Chapter Text
MISSION: INFILTRATE THE CASTLE
Vegeta-Sei – Outer District
Goku kept low beneath the shadow of the royal fortress wall, squinting at the patrol guard. He looked like a likely suspect. Big. Check. Clumsy? Goku noticed him nearly trip over himself. Check. Dumb?
Well, who knows but two outta three ain’t bad.
He stepped out of the dark.
“Hey,” he whispered.
The guard barely started to turn before Goku's fist buried in his stomach.
Air exploded out of him.
He crumpled silently.
Goku caught him by the chestplate, lowering him to the ground with surprising gentleness for someone who’d just folded him so callously.
“Tough luck,” Goku murmured as he unclipped the man’s shoulder guards.
He dragged the unconscious guard into a narrow supply alcove carved into the castle wall. Kakarot shoved him inside, double-checked his pulse (still alive), and closed the heavy metal door with a click.
Now comes the tricky part.
Stripping and donning the armor without a squire, or without being noticed, would be a task by all rights. The chestplate snapped, shoulder guards fought back, the gloves refused to slide on. But after a minute of swearing under his breath, he stood in full royal-guard gear.
The scouter powered up with a sharp beep.
IDENTITY CONFIRMATION REQUIRED.
Goku blinked.
“Oh… uh… yeah. About that.”
“1,2,3,4???” Goku tried.
INVALID NUMBER OF CHARACTERS
“1,2,3,4,5,6?”
INCORRECT PIN
It blipped a long, loud blip then blipped twice more. Yeesh! This isn’t good this isn’t good…
“You there!” An older man, possibly an authority figure. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you patrolling?”
Goku really tried. He grinned a fake grin, only twitching once.
“My scouter locked me out. I know I entered it right, I know I did!” Goku bit the inside of his cheek.
“Blast thing. Give it here,”
My luck. My luck my luck.
He cracked the back of it and appeared to be crossing wires.
“You gotta modify these things or they’re just useless. They outta show ya’ll that out of training, but nooo, security this security that. Like anyone would ever break in here. They’d have to be pretty stupid…hey, what’s wrong with you?” the older man was looking at Goku and he quickly smiled again.
“Thanks…”
“Didn’t catch your name…”
“Go..Kakarot.”
“Gokakarot? What kinda name is that.”
“Just…just Kakarot, sir.”
“Right. Kakarot…Kakarot, Kakarot. Kinda rings a bell. Who’s your dad?”
“Dead!” Goku squeaked. He cleared his throat. “I mean..uh, dead, sir.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
“That’s all right.”
Now he just needed to get inside the main corridor and find out why Planet Vegeta had suddenly taken an interest in Earth’s location.
“Best get back to it,”Goku said, “Thanks again.”
“Yeah, don’t mention it.” His mission wasn’t just intel—it was to prevent destruction, sabotage any plans targeting Earth, and stay alive long enough to warn them.
He exhaled slowly.
Inside, past the guarded gates and towering stone arches, he could already feel something else.
A presence.
Heavy. Dominant.
Electric, like a predator lounging in a throne of fire.
The Prince.
Goku swallowed.
This is gonna be complicated.
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Vegeta strode through the council chamber, every movement radiating authority. His guards flanked him, silent and alert. He scanned the reports laid before him: mining outputs, patrol schedules, food rations, training rosters. Each page demanded precision, each number represented the loyalty—or potential weakness—of his people.
“Reassign the fourth training squad to the eastern plateau,” he barked, pointing at a crude map. “If they can’t maintain discipline under pressure, they’re useless to me. I will not have slackers weakening the line.”
One of his lieutenants hesitated. Vegeta’s glare froze him mid-motion. “Do you question me?”
“No, Prince,” the soldier stammered.
“Good. Remember your place.”
Vegeta moved on, inspecting the outer defenses through the scouter. Patrol rotations were off by a fraction; nothing major, but enough to annoy him. He made mental notes: tighten schedules, increase surveillance, rotate elite squads more frequently.
In the throne room, the scouters blinked, reporting minor anomalies in energy signatures across the planet. Vegeta flicked his wrist, dismissing most as insignificant. His attention was a blade, precise and unyielding.
He had a kingdom to rule, warriors to maintain, threats to neutralize. And yet…something was…off. He felt these moments held some strange significance he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
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Goku frowned, scratching his head as he slunk back into the shadow of a stone archway.
Do people who live in castles actually have maps of the castle?
He wasn’t sure. On Earth, the only “castle” he’d ever been in was Baba’s place, and that definitely didn’t have maps—just ghosts and bad attitudes. But this wasn’t Earth. This was a Saiyan royal fortress, big enough that even a guy who could cross continents in a blink could get lost in it.
Wouldn’t everyone here already know their way around? …Actually, maybe not. He imagined low-ranked soldiers getting reassigned, servants getting promoted, new recruits shipped in. A place this size probably changed hands and layouts all the time. And Vegeta? No way the prince bothered giving tours.
So…maybe there was a map room.
A war room. A strategy chamber. Some kinda place with scrolls and charts and important stuff taped to the walls. Kings and generals always had that in movies. Why wouldn’t a Saiyan king have one too?
Yeah. That made more sense. Busting into that would be easier than sneaking straight into Vegeta’s nest without causing a scene.
Goku swallowed, pulse picking up.
“Okay. Okay. Don’t panic. Just find the big important room where they yell about battles. Easy.”
Except the hallway he’d slipped into forked three ways, each lined with identical black stone and identical unfriendly ki signatures in the distance.
“…Aw, man.”
He forced a breath out, dropped into a crouch, and moved.
Goku kept low as he padded down the corridor, following the faintest hints of ki—nothing strong, just the echo of life drifting from rooms far ahead. The hallway curved, then split, then split again, like someone designed the place specifically to annoy people in a hurry.
He paused, sniffed, listened.
Left smelled like old metal and sweat—barracks.
Straight ahead felt crowded—servants, maybe.
But the path to the right…
Goku tilted his head.
A thicker ki. Heavier. Focused. The kind of pressure left behind by people who spent their whole lives thinking about fights.
Bingo.
He ghosted down the right corridor, moving on the balls of his feet, suppressing his energy until he felt like an armor-bound shadow. A set of double doors waited at the end, tall, carved, way too fancy for regular folks. Golden handles shaped like snarling Oozaru heads. Definitely royal-business territory.
Goku glanced left, then right. No one.
He pressed a hand to the door.
It didn’t budge.
Locked.
He frowned, then brightened.
“Well… could just—”
He tapped the lock with one finger.
Just a tiny flick of ki. Barely enough to dent a soda can.
PING.
The lock snapped internally with a sound only dogs should’ve been able to hear. Goku winced, then eased the door open.
“Yesss—!”
He slipped inside and shut it behind him.
The room was dim, lit only by a ring of low-burning lamps hugging the perimeter. A circular table dominated the center, covered in parchment, scrawled battle plans, and miniature models of outposts scattered across a huge map of Planet Vegeta. Along the walls: racks of scrolls, star charts, and detailed diagrams of fortress wings, training grounds, and restricted zones.
And at the far side of the room—bingo again—
A section of the castle layout. Not labeled, not neat, more like a general structure for strategists, but it was something.
Goku crept forward, squinting at it.
“How come the prince gets a whole wing to himself?” he whispered. “Looks fancy.”
He traced the halls with a fingertip, memorizing.
There. His quarters. And—
Goku blinked.
Right next to it: a small chamber, unlabeled, sealed on three sides, only one narrow entry point.
Huh…that’s weird. Why’s that locked off?
Before he could lean in closer, a ki signature flared outside the door—sharp, irritated, and strong enough to make his stomach drop.
“…Aw, crap.”
Someone was coming.
Goku’s instincts fired before his brain did.
Hide. Hide now.
He swept the room in a split-second scan. The table was too open. Behind the scroll racks? Not enough space. Under the table?
…they’d see me..
Then he saw it—a heavy tapestry draped along the back wall, hanging just loose enough and definitely long enough..
He darted across the floor, barely making a sound, lifted the corner of the thick fabric, and wedged himself behind it just as the door handle turned.
He held his breath.
The war room door creaked open. Boots thumped inside—slow, irritated, weighted. Someone in armor, not a royal servant.
Goku could sense their ki clearly now, even without looking.
Elite.
Not Vegeta-level, but close enough that this was still a terrible idea.
The newcomer walked toward the center table and stopped, breathing hard, like they were angry at the furniture.
“…Who touched this map?”
Goku froze.
Paper rustled sharply, something being lifted. The elite clicked their tongue.
“Damn strategists,” they muttered. “If they think they can switch formations without informing the guard—”
A pause.
Boot scrape.
Silence.
Goku swallowed a little air through his nose, slow and quiet. The tapestry brushed lightly against his hair whenever he exhaled. If the soldier so much as glanced behind them…
No, no thinking about that. Don’t sneeze. Don’t breathe weird. Don’t let your stomach growl.
The elite moved again, pacing toward the far wall—closer, closer, too close—
Goku pressed himself flatter.
A hand pressed into the tapestry right beside his face as the elite leaned against the wall.
They were inches away.
One wrong twitch and Goku would bump into them.
“…Hnh.” The elite sighed. “Prince Vegeta’s going to tear someone apart today. Can feel it in the air.”
Oh, great.
Just what Goku needed to hear.
The elite stood there for a few more seconds, muttering under their breath about incompetent officers, until finally—finally—they pushed off the wall.
More footsteps. Heading to the door.
A pause.
A long one.
Then:
“…Why’s the lock broken?”
Goku’s soul left his body.
“Guard—”Goku quickly leapt out from his hiding spot and clamped his hands over the man’s mouth.
“Shhhhh!” Goku hadn’t though this through, “Or—or I’ll kno–I mean, I’ll kill you!” Goku growled in his ear, trying to sound convincing. The man immediately began to struggle for his life. Goku was much stronger, but the man was decently large and being a real pain.
The guard thrashed like someone had set him on fire.
Goku clamped harder, trying to muffle the noise without actually crushing the guy’s skull. “Stop—stop squirming! I’m serious! I’ll— I’ll totally kill you!”
The threat sounded ridiculous even to him, and apparently the guard agreed because he reverse headbutted Goku enough force to send them both stumbling into the nearest table. A stack of parchment slid off the edge and fluttered everywhere.
“Oh no—no no no—!” Goku hissed, trying to keep the man pinned, trying not to knock over anything important, trying not to snap the guy’s spine by accident, trying not to die of sheer embarrassment.
The guard managed to get an elbow free and drove it into Goku’s ribs. It didn’t hurt, but it did make Goku lose grip for half a second.
Half a second too long.
The man twisted, inhaled sharply—
Goku slapped his hand back over the man’s mouth in pure terror.
“DON’T yell!” he whispered harshly. “Seriously! I’m not— I’m not here to, like, murder everybody! I just need—just—just STOP MOVING!”
The guard did not stop moving.
He fought harder, legs kicking, boots scraping against stone as he tried to leverage himself free.
“Man, why are you guys all so stubborn?!” Goku groaned.
The guard’s ki spiked—rage, fear, a little confusion—and suddenly he jammed his knee upward in a very unfortunate direction.
Goku dodged at the last possible instant, eyes going wide.
“Hey! No hitting there! What’s wrong with you?!”
The guard answered with another muffled, furious roar.
Goku, panicking and out of options, tightened the hold just enough to make the man freeze—instinctively recognizing that he was centimeters away from death if the stranger behind him wanted it.
“Okay—okay, good,” Goku whispered, panting. “Finally. Listen. I’m not— I’m not here to hurt you. Really. Just… don’t yell. Please? If anyone else comes in here, this whole thing’s gonna get waaaay worse.”
The guard, chest heaving, slowly stilled. Not calm—just calculating.
Goku felt the shift.
Oh no.
He knew that kind of silence.
The guard was thinking.
Planning.
Waiting for an opening.
“…Don’t be like that,” Goku muttered weakly. “C’mon. Don’t do anything crazy.”
Behind the nerves, the ki signature outside the room flickered again.
Someone else was approaching.
Someone strong.
Goku panicked. He punched the guy real hard and again, dove behind the tapestry again..
Man, I’m so cooked. More cooked than a biscuit at Red Lobster. The yelling guy was knocked out, at the least.
“What’s going on in here?” The voice was impatient. Demanding. Regal.
The king. Must be. Why’d it sound so…so good?
Goku froze like his brain had blue-screened, his hands still slapped over the guard’s mouth as the voice rolled into the room.
“What’s going on in here?”
Not shouted.
Just… impatient.
Commanding.
Regal in an effortless, too-good-for-you way.
Goku’s heart jumped straight into his throat.
The king. Has to be. Has to be—
But something about the tone—sharp, clean, cutting through the air like a blade—made his stomach twist. Saiyan kings weren’t supposed to sound like that. Bigger, maybe. Rougher. Older.
This voice was—
Why’d it sound so… so good?
Like power wrapped in velvet.
Like someone who didn’t even try to be intimidating because he didn’t need to.
Goku dared to peek one eye around the tapestry.
A shadow filled the doorway.
Not tall, not broad-shouldered. But it was almost more intimidating that he wasn’t, with that much confidence. Arms crossed with imperial disdain. Cloak draped over one side. Hair unmistakable even in the low lamplight—tall, flame-like, immaculate.
Not old.
Not grizzled.
Not the king he expected.
Goku almost choked.
Not the king.
The prince.
Vegeta.
It felt as if the air left the room as Goku’s ears picked up Vegeta’s footsteps moving closer and closer.
“You.Yes, you.” Goku swallowed. Surely…but he was caught. Goku stepped out sheepishly from behind the curtain.
“What have you done to Chovy?” Goku looked down, “He wouldn’t stop shouting at me. I just…I got lost. I’m with the new recruits.”
“You must be quite strong,”the prince made a statement, ignoring Chovy’s unconscious form, but Goku felt as if he needed to reply. As soon as he opened his mouth, Vegeta interrupted
“The latest recruits got her months ago. Why are you still getting lost?” Goku swallowed.
“Poor sense of direction…errr, sire.”
“Your armor is misaligned. It looks improperly fitted.” Vegeta’s voice was stern, but lacked suspicion.
…Really? He’s not angry?
“I’ve…lose weight, it seems.” Goku. “You gonna check on him?”
“Name?”
“Gokakarot.”
“What?”
“Uh. I mean, Kakarot, your highness, at your service…”Goku bowed.
Heh. I’m doin’ pretty good.
“Gokakarot. Interesting. Listen Gokakarot, we need to have your power level confirmed. The new recruits have already been tested, no?”
Great. Everyone’s going to think my name’s “Gokakarot.” And I can’t correct him.
“Of course, sire..” Goku was thinking quickly, trying to ascertain what sort of power-level he might have and what the scale of it was.
“So…your powerlevel, recruit.” Goku nodded vigorously.
“Of course, sire. 9,000, sir,” Goku saluted. Vegeta ignored him.
“That’s impossible,” Vegeta’s voice was low and dangerous.
“I-it is sir. Over 9,000,” Goku insisted. .
“My scouter detects your reading to be 245,”Vegeta snarled, “But someone with that power level could not have knocked out Chovy. How are you doing that?”
Goku shrugged.
“I suggest you come up with an answer. Before I give you one,”
“B-but sire, I do not know.”
Vegeta backhanded him brutally out of nowhere. Goku grabbed his nose, which was bleeding by now.
“You broke my nose!” Goku whined. Vegeta looked startled.
“You…should be dead…” Vegeta shook his head, “I’ll solve this myself. Tomorrow, Gokakarot. We meet in the battle arena.”
Goku coughed.
“Sire, it’s Kakarot, sire. What time?” he asked hopefully, wiping his nose. Vegeta snorted.
“1100 hours. You are dismissed.” Vegeta looked at him expectantly.
“Oh, of course. Thank you, your highness,” he bowed again. Then awkwardly walked out of the room and tried to look like he knew where he was going.
Oh no.
Not again.
He’d gone the wrong way again.
He turned slowly—too slowly—and Vegeta was still there in the doorway, eyes narrowed to lethal slits, cloak stirring faintly like it was offended on his behalf.
“Come with me,” Vegeta said, voice low and razor-edged.
Goku swallowed and hurried back, trying desperately to seem like someone who belonged anywhere at all. The blood still trickling from his nose wasn’t helping.
Vegeta marched ahead without looking back, boots echoing sharply in the corridor. Goku followed two steps behind, clutching his nose, meek as a kicked puppy.
Every few seconds Vegeta’s scouter beeped quietly, still locked onto Goku’s absurd reading of 245.
Vegeta muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Goku to hear:
“Impossible… 245… knocks out Chovy… takes a strike from me without vaporizing… what kind of idiot—”
Goku flinched.
Vegeta shot him a glare over his shoulder.
Goku immediately straightened up and pretended he hadn’t heard anything.
They continued walking through a set of ornate archways—clearly deeper into the royal wing—until Vegeta abruptly stopped. Goku nearly walked into him.
Vegeta’s tail flicked once, irritation radiating from every inch of him.
“You.” He pointed at Goku’s face like it personally offended him. “You said you are with the new recruits.”
Goku nodded. “Y-yes, sire.”
Vegeta’s eyes narrowed further.
“Then listen carefully.”
Goku tried.
Vegeta leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a dangerously quiet register:
“If you embarrass me tomorrow—
in front of the generals—
in front of the king—
or if your performance makes me look like a fool for giving you the benefit of the doubt…”
He paused.
“…I will ensure your death is slow and exemplary.”
Goku squeaked.
Vegeta straightened again, expression composed, regal, like he hadn’t just promised to murder him in 47 different elegant ways.
“Good. Now,” Vegeta said briskly, “I will escort you back to the barracks so that you do not get lost again and humiliate the royal family by wandering into the kitchens.”
They began walking again.
After a beat, Goku hesitated. “…sire?”
Vegeta didn’t stop walking. “What now.”
“Should…should I tell my squadmates that I’m fighting you?”
Vegeta snorted, a humorless, sharp sound.
“If you wish. They will not believe you.”
Goku sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”
Vegeta glanced at him sideways.
“…And your name is Gokakarot. That is how you introduced yourself.”
Goku nearly tripped. “Sire, please—I was nervous—”
“It is too late,” Vegeta said, turning a corner. “I have already decided.”
Goku groaned into his hands. “Aw man…”
Their walk to the barracks did not go unnoticed. While no one directly questioned Vegeta or Goku, almost everyone greeted the prince and ignored him directly. That did not mean eyes were not on him, because they more definitely were. Once Vegeta nodded at him and stalked away, Goku meandered, trying to overhear anything and everything. If only he could find the new recruits…find an empty bed…find his captain. Apparently this was going to take longer than he thought, and he needed to get acquainted with who was who if he’d have any chance at all of not being found out.
He found the friendliest looking person and took a bunk beside him and immediately felt the weight of the silence that came with it. The man looked up from a small, neatly folded pack on the bed, eyebrows raised but not in suspicion—more like curiosity. “You new?” he asked, voice low enough not to carry too far.
Goku nodded, fumbling slightly with his bag. “Yeah… just arrived. Trying to… figure things out, you know.”
The man gave a small smile, gesturing at the empty bunk beside him. “Well, you picked the quiet side. Most of the others are either training or… talking. Lots of talking. I’m Taro,” he added, extending a hand.
Goku shook it, grateful for the easy gesture. “Goku,” he said simply.
Taro’s eyes flicked toward the doorway where a few other soldiers were moving past, then back to Goku. “Just… keep your head down for the first few days. Watch and listen. Learn names, routines, and… who not to anger.”
Goku’s stomach twisted slightly. This wasn’t just about avoiding trouble—it was about survival. He nodded, sitting down heavily on the bunk. “Got it,” he said, forcing a grin. “Thanks.”
Taro gave a faint chuckle, settling back onto his own bunk. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out. Just… don’t do anything stupid in front of the prince.”
Goku froze slightly, processing that last part. Eyes darting toward the door again, he realized that every movement here carried weight—every glance, every word. And somehow… he’d have to navigate it all without drawing the wrong kind of attention.
Goku shifted on the bunk, trying to look casual while his eyes swept the room. A handful of new faces were scattered about—some unpacking, some quietly talking in pairs, others staring at the floor like they were trying to disappear.
He crouched slightly, pretending to adjust his bag strap, and let his gaze flicker across names on their uniform badges. There were at least five new recruits besides himself, each moving with the nervous energy of someone aware they were being watched but unsure by whom.
A short, wiry boy with sharp eyes caught his attention first. He was meticulously arranging his gear, muttering under his breath. Probably the kind who overthinks everything, Goku thought.
Across the room, a tall, lanky recruit laughed at something the burly one beside him said, his hand resting casually on the other’s shoulder. Confidence or ignorance? Goku wondered.
Then there was a quiet girl in the corner, her posture rigid, arms crossed, and eyes tracking everyone’s movements like a hawk. She didn’t look friendly. Probably someone you don’t mess with, he noted silently.
Finally, Goku caught sight of a pair huddled together, whispering urgently, glancing around as if they were plotting something. Trouble, maybe… or just paranoid, he mused.
Taro leaned slightly toward him, noticing his interest. “Want a tip?” he murmured. “The ones who talk the least? Watch them the most. They’re the ones you need to know, not the ones who shout.”
Goku nodded, absorbing it. Alright… step one, figure out who’s who without making a mistake. He shifted his focus, pretending to settle in, while mentally ticking off names, faces, and possible personalities.
Goku eased off the bunk, moving toward the far end of the room where a map and some posted orders caught his eye. It looked like a place where someone important might be—someone like a captain. He tried to keep his expression casual, nodding at a few recruits he passed, letting them see him as just another new face.
He caught snippets of conversation as he walked—mentions of training drills, guard rotations, and a whispered complaint about the prince’s temper—but no mention of the captain’s location. Of course, he thought. Why would anyone make it easy?
Finally, he spotted a small group gathered near a desk, clearly listening to someone giving instructions. Goku ducked closer, careful to stay in the shadow of a support beam. The voice was calm but carried authority, a quiet intensity that made everyone lean in without a word.
“Captain?” he murmured under his breath. He needed to introduce himself—but if anyone asked, he was from the capital. It was the simplest explanation, and hopefully it would keep suspicions low.
As the briefing ended, the captain—a tall figure with sharp features and an unmistakable air of command—turned, eyes sweeping the room. Goku stepped forward just enough to catch attention.
“I… uh… Gokakarot,” he said, voice steady despite the nerves. “I’m new, from the capital. Thought I should report to you.”
The captain’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and assessing, then gave a small nod. “From the capital, you say? Hmph. Keep your head down, Gokakarot. Learn the routines. Don’t make a mistake before you’ve even started.”
“Yes, sir,” Goku replied, hiding a relieved grin. Step one, done. Now just survive the rest of the day…
Goku finally returned to his bunk, muscles aching from the hours of walking and observation. The barracks had quieted down considerably now, the earlier flurry of activity replaced by soft murmurs and the occasional shuffle of boots on the floor.
He sat on the edge of his bunk for a moment, letting out a long sigh. Step one done… now step two: survive the night without looking like a complete idiot.
Careful not to draw attention, he lay back, pulling the thin blanket over himself. The unfamiliar noises of the barracks—the creak of floorboards, the distant laughter of a late-night patrol, the low hum of conversations from nearby bunks—made it harder to relax than he expected.
Goku closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing, to let the day’s events fade. Just a few hours, that’s all I need…
Somewhere across the room, a quiet snore told him Taro had already fallen asleep. Good. If he stayed still and kept to himself, no one would bother him.
Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, and Goku allowed himself to drift toward sleep, though his mind remained half-alert, replaying the faces, names, and routines he’d observed. Tomorrow would demand even more, but for now, the promise of a few hours of rest was enough.
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The arena loomed larger than Goku could have imagined. From the center, he could see the jagged rocks and crumbling walls that would serve as both obstacles and weapons. The polished stone floor gleamed ominously under the morning sun, each tile a silent witness to fights that had left scars on both stone and soul.
At the far end, atop the raised platform, generals and officers waited, their eyes sharp, recording every move. Vegeta stood at the edge of the arena, his posture rigid, cape brushing the stone, expression carved from steel. When he turned toward Goku, every fiber of the prince’s being radiated menace.
“You will face me,” Vegeta said, voice carrying effortlessly across the arena. “And if you embarrass yourself—or me—you will regret it.”
Goku swallowed, adjusting his stance on the uneven tiles. The rocks and scattered debris seemed almost malicious now, obstacles meant to trip him up. He could see the low trench and the fallen training dummies, knowing that every inch of the arena could become a weapon—or a trap.
Vegeta stepped forward, eyes locked on him, and the air itself seemed to tense. Even from the platform, the generals felt the danger radiating outward, a silent warning: this was not a simple exercise.
Goku’s heart pounded. This wasn’t just training. It was survival, performance, and humiliation all rolled into one—against a prince who expected perfection. He adjusted his feet, scanning the terrain. Rocks, walls, trenches… he had to stay light, stay fast. And above all… he had to avoid dying before the generals even blinked.
Vegeta raised a hand slightly, and Goku knew the battle was about to begin. The arena, vast and imposing, felt alive, anticipating the clash of power, skill, and sheer nerve.
Goku’s feet barely touched the ground before Vegeta lunged. The prince moved like a predator, every step deliberate, every motion a threat. Goku barely had time to dodge, rolling over a jagged rock and feeling the scrape of stone against his uniform.
“Stay sharp, Gokakarot!” Vegeta’s voice cut across the arena. Right, I’m Gokakarot… Goku reminded himself, cheeks burning. “Not that it’s helping me survive!”
Vegeta circled him, eyes cold and calculating. With a sudden burst of speed, he slammed a fist into the ground where Goku had been moments before, sending a shockwave of stone fragments into the air. Goku stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the debris. Okay, okay… think! Watch his movements, don’t panic…
He glanced around the arena, noting the trench to his left and a fallen training dummy to his right. Maybe he could use them for cover—or as a distraction. But every instinct screamed that Vegeta would anticipate it, probably before he even blinked.
Vegeta smirked, almost imperceptibly, and then accelerated. The prince’s first strike came so fast Goku barely raised his arm in time. The impact slammed him into the low wall, sending a shower of stones clattering across the floor. Goku gritted his teeth and scrambled upright, heart hammering.
“You’re slow,” Vegeta said, voice dripping with disdain, “and predictable.”
Goku swayed slightly on his feet. Slow? Predictable? I… I’ve been running for like five minutes! He ducked under a swift kick, rolled over a trench, and tried to regain composure. “I-I’m not slow! I just… um… need to… strategize!”
Vegeta’s eyes narrowed further. “Excuses. You will not survive on excuses.”
The arena suddenly felt smaller, suffocating even, as Goku realized this wasn’t just a fight—it was a test of everything he could do under pressure, with Vegeta’s unrelenting attention drilling into him. Every dodge, every feint, every breath had to be perfect.
Goku wiped sweat from his brow, trying not to think about how absurd it was that he was sweating so much while barely moving. Just survive… Goku… survive and don’t die… and maybe don’t embarrass yourself too badly…
Vegeta lunged again, and Goku leapt back, narrowly avoiding another strike. The sound of stone cracking under the prince’s force echoed around the arena like a warning bell.
This was going to be a long morning.
Goku scrambled back, chest heaving, eyes darting across the arena for anything he could use. The trench, the fallen dummy, jagged rocks—everything suddenly seemed like a potential lifesaver.
Vegeta didn’t give him a moment to breathe. He advanced with terrifying precision, each strike forcing Goku to duck, roll, or leap. A kick sent a cloud of dust into Goku’s face, and he coughed, sputtering.
“Focus!” Goku muttered to himself, dodging a punch that smashed the stone floor where he’d been standing. Okay… rocks… use the rocks… maybe throw one? No… too slow… just… just move!
He jumped over a low wall, barely avoiding another swipe from Vegeta’s arm, and landed near the shallow trench. The impact of Vegeta’s strike sent a shower of stones tumbling down around him. Goku flinched, tripping slightly on a jagged piece of rubble.
Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. “Pathetic,” he said, voice cold. “Do you even see the ground you’re standing on?”
Goku scrambled upright, glaring at the prince. “I’m trying! It’s… it’s… uh… tricky terrain!”
Vegeta didn’t respond, just lunged again, and Goku felt the full force of the fight pressing down on him. His arms ached, his legs burned, and yet… he couldn’t stop. One misstep, one second of hesitation, and it would be over.
He leapt over the trench, rolling into a better position, narrowly dodging a punch that shattered the stone beside him. Panting, Goku muttered, “Okay… okay… think, Goku, think!”
Even as the sweat dripped down his face, even as his muscles screamed, a tiny part of him couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer intensity of Vegeta’s skill. This is insane… but… I can do this… I have to…
Vegeta smirked ever so slightly, as if he could read Goku’s thoughts. “Good. You’re beginning to understand… just barely.”
Goku blinked, muttering under his breath, “Barely? Barely?! I’m alive, that’s barely enough for you?!”
The pain and sharp edges around Goku’s ribs were screaming, but so was something deeper — the fight or flight instinct. He staggered back, vision swimming, sweat and dust clogging his throat — and fleet‑footed as he was, every bone in him ached like he’d been thrown against rock.
But then, lightning. Not from magic or power, but from instinct. Goku noticed a loose stone slab a few feet away — the same kind of slab nearly cracked clean under one of Vegeta’s strikes. The prince had stepped over it without a thought.
A split second’s hesitation. Goku ducked sideways, then, fighting against his own dizziness, he rolled forward, grabbed the slab’s edge and pitched it backwards. The stone slab slid. It caught in the sun at just the right angle. Vegeta’s foot — moving for another strike — hit it. The prince's momentum slipped, his balance shattered for a heartbeat.
That was all Goku needed. He pushed through the pain, lunged, twisted — and struck, not with brute force, but with precision: a hard jab to the ribs, a feint to the side, a quick step in. The strike echoed harshly against stone. Vegeta grunted — and staggered.
Everything slowed for Goku. The arena’s dust hung like a veil in the sunlight, footsteps faded, the air seemed thick. He raised his chest high, breathing hard. You win this. You survive.
Maybe it was luck, maybe desperation, but it worked. Vegeta glared, muscles tensing, ready for an answer — and Goku held his ground. Not proud, not heroic, but standing. Unbroken, trembling.
Silence fell. A hush that felt heavier than screams. The generals and officers on the platform held their breath. The crowd, the guards — everyone waiting — nothing.
Then Vegeta straightened, slowly. The smirk wasn’t there anymore. Instead: respect. Bittersweet, cold—but real.
“That was… acceptable,” Vegeta said at last, voice low but carrying through the arena. “Don’t get cocky. Survival doesn’t make you worthy. But… you live.” The crowd went absolutely nuts cheering
“GOKAKAROT GOKAKAROT GOKAKAROT!!!” He caught a spark of mischief in the Prince’s eye and what looked to be a slight smile. Goku flinched. Was that smile bad, or good? Because it looked like it could be either way.
Goku didn’t celebrate. He only exhaled. Felt ribs burning, every breath a stab of pain. But he was alive. He had won — by wit, by grit, by refusing to die in the dirt.
He bowed — not to the prince, but to the arena, to the stones, to himself.