A/N: Soooo I almost forgot that today is Cellera's birthday and someone on tumblr suggested that I should write her first birthday 'celebration' on Earth that was mentioned back in chapter 16. I won't lie, I kind of had to speedrun this mini chapter since I literally didn't remember until like a day or so ago, so hopefully there aren't any mistakes, but I hope you guys all enjoy this mini chapter before the main one tomorrow!
The gravity chamber's hum filled the Capsule Corp grounds as morning sunlight filtered through the reinforced windows. Inside, Cellera's breath came in controlled bursts as she dodged a barrage of energy blasts from her father. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her muscles burning from the strain of training under 150 times Earth's normal gravity.
Vegeta stood with arms crossed, his expression calculating as he tracked his daughter's movements. "Your defense is improving," he noted, though his tone carried no warmth. "But your counter-attacks lack conviction. Your mother never hesitated to exploit an opening."
At the mention of Rhuba, Cellera's eyes narrowed. She adjusted her stance, analyzing the pattern of his attacks. While her father preferred overwhelming force, she'd learned from her mother that precision often prevailed against raw power. She'd need both to survive what was coming.
"Again," Vegeta commanded, uncrossing his arms as he shifted into an offensive stance.
The intercom system suddenly crackled to life, Bulma's voice filling the chamber. "Training session over! Gravity disengaging in ten seconds!"
Before either of them could respond, the gravity levels began dropping rapidly. Vegeta's face contorted with fury as he marched toward the control panel.
"Woman! What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, slamming his fist against the communications button.
Bulma's face appeared on the monitor screen, hands planted firmly on her hips, her blue hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "What am I doing? What are YOU doing? Do you know what day it is?"
Cellera blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. "It's... Wednesday?" she ventured, glancing toward her father who looked equally confused by the Earth woman's behavior.
"It's your birthday!" Bulma exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "And here you are, training like it's any ordinary day!"
Vegeta scoffed, turning away from the screen. "A waste of time that could be spent getting stronger," he stated flatly. "The girl understands the importance of continuous training."
"It's fine, Bulma," Cellera interjected, stepping closer to the monitor. "The androids will be here in two years. We need every day of preparation we can get."
Bulma's eyes flashed dangerously. "She's turning eight, Vegeta! Eight! And this is her first birthday since settling on Earth. You can't seriously be making her train all day!"
"She's a Saiyan warrior," Vegeta replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smirk. "Not some soft Earthling child who needs constant coddling."
"Coddling?" Bulma's voice rose several octaves. "Celebrating the day she was born isn't coddling! It's showing her that she matters as more than just a training partner!"
As the two continued their verbal sparring, Cellera found herself studying them with growing fascination. There was something different in how they argued now compared to when she'd first arrived on Earth. What had once been purely antagonistic exchanges now carried an undercurrent of... something else. The way her father's gaze lingered on Bulma's animated gestures, how Bulma's cheeks flushed slightly with each retort—it reminded her of combat partners testing each other's defenses.
"If you want her to have this celebration so badly," Vegeta finally declared, his smirk widening with challenge, "then she'll have to earn it. Saiyans don't receive gifts—they prove their worth."
Bulma crossed her arms, mirroring his stance through the screen. "Fine. What's your condition?"
Vegeta turned to Cellera, amusement dancing in his eyes. "If the girl can land three solid blows against me today, she can have her... celebration." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'll allow her to use the Super Saiyan form—she needs more practice controlling it anyway."
Bulma's triumphant smile spread across her face. "What do you say, Cellera? Think you can knock some sense into your father?"
A familiar competitive spark ignited in Cellera's chest at the challenge. While she'd never admit it aloud, the prospect of proving herself against her father always stirred something deep within her. She'd only used her Super Saiyan form in their training a handful of times since mastering the transformation after the Garlic Jr. incident—her father insisted on focusing on her technique in base form first.
"Three hits," she agreed, moving back into position as the gravity slowly began increasing again.
Vegeta's smirk held equal parts confidence and challenge. "Don't expect me to make this easy, girl. Birthday or not."
Cellera nodded, settling into her stance as she reached within herself for that familiar power. Golden light erupted around her small frame, her dark eyes shifting to teal as her hair lifted upward in a brilliant golden flame. The transformation still felt intense, a rush of energy and heightened senses flowing through her.
"Begin," Vegeta commanded.
Cellera barely had time to register his movement before Vegeta was upon her, his fist connecting solidly with her guard. The impact sent her sliding back several feet despite her transformed state. She grimaced—he truly wasn't holding back.
Recovering quickly, she launched her own assault, throwing a flurry of precisely aimed strikes that Vegeta deflected with practiced ease. Each blocked attack only heightened her determination as she analyzed his movements, searching for patterns in his defense.
"Your transformation makes you stronger, but your technique remains the same," Vegeta observed, driving forward with a powerful combination that forced Cellera to weave and dodge. "Power without control is wasted."
A roundhouse kick caught her in the side, sending her tumbling across the chamber floor. The impact would have incapacitated her in her base form, but the Super Saiyan transformation allowed her to roll back to her feet with only a momentary wince. Her father was fighting seriously—exactly as she'd expect.
Cellera wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow, her eyes tracking Vegeta's movements with focused intensity. While her father might not possess the raw power boost of her Super Saiyan form, his years of combat experience more than compensated for the difference.
As they exchanged blows, Cellera felt the familiar rhythm of combat taking hold. This wasn't just training—it was a dance they'd perfected over years, each anticipating the other's moves through countless battles. Vegeta might possess greater experience, but she had been studying him her entire life.
There—a pattern in his combination attacks. He favored a particular sequence when pressing an advantage, one that left a fraction of a second opening after the third strike. Cellera took a calculated risk, allowing herself to absorb a glancing blow to her shoulder to position herself perfectly.
As Vegeta completed his third strike, Cellera twisted inside his guard and landed a solid punch to his abdomen.
"One," she announced, jumping back before he could counter.
Vegeta's eyes narrowed, but a hint of pride flickered across his features. "Not bad," he acknowledged before launching himself forward with renewed intensity.
Their battle escalated, golden energy crackling around Cellera as she matched her father's ferocity. She took several solid hits, each one testing the limits of her endurance even in her transformed state. A particularly powerful strike sent her crashing into the chamber wall, leaving a Cellera-shaped dent in the reinforced metal.
She pushed herself up, wiping a trickle of blood from her lip as she assessed her father. He was breathing harder now, though his stance remained perfect. Despite his earlier comments, he was clearly taking this challenge seriously—a sign of respect she didn't take lightly.
Cellera launched herself forward with renewed determination, feinting left before dropping low and sweeping Vegeta's legs. He jumped to avoid the sweep, exactly as she'd anticipated. As he descended, she was already in position, her fist connecting solidly with his chest.
"Two," she counted, unable to keep a small smile from her lips despite the throbbing pain from her earlier impacts.
Vegeta landed with a slight frown, adjusting his approach. His next attack came with even greater precision, each strike calculated to exploit any weakness in her guard. Cellera found herself on the defensive, blocking and dodging with increasing difficulty as fatigue began to set in.
A powerful energy blast forced her to dive aside, leaving her momentarily exposed. Vegeta capitalized immediately, his boot connecting with her side and sending her tumbling across the floor. She coughed, feeling the ache of what would undoubtedly become impressive bruises by morning.
"You're relying too much on foresight," Vegeta noted as he blocked her counter-attacks. "Sometimes you need to trust your instincts."
Something in his words resonated. Her mother had always emphasized analysis, but her father's approach had merit too. Perhaps true combat mastery lay in blending both approaches—the strategic mind and the warrior's instinct working in harmony.
Cellera adjusted her approach, allowing her instincts to guide her movements while her analytical mind continued to search for patterns. She felt a shift in her fighting style, becoming more fluid, more unpredictable.
Vegeta noticed the change immediately, his own attacks becoming more cautious as he reassessed his daughter's approach. For several intense minutes, they exchanged blows without either gaining a clear advantage, the chamber echoing with the sounds of their combat.
When the opportunity finally came, it appeared in the form of Vegeta's growing frustration. As he launched a particularly powerful assault, Cellera recognized the slight overextension in his movements—the hunger to end the match overtaking his usual precision.
She feinted a retreat, drawing him further into his aggressive push. When he committed to a powerful right hook, she shifted inside his guard, taking the edge of the blow across her shoulder while simultaneously driving her elbow into his solar plexus.
"Three," she announced, her voice steady despite her ragged breathing and the various aches throughout her body.
For a moment, silence filled the chamber. Vegeta stood perfectly still, his expression unreadable as he stared at his daughter. Then, slowly, a small smirk formed on his lips.
"Acceptable," he stated, the single word carrying more approval than any lengthy praise might have.
The intercom crackled to life once more, Bulma's victorious cheer filling the chamber. "She did it! That means birthday celebration is officially on!" Her grin was wide enough to be seen even through the small monitor. "Go get cleaned up, and meet me in the main building in thirty minutes!"
As Bulma's face disappeared from the screen, Vegeta powered down the gravity chamber without further protest. Cellera released her transformation, the golden aura fading as her hair returned to its natural black. The sudden absence of the Super Saiyan energy made her injuries more apparent, though none were serious enough to warrant concern.
"Your technique has improved," Vegeta noted as they exited the chamber. "But tomorrow, we train for twice as long to make up for today's... diversion."
Cellera nodded, recognizing the statement for what it was—not a reprimand, but acknowledgment of her progress. Coming from her father, it was practically effusive praise.
Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and dressed in casual Earth clothes, Cellera entered the Capsule Corp living area to find it transformed. A colorful banner hung across the wall, proudly proclaiming "Happy Birthday Cellera!" in bold letters. Small decorations adorned the room, tasteful rather than excessive—Bulma had clearly considered her preferences.
But what caught Cellera's attention was the centerpiece on the coffee table: a perfectly crafted strawberry shortcake, adorned with fresh berries and delicate cream. Beside it sat a small, carefully wrapped package.
"There she is!" Bulma exclaimed, appearing from the kitchen with a camera in hand. "Come sit down! I know it's not much of a party without other kids, but I figured you'd prefer something quieter anyway."
Cellera nodded gratefully, still somewhat overwhelmed by the effort Bulma had put into this celebration. On Frieza's ship, birthdays hadn't existed. After her mother's death, she doubted her father had even remembered such milestones.
"Thank you," she said simply, the words carrying more weight than their brevity suggested.
Bulma's expression softened. "Of course, sweetie. Now, present first or cake?"
"Present," Cellera decided, her curiosity piqued by the small package.
Bulma handed her the gift, watching eagerly as Cellera carefully unwrapped it. Inside lay a royal blue ribbon, made of silky material that caught the light as she lifted it from the box.
"I noticed you struggle sometimes with your hair getting in your face during training," Bulma explained. "This should help keep it back, and the color..." she smiled, "well, it seemed fitting for a princess, don't you think?"
Cellera ran her fingers over the smooth material, an unexpected lump forming in her throat. Such a simple gift, yet so thoughtfully chosen. "It's perfect," she said quietly.
"Here, let me show you how to use it," Bulma offered, taking the ribbon and standing behind Cellera. With gentle movements, she gathered Cellera's hair and tied it back in a practical ponytail, the blue ribbon securing it firmly in place. "There! What do you think?"
Cellera turned toward the nearby mirror, studying her reflection. The style was practical yet elegant, the blue ribbon contrasting beautifully with her dark hair. Something about seeing herself this way—in Earth clothes, with this new hairstyle—highlighted how much had changed since her arrival.
"I like it," she said finally, turning back to Bulma with a genuine smile.
"Great! Now, cake time!" Bulma announced cheerfully. "And this one is all yours—I made sure to get a small one for us adults to share later. But this one? Nobody touches but you."
As Bulma began cutting a generous slice, a figure appeared in the doorway. Vegeta leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching the proceedings with his usual stern expression. Cellera hadn't expected him to make an appearance, and from Bulma's surprised glance, neither had she.
"I thought you'd be back training by now," Bulma remarked, though her tone lacked its usual edge.
Vegeta's expression remained impassive. "The chamber needs recalibration after our session," he stated flatly, though both Bulma and Cellera knew the chamber had been functioning perfectly.
He approached the table, his eyes briefly scanning the decorations with thinly veiled disdain before settling on Cellera. "Enjoy your Earth celebration," he said gruffly. "Tomorrow's training begins at dawn."
Without another word, he turned to leave, pausing only briefly at the doorway. "The color looks suitable on you," he added, before disappearing down the hallway.
Bulma and Cellera exchanged surprised glances before Bulma broke into a smile. "Well, that's practically a sonnet coming from him," she joked, placing the cake before Cellera. "See? Even he can acknowledge something special now and then."
As Cellera took her first bite of the sweet, tangy cake, she found herself reflecting on the unexpected turns her life had taken. Three years ago, she'd been fighting for survival under Frieza's rule. Now, she was enjoying a birthday celebration while training to defend her new home.
The royal blue ribbon and the strawberry shortcake represented simple joys she never would have experienced before Earth. Even her father's grudging participation showed how much had changed. From a life focused solely on survival to one where birthdays could be celebrated—the contrast was striking.
Tomorrow would bring renewed training and her father's doubled expectations. But today, just for these brief hours, she allowed herself to simply enjoy being eight years old. And as she savored another bite of cake, she decided that perhaps there was wisdom in some Earth customs after all.