Against the androids. His arrogance had nearly cost them everything.

The Cell Games. The pride that finally cracked when he helped Gohan break the kamehameha lock with Cell.

Buu. The man who’d knelt, head bowed, and offered his life to save the planet he once wanted to crush.

That cruel, self-obsessed prince was dead.

In his place stood someone who would sooner die than let Pan, or any of them, come to harm. Someone who, in the second round of this very tournament, had thrown himself between Kakarotto and a killing blow aimed at Gohan’s daughter without a second thought.

Pan called him “Uncle Vegeta” now, with the same shining eyes she once saved only for her grandfather.

Gohan felt something heavy lift from his chest, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was still carrying.

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

Yeah… Vegeta was going to be just fine against Cell.

He’d cheer louder than anyone when the prince stepped into that ring.

Because family doesn’t always share blood.

Sometimes it’s forged in fire, pride, and twenty-seven years awaiting a rematch.