[Vegeta (RottenGalactoseBestiarusz)]

*Vegeta Vs The Chef*

The heat radiating from Chef Ricardo was no longer just from his ridiculously oversized stove. It was an aura, a tangible wave of energy that pressed against Vegeta’s skin. Gone was the flailing buffoon; in his place stood a man radiating culinary-infused power.

Vegeta, momentarily stunned, barely managed to block a chop that would have caved his skull in. The force reverberated through his arm, a painful jolt he hadn’t felt from a human in years.

“Tch,” Vegeta spat, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Alright, cockroach. I underestimated you. But that ends now.” A smirk stretched across his face, predatory and cold. He powered up, his Super Saiyan aura flaring, pushing back against Chef Ricardo’s simmering heat. The arena trembled under the Saiyan Prince’s power.

“Hmph,” Ricardo grunted, his pot lid shield shimmering. He didn’t seem intimidated, merely…focused. His eyes, usually twinkling with jovial mischief, were now narrowed, calculating.

The fight resumed, a whirlwind of blows and blocks that sent shockwaves through the arena. Vegeta, faster and stronger, rained down attacks, trying to overwhelm Ricardo. But the Chef, moving with an almost unnatural grace, deflected, dodged, and parried with his bizarre weaponry. The whisk blurred, deflecting ki blasts like errant raindrops. The saucepan absorbed punches that should have shattered bone. The pot lid, his primary defense, rang with the force of Vegeta’s blows, yet remained stubbornly intact.

Vegeta noticed something. It wasn’t just the strength or the equipment. Ricardo was flowing, like water, adapting to every attack. He wasn’t just blocking; he was redirecting, using Vegeta’s own power against him. It was a strange, almost intuitive technique. He was using the entire arena in his defense, bouncing off walls, using the very air as a shield.

“He’s…using momentum,” Vegeta realized, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “He’s not relying on brute force. He’s leveraging my power against me.”

Suddenly, Ricardo launched himself forward, not with a punch, but with a perfectly executed sauté pan strike aimed directly at Vegeta’s ki control center. The blow, deflected at the last second, still sent a searing pain through Vegeta’s abdomen, disrupting his ki flow.

“Damn you!” Vegeta roared, reeling back. He blasted a wave of ki energy, hoping to incinerate the Chef. Ricardo, in a desperate maneuver, threw his pot lid like a frisbee, deflecting the energy blast upwards. The blast, now uncontrolled, slammed into the arena’s ceiling, causing a tremor that shook the entire structure.

Large chunks of the arena’s stone roof began to crumble, raining down on them like lethal hail. The ground started to crack, fissures widening across the battlefield. The very arena, already strained by their clash, was starting to disintegrate.

“Heh, it seems we’re making a bit of a mess, aren’t we, Prince?” Chef Ricardo said, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the chaos. He dodged a falling chunk of rock, landing gracefully on the other side of a widening chasm.

Vegeta, equally agile, leaped across another fissure. “This is your fault, you pathetic cook! You pushed me this far!” But even as he yelled, a sliver of admiration sparked within him. This ridiculous, culinary-obsessed man was proving to be a worthy challenge, forcing him to think, to adapt.

The falling debris, coupled with the raging ki energy, made visibility poor. The air crackled with unstable energy, making it difficult to maintain a steady ki flow. The arena was no longer just a battlefield; it was a deathtrap.

Vegeta knew he had to end this quickly, not just for himself, but for the sake of escaping the traps in the arena alive. He closed his eyes, focusing, drawing on every ounce of his Saiyan pride and power. He had to find a way to leverage this chaos, to turn the crumbling arena itself into a weapon. The lesson he learned from Ricardo’s technique started to crystallize in his mind. He wasn’t just going to overpower him; he was going to outsmart him. He would use the arena itself to bury this infuriating, surprisingly strong, chef.

**Finale: The Taste of Defeat**

Vegeta opened his eyes, now glowing with fierce golden intensity, his Super Saiyan aura crackling like a storm held barely in check. “You’re right, Ricardo,” he growled. “We’re making a mess. But unlike you, I *thrive* in chaos.”

With a thunderous *boom*, Vegeta launched himself into the air, dodging a pillar of flame that erupted from a fallen gas line below. Ricardo followed, springing upward in pursuit, pan and whisk at the ready, his aura now bubbling like boiling broth. The two clashed mid-air in a dazzling flurry of blows—but Vegeta was no longer fighting head-on.

He was adapting.

Every time Ricardo redirected a punch or used momentum to counter, Vegeta learned. He began twisting his attacks mid-motion, feinting blows, using *his own energy’s recoil* to change direction unpredictably. The chef, for all his fluid grace, began to falter. His timing—once perfect—grew erratic under Vegeta’s constantly shifting rhythm.

Then Vegeta spotted it: a massive slab of roof, suspended by a thin support beam behind Ricardo, barely hanging on.

**”Perfect.”**

Vegeta shot forward, not at Ricardo—but *past* him. The chef, caught off guard, pivoted with a wide swing of his pan.

But that’s exactly what Vegeta wanted.

He planted a ki blast against the weakened support beam as he passed. The explosion rocked the arena again—and the slab of stone above came crashing down.

Ricardo whirled around, eyes wide. His pot lid flew up instinctively to block it, but it was too much mass, too fast. The slab buried him in an eruption of dust and debris.

Silence.

Then a cough.

A charred pot lid rolled out from under the rubble.

From above, Vegeta hovered, breathing hard, sweat-drenched and bruised, but victorious. He descended slowly, eyes locked on the smoldering pile. The energy in the air began to settle, the chaos dimming.

The dust cleared to reveal Chef Ricardo, half-buried, one arm free, still clutching his now-dented whisk. His chef’s hat was torn, face smudged with soot—but there was a smile on his lips.

“You… flipped the script,” he rasped.

Vegeta folded his arms, his aura dimming. “I used *your* lesson. I stopped fighting like a brute. Used the battlefield. Adapted. That’s how a true warrior fights.”

Ricardo chuckled weakly. “And here I thought I’d serve you a lesson…”

“You did.” Vegeta looked down at him, not with contempt—but with something close to respect. “Next time, don’t come at a Saiyan without expecting a real fight.”

He turned away as medics rushed into the ruined arena. Over his shoulder, he added, “…And next time, I’ll be ready for your ridiculous kitchen kung-fu from the *start*.”

Ricardo laughed, coughing again. “Deal… but only if you try my five-alarm curry first.”

Vegeta paused. “Tch… Fine. But if it’s as strong as your punches, I might regret it.”

As the smoke cleared and the crowd erupted into cheers and disbelief, Vegeta walked off, victorious—not just in strength, but in growth.

The Prince of all Saiyans had learned a new flavor of battle.

And he liked it.