“Well, well. Looks like this tournament is going in my favor after all, and after such a poor following from my subjects…” Prince Vegeta couldn’t restrain the smirk tugging at his mouth, a grim sort of satifaction settling upon him. It truly was appropriate to be facing him, of all people, in this tournament.
“So you believe this to be in your favor, then? Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Right across from the Prince stood a very similar figure, one who shared not only the Prince’s namesake, but likeness. A fact that neither Vegeta overlooked. However, the Vegeta across from the Prince was different. His outfit, his posture, everything… It was very relaxed, almost sloppy. Something Prince Vegeta frowned at. It reminded him of Frieza, when they fought. Cocky, foolish, completely assured by his own power…
At least, until he'd blown a hole through Frieza a foot wide, and a mile long. No cockiness then. Just a look of shock and fear, eyes glassy and mouth agape. Vegeta had let the blast register for a moment, framing Frieza’s face in his mind so he could savor that look. Then, with child-like ease, the Prince of all Saiyans permanently erased the black mark that had been stamped upon his race for over a century.
Remembering that victory had brought a slighty shiver of giddiness and pride down Prince Vegeta’s spine. He hadn’t lost then, and he knew he wouldn’t now. His legacy wouldn’t allow it.
---
The minute Vegeta laid eyes on the prince, he could see something in him that if he allowed himself to be honest about, admired. There was an intensity in the Prince’s gaze, a look of confidence sprung from a well of a lifetime of self-assurance. This was a Vegeta who had not been broken, a Vegeta who had been affirmed in his pride, not disillusioned. Vegeta could sense the power flowing through the Prince, all too obvious to him who had learned to sense and conceal the potential held within; it was strong. It held all the radiance of a star, unrefined, pure…
But it would not be enough. Not nearly. He could see that now. This power might’ve been able to carry the Prince through the height of the Frost Demon empire’s might, but Vegeta knew if he were ever fight the likes of Buu, like a flame fed on match sticks the Prince would burn hot but all too soon be quickly snuffed out. It was an unfortunate truth that he himself had tried to ignore since his very first defeat by Kakarot’s hand: that in matters of strength, Pride was a double-edged sword. It could grant you immeasurable power, even as it crippled you from using that power to its full potential. If the Prince continued to wield it, he would die by it, realizing too late just how unwieldy and useless it really was. And that would be the end of the Saiyan Race, a foolish cliff note on the pages of the Universe’s history.
Vegeta had just enough pride left in his race to believe that the Saiyan Legacy deserved a better fate, and a more worthy inheritor. He did not want to see this wet-eared, weak-hearted boy drive the very last of it into the ground. He wouldn’t allow it. He would break the boy himself before he’d let something like that happen. And hopefully, in the breaking, the boy would take the pieces of his shattered pride and build himself up to be worthy of the title of ‘Prince’.
