Part 35, Chapter 173.

PART THIRTY FIVE: RETURN MATCH FOR SUPER VEGETA

Chapter 173

Translated by npberryhill, edited by Guilarai

Goku tilted his head as Vegeta and Gohan stepped back into the balcony.

“So… what was that about?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing important,” Gohan said lightly.

“None of your business,” Vegeta added without looking at him.

Goku laughed, scratching the back of his head. Same old Vegeta. Twenty-plus years of friendship, and some things never changed.

The Vargas’ voice boomed across the arena.

“Preparations complete! To the ring: Cell of Universe 17 and Vegeta of Universe 18!”

Cell’s lips peeled into a razor-thin smile. He shot Vegeta a look of pure condescension and leapt down.

Vegeta placed one boot on the balcony wall, stretching casually. His left glove twitched—just a quick scratch.

Bra’s eyes narrowed. “Wait… I’ve seen that move.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got Senzu beans in there,” Trunks said, already laughing.

“W-what?” Vegeta sputtered, actually startled. “What kind of cheat do you take me for?”

“Oh you’re exactly the kind who would,” Goten answered.

“He one-hundred-percent did,” Pan giggled.

Piccolo just sighed. “Since when do you carry Senzu beans?”

“You’re all idiots,” Vegeta growled, cheeks faintly pink, and vaulted into the ring.

“GO, VEGETA!” Pan screamed, fists pumping. “You’re the strongest!”

Trunks and Bra instantly joined in, shouting themselves hoarse. For Bra especially, this fight cut deeper than pride. It wasn’t so long ago that she saw Cell’s cold eyes, heard Videl’s scream cut short… The thought of it still chilled her to the bone. Her father had better end that nightmare right now.

In the ring, the two warriors stared each other down.

Cell spread his arms theatrically. “Quite the audience for your execution, Vegeta. Last time it was just your brat Trunks, wasn’t it? I’m not counting that insect Kulilin and those cheap androids. But today”, he cackled, “the whole multiverse gets to spectate your demise.”

Vegeta smirked, calm and sharp as a blade. “Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Cell’s grin widened, rolling his eyes as the Saiyan continued.

“Back then, my own arrogance handed you the victory on a silver platter. I fed my pride above protecting Bulma, Trunks, the entire damn planet,” Vegeta continued, voice low and cold. “I was a fool. But today, the tides of fate have shoved the pen back in my hands. Today I finish what I started—and your humiliation will be my masterpiece!”

Cell tilted his head, mock-applauding with two slow claps. “Listen to you stringing whole sentences together! Been practicing in the mirror eh?” The smirk that followed was pure Saiyan arrogance, the part of Vegeta’s own cells he loved to flaunt. “At least now your death won’t be boring.”

The bio-android leaned in, eyes glittering with venom.

“And don’t sell yourself short, Vegeta. My perfection, my very existence, you gift-wrapped it for me on that silver platter. The least I can do is return the favor.”

His smile widened into something truly monstrous.

“A nice, public execution, just like the one I gave your son. Only this time, the whole multiverse is watching.”

Vegeta’s chin lowered, but his face didn’t twitch.

Cell raised an eyebrow at his jab’s ineffectiveness. “Come on then… Super Vegeta.”

The name hit like a slap, but Vegeta hid his reaction well. His eyes never faltered, and his voice stayed ice-cold. Only the air around him crackled with intensity.

“That name died with the idiot who let you achieve perfection,” he said quietly. “Today, you’re facing the man he became. Try to keep up.”

Cell’s smile finally slipped, something darker flickering behind it.

“You haven’t even transformed,” he laughed. “I could crush you right now, before you even blink. Who says I’ll bother with your little Super Saiyan games at all?”

Vegeta cracked his neck, aura flaring gold for a heartbeat—just enough to remind the arena who he was—then let it settle back into calm, dangerous stillness.

“Then do it,” he said quietly. “Try.”

The air between them crackled.

Twenty-seven years of debt, pride, and redemption hung in the silence.

And the bell hadn’t even rung yet.

The taunt struck deep.

Cell’s eyes flashed with fury. With a roar that shook the stands, he launched the fight.

In a heartbeat he was on Vegeta, arm swinging in a blur aimed straight at the prince’s neck.

Golden lightning cracked the air.

Vegeta exploded into Super Saiyan 2 and ducked under the slash, the edge passing a hair’s breadth from his throat. Cell’s irritated scowl said it all.

“Not bad,” the bio-android hissed. “Still pathetic at that level.”

He spun, blade singing again and again, each strike meant to take Vegeta’s head clean off. Vegeta weaved like a shadow, every motion economical, every dodge a taunt.

Then he struck—a lightning-fast fist at Cell’s face.

Cell snapped backward, smirking, and swept low with his legs. Vegeta vaulted skyward. A massive wave of pink energy roared from Cell’s palm, tearing up the ring.

Vegeta vanished.

He reappeared behind Cell, fist already cocked—but Cell had felt the shift in ki. The bio-android twisted, swinging again point-blank.

Vegeta dropped into a backward lean, palms flashing.

Six glowing Kienzan discs screamed through the air.

Cell’s eyes widened for a split second—then the sawblades carved through him, slicing perfect body into perfect pieces that rained across the arena.

The crowd held its breath.

“Nice shot!” Gohan called from the balcony.

“It’s the only way he can hurt him right now,” Goku said, arms folded, eyes sharp. “Cell wasn’t lying; Super Saiyan 2 isn’t enough. But it looks like Vegeta’s holding back on purpose, saving the big guns, trying to bait Cell into a mistake.”

“Risky,” Piccolo grunted. “One slip and it’s all over.”

“Vegeta knows exactly what he’s doing,” Gohan answered, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

He hadn’t forgotten the prince’s promise. Whatever Vegeta was planning, it was already in motion.

Down on the ruined ring, Cell’s severed head grinned up at the golden warrior hovering above.

“Clever, Vegeta,” the head sneered. “Trying to wear me down before you go all-out? Fine. I’ll play your little game. Let’s say, the first one to land a real surprise wins.”

A wet, wicked laugh bubbled from every sliced piece.

Then the chunks began to swell.

In seconds four identical Perfect Cells stood in a loose circle around Vegeta, each wearing the same mocking smile.

“And now, my dear prince?” they chorused. “What will you do?”

They attacked as one.

Vegeta’s aura flared brighter; he became a streak of gold weaving lightning, parrying, slipping, never quite where the fists and feet landed.

Goku frowned. “That’s not the Multi-Form Technique…”

“Cell isn’t Buu,” Piccolo said. “He can’t split his power evenly. Only one of them has the core. The rest are illusions, fakes or decoys.”

Cell’s laughter echoed across the arena, four voices perfectly synchronized.

“Sharp as ever, Piccolo! Care to guess which one’s real?”

The four bodies blurred, faster, harder, strikes coming from every angle. Vegeta’s guard tightened, boots skidding across cracked stone as the pressure mounted.

But his eyes never stopped moving.

He was still hunting.

“If they move like the original, they’re not just illusions!” Goku shouted, eyes wide.

“Hm…” Vegetto rumbled from the Universe 16 patio, arms crossed.

Gohan leaned over. “What do you think?”

“Only one is the real Cell,” Vegetto said. “But the other three aren’t copies either. They’re living extensions, like upgraded Cell Juniors. Clever bastard.”

Piccolo’s eyes narrowed. “Vegeta might be in trouble.”

Down in the ring, four identical Perfect Cells circled like sharks.

Vegeta’s aura roared to its absolute limit; Super Saiyan 2 lightning crackled white-hot. He struck, testing, probing. Three of them felt lighter, hollow. One carried the full weight.

He just had to find which one was hiding it.

Fists blurred. Explosions lit the arena. Vegeta traded blows, dodged, countered, eyes never stopping their hunt.

Then one Cell vanished.

Instant Transmission.

A fist slammed into Vegeta’s face like a meteor. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he rocketed backward, boots carving trenches in the stone.

The real Cell stood where Vegeta had been, flexing his knuckles.

“Sloppy, Vegeta. If I’d wanted, your head would already be rolling.”

He smirked, voice dripping with mockery.

“Drop that pathetic level two and take me seriously.”

Vegeta wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his glove.

Then he laughed, low, dark, and utterly calm.

“Heh heh heh…”

Cell’s smirk faltered. “What’s so funny?”

Vegeta’s eyes snapped open, burning gold.

“You should have taken the shot when you had it, Cell.”

His voice was quiet steel.

“You won’t get another.”

Cell sneered, pride cracked, and the four avatars lunged as one.

Vegeta moved first.

Lightning-fast, he was inside the guard of the nearest Cell. A brutal backhand detonated its head into green mist.

The remaining three snapped into defensive stances.

Vegeta spread his arms, smirk razor-sharp.

“Get with the picture, Cell. Your puppets don’t seem all that durable to me.”

He thrust his palms forward. A storm of golden ki waves crashed down on the trio. They blocked with ease—until one blast suddenly tripled in intensity. The second clone vaporized in a silent flash.

Cell’s real face twisted in annoyance.

The last two vanished—Instant Transmission.

They reappeared on both flanks.

Vegeta twisted, dodged, parried; the arena became a strobe of gold and green. Teleports, counters, sparks. For seconds it was pure deadlock.

Then a fist slipped through.

The real Cell’s knuckles smashed into Vegeta’s cheek, followed instantly by the clone’s strike to his ribs. Vegeta crossed his arms—blocked—but screamed as searing heat bloomed across his left forearm.

Cell’s fist glowed red-hot, skin shimmering like molten metal. The burn was vicious, flesh already blistering.

Vegeta snarled through the pain and charged.

Now it was war.

Fists blurred, knees, elbows—pure savage close-quarters fury against the original. The surviving clone darted around like a hateful wasp, firing pinpoint purple Death Beams at every vital point while the real Cell hammered at Vegeta’s guard.

Cell was grinning again, but the smile was brittle.

Because Vegeta still hadn’t gone beyond Super Saiyan 2.

The same level that had once been his ceiling.

The same level Cell had mocked, crushed, and surpassed all those years ago.

He’d seen Vegetto’s long-haired form.

Gotenks’.

Goku’s.

There was no way the prince hadn’t reached it.

He was being toyed with—forced to relive his greatest humiliation on purpose.

And the realization was starting to infuriate the bio-android.

“Transform!” Cell roared, voice cracking with fury. “Do it now, or I end this!”

He hammered Vegeta into the arena floor with a vicious double-fist strike.

Both Cells thrusted their palms forward, twin torrents of pink death surging down.

Vegeta exploded upward, a golden comet streaking straight at the beams. At the last millisecond he twisted between them, snatched the real Cell’s far denser wave with his bare hands, and whipped it sideways.

The clone never had a chance. It stared, stunned, as its own master’s blast swallowed it whole and erased it from existence.

Only one Cell remained.

“Not bad,” he snarled, still frustrated. “But surely you know by now it’s not enough! Super Saiyan three, was it? Goku can do it, the kids, the fusion, even your counterpart from the 13th—everyone but you! Don’t tell me the mighty prince can’t!”

Vegeta wiped blood from his mouth and laughed, short, cold, and utterly unafraid.

“That form? Worthless. Burns out after barely a minute. I’ll pass.”

Cell’s eyes widened. “Ah, so you do have something better?”

“Of course,” Vegeta said, voice dripping with disdain. “But showing it to you would be casting pearls before swine.”

Cell’s aura detonated, the arena trembling under his fury.

“Then let me help you unlock it! I still owe you for my perfection, after all!”

From the Universe 12 balcony, Trunks flinched and grabbed his chest. “Tch… bastard.”

Vegeta didn’t even glance away from his enemy.

“Maybe, if I were facing a worthy opponent. But against you, Cell...” he paused, “...I don’t even need it.”

He raised one arm to the sky. A small, violently purple sphere ignited in his open palm. The air itself twisted, spiraling into the orb like it was being devoured.

Every eye in the multiverse locked on that sphere.

Cell’s smirk faltered.

Vegeta’s eyes burned gold, calm and merciless.

“That trick again?” Cell snarled. “It won’t work twice!”

His aura detonated. A storm of ki blasts screamed toward Vegeta.

Vegeta shot skyward, arm still raised, the purple sphere pulsing like a dying star. He twisted through the barrage; beams grazed his armor, scorched the air.

Cell met him mid-flight, hands already glowing. Twin golden Makankōsappos drilled forward.

Vegeta slipped between them at the last instant and hurled the sphere.

Cell’s eyes widened; too fast. The orb clipped his right wing, exploding the membrane into violet shards. He howled, cupped his hands, and fired a thick purple Kikōha in retaliation.

Vegeta tilted his head—missed by inches—then heard the hiss behind him.

The beam had split into a dozen spinning Kienzan discs, all screaming back at him like guided missiles.

“Dance!” Cell laughed, manic, fingers twitching as he steered the blades.

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen Buu’s memories of this exact move, but Cell’s control had gotten tighter, crueler. The discs closed in from every angle.

Cell wasn’t fighting to win anymore.

He was fighting to force Vegeta’s hand.

And then it hit him—an idea so insane, so humiliating, it almost made sense.

Vegeta found the gap, slipped inside Cell’s guard, and cracked a fist across his jaw. No real damage, just insult.

Cell blinked, stunned for half a heartbeat.

That half was all Vegeta needed.

A flurry of blows from every direction, then a crushing palm-strike to the solar plexus. Cell caught Vegeta’s wrist mid-strike, eyes blazing, and drove a knee into his gut. Saliva sprayed from the Saiyan’s mouth.

Cell clasped both hands overhead and smashed Vegeta into the arena floor hard enough to crater the stone.

“Vegeta!” Pan screamed from the balcony.

Piccolo’s voice was grim. “He’s outclassed. Cell’s toying with him now. What the hell is he waiting for?”

Goku and Gohan exchanged a silent look. No answer.

From the area of Universe 16, Bra’s voice wandered aloud. “Is Vegeta really that weak? Goku went Super Saiyan 3… why can’t he?”

Vegetto stared at the ring, arms folded.

“Maybe he never tried,” he said quietly. “Or maybe he finally accepted he never would.”

Cell hovered down, slow and deliberate, until he floated just above the crater. Vegeta pushed himself up on one knee, blood dripping from his mouth, armor cracked.

Cell looked down at him like a god judging an insect.

“Hah, I get it now,” he laughed, voice thick with contempt and something dangerously close to pity. “That’s your limit, isn’t it, Vegeta? You can’t go any higher.”

Cell’s palm glowed, ki charged to end it..

“I take it back, Vegeta; this is boring,” he scoffed. “You were barely a warm up back then; it seems the Prince of Saiyans is forever destined to be the opening act. Maybe Goku can give me an actual challenge, I should’ve known better than to expect any more from your empty bravado.”

He raised his hand.

Vegeta spat blood, shooting his eyes up at Cell, then laughed, low and dangerous.

“Limit?”

He threw his arms wide, aura detonating like a supernova. Lightning snapped and roared around him.

“I told you I’d make you feel it, Cell.”

His voice carried across the entire arena, calm and lethal.

“Final Flash!!”

A blinding golden-white column erupted from his cupped hands, thick enough to swallow half the ring.

Cell sighed, almost bored, and extended one palm to block.

The beam slammed into him. His arm trembled.

Not bad… but nothing he couldn’t handle.

Then the light doubled.

Tripled.

The beam swelled into a screaming sun.

Cell’s eyes went wide. He clapped both hands together, boots skidding backward across the sky as the attack forced him back.

Through the glare he saw it: Vegeta’s wide, vicious grin, no eyebrows, and long golden mane whipping in the wind like a war banner.

Super Saiyan 3.

“You... You bastard!!” Cell screamed.

The arena exploded.

Universe 18 lost their minds: Pan and Bra shrieked with joy, Trunks pumped both fists, even Piccolo’s jaw dropped. Only Goku stood there smiling, arms folded, utterly unsurprised.

Universe 13’s Emperor Vegeta stared, face twisted between rage and disbelief.

Three Super Saiyan 3s in that soft, pathetic universe? Impossible.

Vegetto from Universe 16 just smirked.

“Told you. He’s half of me, after all.”

Piccolo shot him a sideways look. “You were sweating bullets a second ago.”

Vegetto shrugged. “I like being dramatic.”

Back in the maelstrom, Cell’s perfect body was disappearing inch by inch into the light, arms shaking, feet carving trenches through the air.

And Vegeta, hair flowing like molten gold, eyes burning with twenty-seven years of debt finally coming due, pushed harder.

“I played along,” Vegetto added in a whisper, while their assigned Varga stayed glued to the fight. “Cell’s been listening the whole time. So I let him think Vegeta couldn’t do it. The other universes helped to sell it.”

A razor-thin smirk. “And so did Goku, I’m sure.”

High above, Cell heard every word.

His perfect face twisted in animal rage.

He’d been played.

Tricked.

Mocked.

Not again. Never again.

With a scream that cracked the sky, he threw everything into his signature green barrier. The shimmering bubble exploded outward, slamming into the Final Flash like a tidal wave of raw power.

Vegeta killed the Final Flash in an instant, hair snapping back to its shorter golden spikes.

He knew exactly what was coming.

Cell’s green barrier ballooned, swallowing the ring, crushing the air itself.

A heartbeat later the shield slammed into the tournament wall with a deafening crack. Trunks, Bra, and Pan screamed in raw horror as the green light consumed the spot their father had been.

The energy kept going, surging past the shield, streaking into the void like a verdant comet before detonating in a silent, colossal explosion that lit the cosmos for miles above the arena.

The explosions blinding light and howling wind forced everyone to shield their eyes against the gale. When the smoke finally cleared, the ring was nothing but a blackened crater. Cell hovered above it, chest heaving. In a rage, he had burned through far more energy than he’d planned—those damned Saiyan cells always did. But Vegeta’s ki was gone.

Victory.

“Daddy...” Bra whispered from Universe 18’s balcony, voice breaking.

“Vegeta couldn’t have blocked that,” Goku said, scanning the debris. “I didn’t see a shield... where’d he go?”

“If he took that blast head on, even at Super Saiyan 3...” Piccolo trailed off, sweat beading on his brow.

“Don’t say it!” Pan cried, tears spilling over.

“No he’s right... I might’ve died,” a familiar voice drawled behind them.

They whipped around.

Vegeta stood there, alive, blood streaking his face and arms but overall no worse for wear. A cocky smirk played on his lips.

Goku’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re...here?”

“Show me the rule that states I must remain in the ring,” Vegeta replied, tapping two fingers to his forehead with a smirk.

“But how?”

“Heh. You think thirty years around you and I wouldn’t pick up your little trick?”

He vanished.

Goku spun back to the arena, grin splitting his face. “Incredible!”

High above the scorched ring, Vegeta reappeared right in front of Cell.

The bio-android’s eyes bulged. “Instant Transmission? You slimy little—”

Vegeta’s smirk widened as he interrupted. “I seem to recall a certain Son Bra saying something about bending the rules to her advantage.” He floated closer, aura flaring. “She was right, and I never did promise a fair fight.”

Cell’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, exhaustion plain.

Vegeta’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“You’re spent. Now it’ll be easy.”

“You’re still nothing, pathetic prince!” he bellowed. “I’ve got more than enough energy left to tear your heart out!”

Vegeta didn’t flinch. His smirk stayed locked in place, calm and lethal. He raised one arm straight up. Two small objects tumbled from his glove into his open palm.

Cell’s eyes widened, then narrowed in disgust.

“Really? Right to the end, huh?” he sneered. “I even heard those brats call it before the match. You’re still the same old spineless prince, Vegeta. Nothing’s changed.”

Vegeta’s voice was low, steady. “And what do you know about me?”

He flicked his fingers, a bean arcing through the air. The bio-android caught it on pure instinct, staring down at the green bean in his hand.

“What?” he stammered.

“What the heck is he thinking?” Gohan shouted from the universe 18 balcony, horror dawning. “No—no way, not again!”

Gohan’s blood ran cold, he remembered it like yesterday: the Cell Games, Goku tossing a Senzu to an exhausted Perfect Cell, convinced his son could win clean.

The same damn mistake.

Cell stared at the bean in his palm, then at Vegeta—who swallowed his own without hesitation.

A slow triumphant sneer spread across Cell’s face.

“Hah! Haha haha, so Goku’s own stupidity finally rubbed off on you,” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “Fine then—”

A wet crunch cut him off.

Cell’s sneer froze.

Pain exploded below his chest and he looked down.

Vegeta’s blood-soaked glove protruded from his torso, fingers clenched around a glowing green core—Cell’s nucleus.

From Universe 16, Son Bra’s eyes widened in recognition. She’d crushed that exact thing during Babidi’s control.

Cell’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Vegeta leaned close, voice a deadly whisper.

“Good riddance.”