Dragon Ball, Saiyans Don't Just Want to Get Stronger!

Vitelli and Bulma did not follow the crowd as they departed.

For them, while the less-than-intense tournament had concluded, this was the perfect moment to enjoy their time as a couple.

Leaving the clamor behind, the two decided to linger a while longer on the island, which had returned to its tranquil state.

The sun was just right. On the fine sand, Vitelli and Bulma snuggled into a wide beach chair, savoring this rare moment of leisure.

Throughout the morning, there had been a steady stream of tourists who had watched Vitelli's stunning performance at the Martial Arts Tournament, rushing over to ask for photos.

Vitelli remained quite patient, always cooperating with a faint smile.

Watching from the side, Bulma didn't feel bothered at all; instead, she felt a sense of pride—look, this was her man, wasn't he handsome?

Now, the tourists had finally dispersed. The surroundings were filled only with the whispers of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull; it felt as if the world belonged only to the two of them.

Vitelli let out a long, contented sigh, drained the chilled coconut drink in his hand, and let out a satisfied "ha."

He adjusted his posture, his arms naturally wrapping around Bulma's slender waist to pull her more comfortably into his embrace, then leaned back against the chair, relaxing his entire body.

The warm sunlight spilled over him, a gentle sea breeze brushed against his skin, bringing a touch of coolness, the soft murmurs of the waves and the calls of seagulls filled his ears, and his beloved was in his arms...

All of this made Vitelli feel incredibly relaxed and comfortable, so much so that he was nearly ready to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

However, this serenity did not last long.

"Vitelli!"

A crisp, energetic shout hit the air like a stone dropped into a calm lake, instantly shattering the peace.

Vitelli opened his eyes in resignation, locking his gaze onto the source of the sound.

Goku's face, forever brimming with an innocent smile, was approaching from afar, his light footsteps carrying him toward them at a run.

Vitelli let out a long, silent sigh, his brows knitting together as a look of "here we go again" helplessness appeared on his face.

He muttered to himself, Seriously, why is it so hard to have a quiet vacation? Someone always has to come and interrupt...

Seeing Vitelli's frustrated yet helpless expression, Bulma couldn't help but let out a giggle.

She reached out and gently ruffled Vitelli's black, spiky hair, as if soothing a grumpy cat.

"Alright, alright," she said, her voice filled with amusement as if coaxing a child, "Goku is just a kid, he's not an outsider. Why are you getting worked up over him? Look at how fast he's running; he must have something important."

Vitelli shook his head, suppressing the annoyance of being interrupted, and sat up straight, turning his gaze toward Goku, who had already reached them: "What is it? Running over in such a hurry—do you need something from us?"

Goku slammed on the brakes, coming to a steady stop in front of them. His little chest was heaving slightly, but his face was flushed with excitement: "Master Roshi says he's treating us to a meal! I came specifically to find you two!"

As he spoke, he pointed in the direction he had come from.

Looking at the pure, expectant smile on Goku's face, and especially considering that the keyword "meal" was enough to make him remember to come and notify him and Bulma, Vitelli's silence lasted only a moment before his irritation was replaced by a subtle sense of warmth.

He reached out and gave Goku's chubby little cheek a gentle pinch, his tone softening: "Thanks, Goku. It's kind of you to think of us when you heard about the food."

Bulma also leaned in with a smile, reaching out to ruffle Goku's messy hair, praising him: "That's right, Goku is such a good boy!"

"Hey, stop touching my hair, you two!" Goku shook his head, trying to break free from their "clutches" like a reluctant little animal, though his face held a hint of excitement.

"Let's go! Master Roshi is already waiting for us at the restaurant! If we're late, all the good food will be gone!" At the mention of "restaurant" and "good food," Goku's eyes lit up with startling intensity, and a trail of drool even escaped the corner of his mouth, a gluttonous display that made Vitelli and Bulma burst into laughter.

"Haha, alright! Let's go!" Vitelli and Bulma exchanged a smile and quickly stood up.

The two returned to their hotel, efficiently changed out of their swimwear into comfortable casual clothes, and followed Goku—who kept muttering "hurry, hurry" the entire way—to a fairly well-decorated restaurant on the island.

Pushing open the door to the private room, they saw Master Roshi, having shed his "Jackie Chun" disguise, and his little bald disciple Krillin already seated inside.

The round table was covered in a variety of dishes, the aroma wafting through the air.

Clearly, Master Roshi had spared no expense.

"Master Roshi, I've brought Vitelli and Bulma back! Can we eat now?"

As soon as Goku entered, his eyes locked onto the feast, his drool practically threatening to flood the room, and he impatiently pulled out a chair to sit down.

Master Roshi cleared his throat, sitting up straight and adopting the posture of an elder, his face wearing a smile he was trying hard to make look benevolent:

"Ahem, well... everyone is here, excellent! Before we begin, I'd like to say a few words..."

However, before the word "few" had even fully left his lips, Goku had already snatched up his chopsticks and shouted with great energy: "I'm digging in!"

Immediately after, he began his "assault" on the nearest dish with the force of a whirlwind, his cheeks instantly bulging like a little hamster.

Watching Goku completely ignore him, his eyes filled only with food like a "starving ghost reincarnated," and then looking at Master Roshi, whose figure had instantly stiffened as if turned to stone, Bulma couldn't hold it in any longer; a crisp laugh rang out in the private room.

Krillin, sitting nearby, reacted with lightning speed!

He was one of the "victims" who knew full well the terrifying capacity of Goku's appetite, and he had also witnessed Vitelli's equally bottomless stomach.

Seeing that Goku had already started and Vitelli was sitting down with a glint in his eye, how could Krillin hesitate?

Without a word, he immediately grabbed the largest plate in front of him and began frantically piling it with various meats and the most expensive-looking dishes, his movements so fast they could only be described as well-trained!

He had only one thought in his mind: He who is fast gets the goods, he who is slow gets nothing! If I don't grab some now, this table won't last three minutes!

Master Roshi looked on in a daze at the "chaotic battlefield" before him—Goku burying his face in his food, Vitelli joining the fray with no less speed, Krillin acting as a "food transporter" to hoard supplies, and Bulma laughing until she was shaking.

His carefully prepared "speech" died in its tracks. He gave a few awkward laughs, and no longer caring about his dignity as an elder or his desire to give a speech, he quickly grabbed his chopsticks and joined the "battle."

If he didn't grab some now, he might not even get a sip of soup! He had seen Goku's absurd appetite with his own eyes, and with a bottomless pit like Vitelli added to the mix... the outcome of this meal seemed already written.

"Waiter! Two more of the largest platters of fried rice you have!" Bulma watched the plates in front of Vitelli empty at lightning speed, her hand raised to signal the waiter with practiced ease.

"And pork cutlet rice! Two more of those as well! The largest portions you've got!" she added, her tone as casual as if she were ordering a drink.

Master Roshi watched Bulma continue to add orders without batting an eye, then looked at the mountain of food disappearing at a visible rate on the table. His expression gradually turned incredulous, even tinged with a hint of panic.

He couldn't help but put down his chopsticks, his voice trembling: "That... that's enough! Enough! Kids! Eating until you're seventy percent full is plenty! You have to start taking care of your health while you're young! Don't force yourselves!"

However, Vitelli and Goku, the two main power-eaters, seemed to have entered a state of "oneness with the food."

They were completely focused, deaf to the world, their chopsticks moving like blurs, their goal clear—to annihilate everything edible within their line of sight.

For them, there was only chewing and swallowing; Master Roshi's admonitions were filtered out like background noise.

When the last piece of pork cutlet vanished into Vitelli's mouth and the final grain of fried rice was scraped clean by Goku, this massive "clean plate campaign" finally came to an end.

When the waiter approached with the bill, the professional smile on his face looked somewhat subtle.

Master Roshi took the bill with a feeling bordering on religious, a mix of anticipation and dread.

But when his eyes swept over the striking number at the bottom of the bill, he was struck as if by lightning. He bolted from his seat, his voice jumping an octave, sharp with disbelief:

"H-how much?!!! One... one million three hundred thousand?!!!"

His sunglasses nearly slid off the bridge of his nose. He pointed a trembling finger at the astronomical figure, his eyes wide as bells, "Did you add an extra zero by mistake?!!"

The restaurant manager hurried over at the sound, his face wearing a professional, impeccable, apologetic smile. He bowed slightly, his tone firm:

"I am very sorry to surprise you, sir. But your total is indeed one million three hundred thousand. The bill has been checked repeatedly; not a single digit is wrong." His attitude was respectful, but his stance was unyielding.

"B-but isn't this price completely outrageous?!"

Master Roshi waved his arms excitedly, trying to find a logical explanation.

"The Martial Arts Tournament! That's an event gathering the world's top experts! The prize money for the champion is only five hundred thousand! Why is one meal here one million three hundred thousand? Is... is this reasonable?! This isn't reasonable at all!"

He tried to reason with him.

The manager's smile remained polite, but his eyes held a hint of disdain, as if to say, Are you really that oblivious?

He didn't argue further, simply stepping aside with a "please look at the facts" gesture and pointing toward the empty space behind Master Roshi's seat.

Master Roshi turned around, confused, following the manager's finger.

The next second, he turned to stone.

Behind him, piled high like a mountain, were massive empty plates and bowls, standing tall like a "range" made of porcelain!

The plates were of staggering size, each one enough to hold a full table's worth of food for a normal family; the soup bowls were bottomless, now left with only greasy streaks.

This "mountain of dishes" silently spoke of the intensity and glory of the battle that had just taken place, its visual impact far exceeding any verbal explanation.

Master Roshi stood with his mouth agape, staring at the "monument" created by Goku and the others, feeling a wave of dizziness.

He finally understood where that one million three hundred thousand came from.

His lips trembled, and with a last shred of faint hope, he looked at the manager, his voice dry: "P-please... can I... wash dishes to pay off the bill?" His tone was so humble it was nearly begging.

Bulma watched Master Roshi's "the sky is falling" expression, along with the blank, innocent looks on Krillin and Goku's faces, and finally couldn't help but laugh out loud.

She pulled a black card from her exquisite handbag and handed it to the manager, waving her hand with a chic, decisive motion: "Alright, just charge my card."

She turned to Master Roshi, who still looked like he had just survived a catastrophe, and winked teasingly: "Master Roshi, you really 'splurged' this time, but we appreciate the gesture!"

Master Roshi's old face flushed red. While busily thanking Bulma, he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, muttering things like "I'll be careful next time." His embarrassed yet grateful appearance brought a humorous end to the farce of the sky-high dinner.

After saying goodbye to Master Roshi and the two little ones, Vitelli and Bulma were finally free from all interruptions.

Under the pure sunlight of Papaya Island, on the soft sand and in the clear seawater, they enjoyed three days that belonged entirely to the two of them.

No boring training, no third wheels. Only the sea breeze, the waves, the starlight, and each other's laughter.

Vitelli was able to relax for once, and Bulma fully unleashed the liveliness and sweetness of a young girl.

However, the three days of pleasant vacation passed in a flash. When the return aircraft slowly descended onto the vast landing pad at the Capsule Corp estate in West City, Vitelli took a deep breath of the familiar air, mixed with the scent of machine oil and flowers. A long-lost restlessness began to surge in his blood.

Having been out for so many days, aside from the pure relaxation of the last three days on Papaya Island, most of the previous time had been spent on competitions and sightseeing. High-intensity training had almost come to a standstill.

Vitelli felt uncomfortable all over, as if the gaps in his bones were itching from the idleness.

It was the discomfort of power stagnating, the silent cry from deep within his body for the thrill of extreme challenges.

Gravity Chamber, oh Gravity Chamber! Vitelli roared silently in his heart, his eyes involuntarily darting toward the familiar, massive metal building deep in the estate. How am I, Vitelli, supposed to live without you!

The joy of returning home was instantly replaced by an urgency bordering on pilgrimage.

Almost the moment he stepped onto the estate's lawn, Vitelli could barely contain himself.

He didn't even bother to say much to Dr. Brief and his wife, who had come out to greet them. He just hurriedly said "I'm heading over first" to Bulma, and his figure turned into a blurred streak of wind, rushing toward the Gravity Chamber.

That eagerness, that focus—it was as if a long-lost lover were waiting for him ahead.

Bulma watched his retreating back, hands on her hips, feeling both annoyed and amused. She pouted at the air: "Hey! Vitelli! You jerk! Can't you even say a proper 'goodbye'? You're such a training blockhead! You scoundrel!"

She used the word "scoundrel" with feigned disgust, but the laughter in her eyes was full of understanding and indulgence. She knew, of course, what the Gravity Chamber meant to him; it was practically a part of his obsessive pursuit of power.

Shaking her head, the feigned annoyance on Bulma's face was quickly replaced by another expression—the focus and excitement of a genius scientist.

Now that the vacation was over, her own battlefield was calling!

"Hmph, blockhead, just watch me!" she muttered under her breath, turning to stride with light yet determined steps toward her research lab, a space filled with cutting-edge technology.

She had made a solemn promise to Vitelli to develop a new generation of Gravity Chamber for him, one with more advanced features and even greater gravity multipliers! This challenge made her blood boil with excitement as well.

By the floor-to-ceiling window, Mrs. Brief held a delicate teacup, taking in her youngest daughter's slight, coquettish complaint, the tenderness in her eyes as she watched Vitelli's back, and the energetic silhouette she cut as she turned and dashed toward the laboratory.

She couldn't help but smile as she remarked to Dr. Brief, who was also looking outside, "Dear, look at little Bulma and little Vitelli. One chasing after power, the other chasing after technology—the way they are so headstrong and goal-oriented, they really are a perfect match."

Dr. Brief pushed up his glasses, watching the direction of the backyard where the muffled vibrations—signaling that someone had already begun their frantic training—could be felt, then looked at the lights flickering on in his daughter's lab, nodding in deep agreement.

He took a sip of red wine and said calmly, "Mm... full of vitality, it's good." Life at the estate quickly returned to its unique and vibrant orbit—the roar of the Gravity Chamber and the soft glow of the laboratory intertwined to become the most familiar background noise of this home.

Strange Transformation Method, Super Saiyan Vitelli!

Time slipped away like sand between fingers, sliding quietly by over the course of several months.

On this afternoon, the sunlight was just right. Bulma was enjoying a rare moment of leisure, sitting on an exquisite rattan chair in the courtyard, cradling a steaming cup of black tea and savoring the fleeting tranquility.

Suddenly, the slight friction of the Gravity Chamber's heavy alloy door sliding open shattered the peace.

Bulma turned her head in surprise, only to see Vitelli's figure emerge from within, his face wearing a rare expression of frustration mixed with helplessness.

He wasn't steaming with heat or drenched in sweat as he usually was before diving into the next round of training; instead, he walked straight toward her.

"Ara~ how rare, Vitelli!"

Bulma set down her teacup, her sapphire eyes filled with wonder. "You didn't train until dinner time today? Did the sun rise in the west? Or... did you finally break the Gravity Chamber?"

She asked half-jokingly, though a sliver of worry rose in her heart.

Vitelli flopped into the empty seat beside her, his movements tinged with defeat.

Reaching out to grab Bulma's cup of tea, which was at the perfect temperature, he downed several large gulps without even looking, then let out a long sigh, his brows furrowed as he spoke: "Don't even mention it! I seem to have hit a bottleneck lately!"

His tone was dejected, the usual vitality in his voice dampened.

"Even when I push myself to the limit in the Gravity Chamber you built, it feels like punching a pile of cotton. My strength growth has almost stalled, and my physical conditioning is stuck right where it is!"