The Might of a Single Punch

That massive boulder was towering, easily as tall as two people standing on top of each other, and it had to weigh dozens of tons at least.

Now, it became the center of the explosion. Shockwaves and gusts rapidly spread outward, instantly ripping the turf clean off the ground and sending it flying in neat sheets.

Dust and stone powder shot into the sky like a tiny mushroom cloud.

When the dust finally settled, the truth became clear—the impossibly hard boulder was covered in dense cracks, like a spiderweb spreading wildly from the deep human-shaped indentation at its center.

Vegeta was lodged inside that human-shaped crater.

His golden aura had long vanished, his Super Saiyan 2 state interrupted, his hair restored to black. His entire body was coated in gray-white stone dust and dirt.

"Cough... cough, cough..."

Weak, agonized coughing came from the stone crater.

At the edge of the training ground, Bulla clamped both hands over her mouth. Her slender fingers had turned white at the knuckles from gripping too hard.

Her eyes were wide with shock, even carrying a trace of fear she had not noticed herself.

She had known for a long time that the man named Qi Heng was strong.

Her father's rare attitude—facing him as if confronting a great enemy, even with a hint of reverence—had already made that clear.

But she had never imagined he was this strong.

It was simply absurd!

Her father—the proud Saiyan prince, Vegeta, who had endured countless life-or-death trials and become a Super Saiyan 2—had actually been defeated by a single punch...

Just one punch.

It did not look flashy at all. If anything, it seemed almost casual.

And from beginning to end, Qi Heng's breathing had not even faltered. There was not a drop of sweat on his forehead, and his training clothes remained spotless. He did not look like someone who had just fought a world-shaking battle.

He looked as though he had merely brushed some dust from his shoulder.

"Clatter..."

The sound of falling rubble rang out.

Within the indentation in the giant boulder, Vegeta finally moved with great difficulty.

Using his still-functional left hand, he gripped the edge of the stone and slowly dragged himself out of the human-shaped hole.

He staggered back onto the ground, his steps unsteady as his body swayed uncontrollably.

His Super Saiyan form had long since been undone. His short black hair was soaked with sweat and plastered messily against his forehead and cheeks.

Blood still stained the corner of his mouth. His right arm hung limply at his side at a clearly unnatural angle, obviously badly injured.

His chest heaved violently. Every breath pulled at the searing pain within him, his brows drawn tightly together as his entire body trembled faintly.

Yet he still raised his head and looked toward that calm figure in the distance.

Bulla stared at her father in a daze—she did not see the familiar fury and fighting spirit in his eyes, nor the unyielding resolve he showed when facing a stronger opponent.

No. It was all gone.

In its place was an expression she had never seen before.

It was fear.

Not fighting spirit concealed beneath anger, nor the refusal to yield ingrained in a Saiyan's bones, but a bone-deep, ice-cold fear that made him tremble.

That fear had stripped away every disguise, leaving only instinct behind.

Vegeta had encountered far too many powerful foes.

Frieza's cruelty, Cell's despair, Majin Buu's immortality, the pressure of Beerus, the God of Destruction... They had all made him feel helpless, even despairing.

Yet even in those moments, a Saiyan's fighting spirit still burned within that despair, and sometimes he could still glimpse the limits of strength.

But this man before him...

Vegeta's vision blurred slightly, Qi Heng's figure becoming hazy amid the dust and light.

From start to finish, he had not even truly gotten "serious."

No power-up, no transformation, no earth-shattering clash of auras—he had merely stood there, then casually thrown a punch.

That one punch had crushed all of Vegeta's pride, power, and understanding.

This was no longer a difference in strength. It was a dimensional abyss.

The wind swept through the courtyard again, stirring the dust as it brushed across Vegeta's face, drenched in cold sweat, and gently lifted the hair before Qi Heng's forehead.

Qi Heng slowly withdrew his fist, the motion as ordinary as though nothing had happened.

His gaze settled on Vegeta, calm and unfathomably deep. There was neither a victor's arrogance nor pity for the weak, only a detached indifference.

The courtyard was deathly silent. Only the occasional sound of debris falling from the distant wall, along with Vegeta's suppressed, heavy breathing, spoke of how terrifying that punch had been.

"Who... exactly are you?"

Vegeta's voice was hoarse like sandpaper, each word carrying an almost imperceptible tremble.

He knelt on one knee upon the cracked ground, his left hand pressing tightly against his battered right shoulder. His battle suit there had long been shredded, flesh torn open and curled back, the wound deep enough to expose bone as blood dripped onto the scorching rubble.

Qi Heng hovered in midair, his pale golden aura flowing slowly like living gauze.

Rubble and dust swirled soundlessly beneath his feet.

He lowered his head slightly. His golden pupils reflected Vegeta's battered yet still defiant figure, but there was no emotion in his eyes, as calm as a frozen lake.

"Qi Heng."

His voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the wind sweeping across the ruins, every word clear.

"A Saiyan from... another timeline."

With that, he turned and left, leaving the devastation and the kneeling Vegeta behind without even bothering to stay on guard.

There was an indescribable coldness in that gesture.

Sunlight fell across his straight back, coating it in a frigid golden gleam.

His battle suit differed from Vegeta's—dark, clean, and utterly out of place amid the surrounding ruins.

"I came here to find Son Goku."

Vegeta remained kneeling there like a bloodstained statue.

His head hung low, his purple hair matted against his forehead with sweat and blood.

The knuckles of his clenched fists had turned white. Veins bulged across the backs of his hands, trembling faintly.

Every muscle in his body spasmed—not from exhaustion, but from the bone-deep chill welling up from the depths of his soul.

It was not anger.

It was frustration.

A complete sense of defeat unlike anything he had ever tasted in his life.

Not the regret of an evenly matched battle, nor the disappointment of losing by a single move, but being utterly crushed from beginning to end.

That man had not even been serious.

No roar, no eruption of power—he had used only the simplest movements and the most ordinary stance to shatter Vegeta's pride, strength, and fighting spirit as easily as brushing away dust.

"Dad..."

A timid voice rose from the edge of the ruins.

Bulla's tiny figure peeked out from behind a fractured alloy wall, her pink hair covered in dust.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at her father, who had never seemed so battered, so vulnerable. She did not even dare approach him.

Vegeta did not respond.

He did not even shift his gaze.

He merely raised his head sharply. On his bloodstained face, his eyes locked onto the direction where Qi Heng had vanished, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

His teeth ground together, his jaw tight as iron wire, as though he wanted to bite that invisible enemy to pieces.

"K... Kakarot..."

He squeezed the words out through clenched teeth, his voice low, hoarse, and nearly inaudible, yet pressing down like a wave.

"Just what kind of people... did you provoke out there..."