Trunks hit the floor for the third time that day. He grimaced and sat up, rubbing his chest where Vegeta's boot had connected with it; he could have sworn his ribs almost cracked that time. Still he wasn't going to be beaten that easily. He reached over and grabbed his sword, pulling himself up further, preparing to stand up. Vegeta was twirling his sword effortlessly. It was a rare occasion that Vegeta got this far without even so much a scratch. Trunks frowned and gripped the hilt tighter. Man, he was having an off day.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" Vegeta asked, spinning his blade over his wrist. "You're making this too easy on me. Don't make me regret putting you in that tournament."

Trunks glowered and stood up, straightening up and crouching into a fighting stance. "The only thing you're going to regret is leaving yourself so open."

Vegeta laughed. "That's more like it."

Trunks launched himself into battle, and steel met steel. Trunks felt far more natural with a sword in his hands, like his arm was complete again. He had taught himself most of what there was to know about swordplay, but Piccolo had insisted he learn a few proper techniques and had been all too willing to teach him. He had ordered Trunks to try and chop his arms off, and to use a proper sword technique to do it. At first Trunks had thought it was stupid, but when Piccolo had grown another arm in place of the other, he was eager to give it another go. Still, for some reason Trunks' head was not in the game today, and he felt the sword slip from his fingers, and saw it go flying across the room. There was a fine tip of a blade against his throat and Trunks clenched his fists angrily.

"You're distracted," Vegeta snarled.

Trunks turned his head, scoffing a little bit. He turned around, ignoring the blade and walked over to pick up his sword. "Let's go again."

"What's on your mind?" Vegeta asked, a taunting air to his words. "You're no challenge the way you are now."

Trunks frowned and turned back to the prince. "Will they be fights to the death?"

Vegeta looked shocked, before throwing his head back, laughing. "That's what you're worried about? Dying?"

"No," Trunks shook his head. "I'm not scared of dying, and even if I was I'm not going to die in this tournament."

"Then what's the issue?"

Trunks wasn't sure how to say it. He was no murderer. Not that he hadn't killed before. He had defeated plenty of enemies that had threatened the safety of the universe, but they had been just that. Enemies. He wasn't sure if he could kill people in a tournament, even if it was the race of people who had enslaved him and taken over his planet and killed so many people. He couldn't just end a life like it was a trivial matter. He was prepared to defend himself, and if it came down to it he would fight to protect his life, but he wasn't sure if he could end the life of someone he beat, just because the rules required it. He remained silent as Vegeta scrutinized him.

"Killing is allowed."

Trunks looked up, confusion on his face. "What?"

"It's a fight to death or incapacitation. It's only over when one can't move anymore. If that means death it means death. If it means his legs are broken that's still a victory."

Trunks visibly relaxed and readjusted his grip on his sword. He felt much better after hearing that. If he could just knock his opponents out he could still win; there would be no reason to kill anyone. He heard Vegeta snickering behind him.

"You're still so weak in the head, aren't you?"

Trunks scowled. "Valuing life isn't weakness."

"It is here," Vegeta walked over and grabbed Trunks' wrist, pulling his hand and the sword upwards. He positioned the sharp blade right next to his neck, and smirked releasing his hand. "Well? Don't you want to kill me?"

Trunks stared at the prince, shock and confusion showing in his eyes. "What?" That was all he could say under the circumstances. He had a sword pushed up against the neck of the prince of this race of monsters. With a flick of his wrist he could cut Vegeta's head off and end his life.

"It'd be easy, wouldn't it?"

Too easy. Trunks narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure what Vegeta's game was.

"Just one little movement and you'd end my life. Don't you want to?"

"I do."

"Then do it."

Trunks gripped the sword tightly. The temptation was overwhelming, but eventually he moved the sword backwards and lowered it to his side. Vegeta smirked and shook his head.

"See that? Weakness."

"If I weren't I'd have killed you," Trunks snapped. He didn't understand a lick of Vegeta's logic. "Besides, if I had, the entire Saiyan race would have turned on me, looking for blood."

"So?" Vegeta sneered. "Cut through them, destroy anyone who stands in your way."

"They'd kill my family, for 'treachery'."

"Forget them."

Trunks glowered, clinging to the sword so tightly that it started to cut off the blood flow to his fingers. "I would never leave my family to die."

"And therein lies your weakness," Vegeta shrugged. He glanced over at Trunks, with an evil glint in his eyes. "Perhaps I should just call to have them killed anyways."

Trunks' head snapped up, and he felt the blood drain from his face. "What? You can't!"

"Oh, yes I can. It would be very simple," the prince snapped his fingers. "One call, a few words, and poof! All your emotional ties to your weak way of thinking severed."

Trunks took a defensive step forward. "No! I made a deal, you can't just-"

"I'm the prince, I can do whatever I want. And you're too weak to stop me," Vegeta tapped his chinin contemplation. "Yes, in fact I like this idea. I think I'll follow through with it, and then once you've let go of those useless ties, I can train you in earnest—"

Vegeta didn't get a chance to finish. Trunks launched himself at him with a furious battle cry, anger pumping through his veins. Adrenaline surged through him, and he felt electrified. His Ki sparked at the edges and he felt it burning at his hands and hairline. For a moment he thought it might burn him from the inside out, and destroy him once and for all. The collar felt tight around his neck, and he was blinded by the anger and hatred that consumed him. He felt his sword connect with Vegeta's who had managed to raise it in a last minute defense. Trunks knocked it away easily, lunging in for another attack. Adrenaline hung over his eyes like two wet blankets, blinding him to anything else in the room. All that mattered was Vegeta. Vegeta's blood. Spilling that blood.

Suddenly Trunks snapped back to reality when the crimson liquid splattered forwards, hitting his face. He gasped and the adrenaline evaporated, his anger dissipating. He was finally able to see the damage he'd done. It wasn't a major wound, but it wasn't pretty anyways; he managed to catch Vegeta in the shoulder with a particularly vicious swipe of his sword. Vegeta stood there, holding the wound, grinning like the maniac Trunks had always suspected he was. He was barely aware of the many strong hands grabbing him until he was forced to his knees with a spear pointed at his neck. He gasped as the cold steel brought him rocketing back to reality. He had attacked the prince, who also happened to be his master. He had drawn blood. There was no way they'd let him get away with this. They'd kill his grandfather, his grandmother… his mother. Tears stung at his eyes and he cursed himself for being such a fool. He could hear Nappa's voice somewhere to his left.

"Prince Vegeta, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, you fool," Vegeta's cold voice snapped. "Apart from being annoyed with your interference."

"Say the word, your highness, and he'll be executed."

Trunks mentally prepped himself for the blow, and vaguely wondered if he'd meet his mother on the other side. The next words surprised him.

"No, release him."

All eyes were on Vegeta, wide in shock and horror, especially Trunks. Nappa was mortified. "Prince Vegeta!"

"I said release him, are you deaf? Don't ignore my orders, you idiot!"

The guards holding him relinquished their grip and Trunks sat there on his knees, looking shocked and confused for the second time that day. He looked up at Vegeta who continued holding his wound, he was looking smug as usual.

"I'm going to a healing tank," he said, looking over at the guards. "Take the boy back down to the slaves quarters and heal him as well. His ribs are fractured."

The guards nodded dumbly and Vegeta kneeled down, so he was eye level with Trunks.

"I had a feeling you had it in you. You just needed a bit of coaxing," he put his free hand on Trunks' shoulder and stood up. "You have a big day tomorrow. Don't mess it up."

Part of Trunks' brain remembered that the tournament did indeed start tomorrow, but he was far too shocked to respond. The guards grabbed his arms and hauled him up as Vegeta left the room. He had really attacked the prince and gotten away with it. If there was a god in heaven, or fate, or whatever you believe in, it was finally showing him some favor.

At least, that was what he had been thinking when Nappa had bludgeoned him over the head with the hilt of the sword. Oh well. Can't have everything.

"You want to what a what?"

Bardock sighed, tapping a finger up and down on the wooden desk across from him, he had gone over this at least three times now. He shook his head and leaned over in the chair he was sitting in. "I want to enter one of your slaves in the tournament," he repeated, folding his arms across the wood. "I'm not sure what you're having a hard time understanding here."

The man who ran the water plant looked at him with more confusion and shock as if he was hearing the words for the first time when Bardock had been saying them for at least the past half an hour. One of the judges at the tournament was standing next to him, looking just as shocked and confused. Bardock rolled his eyes.

"Now… hold on. Which slave would this be?"

"Goten," thename meant nothing to them, he could tell. He groaned and sighed. "I don't know his I.D. number, he's an earthling, I can go get him if you want."

"No, no… that won't be necessary…"

"Look, Bardock," the water plan owner leaned over. "I… appreciate your enthusiasm here, but I can't spare any of my workers."

"Slaves," Bardock corrected. Workers were paid and could quit. He'd always made a point to have a distinction.

"Yes, whatever. I just can't afford to lose anyone, this quarter. I've got a busy schedule, and…"

"It wouldn't be much of a competition," the judge said, adjusting his scouter.

Bardock sighed and rubbed his temple. "Look, the kid is strong and if he dies I'll pay the difference, okay? Just enter him. The prince has got a slave in the competition."

"Yes, but he's the prince."

"I don't care, I want to enter this kid. It'll be a good advertisement won't it?" Frankly Bardock didn't want Goten entering. For some reason the thought of his grandson dying made his gut squirm uncomfortably, but he wasn't about to let that show. Goten was strong, but he wasn't sure if he was strong enough to enter this thing. Still, the kid had been adamant about it, and Bardock was at least going to try. "Two slaves, in the tournament? It'll make it interesting won't it?"

The more interesting it was, the more money they were bound to make, and that was a language the judge seemed to understand. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt…"

"Absolutely not!" The water plant owner snapped. "He's still mine, and I don't-"

"I'll buy him off you then," Bardock said, before he realized what was happening.

"You'll buy him off me?" The owner said, scoffing. "You're a third class, how much zeni could you possibly have?"

"How much do you want?"

"A thousand."

"Done," Bardock flipped a card out of his pocket and handed it over. The owner took it warily, and swiped it through a machine. He became pale as a sheet, and looked up at Bardock, sweating.

"It accepted it."

"So there's no issue then," Bardock leaned back in his chair. "Is there?"

"N… No. No there's not."

"Good," Bardock stood up, and looked to the judge. "You enter him, I'll bring him by tomorrow."

"Of… of course."

Bardock turned around and left the room. As soon as the door closed, he blinked, and leaned up against the wall. He put a hand over his eyes. "What the hell am I doing?" He whispered, shaking his head. He had never acted this way before. Why did that kid bring out this strange side of him? The worst part was, Bardock wasn't so sure that he didn't like it. He shook his head. "This is ridiculous," he made his way back to the boiler room, his hands folded over his chest, he opened the door and stepped inside, scanning the roof for where Goten usually sat. The boy was up on his usual rafter, relaxing like he almost always was. Bardock had scarcely seen him do a lick of work. He finally managed to catch the boy's eye, and he beckoned him down. Goten was all too happy to oblige; he scurried down the rafters and pipes hitting the floor with his bare feet. He ran up to his grandfather grinning ear to ear.

"Did you get me entered?"

"I did."

"Yahoo!" Goten jumped up, excitedly. "That's great! Thank you!"

"I had to buy you to do it."

"Yeah—what?" Goten looked up at Bardock, the happiness melting from his face, replaced with pure confusion. "You… had to buy me?"

Bardock turned his head, frowning. "Yeah, you owe me a thousand Zeni."

"You paid a thousand for me?"

Bardock looked down at his grandson, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah… so?"

The grin was back on Goten's face as if nothing had happened. "Boy, did you get ripped off!" He laughed. "I'm worth five hundred, tops."

Bardock took a step back, completely shocked by the boy's attitude. His face flushed red with embarrassment. "Oh, shut up, you!" He said, knocking Goten's head slightly with his fist. Goten just laughed harder, wiping his eyes. Then he looked up at Bardock, and grinned ear to ear. And then, with no warning, he did something no one had ever done to Bardock before. He hugged him.

"Thanks, grandpa."

Bardock stared down at his grandson for a few minutes, before putting a hand on the boy's head. "Stop calling me that."