Part 34, Chapter 167.

PART THIRTY FOUR: QUARTER FINALS

Chapter 167

Translated by npberryhill, edited by Guilarai

Across the arena, the tension began to dissipate as warriors and spectators alike moved toward reconciliation. Yet the key figures in the recent chaos still grappled with its aftermath.

In Universe 16, Son Bra sat curled up, isolated from the others, her tear-filled eyes fixed on some distant point. On the opposite side, Vegetto stood apart, arms crossed, staring defiantly at the sky. A palpable anger radiated from him, though he seemed to hold it in check.

As the atmosphere shifted toward forgiveness, spurred by the Kaioshins’ words, Son Bra saw a chance to make amends with her family and friends. She knew her actions warranted death—her sins were too grave to dismiss. Yet, most of the surviving community had forgiven her. Confronted with the weight of her deeds and her father’s judgment, she was realizing how much pain she had inflicted on those she loved throughout her life, even from childhood. Convinced she was the daughter of a god, untouchable in a world where the Dragon Balls erased consequences, she had endangered the very planet they called home.

As her power grew, Son Bra had seen herself as a chosen warrior, destined for greatness, while her younger brothers were mere shadows in her eyes. Her sole ambition had been to earn the pride of her father, Vegetto—the savior of worlds, the champion of universal peace. But Vegetto’s comparison to Broly struck a painful chord: like the Legendary Super Saiyan, she had been a child unable to tame her transcendent power.

Unlike Broly, whose destructive nature bordered on madness, Son Bra could still feel shame, remorse, and grief. Now, she carried the burden of countless victims on her conscience. This guilt cut deeper than the day she, consumed by rage against the Jaykals, obliterated a solar system and took Goten’s life along with countless others. This time, she had killed Gohan—her brother, her best friend, her mentor, one of the few who had always stood by her.

Her gaze drifted toward Gohan, eyes still clouded with tears, but she quickly buried her face in her knees, unable to meet his eyes. He was alive now, restored, but shame held her back. Then a spark of resolve flared within her. She recalled the words of her Universe 18 counterpart, who had accused her of being passive. It was time to prove her wrong.

Son Bra rose to her feet, her legs shaky beneath her. She quickly felt the eyes of several Universe 16 members turning her way. Undeterred, she steeled herself and approached Gohan, driven by the need to offer the apology she owed him, hoping—however faintly—for his forgiveness.

Gohan, meanwhile, surveyed the restored arena, its pristine state a testament to Buu’s effortless power. He’d seen the Dragon Balls work miracles before, but the speed of this reconstruction—chaos and death undone in a snap—still left him in awe. He barely had time to process his own death before life returned. His thoughts turned to his sister, and then her trembling voice reached him.

“Go...Gohan…”

He turned, concern etching his face. Son Bra’s eyes, barely lifted, shimmered with grief. Her presence spoke louder than words.

She struggled to speak. “I… I…”

Shame silenced her. How could she voice such a betrayal? But Gohan, ever gentle, spoke first.

“It’s okay, Bra. You don’t need to say it.”

He drew her into a warm embrace, his smile soft but steady. “I’m just glad you’re back with us again.”

Tears spilled anew, but relief mingled with her sorrow. Gohan’s kindness filled the void left by Vegetto’s cold judgment, offering the fatherly comfort she craved. She sank into his arms, her guilt easing as her sobs faded. Then, a piercing gaze settled on her, heavy and unrelenting.

Son Bra turned and met her little niece Pan’s eyes, her expression a storm of unreadable pain. The distress radiating from Pan pierced Son Bra’s heart—she knew she was to blame. She had been the one, her big sister, who had sliced Gohan in two. Swallowing hard, she tried to speak.

“Pan... I...”

But Pan wouldn’t hear it.

Ever since she was little, she had viewed Son Bra more as a big sister rather than an aunt. She admired her as a hero, a model, just like she did Vegetto and Son Gohan. Even more-so, since they had grown up and progressed together.

Son Bra had often crossed the line, but Pan had never been able to grasp just how far she'd gone. Son Gohan had always endeavored to keep her away from the skirmishes between Vegetto and Bra, and instead have his family live softly and joyfully, free of strife. So even though she’d heard about her sister’s dark side, she never witnessed it.

But now, the curtain had been ripped away. She'd seen that maniacal rictus on Bra’s face—those eyes full of insanity—that pitiless laugh when she cut Son Gohan in two.

Pan couldn’t just forgive her. Corrupting wizard and forced enslavement be damned. All she could picture was that wicked smile. All she could hear was that cruel cackling laugh. Her grandfather Vegetto was right—at her core Bra was nothing but a backstabbing butcher.

There was no way she would listen to any of the lies coming out of that vile killer’s mouth. Rage had overcome her sensibilities. Unable to control herself, she screamed and violently slapped Bra in the face.

“No!”

Pan bolted, tearing through the corridors of their apartments with desperate speed. Son Bra lunged to follow, but Gohan’s hand gently caught her shoulder.

“It’s too soon, Bra. Give her time.”

“Maybe a lot of time,” Videl added, her tone uncertain. She wasn’t sure what to make of Bra’s actions but chose to stand by her husband’s side, as in anything.

Another figure, overlooked in the chaos, tried to chime in. The Mini-Cell, the pint-sized clone tied to Gohan, spoke in his thin, rasping voice.

“She’s too young to—”

“You. Back to your own space,” Gohan cut in, his voice firm but calm.

To an outsider, Gohan might seem like a saint, forgiving all who wronged him. As a child, he had extended friendship to Piccolo, the demon who’d kidnapped and trained him against his will. On Namek, he reached out to Vegeta, despite the Saiyan’s cold disdain and solely opportunistic alliance with them. Even now, after his own sister killed him in a frenzy, he held no grudge, convinced her actions weren’t truly her own.

But that outsider would be wrong. Gohan was no longer the naive boy who forgave everyone.

Cell’s actions, driven by relentless thirst for battle, still burned in his mind. Gohan refused to tolerate the bio-android’s presence—or his offspring’s—any longer. Unable to prove Cell’s malice to the tournament organizers, he knew he’d have to handle it himself. Turning towards Universe 17, he called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

“Cell!”

The bio-android, caught off guard but amused, swiveled to face him. He’d barely noticed his sulking mini-offspring, rejected by its so-called ally. Gohan’s tone hardened.

“You haven’t changed a bit. Still scheming for your own twisted fun. First the Cell Games, now this...”

Cell smirked, unfazed. “I’ll admit, I find a certain thrill in pushing you to your limits, Gohan. In truth, it’s one of the ways I best sharpen my own power.”

“Not anymore,” Gohan snapped. “It’s over, you won’t torment my family ever again.”

“Oh, please,” Cell taunted. “As if you didn’t relish making me suffer back then...”

Gohan’s jaw clenched. The memory of his pride-fueled mistake—twenty-seven years ago, when his arrogance cost his father’s life—still stung. But he didn’t waver.

“That’s irrelevant. You and your children stay away from us.”

“Or what?” Cell sneered, his arrogance gleaming. “Will you squash the big bad bug? Poor Gohan, you couldn’t kill me before, remember? What’s your plan now? The Mafuba? Go ahead, try it! I’ve never tested the counter-Mafuba. Or maybe you’ll team up with your double from some grand scheme?”

Cell’s pride, just as it had been twenty-seven years ago, was his greatest weakness. A sudden presence loomed behind him, and a calm voice cut through. “Why not?”

The bio-android spun around, face-to-face with the other Gohan.

From Universe 18’s section, Gohan had been watching Cell closely, not missing a single beat of the unfolding drama. Now he stood before the bio-android, his expression unshakable. The two Gohans, once mistaken for lunch delivery boys, were now sandwiching Cell. The bio-android wasn’t entirely confident he could fend off their combined might. Worse, he hadn’t sensed Universe 18’s Gohan approaching at all. He was certain they hadn’t signaled each other—they didn’t need to. Their minds were as one.

A flicker of unease crept into Cell’s voice as he spoke. “Come now, let’s be civilized...”

He blinked, and in that split second, Universe 18’s Gohan vanished. Meanwhile, Universe 16’s Gohan had already turned back to Videl’s side. She smiled softly, secure in the knowledge that she was safe.

High in the Vargas’ Tower, chaos simmered among the commentator birds.

“Please don’t fire me!” one Varga squawked, feathers molting in a flurry of panic. “The Kaioshins said it wasn’t my fault!”

Earlier, he had driven a knife into his colleague’s back to stop him from sending the rogue universes home. The twisted thrill of that act still lingered, a guilty spark he couldn’t shake. But that single stab had forever excluded himself from Varga society, where murder was unthinkable. His budding career was plucked before it could soar.

His colleagues tilted their heads, beaks twitching with doubt.

“What wasn’t your fault?” asked the Varga he’d stabbed, now inexplicably alive. “You mean spilling the coffee?”

The guilty Varga froze, baffled. Were they pretending to forget his crime? Uncertain, he opted to play along, hoping it was a misunderstanding.

“Uh, yeah, that’s it!” he chirped, forcing a laugh. “You know me, clumsy as ever, quack hac hac!”

“You’re acting weird,” another colleague clucked, eyeing him with suspicion.

What none of them realized was that Universe 4’s Buu had toyed with their minds, erasing the innocent Vargas’ memories of their peer’s betrayal. The guilty bird was left to stew in his unspoken guilt—and his unsettling urge to slice up his own kind. It was a petty game, perfectly suited to the Djinn’s whims. By wiping the slate clean, Buu ensured the organizers wouldn’t raise a fuss, keeping the tournament on track.

“So, what now?” the guilty Varga asked, still rattled. “Should we keep going?”

“Absolutely!” another chirped. “The Kaioshins say it’s all sorted. I’m dying to see what happens next!”

“More fights!” a third squawked, wings flapping with excitement.

“With all the troublemakers still lurking in this arena, who knows what could happen...” a Varga with a white mohawk and distinguished attire clucked nervously. “These mortals aren’t exactly full of happy surprises. I really don’t want to get killed again...”

“Relax,” another Varga countered. “Universe 11 has been sent packing, Buu from Universe 4 is under control, and the South Kaioshin is strong enough to squash any rogue villains we’ve flagged. We’ve made sure of it. Worst case scenario, Gast Carcolh is our backup—he’s on board. We’re clear to keep going.”

“Then it’s settled!” a third Varga squawked. “The tournament’s back on. Quarter finals, let’s go!”