Vegeta's Pride

After all the Night Watchers observatory data had been unlocked, Bulma remained in the underground laboratory beneath The Lookout for another full seven days. The final segment of deep memory extracted by the cross-law scanner from the observatory crystal was not the evolutionary trajectory of any civilization, but a data stream labeled by the Night Watchers as a "personal log." The name in the author field read—King Vegeta.

Bulma stared at that name on the screen for a long time before pressing the communicator and calling Vegeta alone to the lab. When Vegeta entered, she was projecting the holographic image of that memory above the workbench.

In the image, King Vegeta stood before his throne. Frieza's ship had just arrived above Planet Vegeta, and the countdown to destruction had already begun. His last guard had fallen in battle, and the communications channels were filled with the cries of every war zone collapsing. He opened an all-frequency broadcast and spoke three sentences to the planet that was about to be destroyed—

"Planet Vegeta will not perish. Saiyan pride will not perish. My son will survive."

Then he shut off the broadcast and walked alone to the secret launch bay behind the throne, personally setting the flight paths for three infant ships. Kakarot, Broly, Talos. The children of three low-class warriors, launched in the same batch toward the same star region. After finishing all of that, he returned before the throne, tore the royal crest from his battle suit, and placed it on the throne.

The image ended there.

"He wasn't running away." Bulma's voice was soft. "He used the last of his strength to send away three babies, then sat alone on his throne and waited for Frieza. The Night Watchers captured this memory with their observatory's recording technology—at the instant they were destroyed, their observatory happened to be scanning Planet Vegeta."

Vegeta stood where he was, silent for a long time. Ever since he was young, his father had told him that "Saiyan pride is strength." When his father sent him aboard that ship, he had not even had time to look back at his home planet one last time. He had always believed his father was a cold king, a king who cared only about strength and not about his son. But in King Vegeta's final words recorded by the Night Watchers, there was no strength, no conquest, no Saiyan glory—only a father's final protection of his son in the face of despair.

"So he sent me away not so I could conquer the universe, but so I could live." Vegeta's lips slowly curved upward. His eyes were red, but he was smiling—not a sneer, but the smile that came when he truly understood his father for the first time in his life.

Bulma turned her head away and pretended to organize the experimental data. She knew Vegeta did not need comfort. He only needed someone to stand beside him. Seven days later, Vegeta stood on the beach outside Turtle Hermit House. He wore an entirely new battle suit—white as its main color, with dark blue armor plates. The emblem on his chest had been embroidered by Bulma herself. It was not a symbol, but two lines of words. The upper line was written in the ancient script of the Saiyan royal family—"King Vegeta." The lower line was in Earth's common language—"Turtle Hermit School."

"Saiyan pride never disappeared—it merely found another way to exist. That pride used to exist only on a throne. Now it exists in this battle suit." He turned toward Bulma. "The last thing my father said was, 'My son will survive.' He didn't say, 'Survive and conquer the universe.' Just survive. So I survived, not for revenge—but to protect."

Goku ran over from the beach, still wearing that old battle suit faded nearly white from washing, though the "Turtle" character on his chest remained clear. "Vegeta! Wanna spar? Yesterday, I managed to stack Kaioken for four seconds! Four seconds! That's enough to throw a whole set of basic punches!"

Vegeta rolled his wrists, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Then you'd better not get sent flying by one punch. I've been in a good mood lately. I don't want to collect a corpse."

"No way! I'm super stable now—you see, you see, you see!" Goku activated his Super Saiyan form, and orange-gold flames burst forth. Vegeta simultaneously unleashed his deep-blue evolution. The strand of golden light he had brought back from the Night Watchers observatory shimmered quietly within his deep-blue aura. The two streaks of light crossed at high speed over the beach, their fists and feet colliding with a drumbeat-like barrage. Every impact sent fine white waves rippling across the sea.

Master Roshi stood at the door of Turtle Hermit House, leaning on his cane as he watched those two warriors who had fought their way from the Saiyan saga to this day. He removed his sunglasses and wiped them with the hem of his clothes. From his robes, he took out Mutaito's Notes, passed down through three generations, and turned to the last page. On the previous page was what Talos had written: "The Turtle Hermit School lives on without end. Fifth-generation successor—Talos." Vegeta walked over and slowly wrote on the next blank line: "Saiyan pride, Turtle Hermit School battle suit. Sixth-generation successor—Vegeta."

"You and Goku are both official successors of the Turtle Hermit School." Master Roshi closed Mutaito's Notes and put his sunglasses back on. "From now on, don't call yourself the Saiyan Prince. Call yourself the Turtle Hermit School's Saiyan Prince."

"What's the difference?"

"A Saiyan Prince can be defeated. A Turtle Hermit School Saiyan Prince can be defeated, but he can't be frightened."

Vegeta fell silent for a moment, then the corner of his mouth rose slightly. "Got it, Master Mutaito."

In the distance, Trunks and little Goten were still sparring on the beach. Trunks's tail had just been stepped on, and he was now chasing Goten all over the sand. Gohan served as referee beside them, with only one criterion: "Whoever laughs first loses." Talos's daughter leaned against a reef, watching the farce with a faint smile. In her hands, she flipped through the Turtle Hermit School martial arts manual inherited from Lazuli—the title page read, "Control is freedom," while the second page bore Lazuli's handwriting: "I am Lazuli, the thirty-seventh-generation disciple of the Turtle Hermit School." Taking up her pen, she wrote on the third page: "I am Talos's daughter. The thirty-ninth-generation disciple of the Turtle Hermit School. I was not chosen—I made my own choice."

Bulma watched the group on the beach through the laboratory window, then turned around and put her protective goggles back on. On the large display of the cross-law scanner, the final data from the Night Watchers observatory scrolled slowly onward. She began analyzing the coordinates of the next unknown star region—not an enemy, merely an unexplored boundary in the Night Watchers' records.