The din of the marketplace was deafening, the mix of alien languages shouted over one other an affront to Vegeta's ears. He curled his lip at it with disdain, pushing through the plebeian crowds to make his way past the lower tier stalls. He had no business with these cheap wares. That was a rookie's mistake. Cheap weapons broke. Cheap weapons got you dead.

Not that expensive weapons necessarily guaranteed quality. As he made his way to the upper tier smithies, elaborately decorated ki blades, maces, and lances sparkled from their stalls, richly adorned with frivolous trappings. Precious metals. Rare jewels. Intricate filigree. Useless ornamental bullshit, all of it. If he was going to spend his hard fought-for money on something to keep him alive, he was damned sure every single zeni was going into something useful like strength, durability, or balance.

Which is why he was so extra pissed that the pugio ki-dagger had broke on him in his last battle. It had not been cheap. Thank fuck it hadn't cost him his life, but it sure as hell cost him an eye. The healers weren't sure for how long. Maybe a few weeks, or a few months.

Maybe forever.

Vegeta was ready to murder the duplicitous dealer who had assured him in honeyed tones that the dagger would last 100 Gladiator games, but had barely made it through eight. The loss of an eye was unforgivable. It was a weakness, an obvious one. Weaknesses could be exploited. Weaknesses got you dead faster than a cheap weapon would.

Vegeta came to a standstill and swore loudly as the dust licked his boots. Someone must have tipped off the lying cunt because the man's stall was gone. He turned and glared at those nearby, hoping someone would look guilty enough that he could take out his rage on them. But no one dared meet his eyes.

…Eye.

His fists flexed, knuckles trembling with his frustration. He sucked in a hard breath, held it, and forced himself to let it out slowly.

Getting mad wasn't going to solve anything. He needed another weapon for the next fight. Weakness or not, he would not be beaten. He would turn this setback into a strength. His opponents would underestimate him now. He would make sure it was the last thing they ever did.

Calming his rage from an erupting volcano down to a containable simmer, Vegeta continued up the avenue of weapon-smiths and considered the wares. Several of them called to him by name, showing off weapons with promises of a 'princely' discount. He did his best not to murder them on the spot. This was just the way of the world; the bottom feeding fish circled beneath a predator, hoping to catch a free meal. He ignored them and kept walking.

One stall caught his eye. There were some unusual looking weapons and armor on display, different from the typical designs of the masses. In the middle of the table sat a simple hilt made of some unknown material. The moment he picked it up he was pleased to note it felt porous, like stone. It wouldn't slick as much from sweat or blood. A good sturdy grip, ergonomic, elegant in design but not overstated. A very good start.

He channeled his ki and startled when the blade burst forth with a fierce swoosh. It was much bigger than expected and oddly curved. He gave the weapon a cautionary heft, feeling its weight and balance.

Huh. Perfect.

He looked up for the weapon smith. A young woman in mismatched leatherwear was tinkering with something at the other end of the stall. She wasn't looking his way. For a moment he almost mistook her for Saiyan until he noted her strange complexion.

"Hey. Girl. Fetch your master. I have questions."

The young woman stood up like a cat stretching from a long nap, then cast him a disapproving look. "I'll have you know, this is my stall. How can I help you?"

He winced. Not because he might have offended her — he couldn't care less about that — but his mistake could make her less agreeable to bargain with. He had to reassert himself. "Your blade is bent," he told her snidely.

The woman's face twisted into outrage. "It is not! It's based on a sica design, you neanderthal."

He stiffened. Whatever the hell a neanderthal was, he could guess that it wasn't a compliment. "Is this how you conduct business? By insulting your clientele?"

"I don't need some asshole gladiator telling me about my job, thank you very much. Do you want to buy it or not?"

"This hunk of junk? It looks like a prototype. I wouldn't waste my time." His lip curled contemptuously.

"That's cutting edge technology, Mister. When these other brainless smiths catch on to how potent this ki weaponry is, they'll be begging me for patent rights."

He didn't ask her what patent rights were, context alone told him enough. She was a cocky thing, that was for sure. "How do I know it even works?"

"Stretch out your neck and I'll give you a demonstration."

They both glared at each other, coming to a stalemate.

He took in another breath. In — hold it — out. Let's try this again.

"What's so cutting edge about it?" he growled, his words coming out between clenched teeth.

She lifted her nose, considering him a moment, her eyes running over his physique before deigning to answer. "If you must know, it channels your ki far more efficiently than current methods. You could sleep with that baby on all night and still feel rested. I hand-designed the hilt myself, and it should last a couple hundred battles provided you aren't bashing it against too many skulls. And last but very much not least, the blade won't cut the ki signature it's tied to."

"What?" That last part was incredible. If true.

She saw his doubt. "Don't believe me? Try it."

He glared at her then down at the blade, wondering if it was a trick. Tentatively he brushed his thumb along the edge, and his eyes widened when his skin didn't split. "It's a dud then."

"Nice try, but wrong again." She picked up a piece of fruit by her side and threw it at him — not towards his blind side, he noted, and wondered if that was genuine consideration on her part. He curved the blade up and it sang beautifully as it cut the fruit clean in two. The cut was so smooth the two halves continued to fly unimpeded, and fell to the ground several feet away.

He loathed to admit it, but he was impressed.

"100 zeni," he offered.

His interest had softened her expression, but at this offer the woman's face hardened once more. "Are you insane? That doesn't even begin to cover the cost of materials, let alone everything else that went into its creation."

"Two hundred zeni. That's my final offer."

She was livid. "Hell no! It's nine hundred."

"Nine hundred?" he guffawed.

"Well I'd normally charge 8 but I really don't like you, so for the hassle of dealing with your face, it's nine hundred."

He couldn't speak for several seconds he was so incensed. How dare she! She had no idea who the fuck she was talking to. "Woman, you are walking on thin ice. Three hundred, or I go."

"The name's Bulma, bub. And I told you. It's nine hundred."

"That's not how haggling works."

"NINE. HUNDRED. Or did you lose your hearing along with your eye?"

He dropped the hilt on the table where it clanged loudly. The woman made an outraged sound and grabbed it up to inspect for damage, but he had already turned on his heels and was storming out of the markets before his fingers found her throat a more pleasant grip than her ki-blade.

~xox~

Something heavy fell in front of her face. Bulma pushed the goggles out of her eyes and looked up, surprised to see the irritating one-eyed gladiator from before. She narrowed her gaze. "You again? Come to try and bully me some more?"

His jaw worked, and she thought she saw a vein pulse in his temple. "Nine hundred," he said, each syllable sounding like it cost him a little piece of his pride.

She blinked at him, then looked down at the purse he had dropped on the table. She opened it and was genuinely surprised to see the coins inside. She quickly hid her shock and gave him a smug smile. "I guess you're not as stupid as you appear. At least you recognize quality."

His cheek twitched under his bandages. He was visibly trying not to take her bait. Pity. It had been kind of fun getting under his skin. "The sword?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on. What little of it you have on."

"Like you're one to talk—" he stopped himself, jerking his head to the side in irritation at having been roped in.

Bulma smirked but took pity on him, and grabbed the hilt. She hesitated handing it over. She hadn't been exaggerating. This really was her masterpiece, countless sleepless nights and weeks of research and testing having gone into its creation. She held it out. "You'll take good care of it, won't you?"

He grimaced as he snatched it up. "Isn't it supposed to take care of me? I swear, woman, if this thing fails and I live through the experience, I'll be coming for you. There's no place in the galaxy you can hide from me."

She scoffed. "When you see how well it works, you'll be begging me on your knees to outfit you with more."

He sneered at her, turned around and marched off.

"Hey!" She called after him. "Don't you dare die. I don't want people blaming my invention for it."

He didn't respond, and disappeared into the crowd. She sighed and started counting her zeni, before an idea struck her. She pulled out her notebook, and started to sketch some designs.

~xoXox~

AN: Based on Nala1588's Space Arena AU. It was so inspiring I couldn't help myself. Just a one-shot for now, although if inspiration strikes again I wouldn't be opposed to writing more :)