After the sparring that shattered Vegeta's confidence, the atmosphere around Vitli's home became… odd.
Strange Saiyans lingered in nearby streets, eyes full of curiosity and probing.
Raditz's broom-like hair became a constant sight.
Whenever Vitli meditated in the yard or trained in sweat-soaked focus, Raditz would hover nearby—pretending to pass by, squatting on rooftops, secretly watching and recording every move, every rhythm of punches, even every exhausted roar.
Vitli knew perfectly well.
He just didn't care.
Vegetas's curiosity—really, his wounded pride—could do whatever it wanted.
As long as they didn't step into his yard or disturb his rhythm, he'd treat them like air.
His routine stayed precise as a machine.
Morning meditation and ki alignment. Late morning body-forging under triple gravity. Afternoon fine ki control and burst practice. Night sleep early so he'd be sharp every day.
Servants kept bringing huge piles of calorie-dense food. He swallowed it down like a storm, turning every unpleasant bite into fuel.
A week later, the gravity room finally arrived.
Several trembling alien engineers delivered a silver-gray metal cabin about ten meters across into his backyard.
Energy pipes and vents crisscrossed its shell. A thick circular hatch sat in the middle.
"L-Lord Vitli… the gravity room you requested is complete… ten times Planet Vegeta gravity maximum."
The lead engineer shivered, offering an instruction manual.
"Please… please be careful when using it."
Vitli ran a hand over the cold metal, feeling the tech within, excitement pounding in his chest.
Finally. No more junk that died on him mid-workout.
Ten-times gravity.
A staircase to far greater power.
"Good work."
He kept his face calm and nodded.
The engineers fled like they'd been pardoned.
The hatch sealed behind him with a hydraulic thud.
Vitli stood in the center, inhaled, and tapped the control panel.
A low, steady hum rose—deep and powerful compared to his old rig.
Then an invisible weight crashed down.
It felt like a planet had dropped onto his shoulders.
He grunted. Knees bent. Bones creaked under the load.
Ten-times gravity.
This was the kind of pressure that made strength bloom.
His eyes burned with raw desire.
"Ten times… come on!"
He clenched his jaw, veins bulging, ki igniting inside him like explosives.
He forced himself upright, inch by inch raising his arms.
Stronger. Stronger.
That carved-in-soul belief carried him into a new round of vicious training.
Every punch felt like pushing a freight ship.
Every kick was like fighting through molten steel.
Even breathing crushed his lungs.
Sweat didn't drip—it poured, then vanished into steam from his heat.
Days flew in the roar of the gravity room, the screams of his body, and the surge of rising power.
Morning meditation moved into the room itself.
He sat cross-legged under ten-times gravity, trying to empty his mind.
He recalled faint teachings from memory—"Keep your heart as clear as the sky; let your movement be lightning."
Keeping a calm mind was hard enough.
Keeping it calm under ten-times gravity was hell.
But he ground away every stray thought, focusing on breath, on ki flow, on touching the first outline of a god-like state.
From after meditation until evening, he did full-spectrum physical training under ten-times gravity.
Strength, speed, endurance, reflex.
He wasn't just chasing power anymore—he aimed to make his body move like lightning even under crushing weight.
That required muscles, bones, nerves, and ki to synchronize at terrifying efficiency.
Night: after short rest, deep ki exploration.
He switched between normal gravity and ten-times, studying how pressure changed ki behavior.
Normal gravity for extreme compression and concealment.
Heavy gravity for complex internal circulation and refined bursts.
The effect was ridiculous.
His battle power rocketed past fifteen thousand and still kept climbing.
In one month, he blew through fifty thousand baseline.
When he tested it, the scouter literally exploded.
Vitli could only sigh and dig out an old model.
Even so, the speed of growth made even him uneasy.
More strange still: his body was changing in ways beyond numbers.
Punches, dodges, blocks became more instinctive—no longer calculated.
It was as if his body gained its own "wisdom," birthing a near-reflex combat intuition.
That mental-physical evolution thrilled him more than the numbers.
It felt like the seed of a divine realm.
"Every morning he sits there like an idiot, spacing out until noon, then only then enters the gravity room? Lazy!"
Deep in the palace, Vegeta listened to Raditz's detailed reports, lips curling in contempt—but his eyes burned with fanatical fire.
"If it were me, I'd start training before sunrise! Twice his hours—no, triple!"
He clenched his fists, face twisted with obsession.
"Next time I see him, I'll smash that smug look off his face and make him kneel!"
Raditz kept his head down, terrified.
Since being "educated" by Vitli, the high-born prince had started training like a low-class warrior… no, worse. It was self-torture.
He doubled intensity, dragged five-thousand-power warriors in as sparring dummies…
Those unlucky fools were still in medical pods.
"B-but, Prince Vegeta," Raditz tried to remind him softly, "King Vegeta has arranged our first mission… one month from now to Planet Sofu. A mid-class world. The gravity room issue—"
"Shut up!"
Vegeta's stare cut like knives.
"Are you questioning me? Or Father's orders?"
Raditz dropped to his knees, sweat soaking his back.
"I wouldn't dare! It's just… the mission is close…"
"A mid-class planet mission won't take long!"
Vegeta snapped, absolute confidence in his voice.
"Hurry them up on the gravity room. One month is enough. If Vitli can grow that fast with his lazy method, I'll surpass him with effort. Get out. Don't interrupt my training. Tell me when we depart!"
"Y-yes, Your Highness!"
Raditz rolled out like he'd escaped execution, cursing Vitli in his heart.
Because of that monster, the prince had become a powder keg.
A month slipped past.
Vitli's home sat like an island in the eye of a storm—utter calm.
King Vegeta seemed to allow his seclusion. Vegeta himself was lost in chasing plans. No one disturbed Vitli's rigid routine.
Then calm shattered.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
A shrill door chime pierced the gravity room walls, interrupting Vitli's extreme punch sprint.
He lowered his fists, feeling the surging fifty-thousand-power ki inside him, frowning.
Lunch time wasn't even close.
He shut down the gravity system. The crushing pressure receded like a tide, leaving his body so light it nearly floated.
He opened the hatch, heat steaming off him, and went to the front door.
Nappa stood outside, bald head slick with sweat.
Seeing Vitli, Nappa instinctively stepped back half a pace, speaking fast:
"V-Vitli! Orders are in! Assist Prince Vegeta to conquer Planet Sofu! Tomorrow morning, Dock Three at the spaceport. D-don't be late!"
He said it like he was fleeing death, then stared nervously, afraid Vitli might explode.
Vitli's face didn't change.
"Mm. Understood. Thanks for coming."
He closed the door, as if it were nothing.
Outside, Nappa exhaled in relief, wiped sweat, and shot into the sky at full speed toward the palace.
He was scheduled as the prince's sparring partner today.
Going late meant a different kind of punishment.
Inside, Vitli didn't return to the gravity room immediately.
He stood by the window, staring toward the palace with a deep, unreadable gaze.