As they walked through the crowded streets, Truffle led the way with Meelo at her side, her eyes scanning the movement around them. Vegeta and Gohan followed closely behind, taking in their surroundings with calculated vigilance. Tarble and Broly kept to the rear, their eyes scanning the environment, always alert, noting the subtle tensions in the air—the glances exchanged in hidden corners, the way people moved just a little too quickly when the wrong eyes were on them.

They reached a quieter part of the city, where the noise and bustle began to fade. The neon lights dimmed as the buildings grew older, their façades worn by time, with cracks running down the sides and rust creeping along metal doors. The air grew cooler, tinged with the scent of oil and old brick, the energy of the streets replaced by a heavy, almost oppressive stillness. An inconspicuous door tucked between two rundown buildings marked the meeting spot, its peeling paint barely visible beneath the grime. The contrast from the chaos of the streets to this secluded area was striking, as though the door led to another world entirely.

Inside, the dim lighting cast long shadows against the cracked, uneven floors. The air smelled faintly of stale smoke, mingling with the scent of old wood and rusted metal. A few patrons sat hunched over tables in the corner, nursing drinks in quiet conversation, their faces mostly obscured by hoods and low hats. The walls were lined with old posters advertising long-forgotten events and outdated tech, the colors faded from years of neglect. The atmosphere was thick, heavy with the kind of secrecy that only a few people in the room were privy to.

Truffle, however, moved with ease through the dimly lit space, her eyes darting to each table, picking out the subtle details that set her informant apart. She recognized the posture first—the subtle way he sat, not as a regular in a place like this, but as someone who knew how to remain unnoticed when necessary. His eyes, though, were the dead giveaway—sharp and calculating, scanning the room, never fully relaxing. Truffle's gaze locked on him almost immediately. He was at a corner booth, his back to the wall, his fingers drumming lightly on the table, as if waiting.

She moved toward him with a steady pace, her movements calm but deliberate. Her sharp eyes noticed the small, concealed communicator at his side and the way he subtly shifted his position as they drew closer. He looked out of place among the otherwise rough clientele, his clean-cut appearance and well-maintained attire marking him as someone who didn’t quite belong here—yet that was precisely why Truffle knew he was the right contact.

Truffle wasted no time as she approached the booth. She slid into the seat across from the informant, causing him to briefly tense at the sudden motion. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes widening slightly as Truffle’s presence startled him. His hand instinctively hovered over his drink, as if ready to react, but she spoke first.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Truffle said, her voice calm but commanding. “I know you were expecting me, but I didn’t come alone.” She glanced over her shoulder, motioning for the others to join her. Gohan, Vegeta, Tarble, and Broly took their seats, their quiet movements and stoic expressions giving the informant a sense of how serious this meeting was.

The informant, a tall humanoid with sharp, calculating eyes, blinked at Vegeta before returning his gaze to Truffle. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice low, almost in disbelief. Truffle raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Before the informant could elaborate further, Vegeta’s voice cut through the murmur of the room, sharp and no-nonsense. “What do you have for us?” His tone left little room for small talk.

The informant cleared his throat, briefly glancing between the group. “Right…straight to business,” he muttered, pushing his drink aside. “Following the intel you shared with us, Truffle, those you’re looking for—that fit the description—have been appearing frequently at a club here on Vornis. It’s called ‘The Last Round.’ It’s a popular spot for certain...types. A place where people let their guard down, blow off steam, and, well, test their strength.”

Truffle leaned forward slightly, her expression sharp. “And what else?”

The informant hesitated for a moment, glancing at the group again before continuing. “From time to time, some of them participate in an underground tournament there. It’s brutal, even by Vornis standards. Recently, a few new fighters have shown up with...tails.” He paused, letting the weight of the information settle. “That’s your lead. If you’re looking to dig deeper, that’s the place to be. But getting in isn’t simple. Entry’s restricted—you either need to place bets or participate in the tournament to get in.”

Truffle nodded, taking in the information. “It’s the best lead we’ve got as of now.”

The informant leaned forward, lowering his voice even further. “There’s something else. The Last Round isn’t just an underground fight club. It’s a hub for criminal activity. Crooks, gang members, smugglers—this place attracts everyone, from small-time thieves to the elites of the quadrant. The Galactic Patrol has been trying to shut it down for some time now, but it’s been impossible to gather enough evidence or create the right opportunity to take it down.”

Before Truffle could reply, the informant leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “That’s where you come in. Whoever you’re looking for is hiding out in the exact place we’ve been targeting. This might be the break we’ve been waiting for. While you’re tracking your lead, I need a favor in return—gather enough intel on who comes and goes from that club, its inner workings, and, if possible, create a disruption. Give us a window to move in and shut the place down.”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened, and his arms crossed over his chest. “We don’t have time to play errand boy for the Galactic Patrol. Our focus is on finding their homeworld. That’s it.”

The informant didn’t flinch under Vegeta’s glare. “I understand. But think of it this way—if this club stays operational, there’s no telling how many more planets will be affected. You’re not just chasing one lead; you could stop a chain reaction of destruction.”

Truffle stepped in, her voice calm but decisive. “Don’t worry about it, Vegeta. You and the others focus on the mission. Meelo and I will handle the Galactic Patrol’s request. We’ll gather the intel and create a distraction. That way, nothing sidetracks.”

Vegeta’s expression remained skeptical, but he gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

The informant gave a small sigh of relief. “Good. The Last Round is crawling with danger. Just keep your heads down and don’t draw too much attention.”

Truffle turned toward the group, her expression firm. “Let’s move. We’ve got what we need.”

As the group left the booth and stepped back into the streets of Vornis, their mission was clear. The Saiyans would focus on uncovering their lead while Truffle and Meelo worked to lay the groundwork for the Galactic Patrol’s operation.

***

When they arrived at The Last Round, the entrance loomed like a gaping maw at the end of a shadowy alley. Dim lights flickered above the doorway, barely illuminating the hulking silhouette of the bouncer standing guard. The air was thick with tension and the faint sound of pulsing music that seeped through the walls. As they approached, the bouncer’s eyes swept over the group, his expression hardening.

“No late entries,” the bouncer said flatly, crossing his massive arms over his chest. His voice was deep and carried the weight of someone who had dealt with all manner of trouble before.

Truffle stepped forward, flashing a disarming smile. “We’re here for the tournament,” she said smoothly, her tone dropping just enough to suggest she was in on whatever illegal operation was happening inside.

The bouncer barely budged. “Rules are rules. You’re not on the list, you’re not getting in.”

Truffle hesitated, her mind racing for an angle. “Look, I don’t think you want to turn us away,” she said, her voice lower, more suggestive. When the bouncer gave her a skeptical glare, she motioned toward Broly, who stepped forward silently, his massive frame practically blocking out the light.

The bouncer’s bravado faltered for a moment as he took in Broly’s sheer size. Broly didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. His piercing gaze and imposing presence spoke volumes. The bouncer, clearly rattled, coughed and stepped aside. “Fine. Go ahead. Registration’s straight through, to the right. Take this.”

He handed Truffle a sleek black ID card. She took it, eyeing the bouncer carefully. “And this?”

“You’ll understand once you’re in,” the bouncer muttered, clearly eager to have Broly and the rest of the group out of his immediate vicinity.

“Much appreciated,” Truffle said, tucking the card into her jacket and leading the group inside.

The interior of The Last Round initially seemed like a standard club. Loud music thumped through the air, and neon lights danced along the walls, casting everything in sharp, vibrant hues. A haze of smoke lingered near the ceiling, mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Patrons from across the galaxy filled the space, some gathered in booths, others pressed together on the dance floor.

But as Truffle led the group deeper into the club, following the bouncer’s directions, the atmosphere began to change. They approached a sleek reception desk tucked away near the back, where a well-dressed alien with sharp features greeted them. Truffle handed over the ID card, and the receptionist scanned it before nodding.

“This way,” the receptionist said, motioning for them to follow.

They were led through a concealed door into a separate part of the club. Here, the air was different—thicker, with a palpable sense of wealth and danger. The music was softer, more refined, and the decor was polished to perfection. This area was clearly reserved for the elite, a place where moguls, mob bosses, and other powerful figures gathered to conduct their business away from prying eyes.

Truffle leaned in toward the group, her voice barely audible. “This is it. I’ve heard rumors about places like this—the real power players of the South Quadrant gather here. The underworld doesn’t just operate; it thrives.”

She discreetly pointed out a few individuals scattered throughout the room, each exuding an aura of authority or menace. “That one over there? A weapons smuggler. And that one? Runs a whole planet’s black market.”

As they continued through this elite section, the group was finally led to another desk where tournament registrations were taking place. Behind it, another attendant, this one bulkier and rougher-looking, eyed them suspiciously. Beyond the desk, Vegeta noticed the arena itself.

The centerpiece of the room was a pit encased in a cage, with sharp edges around its rim and a gritty, makeshift floor. Spectators surrounded it, some cheering, others exchanging credits or drinks as bets were placed. The roaring of the crowd echoed through the space as a current match ended, one combatant dragging himself out of the ring while another celebrated their victory.

“This is brutal,” Truffle muttered, her gaze sweeping over the pit.

The attendant at the registration desk looked up impatiently. “Name of the fighter?”

Truffle turned to the group, clearly considering Broly. “It should be you,” she began. “With your size and presence, you’ll draw enough attention away from the rest of us.”

Broly frowned but said nothing, waiting for the others to decide.

Gohan, however, stepped forward. “It has to be me,” he said firmly.

Truffle raised an eyebrow. “You? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not exactly the most intimidating choice.”

“Maybe not,” Gohan replied calmly. “But think about it. Vegeta’s face is too recognizable. If anyone here has ties to the Saiyans we’re looking for, they’ll know him immediately. Broly’s too powerful—we risk blowing our cover if things get out of hand. And Tarble… well, he’s too well-known in the wrong circles.”

Truffle looked at Vegeta, who gave a small nod of approval. “He’s got a point.”

Gohan turned back to Truffle. “I can handle this. I’ll keep my power in check, and I won’t cause any trouble. Trust me.”

Truffle hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But you’re not using your real name. We’ll need an alias.”

Gohan smirked. “I’ve got just the one in mind.”

With that, Gohan stepped forward, ready to register, while the rest of the group prepared for the next phase of their mission. The tension in the air was thick, and all eyes were on the pit ahead, where Gohan would soon make his stand.