A long shower only prolonged and intensified Vegeta's serenity of spirit. He thought of the woman, and he did so with careless delight. In the water that washed over his body, he felt her warm flesh against his. Closing his eyes, he let the memory repeat itself over and again; it brought him such elation that he nearly questioned whether or not the events of that night had truly happened at all. It must have happened, however; Vegeta's mind, when it played tricks on him, never tricked him with benign, blissful fantasies. In any case, Vegeta's sense of content overpowered any habitual attempt to deny, doubt, or despair. He would go to bed happy, and he had a rare confidence that he would sleep well.
When he finally exited the bathroom, glancing down the hallway in the direction of his guestroom, he discovered something strange. Light poured out from his room's entrance. Vegeta distinctly remembered shutting off the lights and locking his door before he had left; all evidence incontrovertibly indicated that someone had broken in and violated his privacy. He did not need to guess who had done it. Anger hastened his step.
Customarily, Vegeta made his bed immaculately each morning. Now, however, he saw that the woman had mussed the coverlet and sheets, both creased as if she had taken a seat and failed to smooth the fabric upon leaving. On top of the bedspread lay Vegeta's shorts—the same ones he had worn before the woman had removed them. Instantly, Vegeta realized that he had forgotten them in his rush to escape her room. He cursed himself for his negligence under his breath. He cursed again when he discovered a slightly crinkled piece of paper resting on top of his shorts. The messy script it bore, in all capital letters and lacking any punctuation, read: YOU FORGOT YOUR GODDAMN SHORTS YOU SELFISH NARCISSISTIC FUCK
Naturally, Vegeta vaporized the note in his hand immediately upon reading it. As he went to lock the door, he broke into another litany of curses as he fully cognized the fact that no security device could confound that cunning woman. Fastening the lock had always been no more than a formality, a habit, an empty solace. Doubtlessly, she could trespass and tamper with his things any time she wished. Vegeta thanked himself for keeping everything in his room in such tight order; with each object and its place memorized, he would notice any change he had not initiated himself. He stripped the bed and ransacked his drawers, looking for any trace of the woman's intrusion.
He found nothing, and he put everything away.
Relieved, he made his bed, then slipped between the sheets. It had passed midnight by now; once he curled up on his side and began to relax, weariness overtook him. He stared at the bare wall bleary-eyed, and his thoughts wandered without restriction. Once more, memories of the woman's closeness intoxicated his senses. A warm tingle emanated from his fingertips as they remembered the yielding softness of her ample breasts. He dwelt on it for a few long moments before he realized that the very same woman he had so enjoyed, no more than a couple of hours ago, had profaned his space.
One last time, he cursed his negligence. And why had she called him selfish? Of all possible insults, why that one? Surely, she did not dare believe that, after attempting to manipulate him with her body, he had some obligation to surrender to her. How could she tempt him to bed her, but then lash out at him for doing so? If he had injured her, she would have had an understandable reason to lash lash out. But he had not injured her, and if he had, he imagined she would have used much harsher words than "selfish" or "narcissistic." The moment before Vegeta fell asleep, he concluded that he would extract a confession from the woman the next time she had the audacity to confront him.
He woke later than he would have liked. He should have anticipated that, considering the events of the previous day and night. It made no difference, though; he performed his morning rituals, then went downstairs in search of coffee and breakfast. Upon entering the kitchen, he noticed that Dr. Briefs had taken the chair he, Vegeta, customarily took. At least it wasn't Yamcha.
"Good morning, Vegeta!" he greeted cheerfully, laying down a reading tablet.
The Saiyan poured himself a cup of coffee and said nothing.
"I finished the repairs and upgrades on the ship," Dr. Briefs went on just as cheerfully. "Once you're done here I can give you a little tour."
Vegeta spun around, acknowledging the older man with eye-contact and a nod. Unable to take his habitual seat without saying something, he began striding to and fro across the kitchen, sipping his coffee every few seconds.
Dr. Briefs broke the silence."My wife left some pancakes and sausage for you."
Vegeta merely continued pacing, feigning disinterest.
"I think they're in the microwave," the older man mused as he stood and headed toward the counter.
Seeing his opportunity, the Saiyan sat down. A few minutes later, Dr. Briefs set a large plate of food and a fork and knife before him. Vegeta did not look up from his breakfast when the older man took the chair beside him and began a feeble attempt at conversation.
"I remember that you said something interesting about Saiyan engineers at dinner about a week ago. They were raised in environments conducive to their talents after being tested shortly after birth, right?"
"Yes," was Vegeta's simple answer.
"What did that involve, if you don't mind my asking?"
The Saiyan found himself answering the question before he had time to prevent it. "It was the same for all children set aside for their intelligence. They were sent to train under the masters of their field once no longer dependent on others' care."
"They were taken away from their parents?"
"Yes, if the parents were relegated to other duties in our empire. But, as intelligence, like all traits, runs in the blood, the children of the most intelligent Saiyans often found themselves training under their own relatives."
"It sounds like everything was very controlled," Dr. Briefs commented after a pause.
"It was." Vegeta swallowed the last few bites of his breakfast.
"I imagine some people objected to it."
"If they did, they were stripped of their class. Third-class Saiyans were not regulated with as much care as their superiors, and if one objected to one's station, one could join their ranks." Vegeta's voice had taken on a scoffing tone. After taking the last sip of his coffee, he got up, gathered his dishes, and set them on the counter next to the sink.
Dr. Briefs sunk his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and smiled at Vegeta. "Let's go to the ship."
Together, they stepped out onto the lawn. The ship stood in its usual place, its new paint and improved exterior gleaming in the morning sun. Once Dr. Briefs opened the hatch, Vegeta raced inside, and the older man followed him casually.
Indicating the command console, Dr. Briefs said, "You'll find everything here virtually the same. I only made some minor software upgrades. I think it's pretty self-explanatory to someone like you. As for the gravity simulator, it should be able to exceed five hundred times Earth's gravity without too much trouble. I'd say anything beyond six hundred is experimental, though. If you ever run it at that level, I'd like to hear from you in case troubleshooting is needed. You're the only one who can really test it, anyhow."
Vegeta examined the console carefully. He stomped his boot into the floor, noting that material of the tiles gave him more traction. "I will train now," he announced.
"You don't want to see what I've done with the fuel cells or the propulsion system?"
"No. I've seen enough. I will train now."
Dr. Briefs shrugged his shoulders. "All right, then." As he turned to leave, he added, "Be careful. Extreme gravity is dangerous even for you Saiyans, as we've seen time and time again. Bulma says you can be reckless sometimes. She talks to me about you all the time, you know."
Vegeta twitched at the mention of the woman's name.
"At first, I was skeptical about making a simulator that exceeded the capacities of my first model, I'll admit, but working on this for you has really inspired me. It's been a pleasure. Stop by my lab if you think of anything else you might want me to build, all right? I'm always looking for a new challenge; I think you understand. It's good to have you back at full—"
"Silence, old man!" Vegeta interrupted with a snarl.
Dr. Briefs started and gave the Saiyan a confused look.
"I will train now. Leave me unless you wish to be crushed by the simulator."
"Oh, excuse me," Dr. Briefs mumbled apologetically as he exited the ship clumsily.
Annoyed, Vegeta snapped the hatch shut. The old man had his uses, surely, but he groveled before him in the most undignified, fawning manner—more than likely at the behest of that damned woman. At least the gravity simulator was operational again. He could lock himself away and train, and he could finally conduct himself meaningfully. The time of idle thoughts and idle actions had ended; his routine would restore his peace of mind.
Blankly, Vegeta stared at the simulator's command screen, unsure of what gravity level to subject himself to. Four hundred and twenty-five times Earth's gravity had nearly killed him, he remembered shamefully. He had no particular desire to die today; he was too happy, as strange as that was. Four hundred had been his previous limit, but since he had not trained using high gravity in so long, he concluded that even that would prove too much. Sighing, he settled on three hundred and fifty. After the pressure had descended upon him, he tested his strength against it, and he quickly realized that he had selected the correct gravity level.
He trained until dusk. Exhausted and famished, he headed straight for the kitchen once he had finished. As he sat down with the plentiful leftovers the woman's mother had left him, Vegeta unconsciously sought out Bulma's energy; he had not forgotten his resolution to confront her the next time she crossed him. Yet when he focused, the Saiyan detected no trace of her on the premises of Capsule Corp., neither in the upper rooms nor in the laboratory. Faintly, he caught her essence in the direction of the city center; she had not come home from the headquarters, it seemed. Perhaps she was avoiding him; he would not put such a tactic past that conniving woman. She would build her strategy and bide her time as he would his.
Smiling to himself, Vegeta imagined her sitting on top that expansive desk of hers, plotting and scheming, her legs crossed just enough to offer a generous glimpse up her skirt. Her suggestive posture was one of her plans, of course, and she would no doubt practice it in his absence. The thought of it aroused him fiercely. And just after he gave into the temptation of his wandering mind, stretched out across his bed, he cursed himself, feeling as if he had somehow allowed her some small victory. It made no difference, however; he belonged to himself again.
Author's Note: I like to do a bit of art occasionally, and my story has inspired me to do some illustrating. I thought I'd ask you, the readers, which scene from The Mistaken Wish you would most like to see. For a preview of my personal artistic style, simply look to the cover art I posted for this story.
Again, I reiterate that, after I finish The Mistaken Wish (don't worry, though, I still have a ways to go!), I hope to add a bonus chapter in which I answer frequently asked questions pertaining to my story. I thought it would be a cool way to interact with my readers and give them a way to enjoy the story in new ways even after I finish it. If you have a question, don't hesitate to ask in a review or in a personal message. I'll give you a couple examples of some questions to get you guys thinking: "How do you choose chapter titles?" "Why did you write The Mistaken Wish from Vegeta's perspective?" or even "What have been your greatest influences as a writer?"