Dragon Ball: Taro Saga Chapter 3 - Work, Work, Work

Taro swung his pickaxe against the rock face and the impact jarred his bones. The vibration ran up his arms and into his shoulders and his hands already ached from gripping the rough handle. His fingers were split open from days of work and sweat ran into the wounds and made them sting but he didn't stop. The deeper they went the hotter it got and the air was thick with dust and the smell of sweat and blood. It clung to everything and filled his mouth and made every breath taste like dirt and metal. The tunnels stretched on endlessly and the deeper they dug the worse it got. The radiation from the ore was in everything. The walls glowed faintly and the light it cast made everyone look sick and gaunt. Some of the workers coughed constantly and their skin peeled from their hands and arms in places where they had handled the ore too much. The longer you worked the more your body broke down and no one cared. You worked until you couldn't anymore and then you were thrown into a pit.

Someone collapsed beside him and the guard overseeing their section barely even looked before slamming a boot into their ribs. The worker didn't move. Dead or dying it didn't matter. Another guard called out and two workers dragged the body toward one of the deeper tunnels. They weren't seen again. The quotas didn't change. The work didn't stop.

Taro wiped the sweat from his forehead and swung again. The ore was buried deep in the rock and every strike sent small shards flying. The bigger chunks had to be pried loose by hand and the raw material pulsed with energy and burned into the skin of anyone who handled it. Some tried to use cloth or scrap to cover their hands but it didn't help. The radiation sank through everything. It ate into the flesh and left behind deep red welts that never fully faded. Someone screamed further down the tunnel and Taro didn't look right away because it happened all the time. Someone got too close to the unstable sections or the rock gave way and crushed them. The walls groaned constantly and sometimes the tunnels just swallowed people whole. The ground cracked and they went down and that was the end of it.

The screaming didn't stop.

Then the sounds changed.

Taro turned in time to see the tunnel collapse inward and something crawled out of the wall. The creatures weren't new. They lived deep in the crust and burrowed toward the surface whenever the tunnels went too far into their territory. This one was the size of a man and had too many legs. Its body was covered in a thick shell and its mouth was wide enough to clamp around a head and bite straight through. Another broke through the ceiling and dropped onto a worker before anyone could react and ripped into him, tearing through his shoulder and dragging him down.

People ran. Some screamed. A few tried to fight back.

One of the guards fired a ki blast into the mass of writhing limbs and blew one apart, but two more replaced it from the hole in the rock. Taro gritted his teeth and ducked as another shot was fired and the heat from the explosion scorched the tunnel.

Another worker got pulled down and their arm went flying in the opposite direction.

The fight didn't last long. It never did. More guards arrived and between their weapons and ki blasts the creatures were forced back. The hole in the wall was sealed with controlled detonations and just like that it was over.

The bodies were left where they fell and the guards didn't even acknowledge them.

"Back to work."

Taro didn't hesitate. He picked up his pickaxe and swung.

The work didn't stop. The heat didn't lessen. The air didn't get cleaner. His muscles burned but he forced himself to keep going. He mined until his blisters tore open and bled and then kept mining. His ribs ached from where they had broken earlier but he kept moving. His body screamed at him to stop but he didn't stop.

He swung until the pickaxe slipped from his hands and his legs gave out.

He hit the ground and the world spun. His breathing was ragged and his body felt like it had turned to stone. His fingers twitched and he forced them to close around the pickaxe but his arms wouldn't move and his vision blurred. He wasn't done.

A boot slammed into his side.

"Get up."

Taro didn't move.

The boot hit him again.

"Move or you don't eat."

Taro forced himself onto his hands and knees and the tunnel swayed around him. His stomach churned and his head pounded and his vision went dark for a second but he stayed up. His body shook but he grabbed the pickaxe and forced himself back to his feet.

He kept mining.

Mining was simple. You dug, you extracted, you carried the ore to the deposit stations, and you hoped it was enough to meet quota. If it wasn't, you didn't eat. The ratio was clear. A full crate of ore got you one ration bar. Two crates got you two. Most could mine enough for two or three a day if they worked hard, but the stronger ones never stopped at that. They stole whenever they could, took what they wanted, and left the rest of them scrambling for scraps.

The overseers didn't care. They didn't count who mined what. They just took what was brought and handed out food based on results. The guards only stepped in if someone tried to kill another worker in front of them, but even then, sometimes they didn't. No one stopped the fights. No one made it fair. If you couldn't hold on to what you earned, it was taken.

The main tunnels were safer, not because they were actually safe, but because they were watched. The overseers worked in shifts, keeping the main work areas under constant supervision. The deeper tunnels weren't. If you went down too far, you were on your own. No one would come if you screamed. No one would report you missing. No one would even notice you were gone until the next shift when they counted fewer bodies than before.

Taro had no choice but to take the risk. He'd done a bit in the main tunnel now he would need to move.

He moved toward one of the less-used tunnels while most were still working in the main section. He didn't have the strength to fight for food. He couldn't afford to have what little ore he gathered taken from him at the last second. If he wanted to eat, he had to dig where no one else wanted to dig.

The deeper tunnels were hotter. The air was thicker. The light from the glow panels barely reached past the first bend in the tunnel and he had to rely on the faint luminescence of the ore itself to see. The ground was uneven and the air smelled stale and dead. The last time this section had been used was months ago and the only reason it wasn't sealed off was because the rock was still rich with deposits.

He raised his pickaxe and swung.

The first hit shook his arms. The second sent dust into his face. The third broke the rock and the faint glow of raw ore pulsed beneath the surface. He reached in and pulled out a chunk the size of his palm and shoved it into the crate he had dragged with him.

He swung again.

The impact sent a jolt up his spine. The rock split further. His arms already burned but he ignored it. He had to fill the crate. That was all that mattered.

The minutes bled into hours.

The heat drained him but he kept moving. His fingers bled but he kept grabbing the ore. His shoulders ached but he kept swinging.

No one came.

No one checked.

He was alone.

A rock shifted in the distance.

Taro froze.

The tunnel was silent again but his body stayed tense. He held his breath and waited.

Nothing.

He exhaled and swung again.

Taro wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist and exhaled through his nose before rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms. His muscles burned but the pain was dull now, just background noise against the exhaustion sitting heavy in his bones. He leaned on his pickaxe and looked at the crate full of ore and then at his hands. The cuts weren't deep but they weren't healing. The ore's radiation slowed recovery and sapped strength, but that wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was why no one got stronger. Saiyans got stronger through struggle. That was the rule. They fought, they bled, they healed, and their power increased. That was how it worked. They pushed past limits, they adapted, they evolved. The Zenkai boosts alone should have made at least a few of them stronger by now. But they weren't. No one was.

The ones who had been here for years were still weak. The ones who should have improved from surviving in this hellhole hadn't. They worked themselves to death and never changed. He had seen some of the same workers beaten to near death every day and they never came back stronger. They just got worse. Taro clenched his jaw and exhaled slow through his teeth. The ore. It had to be the ore. The energy it gave off didn't just weaken them—it kept them from improving. It wasn't enough to kill them outright, just enough to make sure they stayed at the bottom. Saiyans adapted. They were designed to grow from suffering, but if something cut off that growth, if something blocked their Zenkai boosts, then they wouldn't progress.

And that was exactly what was happening.

Taro gritted his teeth and grabbed the crate by the handles and lifted it onto his shoulder. He had pushed his body past its limit for this much. He wasn't about to risk it getting stolen. He adjusted his grip and started toward the main tunnels. He moved quickly, keeping his head down and his steps light. The less attention he drew, the better. He took the quieter paths, the ones less traveled, the ones most didn't bother with because they were too close to the deep tunnels. The last thing he needed was to get spotted by one of the stronger Saiyans on his way back.

But luck wasn't on his side.

A shadow moved from the side and blocked his path.

Taro stopped and adjusted his stance, shifting his weight without dropping the crate. He recognized the guy immediately. Paro. Not one of Ruko's crew, but not much better. He wasn't significantly stronger than Taro, but he had numbers. He usually ran with two others, picking off weaker workers for extra food and ore. His power level was maybe a few points above Taro's. Enough to win a fight, not enough to make it easy.

Paro grinned and cracked his knuckles before tilting his head toward the crate on Taro's shoulder.

"Been working hard, huh?" he said. "Looks heavy. Why don't I lighten the load for you?"

Taro exhaled through his nose and didn't move.

Paro wasn't in a rush. He knew how this worked. If Taro fought back, it would be an excuse to beat him into the ground and take everything. If he handed it over, he'd lose his food for the day. There was no winning, only choosing how much he was willing to lose. Taro shifted his grip on the crate and rolled his shoulders. His body hurt, his arms were weak, and his ribs still ached from earlier, but he wasn't about to roll over and die.

Taro adjusted his grip on the crate and shifted his stance. His ribs ached and his body was still raw from the last few days, but he wasn't handing it over. He had worked too hard to just give it up. He exhaled slow through his nose and stared at Paro, his fingers tightening around the wood.

"Get out of my face."

Paro's grin widened and his head tilted slightly as if he hadn't expected that. His eyes ran over Taro's battered frame, taking in the dried blood, the dirt, the bruises from previous fights that hadn't fully faded. His lips curled back and he clicked his tongue before shaking his head.

"You really think you got a choice?" He stepped forward and jabbed a finger at Taro's chest. "You think you're worth something? You ain't. You're weak. You're a mongrel. You were born trash, and you're gonna die trash." He licked his teeth and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he exhaled slow. "But I'm gonna have some fun with you before that."

Taro didn't move. His fingers twitched at his sides. His breathing stayed even. He knew this was coming, knew it had been coming since the moment Paro blocked his path. He didn't wait. He didn't hesitate. He just moved. The crate slammed into the ground as Taro dropped it and lunged forward. Paro did the same and their fists collided mid-air. The impact shook through his arms and the shock of it vibrated through his bones but there was no time to think about it. Paro twisted, throwing his elbow into Taro's ribs, and the force dug deep into the already broken bone, sending a jolt of pain through his side.

Taro gritted his teeth and didn't stop. His knee snapped up and sank into Paro's gut and forced the air from his lungs. Paro coughed and his grip weakened for half a second, but half a second wasn't enough. Taro twisted his weight and drove his fist straight into Paro's jaw. The hit landed clean and his knuckles split from the impact but Paro didn't drop. He staggered back, wiped blood from his lip, and then grinned like he was enjoying this.

Then he rushed forward.

Taro ducked under the first punch but didn't dodge the second. Paro's fist sank into his stomach and he felt something in his core twist and burn. His breath caught and his body curled inward from the force but Paro was already moving, already bringing his knee up, already driving it into Taro's face. Taro's head snapped back and his vision blurred but his instincts kicked in before his brain could catch up. He twisted his body, let the force of the hit carry him sideways, and threw his elbow into Paro's ribs. The crack was sharp, the break was felt, but Paro just snarled through it and slammed his fist against Taro's temple.

Taro hit the ground.

His skull rang and the taste of blood filled his mouth but he was already rolling, already forcing himself back up because if he didn't he would lose everything. Paro was already coming down, already dropping his foot toward Taro's ribs, but Taro twisted his arm and caught it before it landed. The shock tore through his muscles but he didn't let go. He gritted his teeth and pulled hard, forcing Paro off balance for a fraction of a second.

That was all he needed.

He drove his fist into Paro's knee. The hit sank deep into the joint and for the first time, Paro yelled.

Taro took the opening.

His head snapped forward and his forehead cracked into Paro's nose. Blood splattered across the ground but Taro didn't stop. He grabbed Paro's wrist, twisted his weight, and slammed him face-first into the stone.

Paro snarled, pushed up, and swung but Taro was already behind him. He wrapped his arm around Paro's throat, locked it in, tightened his grip, and squeezed. His grip was tight. His legs were dug into the ground. His breath came in short bursts through clenched teeth and his ribs throbbed with every pulse of his heart. He could feel Paro's body twitching under him, struggling, fighting, weakening. His thrashes slowed. His grip faltered. His weight sagged.

Then he stopped moving.

Taro didn't let go.

His arms stayed locked. His fingers pressed into Paro's skin. His heart hammered against his ribs and his vision swam from the blood loss and exhaustion. He knew what this meant. He had killed him.

A sharp breath pushed past his lips and for a moment, he just stared at nothing, his body still caught in the moment.

He had killed someone.

A dull, distant horror rolled through him but it wasn't as strong as he expected. Maybe that was his Saiyan side. Maybe it was because Paro would've done the same without hesitation. It was his human side that recoiled. That part of him that still remembered a world where death wasn't a daily occurrence. A world where fights didn't end with bodies on the ground. A world where killing someone meant something.

But that world wasn't here.

Here, strength meant survival. Weakness meant death.

And he had won.

The realization struck him like a blow to the chest and he let out a breathless, shaking laugh. It bubbled out of him, rough and cracked, half in relief and half in disbelief.

He had won his first real fight.

His body ached and every limb felt like it was filled with lead but he had won.

He shoved Paro's limp body off of him and rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath as pain flared in every inch of him. His fingers dug into the dirt and blood dripped from his split knuckles. He exhaled, slow and controlled, then pushed himself up to his feet.

His muscles screamed. His ribs felt like they were going to snap in half. His skin burned where cuts had opened. But he still moved.

He crouched beside Paro's body and searched him.

He found a ration bar tucked into his waistband and his lips curled into a grin as he plucked it free. A reward for his efforts.

He stripped the corpse of its tattered undershirt and tore it into long strips. The fabric was rough and stained but it would work for bandages. He grabbed his crate of ore and hauled it onto his shoulder. His legs protested and the weight made his vision blur for a moment but he gritted his teeth and started moving. The walk back to the main hall was slow and every step sent jolts of pain through his body. The tunnels were mostly empty now, most workers already turning in their loads. He passed a few Saiyans who barely spared him a glance, though some lingered on his crate before looking away. They wouldn't do anything though, they were the weak ones, ones that could never meet the quota and had to work through the night in hopes of getting it the next day.

He reached the deposit station and dropped his crate onto the scale.

A supervisor barely looked at him before tossing a ration bar onto the counter. Taro snatched it up and left immediately. He didn't wait. He didn't linger. He didn't give anyone time to notice him. He moved fast, ignoring the way his body screamed in protest, slipping through side paths and lesser-used tunnels until he found one of his hiding spots. A small alcove, just big enough for half a dozen or so people, shielded from the main pathways. He slumped against the wall and groaned, his head tilting back against the stone as every inch of him throbbed.

His body was a mess.

The fight for food in the morning had already broken his ribs. A full workday of mining had torn his muscles apart. The fight with Paro had nearly killed him. His nose was broken, his ribs were cracked, his left arm barely wanted to move, and every breath sent sharp pain through his chest. He let out a slow breath and stared at the ration bars in his hand. Three in total. More than he had ever had in a single day since arriving. He wanted to eat them all at once. His body begged for it.

Then he heard something.

A soft shuffle of movement. A shift of stone.

His fists clenched automatically and he forced himself to sit up, ignoring the way his vision swam.

Then he saw her.

Kale.

She was standing at the entrance of the alcove.

She looked just as bad as he did, maybe worse. Her hair was tangled and matted with dirt and sweat and blood stained her face and arms. What little clothing she had left was torn and barely hanging on, nothing more than scraps covering her chest and legs.

Her eyes met his but she didn't move.

They stared at each other.

Then she slowly knelt down and offered him a canteen.

Taro blinked.

He looked at the canteen. He looked at her.

Neither of them spoke.

Taro took the canteen from Kale's hands and tilted it back without hesitation. The water wasn't clean, wasn't fresh, but it was water and it ran down his throat in greedy gulps before he could stop himself. His body needed it, more than food, more than sleep, more than anything in that moment. He could feel it working through his muscles, washing away the dryness in his throat, cooling the burn in his ribs.

He pulled it away with a sharp breath and handed it back to her. She took it and lingered there, watching him, then she stepped into the alcove.

Taro didn't stop her.

She knelt beside him and reached for the strips of fabric he had taken from Paro's body. Taro watched her fingers work, as she ripped them apart into thinner strips and set them aside, measuring them against the cuts on his arms, his ribs, his hands.

His mind raced.

Why was she doing this?

No one did anything in this place unless they had something to gain. No one helped anyone. No one cared. Maybe she was just repaying him for the ration bar. Maybe she thought this was some kind of exchange. Maybe she saw him fight and thought she could get protection out of it.

Or maybe she just didn't know any better.

She didn't act like the others. She barely spoke. She barely fought for her own food. She took beatings without retaliation. It wasn't normal for a Saiyan. It wasn't how they worked.

But she wasn't normal. She was the Legendary Super Saiyan... at least he thinks she is.

She moved with carefully as she pressed the first strip against one of the deeper cuts on his arm and tied it tightly. The pressure sent a jolt of pain up his arm but he didn't react. He just watched. She worked in silence, wrapping his ribs, bandaging his hands, cleaning the dried blood from his face with a scrap of cloth that barely held together. Her touch was light, like she had done this before, like she knew exactly how much pressure to use, how tight to tie the fabric, how to keep the wounds from reopening.

She finished and moved back, pulling away with slow, careful movements before sitting in the corner of the alcove, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

She still didn't speak.

Taro sighed, letting his head tilt back against the stone. His body ached. His ribs throbbed. His muscles burned from the inside out. He exhaled through his nose, reached for one of the ration bars, and tossed it to her.

Kale flinched.

Her eyes flickered from the bar to him and then back again.

She hesitated.

She wasn't afraid of taking it. She was waiting for permission.

Taro watched her for a moment before closing his eyes and biting into his own.

That was all it took.

She moved fast, peeling it open and devouring it without hesitation, stuffing it into her mouth like she hadn't eaten in days.

Taro finished his own just as quickly, the taste as awful as always, thick and dry, like chewing on gravel. But his body needed it, and hunger didn't let him care.

The exhaustion hit hard.

His head felt heavy. His limbs refused to move. His body had nothing left to give.

He let out a slow breath, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.

(AN: What man doesn't fantasise about being trapped in prison where he has to fight to survive and has a hot girl looking after him as he protects her. Hey 🤷🏻‍♂️ I'm a simple man and I like women with muscles. And you know what I'm just gonna say it. Society went downhill when women started shaving their bushes I feel like we would've colonised mars now... things could've been different. Anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter. )