Vegeta fell silent.
He stood where he was, as if he had turned into a rigid stone statue.
His sharply defined face looked somewhat gloomy in the shifting light and shadow, his tightly pressed lips forming a hard line.
Those eyes that always burned with fighting spirit and pride now churned with disbelief, absurdity, and a deep, piercing unwillingness.
He could become a Super Saiyan just by sneezing?
The thought thundered through his mind like a heavy hammer smashing down on his pride.
What was this supposed to mean?
A childish game?
A joke?
I, Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans, had fought through life-and-death battles countless times, endured unimaginable humiliation and pressure, yet I still had not glimpsed that door at the edge of death!
Why—why could this half-breed brat do it so easily?!
He could almost hear the sound of invisible thorns stabbing savagely into his heart.
His gaze involuntarily swept over Branchi, the boy who even looked somewhat lazy.
Him?
A sneeze was enough for him to cross the chasm Vegeta had pursued so desperately?
Vegeta's breathing grew heavy. He clenched his fists tightly, the muscles in his arms bulging slightly.
His nails dug deeply into his palms, bringing a faint sting that was nowhere near the injustice and frustration churning in his heart, almost ready to burst forth.
Why?
Why him?
Could the pride and potential of a pure-blooded Saiyan truly be inferior to that of a half-breed raised in Earth's greenhouse?
The realization left him feeling suffocated.
"They're here!" Piccolo suddenly shouted in a low, urgent voice. It rang like an alarm bell, instantly shattering the stagnant atmosphere.
He had kept his arms folded the entire time. His green skin looked dark beneath the sunlight, and his eyes beneath the brim of his hat were sharp