The atmosphere in the Briefs family manor's living room was… odd.
Goku wore a wronged, pouty expression, like a kid tattling on someone, as he babbled to Bulma about how Vitelli had tricked him.
Bulma listened, first raising her brows in surprise, then shooting a glare at Vitelli, who was trying to look innocent by "admiring the scenery."
When Goku finished, Bulma immediately ordered the robot butler:
"Prepare the biggest feast you can. Lots of meat!"
Then she reached over, grabbed Vitelli by the ear with pinpoint accuracy, and twisted hard.
"Ow ow ow! That hurts! Easy, babe!"
Vitelli yelped on cue.
"I'm serious!" Bulma scolded.
"Goku's pure-hearted. You really went and fooled him like that? Did watching him suffer make you happy? If you've got that much spare time, come run errands for me!"
What could Vitelli do against his wife?
He nodded like his life depended on it.
"Yes yes yes, my fault, my fault. Errands, right? No problem! Leave it to me!"
Soon, a table overflowing with mouthwatering luxury was rolled out by robot servants.
A whole golden roast lamb, juicy dinosaur steaks, delicate pastries—
Goku's tears evaporated on the spot. He stared, drool practically hitting the floor, eyes sparkling as if he'd found heaven.
Vitelli looked at the spread and suddenly said:
"Wait a sec before you start. I'm gonna call Vegeta over. He's not a bad guy—just a bit tsundere, a bit foul-mouthed, a bit short, a bit stubborn… anyway, you two might end up being pretty good friends."
Goku stopped gawking at the food and nodded sincerely.
"Yeah! Since that stuff earlier was you lying, and Vegeta didn't send anyone to kill everyone, that means he isn't a bad person!"
Vitelli chuckled and muttered under his breath:
"Trying to kill you still isn't 'bad'? Man, that's you alright, you scumbag Kakarot…"
With that, he flickered out of the dining room.
On a snow-covered mountain range somewhere on Earth—
Vegeta stood alone at the highest peak, arms crossed. His torn battle armor flapped in the freezing wind.
The wounds from his fight with Goku hadn't healed. Some were still bleeding.
His face was dark, eyes fixed on the distant sea of clouds, low pressure radiating off him like a storm.
Vitelli appeared behind him without warning.
"Yo, Vegeta."
Vitelli greeted him cheerfully.
"Wanna go eat? My place has a ton of ridiculous Earth food."
Vegeta stiffened, but didn't turn around. He only let out a frosty snort.
In his heart, Vitelli was that bastard who had fabricated a lie about his comrades dying, goading that idiot Kakarot into transforming and becoming a Super Saiyan, just like him—
Then humiliating Vegeta in front of his own men.
That shame? Vegeta would remember it forever.
Vitelli didn't care about his coldness. He strode forward, slung an arm around Vegeta's shoulder like they were buddies.
Vegeta jolted again.
Then Vitelli casually compared their heights—Vegeta's head barely reached his chest.
Vitelli couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.
Vegeta whipped around, glaring, rage igniting.
"What are you laughing at?!"
Vitelli waved his hands, delivering a completely insincere apology.
"Sorry, sorry, couldn't hold it… It's your fault for being so short! Seriously, me and Kakarot have been shooting up in height these past few years. How come you haven't moved at all? You hit a growth wall or something?"
Vitelli was about 180 cm now. Goku was around 175.
Vegeta…
Maybe not even 165.
"Y-you…!"
Vegeta's face turned bright red, veins bulging on his forehead like he'd been stepped on.
He shouted back:
"I'm a Saiyan! The noble Prince of the Saiyan warrior race!!! I may not be tall, but my power is!!! Vitelli, you bastard—stop laughing!!!"
Furious, he drove a punch into Vitelli's face!
Vitelli laughed even harder.
He didn't even bother dodging. The punch was basically a love tap to him.
"Kh-kh… hahaha… sorry… but it's really too funny…"
Vegeta looked like he wanted to murder a bloodline.
If looks could kill, Vitelli would be ancient history.
Vitelli finally calmed down, wiping laughter tears, and patted Vegeta's shoulder.
Half joking, half serious:
"So, Vegeta. Your 'battle power is high' compared to who? Goku? He just beat you. Or… can you beat me?"
He paused, then added in an obnoxious tone:
"Wanna try? I'll just stand here and not fight back for ten minutes. See if you can even scratch my defense."
Vegeta's face turned red all over again.
He huffed like a kettle, then forced out:
"K-Kakarot won unfairly! You interfered! If you hadn't, I never would've lost!"
Vitelli shrugged.
"Sure, sure. My bad. All my fault. So, Your Highness Prince Vegeta—are you coming to eat or not? If not, me and Kakarot are starting without you. With all that food, you sure you want to skip?"
Vegeta's expression twisted with intense internal struggle.
He hated giving Vitelli any satisfaction.
But he was also starving after that all-out fight… and Earth food was shockingly good.
Eventually, hunger beat pride.
He snorted heavily, turned his head away, and announced like a conqueror:
"Hmph! I'm going! Just so you can see this—maybe I'm not your match yet, but at the dinner table, you are absolutely not my match, Vegeta!!!"
Vitelli muttered internally:
Man, this guy's competitive instincts are weird…
"Alright, alright, Table-God Vegeta. Let's move."
Vitelli put a hand on Vegeta's shoulder.
They vanished from the frozen peak.
A moment later, they reappeared in the warm dining room of the Briefs manor, the air thick with the smell of meat.
As soon as they arrived, Vegeta jerked his shoulder, disgustedly shaking Vitelli's hand off as if it were filth.
Not even looking at Vitelli, he marched to the table, dropped into an empty seat, folded his arms, and raised his chin high, fighting to look dignified.
…Though his torn armor and bruises weren't helping much.
Goku, who had been staring at the food like he was ready to cry with joy, perked up in delight when he saw Vegeta.
"Yo, Vegeta! You came!"
Vegeta didn't even spare him a proper glance, only snorting and declaring:
"Next time we fight, I will win."
Then, without giving Goku a chance to speak, he grabbed his utensils and launched a lightning-fast assault on the meal.
The speed, the force—he wasn't eating so much as battling the food to death.
Goku panicked.
"I'm not losing either!"
He jumped in too, and the dining room became a war zone.
Watching them devour and glare and compete mid-bite, Vitelli couldn't help thinking:
These two… really are cursed rivals.
He was not dumb enough to compete with those bottomless pits, so he slipped into a side dining room to eat instead.
What do you mean, "little private feast"? Of course Bulma saved him the best stuff.
After the meal, both Goku and Vegeta were sprawled in their chairs, bellies round as drums, utterly unable to move.
But their "war" still didn't stop.
"H-hic… That… that plate of roast… I had three more pieces than you! I win, Kakarot!"
Vegeta proclaimed through a burp.
Goku, equally stuffed, shot back weakly:
"N-no you didn't! You started first! You're cheating! Doesn't count!"
"Nonsense! That was strategy!"
"That was cheating!"
They bickered with whatever strength their overfed bodies could spare.
And once they recovered a bit, they even tried to stagger up, ready to settle it with fists—
When a refreshed, well-fed Vitelli strolled back in.
He took one look, eyes spinning, and fanned the flames:
"Oh? Still not satisfied? Just fighting each other is boring. How about you two try challenging me instead?"
He tossed out the bait:
"I'll only dodge. I won't attack at all. If either of you can land a hit on me, or make me feel pressured, that person wins. How about it—got the guts?"
Both of them were instantly tempted.
Goku had been bullied by Vitelli for ages and wanted a real shot.
Vegeta? He'd been crushed by Vitelli since childhood; he dreamed of punching him even once.
They exchanged a glance, saw the same intent in each other's eyes—
And forced themselves upright, bellies still full, battle spirit already roaring back to life.
Vitelli grinned like a man whose plan had succeeded.
"Good! That's the spirit! Let's find an open place with no people and have a proper spar—"
"Hey!"
A voice cut in from the doorway.
"I swear, you Saiyans…"
Bulma stood there, hands on hips, expression exhausted.
"Is fighting literally all you can think about? Especially you, Vitelli!"
She pointed at him precisely.
"Did you forget what you just promised me? You said you'd help!"
Vitelli stiffened, his excitement collapsing.
Bulma waved a contract in his face.
"Mom already finalized the purchase with the biggest livestock ranch in West City. Here's the contract!"
She shoved it into Vitelli's hands.
"The owner's waiting right now. Go sign it, pay, and get all the paperwork done!"
Vitelli stared at the contract, then at himself, stunned.
"Me… sign it? Handle the paperwork?"
A god of destruction candidate… running errands?
Bulma nodded like it was obvious.
"Yeah. Who else, me? I'm busy. Go. And be quick."
Vitelli: "…"
There was nothing he could say. With the air of a man going to his execution, he flew off clutching the contract.
Bulma turned to Goku next.
"Huh? Yeah!"
Goku snapped to attention.
"My dad's custom ecological simulation chamber is finished—the core components are done—but the factory's overloaded and can't deliver."
She handed him a slip with an address.
"Go pick it up. It's delicate and heavy, so put it in a Capsule before bringing it back. Be careful—don't break it!"
"Huh?! I'm picking it up?"
Goku blinked. But Bulma's stare ended the conversation. He took the slip and flew off too.
Finally, Bulma looked at the only Saiyan left:
Vegeta.
A strange pressure hit him. He felt deeply uncomfortable.
He looked at this Earth woman with wary tension. Something in him screamed that she was harder to deal with than either Vitelli or Kakarot.
Bulma studied him a moment, then decided.
"You're Vegeta, right? Take the Dragon Radar. Go collect all seven Dragon Balls for me. I'll need them later."
"What?!"
Vegeta's veins bulged instantly. Him, the Saiyan Prince, sent around the planet to hunt little orange marbles?!
He fought to keep his dignity.
"Why should I obey your order and—"
Bulma didn't even let him finish.
"Oh? You don't want to? Fine. I guess Vitelli mentioned he has training methods to make you stronger… If you won't help, then when he comes back, I'll have him teach only Goku. You can leave. Don't let the door hit you."
She turned as if to walk away.
"Stronger."
Those two words hit Vegeta like lightning.
Pride? Face?
Compared to power, what did any of that matter?!
"W-wait!"
He almost spat the word through clenched teeth.
His face twisted, struggling—then the hunger for strength crushed everything else.
Still, his mouth stayed stubborn:
"I'm… not helping you. I just ate and have nothing better to do! …What even is a Dragon Ball? What's collecting them for?"
Bulma stopped, smiling like she'd seen the outcome coming a mile away.
She tossed him the Dragon Radar and explained casually:
"Orange balls with stars inside, about this big."
She measured with her hands.
"They're scattered around the world. There are seven total. When you gather all seven, you can make any wish. Alright, I'm busy."
She walked off toward her lab, leaving Vegeta staring after her, Dragon Radar in hand.
His brain echoed her words again and again:
"Make any wish…"
"Make any wish?"
"Make any wish!!!"
A tsunami rose inside him.
Defeat, hatred for Vitelli, jealousy of Kakarot, rage at his own weakness—
Everything found a sudden outlet.
His breathing grew heavy. His eyes blazed with wild ambition.
"Make… any wish…"
His hand trembled around the radar.
If… if it was true…
Then he, Vegeta, could…