When I went out, I quietly returned to the place where most Saiyans my age gathered—the battle arena. When I arrived, another fight was already going on, this time between two boys. I watched them and analyzed their ki.
They're first-years like me, I thought, but much weaker. Low-barrel types.
They had already adapted and were trying to take whatever they could. Now I wanted to know what they were betting.
I decided to pry some information out of the people around me. I scanned the crowd with my ki, focusing on a radius of about five meters. As I moved, I noticed a small kid with much weaker ki than the others.
I walked up to him.
"Hey," I said.
He replied with a short "Hi" and looked away, clearly suspicious. He was weak—very weak—for this camp. To lower his guard, I said, "Can you help me with some information? I'm new here."
"No," he answered.
That response angered me instantly.
You really think you can reject someone when you're this weak and pathetic?
I felt no empathy. I continued calmly, "Please. I'll owe you one."
Even if he asked me for help later, I already knew I wouldn't give it unless it was something trivial.
He sighed and looked at me. "Alright. Just stop bothering me. You'll owe me."
"Deal," I said, making a weird grin. "Pinky promise."
He frowned. "Just speak fast. I want to watch the fights."
"I want to know everything," I said.
He looked at me like I was the biggest parasite he'd ever seen. I added, "First, I'm Vaske. What's your name?"
"Niran."
"Nice to meet you."
"Same."
Then Niran started explaining.
First, he told me that instead of credits like in the outside world, this camp used steel-based currency. It could be stolen—if you were strong enough or if the other person wasn't careful. Money could be earned through missions or by betting in fights.
"What can you buy with it?" I asked.
"Anything," he said. "Techniques. Elite Saiyans teaching you. Food. Even freedom. You can pay for leave—the more you pay, the longer they allow you out. Max is seven days."
"How do you challenge someone?" I asked. "Do you just walk up and say you want to fight, or do you apply formally?"
He stared at me like I was stupid. "Formally? We're Saiyans, not twigs. You find someone, sign a contract, and stand in line."
He pointed to a Saiyan sitting at a desk. "That guy handles contracts and approvals. If you want a death match, you go to Turtle—the camp commander."
"What if someone refuses a challenge?"
"They can only refuse after being challenged five times. After the fifth, they can reject all fights for one month."
He added, "If you want to know who you can challenge, there's a list at the desk. That's all I'm telling you. And don't forget—you owe me."
I smiled. "I'll return it in kind."
I waved and walked to the desk. I asked for the fighter list. The Saiyan there pulled out a table showing wins, losses, and rankings.
I was dead last.
#960.
It didn't matter if my power level was ten thousand—without proof, I stayed at the bottom.
There were 320 people per floor, per every floor 32 room levels. I was at the absolute worst position in third level but it was alright i knew i would rise fast.
I couldn't see detailed stats—it was supposed to be "fair." So I picked randomly.
#899.
The desk Saiyan raised an eyebrow. "You sure? It's your first day."
"I don't want to stay in that shitty room for even one more night," I said.
He shrugged and sent someone to call my opponent.
Ten minutes later, the guy arrived, clearly angry. His hair reached his upper back, and he was muscular. Good, I thought. A real fight.
He walked up to me. "So you dare challenge me?"
"I do."
"I'll destroy you," he growled.
I raised my middle finger—the universal sign of love and peace.
He snapped and lunged at me, but the lackey stopped him. "Culer, behave, or you lose automatically."
Culer, I noted.
"Sign the contract, BIGBOY," I said.
The contract stated: no killing, injuries at your own risk. The bet was rooms. If I won, I got room #899. If I lost, I'd be his lackey for the entire first year.
If he lost, he moved to my room.
Six fights passed before ours. I was shaking—not from fear, but excitement. I was finally going to release everything I'd been holding back.
When it was time, I jumped into the ring and stretched.
Niran noticed me and looked completely confused. I had talked to him barely twenty-five minutes ago.
The referee introduced us:
"Vaske, #960. Culer, #899."
"Fight!"
I rushed Culer immediately, targeting his arms. I ignored openings—I just wanted to beat him. When I felt my hits hurting him, I smiled.
This was fun.
I gradually increased my power, adapting to my body. Confidence grew with every strike.
Then I felt it.
That emotion.
The thing I'd seen in every Saiyan's eyes.
The will to fight. The hunger for blood.
Culer adapted and countered, landing a hit on my left shoulder. It stung, nothing more.
I became cruel.
I targeted shoulders, chest, non-lethal spots. He started whining. I kept going until I got bored.
He adapted again, using his tail to lower my guard and landed a hook. My power level was about 30% higher than his—I could afford mistakes.
After two minutes, he started gasping.
I ended it.
A full-force jab to the solar plexus. Water burst from his mouth. Then i threw flying knee to same place.
He dropped to one knee.
I stepped back and raised my middle finger again, inviting him.
Humiliated, he went berserk—wild, uncoordinated attacks.
I used my feet , slipped behind his punches while leaning on him and then pushed him and when his body turned to me. I was already in action.
My left hand.
A fast overhand.
The same punch that killed a bodyguard in my last life.
This time, it only shattered his jaw.
The sound was terrifying.
The crowd erupted.
"VASKEEEE!"
Culer collapsed, unconscious.
They dragged him away to heal—if healing pods were even free. I'd ask later.
At the desk, I asked how to claim my reward.
The man smirked. "You fight brutally. I like you."
He handed me the keys.
"Thanks, deskman."
"I have a name. Pasla."
"Alright, deskman."
"Don't get used to compliments."
"I was joking. Chill out."
I waved and left.
My new room was bigger. Clean. The bathroom worked. Lights worked.
Finally.
I trained for the remaining two hours, then slept.
Ten to twelve hours.
If I meditated, maybe eight.
Either way—I had earned it.