Part 35, Chapter 175.

PART THIRTY FIVE: RETURN MATCH FOR SUPER VEGETA

Chapter 175

Translated by npberryhill, edited by Guilarai

Up in the Vargas’ control booth, the organizers huddled in hurried debate. Only five matches remained. The tournament’s end was in sight, but Babidi’s attack had thrown their schedule into chaos. They needed to decide how to allocate the remaining time for maximum suspense—push straight into the next quarter-final (Buu of Universe 4 vs XXI of Universe 5), schedule a meal break, or grant a full night’s rest.

“Why not just ask everyone what they want?” Sei suggested, the Varga who’d been the primary announcer for most of the event.

Arckou, one of the announcement managers, nodded and grabbed the microphone.

“Dear participants and spectators,” he began, “the organization has been severely disrupted. So we’re putting it to you: would you prefer a night’s rest, or—”

“Or lunch?” a voice behind him cheerfully finished.

A gloved hand clamped down on Arckou’s shoulder.

“That’s good—lunch!”

“QUACK!”

Arckou trembled from head to toe and collapsed in a feathered heap, heart hammering. Behind him stood Vegetto, grinning like a child caught sneaking a cookie, a thin trail of drool glistening at the corner of his mouth.

“Vegetto!” Sei snapped, wings flaring in outrage. “You don’t have the right to barge in our lodge as you please! Go back to your designated area immediately!”

“Sure, fine,” Vegetto sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Can’t a guy have a little fun?”

With a casual wave he teleported away, flashing a thumbs-up to his companions as he got back to his area.

The mere mention of a meal break had triggered an overwhelming hunger. Vegetto craved mountains of food—anything to take the edge off. The earlier rage-fueled Super Saiyan 3 transformation had drained him more than he’d let on. He could hold out a bit longer, but without Senzu Beans soon, things could turn ugly fast.

He glanced towards Son Bra.

She quickly looked away, frightened.

He was still furious with her—deeply so—but with some distance, he had to admit she seemed different now. He’d blamed her for every atrocity she’d committed over the years, but deep down he knew Babidi was the true architect of the latest horrors. She’d broken free of his control and appeared more genuinely remorseful than ever before.

Unfortunately, Vegetto had endured too many of her outbursts, too many times cleaning up her messes, to feel any real warmth towards her again. He felt humiliated in front of the other universes—both by his own powerlessness and by the terrible image he’d projected as a father. He knew he shared the blame. Gast and Son Gohan’s words echoed in his mind. The part of him that was Son Goku understood them perfectly. The part that was Vegeta responded with pure virulence.

The internal war made Vegetto’s personality unstable.

Son Bra was the living reflection of his own hidden darkness. That was why he couldn’t stand looking at her—why he wanted to erase her. He regretted attacking her so violently in front of everyone. But that regret changed nothing. If she ever lost control again—even once—he would end her for good. He refused to accept that his own child could become another Broly, the nightmare of every universe.

Vegetto felt lost.

And the hunger wasn’t helping.

After receiving confirmation from the various universes and spectators, the Vargas set to work, quickly setting up tables and delivering meals to the participant areas and the grandstands.

But down in the kitchens, where thousands of Vargas were scrambling to prepare the food, a rising clamor of protest filled the air. At the center stood Chef Etchecoin, the finest culinary artist among the Varga people—a multiple nominee for the Golden Quill, their society’s highest honor. He had somehow managed to meet everyone’s demands so far, even with several of his sous-chefs teetering on burnout.

This time, though, every employee was furious.

They still remembered nearly burning out during the last meal break, thanks to those wandering Charbydis with monkey tails from several universes. The gargantuan portions those Saiyans ordered had gutted their supplies. Replenishing everything had been an absolute nightmare. The cooks had finally exercised their right to strike, and the tournament organizers were struggling to convince them to return to work.

“Please,” pleaded Susu, one of the managers, wings trembling. “You can’t do this to us right in the middle of the event! What will the bosses say?”

“That’s final!” Chef Etchecoin declared, crossing his arms. “We refuse to accept these working conditions! This wasn’t the plan. It’s like we’re trying to feed fifty universes at once—or ten times our entire population! These Saiyans are bottomless pits, and I refuse to let our fine cuisine vanish into those black holes they call stomachs!”

“Yes!” one of the birds behind him squawked.

“Down with the Saiyans!”

“Fed up with the tournament!”

“We were lied to—they were supposed to have bird-like appetites!”

“And we’re force-feeding them like geese!”

“I’m fed up with being ripped off. They’re stealing our thunder, so we’re going to give them a piece of our minds!”

“Take note!”

Susu sighed in discouragement. She knew exactly how the sponsors would react to this kind of pressure. And those Saiyans... she was starting to know them too well. Things were bound to escalate, and soon.

“I’ll go talk to those Saiyans,” Chef Etchecoin announced. “If they agree to settle for average portions, we’ll work. Otherwise, they can eat the arena’s rocks!”

With that, he stormed out of the kitchens and headed straight for the nearest—and most troublesome—universe: Universe 18.

As he arrived at their table, he was greeted by a broad, sunny smile from Son Goku.

“Hey! You’ve come to take our order, right? We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Wrong!” the chef snapped, feathers bristling. “We will not be taking orders from you Saiyans any longer—we are on strike!”

Goku’s smile vanished, his chopsticks clattered to the table. Beside him, Pan wore the same devastated expression, eyes wide.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

Meanwhile, Bra, Trunks, and Goten burst into laughter.

“And there you have it!” Goten exclaimed, wiping a tear. “They’ve found the weak point of the strongest beings in the world!”

“Looks like from now on, the universe will be ruled by the true powerhouses: cooks!” Trunks added, clutching his sides.

In Universes 16, 13, and 12—also flagged as “undesirable” and visited by other sous-chefs—the reactions were similar.

Naturally, Vegetto was upset. His Saiyan nature, amplified by fusion, was the main problem in the birds’ eyes, and that only soured his mood further.

Son Bra barely reacted, still distraught. She had lost her appetite entirely.

As for Pan, she had slipped away shortly before the sous-chef arrived, heading to join her counterpart from Universe 18. She wanted to be as far away from Bra as possible.

In Universe 12, Trunks had been visited by a sous-chef because he was classified as a Saiyan. But since he’d been reasonable throughout the tournament, the Varga reluctantly agreed to take his order—especially since the other member of that universe wasn’t eating anything.

However, in Universe 13, the reaction was explosive.

“EXCUSE ME?” Kakarotto bellowed, fists clenched. “You’d better give me something to eat, bird, before I put YOU on the spit!”

“Calm down, Saiyan, or you’ll be expelled immediately!” snapped the Varga accompanying the sous-chef. “We’re working on a solution that will satisfy everyone, but if you assault our staff, we’ll be forced to send you home.”

“Okay but, Kakarotto’s right,” Nappa retorted. “You’ve got no right to deprive us of meals.”

As usual, Vegeta said nothing. His thoughts were elsewhere—focused on Universe 9 and Raditz, who still hadn’t reappeared. A very bad feeling was settling in his gut.

He preferred to leave his companions to their uproar and flew off towards the Earthlings’ universe.

While Goku and Pan fought to keep their eyes open, Gohan stepped forward toward Chef Etchecoin.

“So you really can’t serve us?” he asked in a calm, conciliatory tone.

“No,” the chef snapped, feathers bristling. “Unless you’re happy with limited portions, we refuse.”

“Is there nothing we can do to convince you?” Gohan pressed gently.

Chef Etchecoin paused, beak twitching. This one wasn’t like the others—polite, reasonable, no immediate rage. The real issue was the workload; his staff was exhausted. A solution clicked into place.

“Very well,” he said, a sly glint in his eye. “I have an idea. Work for us in the kitchen. Help prepare the meals with our teams. When I’m satisfied with your work, we’ll prepare your portions.”

“Huh?” Goku blurted, suddenly wide awake.

“You’ll assist in the food preparation yourselves,” the chef repeated. “Earn your meal.”

“I’m not hungry,” Vegeta cut in immediately, rising to his feet and walking away without a backward glance.

Bra watched him go, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. She’d known that was coming.

“Well, sounds good to me!” Goku declared, clapping his hands. “Let’s go get Chi-Chi then!’

Chef Etchecoin blinked in confusion. “Chi-Chi? Is that some kind of food-making machine?”

Goten grabbed his father’s shoulder. “Don’t bother the Vargas, Dad. And that goes for Mom as well. I think it’s time you grew up and learned how to use a microwave.”

“A what?” Goku repeated, genuinely puzzled.

The chef stared, dumbfounded, as if witnessing the birth of pure idiocy. He tore his gaze away, lifted his walkie-talkie, and relayed the message.

Shortly after, a strange procession formed: members of Universe 18, Kakarotto and Nappa of Universe 13, and Son Gohan, Videl, and Pan from Universe 16—all being guided through the staff corridors toward the kitchens.

“To the stoves, kitchen hands!” Chef Etchecoin proclaimed with authoritative glee.

The Saiyans—warriors who could shatter planets—were about to learn the true meaning of hard work. And the Vargas were going to enjoy every second of it.

“You’re not going to join them, Vegetto?” Piccolo asked from the Universe 16 balcony.

“No need,” the fused Saiyan replied with a casual shrug. “It wouldn’t help anyway. The only thing that could fix this is a few Senzu Beans. Do we have any left?”

Piccolo shook his head. “Sorry, Vegetto. We used them all... earlier, as you know. And they didn’t reappear when Buu restored everything to normal.”

“I see...” Vegetto’s gaze flicked toward Son Bra.

She stubbornly stared at the wall of their patio, avoiding his eyes. He was still angry, but in truth he blamed the Djinn of Universe 4 more—whether by oversight or design, the precious Senzu Beans had been left behind.

“Perhaps you should ask the Vargas for a quick round trip to our universe?” Piccolo suggested. “Stock up on Senzu before coming back.”

Vegetto shook his head. “If my calculations are correct, the next harvest will be good in a week. I took enough to last until then, but we’re out at home. I can just hold out a few days.”

“We could also ask Porunga to conjure some up the next time they summon him.”

“No,” Vegetto said firmly. “It’ll be fine. There’s no need to make even more waves after everything that’s happened. I’ve drawn enough attention to myself as is. The tournament’s almost over anyway, we’ll go home soon and I can wait until then.”

Piccolo studied him a long moment, doubt in his eyes. When Vegetto set his mind to something, he was immovable. He claimed he could endure the hunger, but Piccolo remembered the last time Vegetto had pushed too close to the edge—death had been only one misstep away.

Vegetto was determined to prove to every universe that he was untouchable, no matter the cost.

Piccolo could only hope that cost wouldn’t be fatal.

While his companions headed towards the kitchens and the various universes went about their business, Uub preferred to keep to himself. Vegeta’s victory over Cell had captivated him, and he was quietly delighted by his other mentor’s triumph.

But now that there was a break from all the insanity, it was time he investigated something else. An irresistible pull—an object of burning curiosity—drew him forwards. He wasn’t afraid. He had no intention of reporting it. He simply wanted to learn. He wanted more.

Moving quietly, he passed the balconies of Universe 1. The Supreme Kais were deep in conversation and paid him no mind. But Buu—trapped in his sphere—turned his eyes toward Uub and met his gaze. To an outsider, it would have seemed like nothing. Yet something passed between them. They understood each other perfectly.

Discreetly, making sure no one had followed, Uub slipped into the corridor leading to Universe 4’s apartments. He wasn’t surprised to find Buu standing there, fully formed and free to move.

He’d known from the start that the Djinn was never truly imprisoned. Buu had made it clear to him—more or less subtly. It was Buu in his dreams, wearing Anju’s face. It was Buu who had unlocked his inherited Majin magic. It was Buu who had pulled the strings of this entire tournament.

How else could he possess such power—reviving everyone, restoring the arena, controlling events with such ease—while supposedly being unable to escape or neutralize Babidi?

Buu was one side of the coin. Uub was the other. Without knowing him, Uub still instinctively knew everything about him. His fascination erased any trace of fear or mistrust. On the contrary, he felt complete confidence.

“It seems that we understand one another,” Buu said with a smile, as if echoing Uub’s thoughts. “I’ve waited a long time to speak with you like this, Uub—without interference.”

“I feel the same,” Uub replied. “I know how powerful you are. Everyone fears you, sees you as an absolute threat. Yet if you’d wanted, you could have done anything you wished. You’re extraordinary!”

“Yes, I know,” Buu said with a smirk. “But so are you, young man. We’re both heirs to an enslaved, evil creature that transcended its nature to become something far better. Your destiny and potential are different than my own, but they point to a bright future. I’m simply more advanced than you—for now.”

“That’s why I came to see you,” Uub said. “Can you teach me to be the greatest magician of all time?”

“Hmm. The greatest after me, perhaps,” Buu replied, crossing his legs in mid-air. “My universe had many magicians more powerful than Babidi, even though he belonged to a certain elite. They’re all inside me now. One day you may meet them in your own world. When that happens, I’ll make sure you become the best in your universe.”

“Thank you, Master Buu,” Uub said, bowing deeply.

He had barely finished his martial arts training under Goku, and now he found himself under the tutelage of a new sensei. But that was the lesson from Master Roshi and Goku: one never stops growing, learning, improving. He was a true fighter now. But in terms of magic, he was still a novice. Passing up the chance to learn from the strongest being in the field—especially when that being was, in a way, himself—would be sheer madness.

Buu gave him an affectionate smile and stood, drifting toward one wall of the apartment. He extended his hand, and a swirling portal opened to an unknown destination.

“Then let’s not waste any time,” he said jovially. “Go for it!”