Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Somewhere, beyond the fabric of space and time, in a place untouched by mortal understanding, two small figures floated aimlessly.

One giggled. The other mirrored the sound.

“I’m bored.”

“So bored.”

They spun slowly, lazily, watching the endless stretches of existence play out before them, their eyes filled with the infinite, their minds restless despite having seen everything.

They had played their games.

They had seen wars and peace, destruction and rebirth.

They had wiped things away before, just to see what would happen.

But that was boring now.

One tilted their head.

“Let’s do something fun. ”

The other perked up. “ Yes! Something fun! ”

They both turned their heads at the same time, looking into the screens of the devices on their laps, watching reality fold and weave upon itself like rippling silk.

They peered into them, watching the little figures move—fighters, rulers, warriors, empires.

One of them pointed, their voice lilting with curiosity.

“This one.”

The other peered closer, eyes shimmering with amusement.

“Ohhhh, that one! And that one! What happens if they meet? ”

They both paused, thinking.

Then—

They grinned.

“Let’s find out.”

And with a single, unseen ripple—

The game began.

—

Vegeta gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening as he drove his fist into the dense, artificial gravity pressing down on him. Every muscle in his body screamed, every movement a battle against the crushing force of 300 times Earth’s gravity—but he welcomed it. He needed it.

He could still see it in his mind’s eye—that golden transformation. Kakarot’s transformation. That clown had stolen what was his by right. His birthright, his power, his destiny.

Super Saiyan.

The thought made his blood boil. No matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how much agony he endured, he was still stuck on the edge of that impossible precipice, unable to cross. Every fiber of his being demanded he surpass that damnable low-class warrior–and that kid from the future, yet the answer continued to elude him.

And worse than his own failures? The distraction.

His eye twitched as another image forced itself into his mind: wild blue hair, sharp eyes that refused to cower, a smirk that grated his nerves like a blade against stone.

Bulma.

That woman was a menace. An infuriating, loud, fragile human who somehow managed to worm her way into his thoughts at the worst possible times.

And now he was imagining her again. 

In vivid detail.

He growled, launching into another rapid series of attacks against the empty air. Damn her. She’s just an Earth woman. A weak, annoying, insufferable—

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Somehow, some way, he ceased to be alone.

Vegeta froze mid-motion, his senses flaring. There was someone inside the gravity chamber.

His scowl deepened as he turned toward the intruder.

And nearly forgot how to breathe.

There, standing as if she belonged in his training space, was a woman. Not just any woman. Her.

Or so he thought.

Blue hair, long and thick, spiked upwards from her scalp and cascaded down her back in luxurious waves. Her piercing gaze locked onto him with something far more dangerous than irritation—it was assessment. Judgment .

But it wasn’t just her stance or expression that made his blood run cold. It was what she was wearing .

His breath hitched.

She was clad in full Saiyan royal regalia.

Dark crimson armor, lined with gold, hugged her body in a way that was undeniably regal, the heavy fabric of her cape shifting behind her like it had weight even in the thick gravity. 

It was, without a doubt, the formal battle attire of a Saiyan queen. 

At her hip rested a dagger, its hilt gleaming ominously. Engraved upon it was a bonding promise in ancient Saiyago, a traditional marriage gift from a Saiyan king to his queen. 

Vegeta felt something deep in his gut twist—something raw and primal.

What the hell kind of trick is this? 

His mind reeled, trying to make sense of it. It had to be some elaborate prank. The woman looked like her—like Bulma—but she wasn’t. This wasn’t some Capsule Corp experiment. No. This was too perfect, too intentional.

Had she dressed like this to mock him? Was she playing at some ridiculous game, pushing some new button just to get a rise out of him?

Because if she was, it was working.

Vegeta swallowed hard, his body reacting in ways he didn’t care to acknowledge. Seeing that woman— or whoever she was —dressed in something so blatantly Saiyan was quite possibly the most arousing thing he had ever seen in his life.

And that alone made him want to destroy whatever stupid game she was playing.

His voice was a low growl. “What the hell is this?”

The woman’s expression darkened. Her eyes raked over him, dissecting him as though she were unimpressed with what she saw.

Then she spoke.

But not in Earth’s tongue.

"Tova ra sai?!"

Vegeta stiffened. His blood turned ice-cold.

That was Saiyago.

And not the formal dialect that had been used when Frieza’s forces were present—no, this was raw, natural, the language that only Saiyans spoke amongst themselves.

That voice. That growl .

He had heard Bulma yell, snap, scream, and bark orders at the fools who worked for her, but never had he heard her voice take on the predatory growl of a warrior .

His fists clenched. That is not the Earth woman.

His entire body went rigid as his gaze snapped downward.

And there it was.

Curled securely around her waist like the sacred symbol of all pureblood Saiyans.

Her tail.

His chest constricted.

No. No, no, no. That was impossible .

And yet, it was right in front of him.

His mind screamed at him to make sense of it. She looked like Bulma. She felt like a warrior. And now—now she was standing in front of him in full Saiyan royal battle regalia, staring at him like he was some kind of disappointment.

Then she moved.

Her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger, the motion fluid, controlled. She pulled it from its sheath, the metal gleaming in the harsh artificial lighting of the chamber.

Vegeta's body tensed instinctively.

And then, as if to drive the point deeper into his chest, she tilted her head and sneered.

" Pathetic. "

His vision went red.

This woman—this Saiyan —dared to stand in front of him in his own gravity chamber, dare to call him weak, dare to act as if she had the right—

His fury roared to life, hotter than any frustration he had felt before.

Vegeta lunged, his body moving on instinct, rage and confusion fueling his attack. He wasn’t about to let some imposter—no, some arrogant phantom—stand before him in Saiyan royal armor, insult him in his own training chamber, and walk away unscathed.

His fist shot forward, aiming for her jaw.

She caught it effortlessly.

Vegeta barely had a second to register what had happened before her knee slammed into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs in a painful whoosh . His eyes widened as he staggered back, but she didn’t let go. Her grip on his wrist was iron .

Impossible.

Impossible.

How was she moving so fast under this level of gravity?

Before he could react, she twisted his arm, pivoting on her heel to throw him over her shoulder. He slammed into the chamber floor with a resounding boom , the reinforced plating beneath him groaning under the impact.

He growled, twisting out of her grasp, flipping to his feet.

His heart was hammering. His mind was racing.

This was no trick. No deception.

This woman was strong.

He launched at her again, this time more controlled, more precise—his fists a blur as he drove into her, testing her reactions, pushing her movements. But she met each blow with casual ease, like she was toying with him.

He snarled. Enough of this.

Vegeta roared, his aura flaring as he shot into the air, gathering energy in his palms. He sent a rain of blasts down at her, the heat scorching the chamber walls.

The smoke cleared.

She was still standing .

Unscathed.

She smirked. And then—

She vanished .

His stomach twisted. His instincts screamed at him to move, but before he could react—

THUD.

Her foot connected with his side. The impact sent him flying, crashing hard against the gravity chamber wall.

Vegeta barely had time to push himself up before she was on him, her dagger flashing in her hand. He dodged just in time, the blade slicing clean through the floor where his head had been moments ago.

His breath came in ragged pants. He was fast. He was strong. But she—

She was better.

He had to know.

Vegeta’s eyes flickered to her waist.

That tail. That damn tail.

Saiyan.

There was no denying it now. Whoever—whatever—she was, she was absolutely a Saiyan . And not just any Saiyan.

A worthy queen.

She was watching him now, eyes gleaming like a predator sizing up weak prey. “Pathetic,” she said again, the insult curling off her tongue like it belonged to him.

His pride screamed.

His instincts roared.

But his body—his body—knew the truth.

She was stronger.

He had to prove her wrong.

With a battle cry, he shot forward again, aiming for her blind spot. He twisted mid-air, sending a brutal kick toward her ribs—

She caught him.

One hand.

And then, her voice darkened.

" You've wasted enough of my time, imposter. "

A pulse of energy slammed into him. He barely had a second to react before her aura exploded around her, golden and wild, roaring with unrestrained power.

His stomach plummeted.

No.

The sheer force of it sent him crashing backward. He hit the ground hard, but nothing—not the impact, not the pain—mattered more than what he was seeing.

Golden.

Her hair.

Her eyes.

Super Saiyan.

A cold sweat broke down his spine. This was a nightmare. A mockery.

He had spent years clawing for this power. He had sacrificed for it. And yet—

And yet this woman had taken it so easily, so effortlessly, as if it were nothing but an afterthought.

His world twisted.

And then—

SHINK.

His breath seized.

The cold press of a dagger at his throat sent every nerve in his body into a tailspin.

She was on top of him, one knee digging into his chest, pinning him effortlessly beneath her weight. He could barely move. The golden glow of her power bathed her features, her expression dark, her eyes sharp and deadly.

She leaned in, her voice a low, deadly whisper.

" You are not my beloved. "

His pulse spiked .

Not her beloved.

Not her—

His stomach dropped.

" You are not my Rhaz'vek."

The words landed like a strike to his gut—hard, unyielding, irrefutable.

Vegeta's breath stilled.

The syllables slashed through the air with a weight that he knew, but did not know—as if hearing a word from a forgotten dream, something buried in his bones but never spoken aloud.

Rhaz’vek.

It was Saiyan. Undeniably, unmistakably Saiyan.

His mind raced, instinct clawing at the meaning, his warrior’s reflexes working through the structure automatically, even as dread curled in his stomach.

"Rhaz"—blood, claim, possession. A bond forged in fire and war.

"Vek"—ruler, king, sovereign. A title given, not taken. A title that was absolutely not his.

His veins went cold.

She had not called him Prince. Not called him Saiyan.

She had called him something else.

Something sacred.

Something he had never been.

The realization hit with the force of a gravity chamber failure, a split-second loss of all control—his center of gravity shifting, the very foundation of his world cracking beneath him.

Because he knew now.

This woman—this deadly, golden warrior, this creature that wore the face of Bulma but was stronger, faster, sharper—

She belonged to him.

Not him.

But some version of him that was everything he was not.

And for the first time in his life, Vegeta felt something wholly unfamiliar.

Displaced.

Like he was standing in someone else’s shadow—his own, but not his own.

The weight of it settled over him like a heavy cloak, suffocating, inescapable.

For the first time, the arrogance, the pride, the certainty of his place in the universe—

It wavered.

The pressure of the dagger increased. He could feel the sharp bite of the blade, the warning in her posture, the way her teal eyes burned into him.

She meant it.

She would kill him.

Vegeta gritted his teeth. His mind screamed at him to fight, to shove her off, to do something—

But his body knew better.

He couldn’t.

His muscles were locked, his energy gone under the weight of her power.

This woman—this queen —would end him if he gave her a reason.

His pride raged.

But he wasn’t stupid .

His voice was tight, controlled. “You’re making a mistake.”

She stilled.

He inhaled sharply, his body still pinned beneath hers. “Something is wrong here,” he growled. “You know it. I know it.”

He pressed on.

“If you were really here to kill me, I’d be dead already. If you are anything like the wo— the Bulma I know, you must be entertaining the idea that there should be a scientific explanation to your being here.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

Her grip on the dagger didn’t waver, but he saw the flicker in her eyes—the hesitation.

She exhaled slowly. Then, in a voice that was calm but firm, she spoke.

“I am Bulma, Queen of the Saiyan Empire. I serve as the royal strategist and partner to King Vegeta IV of Vegetasei.”

Vegeta’s body went rigid.

His mind ground to a halt.

“ …That’s impossible. ” His voice was low, but edged with something sharp.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him carefully.

He exhaled, forcing himself to sit up further, his hands pressing into the gravity chamber floor. “There is no Vegetasei.” His jaw clenched. “It was destroyed. Wiped out.”

Queen Bulma’s brows furrowed slightly, but her stance didn’t waver.

Vegeta’s fists curled against the ground. “You’re either lying, delusional, or something far more ridiculous is happening here.” His dark eyes locked onto hers. “And considering I know exactly who you are—at least, who you should be—I’m betting on the latter.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

Finally, she exhaled slowly, powering back down to base form.

And then, at last—

She pulled back.

The dagger withdrew from his throat, but her glare remained sharp, assessing, calculating.

“We will talk.”

Vegeta sucked in a breath, forcing himself up onto his elbows as she rose to her feet, her tail still wrapped tightly around her waist.

His chest was heaving. His pride was in shambles.

But they had an understanding now.

Whoever she was. Whatever she wanted.

They needed answers.

–

Bulma yawned, stretching her arms over her head as she leaned back against the couch. It had been a long day—a long week, really—filled with frustrating modifications to the gravity chamber and endless bickering with Vegeta about the settings. That stubborn ass always pushed the damn thing too far, nearly blowing it up half the time, and she was getting sick of fixing it.

At least she had the house to herself for a while. Her parents had taken off on a two-week cruise, leaving her alone to deal with the chaos that inevitably came with hosting a grumpy Saiyan warrior in her home.

She took a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth settle in her chest. At least he’s actually using it, she mused. If she was being honest, she was glad he hadn’t run off to space again. Not that she’d ever tell him that. 

With a content sigh, she glanced at the clock. It was about time for her to check the readings—make sure the gravity chamber wasn’t malfunctioning under the weight of Vegeta’s ridiculous training regimen. If I have to rebuild that damn thing again, I swear—

Then, suddenly—

The air shifted.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A presence—overwhelming, suffocating—settled into the room, thick with something that sent a shiver down her spine.

She stiffened.

Slowly, cautiously, she turned her head—

And nearly dropped her coffee.

There, standing in the middle of her goddamn office, was a man.

Not just any man.

A Saiyan.

His armor gleamed under the artificial light, dark red with gold accents, regal and imposing in a way that made her instinctively straighten her posture. A thick cloak draped over his shoulders, shifting slightly with the air, and his boots—black, polished, heavy—stood firm against the tiled floor as if he owned the space he had just appeared in.

But it was his face that sent her mind spiraling.

Because she had seen that face before.

The sharp angles, the widow’s peak, the scowl —

Vegeta.

But not Vegeta.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He was ever so slightly taller. Broader. His countenance reflected years of experience, his expression etched in something far heavier than the usual arrogance she associated with the Saiyan Prince she knew. And his eyes —deep, calculating, commanding —were locked onto her with unsettling intensity.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then, his eyes narrowed.

His tail—thick, dark brown, and unmistakably present—twitched behind him before slowly curling around his waist.

He exhaled, a sharp, measured breath.

And then, in a voice that was unmistakably Vegeta’s but heavier, deeper, more authoritative, he spoke.

"Tavi na Rhaz’vaya."

Bulma’s mind ceased to function .

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

What. The. Hell.

–

This was wrong.

Everything about this was wrong.

From the moment he arrived, he had felt it—the offness of the world around him, the foreignness of the air. But none of it compared to the woman standing before him.

His Bulma. His Queen .

But it was not her.

Her scent was different. Lighter. Less seasoned. Less Saiyan .

And now, standing here in front of her, he could see it plain as day.

This woman—this fragile, small version of his mate—was no Saiyan.

She was…human?

And that meant—

He exhaled slowly, clenching his fists at his sides.

This was not his world.

And she was not his Bulma.

But she was staring at him like he had just crawled out of a black hole, and if there was one thing he knew about his mate in any form—

She wasn’t going to stay silent for long.

–

Bulma’s pulse spiked.

She had no idea what was happening, but one thing was painfully clear—this was not her Vegeta. Not that…he was hers to begin with. 

And judging by the way his expression darkened, his gaze scrutinizing her like she was some kind of experiment gone wrong—he knew it too.

Then, he spoke again.

"Va'tel zha Rhaz'vaya?"

Bulma blinked.

Okay. What the hell did he just say?

The words rolled off his tongue with a natural confidence, but she had never heard anything like them before.

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again. “Uh… what?”

His frown deepened. His tail flicked behind him. He exhaled sharply, clearly irritated.

"Saiyago tosha, ni kajo?"

Bulma took a step back. "What—okay, buddy, I don’t know what kind of—wait, wait, wait! Don't come any closer!"

King Vegeta had started toward her, moving with measured purpose, like he was trying to confirm something. His eyes raked over her again, sharp and assessing, before he growled low in his throat.

Her stomach dropped.

Okay. Not a great sign.

He was big. Bigger than her Vegeta. More imposing, the kind of presence that demanded control the second he walked into a room. And the way he was looking at her? That was not helping her nerves.

He said something else—shorter, sharper.

Bulma huffed, throwing up her hands. “Look, pal, I have no idea what you’re saying, but I don’t appreciate being stared at like a goddamn lab rat—”

“Tava’ka" he muttered to himself, as if coming to some grim conclusion.

Bulma clenched her jaw. "Okay, I know that was an insult!"

His eye twitched. Then, after a beat, he exhaled harshly, rubbing his fingers over his temple like he was fighting off a headache. Oh, great. I’m giving the giant space warlord a migraine.

The room fell into tense silence.

Bulma crossed her arms, frustrated. What the hell are we supposed to do now?

Then—suddenly—his posture shifted. His brows knit together in thought. After a beat, he muttered something under his breath—then, slowly, his mouth formed a different set of syllables.

"…Tulk’tar xeno—no, talka xeno?"

Bulma stilled.

That—

That almost sounded like—

Her eyes widened . “Wait. Are you trying to speak Namekian ?!”

King Vegeta’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and calculating. His fingers flexed at his sides.

Then, in slow, careful tones, he tried again.

"Tulka xeno…?"

Holy shit.

Bulma’s mind raced. He knows some Namekian?! She wasn’t fluent, but she’d picked up enough of the language while they were on Namek to recognize the structure.

If he was trying to communicate—

Her heart pounded. Okay. Okay, she could work with this.

Slowly, deliberately, she tried her best to form a response.

"…Tulka xeno. Namekian. I understand… some. "

The moment the words left her mouth, his entire body tensed .

His eyes darkened with something unreadable.

Then, after a long pause—

" You… speak Namekian? "

Bulma exhaled, relief flooding her. “Yes!”

Finally. Finally they were getting somewhere.

King Vegeta narrowed his eyes, but there was a flicker of something behind them now—something far more dangerous than mere irritation.

" How? "

Bulma gulped.

Oh boy.

This was going to be a long conversation.

Bulma inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the sheer pressure rolling off the man standing in front of her. One thing at a time, girl. You’ve got a royal-sized problem, but at least he speaks Namekian.

She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze, ignoring the question for now.

"Where… come from?" she asked, forming the words carefully.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the question was beneath him, but after a brief pause, he straightened his posture.

"I am King Vegeta IV of the planet Vegetasei."

Bulma’s stomach flipped.

King Vegeta.

Her mind raced. Not the Vegeta she knew—but a version of him. A Vegeta who had never lost his home. A Vegeta who had become king.

That meant… Vegetasei still existed where he came from? The Saiyans weren’t wiped out?

She exhaled, trying to force down the thousand questions clawing at the back of her throat.

Instead, she focused on the most pressing one.

She nodded, encouraging him to go on. “What… happen?”

His brow furrowed, as if piecing it together himself.

"We were discussing strategy. An enemy of the humans called The Red Ribbon Army have long been a pest to planet Earth. We had determined that it was time to rid Earth of them entirely, to forge an alliance with the humans and take the planet under our protection."

He exhaled sharply, his tail flicking behind him.

"My queen had devised the plan—carefully calculated battle formations, coordinated strikes on key strongholds. She was refining the final details of our assault when..."

His jaw clenched. "She vanished."

Bulma’s lips parted slightly.

"He said ‘my queen’…"

Her stomach tightened, just a little.

She wasn’t sure why.

Of course he had a queen. He was King Vegeta. A Saiyan ruler. It made sense that there’d be some fierce, powerful Saiyan woman at his side, strategizing warfare, wiping out threats with cold precision.

Still—

For some reason, the thought of Vegeta being married—of any Vegeta being married—made something twist inside her.

She ignored it.

She had no reason to care.

Instead, she focused on the bigger issue.

Bulma frowned. “You… see anything when disappear? Energy? Machine?”

King Vegeta shook his head once, his expression hardening. "No. No sign of an attack. No signature. Just—nothing."

Bulma bit her lip. Damn. That sounds eerily like teleportation… but who the hell could pull that off so cleanly?

He exhaled sharply. "I stood to act, but before I could reach her—"

His fingers flexed at his sides.

"I was here."

Bulma shivered. The way he said it—like the universe itself had betrayed him—sent a chill down her spine.

She nodded slowly, piecing it together. "So... first the Queen taken. Then, you next. Someone… something pulled you away from your world."

His expression darkened.

"It is not my world that has changed. It is this one."

Bulma huffed, her response part Namekian, part Japanese. "Well, yeah, no kidding. Welcome to Capsule Corp, your majesty. "

King Vegeta’s gaze snapped to her at the last word, something dangerous flashing behind his eyes.

For a moment, she thought he might actually get mad—but then, surprisingly, he just exhaled, shaking his head as if she weren’t worth the effort.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he crossed his arms.

"You are nothing like my mate."

Bulma’s eye twitched.

“Gee, thanks.”

He ignored her sarcasm.

"You look the same, but smell different. You hold yourself differently. And you…" He hesitated. "You are weak."

Bulma bristled.

"Excuse you?!"

But before she could fully unleash on him, he turned his head slightly, scanning the room. A flicker of thought crossed his face.

"If I am here, then my mate must be somewhere as well."

Bulma stiffened.

Oh.

That… made sense.

If he was here, then his mate must have been pulled into this world too.

Which meant—

Her stomach twisted.

She had no idea where this mysterious Saiyan queen might have ended up, but she had a bad, bad feeling.

What if…

Her eyes flicked toward the gravity chamber’s security monitors on her desk in the corner of the room, just for a second.

Vegeta was training right now.

And if some other Saiyan was anywhere near him…

She swallowed hard.

She could only imagine how well that was going.

But then—

Wait.

Something clicked in her mind as she belatedy processed Vegeta’s words.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling weirdly warm, as if her brain was fighting against the obvious.

She licked her lips, forcing herself to think through it logically.

"Wait, you say, your mate." She spoke slowly, carefully, her Namekian still choppy. "She… like me?"

His gaze snapped back to her immediately.

Something cold, assessing.

"She is you."

Bulma’s pulse spiked.

…What?

She blinked, mouth opening, closing, opening again.

"No," she said, shaking her head, confused. "No, I not… we not same."

King Vegeta exhaled sharply, like he was already tired of explaining things to her.

"You are not the same," he agreed. "You are lesser."

Bulma’s mouth fell open.

"EXCUSE ME?!"

—

Vegeta watched the so-called queen, still trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened.

She was still standing there, powerful aura flickering like it belonged to her—like she had been born with it.

That alone was infuriating.

And then, just to make things worse—

She tilted her head slightly.

"Where is your tail?"

Vegeta’s scowl darkened instantly. "Tch. Gone."

She arched a brow. "Gone where?"

His jaw clenched. "It was cut off. "

Her tail twitched slightly, curling tighter around her waist, as if the very thought of it being removed offended her.

Then—she laughed.

Not a chuckle.

Not a smirk.

A full, genuine, openly entertained laugh.

Vegeta’s face darkened immediately. "What the hell is so funny?!"

She waved a hand dismissively, still grinning. "No, no, let me get this straight— you , the so-called Prince of Saiyans, lost your tail?"

His aura flared. "I WAS IN OOZARU FORM!"

She smirked. "And?"

His fists clenched. "Some damn human cut it off."

Her grin widened. "A human ?"

Vegeta ground his teeth. "A coward with a sword."

She huffed in amusement. "And you let him?"

Vegeta bristled. "I DIDN’T LET HIM DO ANYTHING!"

She smirked, arms crossing. "Tch. My Rhaz’vek would never let a human cut off his tail."

Vegeta’s eye twitched violently.

"Where are we?" she asked suddenly, arms crossing as she surveyed the room.

Vegeta’s brow furrowed. "You don’t know?"

She tilted her head. "Do I look like I know?"

His jaw tightened. She had a point.

He huffed. "This is Capsule Corp, planet Earth. My gravity chamber."

Her eyes flickered with something—mild intrigue. "A gravity chamber?"

Vegeta scoffed. "Obviously."

Her gaze moved slowly across the walls, taking in the control panels, the reinforced plating, the hum of the artificial field pressing down on them.

Then, her tail flicked slightly, and she shrugged.

"It’s functional."

Vegeta’s eye twitched.

"Functional?"

Her lips quirked slightly. "I’ve built something better."

Vegeta snarled. "The hell are you talking about?"

She raised a brow, as if it should have been obvious. "I designed one on Vegetasei months ago. It can withstand at least 500G, though my Rhaz’vek still complains that it’s not enough."

Vegeta stared.

She—she had built one? One that could withstand 500G no less?

His pride bristled, but another part of him—one he refused to acknowledge—felt something else.

Something uncomfortably close to impressed.

He gritted his teeth. "Tch. Your so-called mate sounds like a damn spoiled brat."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, he is."

Vegeta blinked.

Wait.

She… agreed?

She turned slightly, scanning the chamber again, looking perfectly at ease under the crushing force of 300 times Earth’s gravity.

His eyes narrowed. "How are you standing?"

She frowned, glancing down. "On my feet?"

Vegeta’s scowl deepened. "Under this gravity."

Her expression flickered with mild amusement. "I just told you. I’ve trained in stronger conditions."

Vegeta bristled.

Impossible.

She wasn't a warrior.

She was—was—

He scowled, trying to shove that thought aside. Clearly, she was.

She stretched her arms above her head, shifting slightly as if testing her movement. "Yours is a bit uneven. The weight distribution across the floor could be improved. Too many fluctuations in density. But otherwise—" she gave a small nod, "—not bad."

Vegeta felt something snap inside him.

"You arrogant—!"

But she was already walking past him, as if she hadn’t just casually insulted his gravity chamber like she had every damn right to do so.

He ground his teeth, forcing himself to focus.

This was pointless.

If he kept letting her get under his skin, they were going to be here all damn day.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "What were you doing before you got here?"

She tilted her head slightly, the amusement fading just a little.

Then, finally, she exhaled.

"I was strategizing with my Rhaz’vek. We were finalizing our attack on the Red Ribbon Army. Preparing to take control of Earth."

Vegeta’s brow furrowed. "You were invading Earth?"

She glanced at him. "No. We were liberating it."

Vegeta scoffed. "Liberating it from what?"

She arched a brow. "From oppression, of course."

Vegeta bristled. " Oppression? "

She shrugged. "We were considering an alliance with the humans, but we knew it would be difficult. Earth was still under threat from the remnants of the Red Ribbon Army, and we weren’t going to risk losing strategic ground."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. "You were planning on ruling them."

She rolled her eyes. "Tch. You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Vegeta’s frown deepened. This was all wrong.

This was not the Bulma he knew.

The Bulma he knew wouldn’t be leading war campaigns. She wouldn’t be commanding Saiyan fleets.

She was brilliant, yes—**irritatingly, infuriatingly brilliant—**but she was human.

And then it hit him.

He exhaled sharply, eyeing her carefully.

"There’s another version of you here."

She stilled.

Slowly, she turned her gaze to him, her expression shifting into something calculating.

"...Another?"

Vegeta nodded once. "The Bulma I know is human."

Her brows lifted slightly, intrigued. "...Human."

Vegeta gritted his teeth. "Yes. No tail. No Saiyan strength. Just an annoying, arrogant Earth woman with a sharp tongue. A scientist like you."

Queen Bulma was silent for a long moment.

Then, finally—

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her tail flicking thoughtfully.

"...An alternate universe, then."

Vegeta scowled. "You say that like it’s obvious."

She tilted her head slightly. "It is."

Vegeta bristled. "How the hell do you figure?"

She shrugged. "Simple. You claim I am human here. But I am clearly Saiyan. If I am not from this world, then logically, I was pulled from another."

Vegeta stared.

Then—he exhaled sharply.

Fine. That actually made sense.

Infuriatingly so.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "Tch. If that’s the case, we need to figure out what’s keeping you here."

She nodded, arms crossing. "A rational plan."

Vegeta snorted. "You sound like her."

She frowned slightly. "Like who?"

Vegeta hesitated.

Then, finally—

"The real Bulma."

A flicker of something crossed her face.

Then she tilted her head.

And—to his absolute irritation—

She smirked.

"Oh," she said smoothly. "You mean your mate?"

Vegeta’s stomach dropped.

His face burned.

His pride roared.

Before he could react, a voice cut through the chamber. “Hey! You two wanna maybe power that thing down so we can actually figure out what the hell is going on here?”

But he could only grit his teeth as she turned, already walking toward the exit, looking every bit as infuriatingly smug as she had since the moment she appeared.

This was going to be hell.

—

Bulma exhaled sharply, folding her arms as she tried to make sense of the absolute madness unraveling before her.

So far, she had managed to piece together a few things:

1. This was not her Vegeta.
2. This was some kind of alternate universe version of Vegeta, and he was a literal king.
3. He had been discussing strategy with his queen (who was apparently her, but Saiyan) before she disappeared.
4. Now, they were -probably- both here.

As if her life wasn’t already weird enough.

King Vegeta stood imposing as ever, arms crossed, his tail flicking impatiently as his sharp eyes swept over the control room. Assessing. Calculating. Like he was mentally cataloging every detail.

Then—suddenly—his posture shifted.

His brows furrowed slightly, his sharp gaze flickering toward something unseen.

Bulma frowned. “Uh… did you just—?”

King Vegeta’s voice was calm, but there was an undeniable edge beneath it.

"My mate is near."

Bulma froze.

His tone left no room for doubt. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t speculation. He knew.

Her stomach turned.

How the hell did he know that?

Bulma frowned. "Wait, what? How do you know?"

He lifted his chin slightly, as if testing something invisible.

"I can sense her ki," he said smoothly, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "And she is with another of our kind."

Bulma's breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes shot to the large observation window overlooking the gravity chamber.

The red light above the chamber doors was still on.

Bulma rushed to her computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she pulled up the chamber’s pressure readings.

Yep. Still running.

She turned back to King Vegeta, who was now watching her expectantly.

“Well…” She exhaled. “That’s a problem.”

His brows lifted slightly, as if challenging her to explain.

Bulma motioned toward the window. “If she appeared in there, then she’s with someone. And considering there’s only one other Saiyan on this property…”

King Vegeta’s expression hardened.

“I’m guessing she’s with your counterpart.”

Bulma chewed on her lip. "And judging by the fact that the gravity chamber is still on…" She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the red light. "That means the idiot probably just kept it in training mode without shutting it off."

King Vegeta’s scowl deepened.

Bulma sighed, motioning toward the control panel. “We can’t open the chamber door while it’s pressurized. The difference in force would be dangerous—so unless you want to explode into a million pieces, we have to wait.”

He said nothing, but his tail twitched.

Bulma’s fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard. “But we can check the camera feed.”

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the timestamp logs, searching for when the second energy signature appeared.

The moment she found it, she clicked the footage back, rewinding to the exact moment a new presence flared inside the chamber.

Then—she hit play.

And what she saw made her gasp.

King Vegeta barked out a laugh.

On the screen, clear as day, Queen Bulma was absolutely annihilating her Vegeta.

Bulma’s mouth fell open.

The footage showed her alternate self—clad in royal Saiyan armor—dodging Vegeta’s attacks with ease, slamming him into the reinforced floor, and moving like the laws of physics didn’t apply to her.

Bulma was stunned.

King Vegeta was amused.

He leaned in slightly, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

"He is weak," he mused in Saiyago, his tone filled with undisguised amusement.

Bulma couldn’t understand what he had just said—but the smugness in his voice was universal.

On the screen, Vegeta was struggling to stand, his face twisted in rage and humiliation.

Meanwhile, Queen Bulma—standing over him with a knife—looked thoroughly unimpressed.

King Vegeta exhaled sharply, his voice light with amusement. "She will kill him if she is not careful."

Bulma huffed. “Okay, what are you saying? Because I know that tone, and I don’t like it.”

King Vegeta only smirked, eyes gleaming with mild satisfaction as he gestured toward the screen.

Bulma narrowed her eyes.

She didn’t need to understand Saiyago to know that this man was having way too much fun watching his other self get his ass kicked.

With an exasperated sigh, she sped the feed back up to live, and switched on the chamber’s communications channel.

A soft beep indicated the mic was on.

She leaned in.

“Hey! You two wanna maybe power the chamber down so we can actually figure out what the hell is going on here?”

On the screen, both figures stilled.

Queen Bulma turned toward the speaker, her sharp gaze flickering toward the control panel, assessing it immediately.

Vegeta—who had since recovered and pulled himself up—looked positively furious.

King Vegeta smirked.

"Your Vegeta does not look pleased."

Bulma sighed deeply, rubbing her temples, not bothering to respond in Namekian.

"Yeah, well, join the club."

A few beats later, the gravity chamber began to power down.

The doors finally released, hissing as the pressurization equalized.

Bulma exhaled in relief.

King Vegeta remained stoic, but his entire focus was locked on the opening chamber doors.

Without a word, they stepped outside, crossing the courtyard toward the chamber entrance.

Vegeta walked out first, looking very much like a cat who just had his tail stepped on.

A moment later, Queen Bulma stepped out, composed, poised, completely unbothered.

Bulma moved forward, ready to greet her alternate self.

But before she could say a word—

King Vegeta moved.

No hesitation.

No restraint.

Just one powerful stride forward.

And Queen Bulma was already mirroring him.

The moment they met—

He swept her up, crushing his mouth against hers.

The kiss was deep, intense, unapologetic—filled with raw possession. And tongue. A lot of tongue.

And it lasted way too long.

Bulma stared.

Vegeta gawked.

A long, horrifically awkward silence stretched between them.

Then, slowly, Bulma turned to look at her Vegeta, whose face was an absolute mess of emotions.

He looked furious.

And embarrassed.

And furious about being embarrassed.

Bulma’s lips twitched.

Then, unable to stop herself—

She snorted.

Vegeta’s glare snapped to her. “What?”

She smirked, leaning just slightly toward him. “You gotta admit… it’s kind of hot.”

Vegeta choked.

His entire body went rigid, face twisting into something between outrage and complete horror.

“WHAT?!”

Bulma grinned. “I mean, the royal regalia, the whole conqueror king thing—” she gestured toward King Vegeta, “—it’s kinda working for him, don’t you think?”

Vegeta turned an alarming shade of red. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

King Vegeta finally pulled away from Queen Bulma, his smirk evident. “Jealous, imposter?”

Vegeta bristled. “I WILL KILL YOU.”

Queen Bulma huffed, rolling her eyes. “Tch. You couldn’t even lay a finger on me, much less him.”

Vegeta’s aura flared.

Bulma clapped her hands together. “Okay! Royals reunited, interdimensional nonsense intact—how about we all eat before anyone actually dies?”

Bulma was going to need a lot of energy to survive the rest of this insanity.

–

The dining area in Capsule Corp felt smaller than usual, mostly because it was currently hosting two Vegetas, two Bulmas, and a whole lot of tension.

Bulma set the last of the food on the table, exhaling as she took her seat. "Alright, eat."

That was all the invitation the Saiyans needed.

The three warriors immediately tore into their meals like they hadn’t eaten in days.

Bulma leaned back slightly, watching them go at it with a mix of mild horror and begrudging fascination.

Queen Bulma, at least, maintained some level of dignity, but her pace was still far beyond human. Meanwhile, Vegeta and King Vegeta ate like starved wolves, inhaling their food as if the universe depended on it.

Bulma sighed. "I don't know why I even bother making it look nice."

Vegeta barely spared her a glance. "Tch. We don’t care how it looks. Just that it’s edible."

She glared. "Gee, thanks."

Across the table, Queen Bulma glanced up briefly, taking in the surroundings, then—as if making a mental note—reached over and swiped something off King Vegeta’s plate.

He let her.

Vegeta, who had been mid-bite, stared.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

Bulma followed his gaze, watching as King Vegeta didn’t so much as flinch while his wife pilfered his meal like it was her birthright.

In fact—

He looked pleased.

Not just unbothered—pleased.

He let his mate steal his food without argument, without a glare, without any of the aggression Vegeta himself would have shown.

Bulma narrowed her eyes.

Huh.

Then, Vegeta spoke again.

"We should give them a Japanese language primer."

Bulma blinked. "What?"

Vegeta motioned toward the royals. "It’s the most logical move at this point. You don’t speak Saiyago. I don’t speak Namekian. They should learn your language, as it would take them far less time than you to learn ours."

King Vegeta didn’t even glance up from his food as he responded in Saiyago.

Bulma blinked. "Uh… what?"

Vegeta sighed. "He said he has no use for it."

She frowned. "Yeah, well, he kinda does if he wants to talk to anyone other than you."

Vegeta turned back to his counterpart and said something in Saiyago.

King Vegeta gave a huff of amusement, responding with a lazy smirk.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "He says he sees no reason to bother, as this universe is insignificant."

Bulma glared at King Vegeta. "Oh, screw you, buddy."

Queen Bulma smirked, adding something in Saiyago while gesturing to her.

Vegeta paused.

Then, he gave her a glare.

Bulma looked between them. "What? What did she say?"

Vegeta's scowl deepened. "She said that this is what happens when you don’t train your males properly."

Bulma burst out laughing.

Vegeta bristled. "IT’S NOT FUNNY!"

King Vegeta gave a low chuckle before gesturing toward Bulma, adding something in Saiyago.

Vegeta gritted his teeth. "He says you’re particularly mouthy for a weakling human and that your confidence is almost respectable."

Bulma snorted. "Tell him I’d be completely respectable if I wasn’t starving, so unless he wants me to get meaner, he should let me eat. Also, this is ridiculous, they can just tell me whatever they’re telling you in NAMEKIAN!"

Vegeta sighed and translated in Saiyago.

King Vegeta actually smirked.

Bulma grabbed another bite of food, shaking her head. "Alright, fine. Let’s get them a language book."

Still snickering, she stood and walked over to the bookshelf, pulling out a beginner’s Japanese guide.

She dropped it on the table. "Knock yourselves out."

Queen Bulma flipped through it idly, absorbing the structure almost instantly.

King Vegeta glanced over her shoulder, speedily pushing through the Hiragana and Katakana, moving to Kanji, then straight to spoken syntax.

Within minutes, the two were processing the fundamentals like seasoned scholars.

Bulma watched, her jaw dropping.

It was ridiculous.

They were learning an entire language while eating.

And, worse?

King Vegeta was clearly enamored with his wife.

The way he listened attentively, how he observed her while she read, the faintest tilt of his head whenever she said something particularly sharp—

It was obvious.

Completely obvious how utterly and entirely in love he was.

And Queen Bulma?

She knew it.

Knew it and wielded it effortlessly.

A casual hand resting on his forearm, a sharp comment that made his lips twitch in amusement, the natural ease of their connection.

Bulma swallowed.

And then—she glanced at her Vegeta.

Scowling.

Arms crossed, clearly trying not to look annoyed.

And suddenly—

She couldn’t stop the thought.

A question that had been lingering in the back of her mind all day.

What would he be like… if things had been different?

If he’d been raised as a king, with his people, with a mate at his side?

Would he have looked at her the same way?

Would he have let her steal food off his plate?

Would he—

She blinked.

Oh, hell no.

She was not going down that rabbit hole.

With a sharp inhale, she shook herself and leaned back. "Well, this is completely unfair. You people cheat at everything, I swear."

Her Vegeta grunted. "You’re just jealous."

Bulma kicked him under the table.

But she didn’t deny it.

Because, for the first time since this entire multiversal disaster started…

She was starting to wonder.

And that?

That was dangerous.

—

While the Vegetas remained in the dining area, the two Bulmas slipped away to her private lab, closing the door behind them.

Bulma sighed, rubbing her temples. “Okay. Now that we can actually communicate, let’s figure out what we’re working with.”

Queen Bulma nodded, arms crossed. “Agreed.”

The two immediately got to work, scanning Queen Bulma’s energy signature for anything unusual.

After a few minutes of silence, Queen Bulma glanced at her counterpart.

"You are not mated with him, are you?"

Bulma nearly dropped her tablet.

She turned slowly, eyes wide. “I— what? ”

Queen Bulma gave her a knowing look. “You and this Vegeta . You are clearly in love with one another.”

Bulma choked. “Excuse me?! I— what are you talking about?! ”

Queen Bulma tilted her head slightly, unimpressed. “You bicker like mates. You challenge each other. The way he watches you when you are not looking—”

Bulma waved her hands wildly. “Whoa, whoa, hold on! First of all, I do not love Vegeta! Secondly, we aren’t even—”

Queen Bulma lifted a single brow.

Bulma stopped.

She swallowed hard.

Because, truthfully?

She didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

Queen Bulma’s smirk widened just slightly.

“Ah,” she said simply.

Bulma groaned loudly, throwing herself back into her chair. “Oh, for Kami’s sake—why is this my life?!”

Queen Bulma simply chuckled.

Perhaps this universe wasn’t so different after all.

Bulma leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, trying to process what had just been said.

She pointed a finger at her alternate self. “Okay, back up —what do you mean we ‘bicker like we’re in love’?”

Queen Bulma gave her a patient, knowing look, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. “Exactly that. The way you interact—it is… familiar.”

Bulma blinked. “Yeah, because we live in the same house and he annoys the hell out of me on a daily basis.”

Queen Bulma tilted her head slightly. “And yet, you allow him to stay.”

Bulma opened her mouth—then closed it.

She huffed, crossing her arms. “So what? Just because I don’t throw him out, that means we’re in love ?”

Queen Bulma smirked slightly. “Tell me, if another man irritated you as much as he does, would you tolerate it?”

Bulma froze.

Her brain stalled for a good three seconds.

Because the answer—the obvious, undeniable answer—was no.

She wouldn’t have.

Not in a million years.

And yet, Vegeta—her Vegeta—had been living in her house for months, eating her food, using her lab, wrecking her gravity chamber, and sassing her at every opportunity—

And she hadn’t kicked him out.

Not even once.

Bulma scowled. “That proves nothing.”

Queen Bulma let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head slightly. “Sometimes I forget how slow humans can be.”

Bulma narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?!”

Queen Bulma folded her arms, regarding her carefully. “Saiyan culture does not function the way human culture does. We do not pursue each other with empty words or false politeness. We do not flirt the way humans do.” Queen Bulma smiled. Her Kakarot had certainly learned that one the hard way.

Bulma huffed. “Yeah, no kidding. If Vegeta’s flirting with me, then he’s about as smooth as a broken blender.”

Queen Bulma smirked slightly. “And yet, he also is still here, is he not?”

Bulma opened her mouth—then hesitated.

Damn it.

She really hated how much sense this was starting to make.

Queen Bulma continued. “Saiyan relationships are based on challenge and strength. We do not waste time with meaningless displays. If a Saiyan finds another worthy of attention, they will push them, test them, challenge them. Even if your Vegeta has not interacted much with others of our kind, this is something that is instinctual to him.”

Bulma frowned. “So, what? Just because we fight all the time, that means something?”

Queen Bulma’s smirk widened. “Do you fight with any other prospective suitors this way?”

Bulma stiffened.

And Queen Bulma noticed immediately.

“…I see.”

Bulma groaned, leaning back in her chair, rubbing her hands over her face.

“I don’t have feelings for Vegeta,” she insisted. “He’s arrogant , stubborn , impossible —”

Queen Bulma tilted her head. “And yet, you are listing traits with affection rather than resentment.”

Bulma stared.

Then she pointed aggressively. “You stop that right now.”

Queen Bulma laughed softly, shaking her head.

Bulma exhaled sharply, throwing up her hands. “Fine. Whatever. Maybe maybe I have some level of…” she waved vaguely, “interest. But it’s not like that.”

Queen Bulma lifted a brow. “Not yet . ”

Bulma scowled. “You really like being smug, huh?”

Queen Bulma shrugged. “It’s a luxury I’ve earned.”

Bulma groaned again, leaning her head against the table.

Queen Bulma chuckled. “You’re very much like me.”

Bulma sighed deeply into the tabletop. “That is deeply concerning.”

Queen Bulma smirked. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Bulma huffed, lifting her head slightly.

“…So how did you figure it out? You know, that you, um…”

Queen Bulma’s expression softened slightly, her usual sharpness melting into something almost… wistful.

Queen Bulma leaned back slightly, her arms still crossed, her gaze distant as she recounted the memory.

“I had been a low-ranking engineer,” she murmured. “Stationed at a remote outpost. We were repairing failing defenses when the Cold Empire attacked.”

Bulma blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.

Queen Bulma’s fingers drummed against the console absentmindedly. “Saiyan protocol dictated that such places were expendable—resources to be defended only if strategically advantageous.” Her voice was steady, but there was something behind it. Something deeper. “By the time he arrived, the outpost was already half-destroyed. And I was certain I wouldn’t survive the day.”

Bulma swallowed, watching as her counterpart’s tail curled tightly around her waist.

Queen Bulma exhaled slowly. “I remember standing in the rubble, hands trembling as I activated a prototype energy shield generator.” A faint smirk ghosted over her lips. “The barrier held just long enough to protect the survivors. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all I had.”

Bulma could practically see it—the wreckage, the fires burning in the distance, a scientist desperately trying to hold a defense line with nothing but her brain and sheer will.

And then—

"Through the chaos, I saw him."

Bulma felt a strange weight settle in her chest.

Queen Bulma’s expression was unreadable, but her voice carried something… unshakable.

“He strode into the carnage like a storm given form.” She shook her head slightly. “Every step exuded power and command. His presence was unbearable, as if the very air bent around him.”

Bulma exhaled sharply. Yep. That sounded like Vegeta.

Queen Bulma huffed. “His first words to me? ‘Is this all your so-called technology can do?’”

Bulma winced. “Oof.”

Queen Bulma’s lips twitched slightly. “I was exhausted. Terrified. And furious.”

Bulma smirked. “So you mouthed off, didn’t you?”

Queen Bulma gave her a knowing look. “Of course.”

Bulma chuckled, shaking her head. “What’d you say?”

Queen Bulma’s smirk sharpened. “‘It’s more than your soldiers managed.’”

Bulma snorted. “Oh my God.”

Queen Bulma chuckled. “I expected to die for my insolence. Instead…” She exhaled. “He smirked.”

Bulma’s brows shot up.

Queen Bulma nodded. “Just the faintest flicker of amusement before he turned and obliterated the remaining attackers with terrifying precision.”

Bulma felt an odd sort of chill run down her spine.

“He was unstoppable,” Queen Bulma murmured. “His power was overwhelming. His movements were so fluid and precise that it seemed like a deadly dance. I had never seen anything like it.”

Bulma swallowed. “And that was the moment, wasn’t it?”

Queen Bulma didn’t answer immediately.

Then, she nodded once. “It was the moment I realized he was more than just a warrior.”

Bulma watched her carefully. “…What happened after?”

Queen Bulma exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “I tried to disappear into the background, certain he would punish me for my disrespect.”

Bulma frowned. That… actually made sense. The Vegeta she knew wasn’t exactly the forgiving type.

“But instead,” Queen Bulma continued, “he sought me out.”

Bulma’s breath caught slightly.

Queen Bulma glanced at her, a knowing look in her eyes. “Not to punish me.”

Bulma tilted her head. “Then why?”

Queen Bulma smirked. “To demand an explanation of the shield generator.”

Bulma blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Queen Bulma nodded. “He wanted to know everything—how it worked, its power source, its limitations.”

Bulma scoffed. “Wow. He’s consistent, I’ll give him that.”

Queen Bulma chuckled. “At the time, I thought he was merely intrigued by my technology.” Her expression softened slightly. “But looking back… I think it was more than that.”

Bulma watched her carefully.

Queen Bulma’s fingers tapped idly against the console. “He saw something in me that I didn’t yet see in myself.”

Bulma swallowed, feeling an odd lump in her throat.

Because she understood that feeling.

She knew exactly what it was like to be seen by Vegeta.

“To my surprise, he didn’t dismiss me,” Queen Bulma continued. “Instead, he told me—”

She straightened slightly, her voice dropping in perfect mimicry:

“‘You’ll report directly to me from now on.’”

Bulma stared. “And just like that, you were working for the Saiyan King?”

Queen Bulma nodded. “Well, he was a prince at that time, but yes, that was how it began.”

Bulma let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Queen Bulma smirked. “Over time, my inventions became indispensable to Saiyan strategy. My defiance slowly morphed into respect for his ruthless efficiency.”

Bulma leaned back, processing all of it. “…And when did you fall in love with him?”

Queen Bulma chuckled. “It was not a singular moment. It was a hundred small moments. A thousand unspoken understandings.”

Bulma exhaled slowly.

That… That made sense.

Because now that she thought about it—wasn’t that exactly what was happening between her and Vegeta right now?

Queen Bulma tilted her head slightly. “You are beginning to understand.”

Bulma huffed, waving a hand. “Okay, nope. No more deep introspection.”

Queen Bulma smirked. “Very well.”

Bulma straightened, forcing herself to focus. “So, back to work?”

Queen Bulma nodded. “Back to work.”

But even as they returned to their analysis, Bulma couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation had changed something.

The lab hummed softly with the sound of machines working, the dim lighting making the sea of computer screens glow a faint blue.

Queen Bulma leaned over the console, studying the data stream as the scanner slowly mapped her energy signature. The results were still incomplete, but Bulma was confident they could find something useful.

“So,” Bulma said, adjusting the input parameters, “if we can isolate a unique energy signature that doesn’t match anything from our universe, maybe we can figure out a way to—”

“Send us back,” Queen Bulma finished, nodding.

Bulma sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Theoretically.”

Queen Bulma folded her arms, her sharp gaze flicking across the screen. “If a force strong enough to transport us exists, there must be a way to reverse it.”

Bulma huffed. “Sure, if we can figure out what caused it in the first place.”

There was a pause.

Then—

Queen Bulma spoke again, her tone more careful this time.
“What happened to Vegeta in this timeline?”

Bulma blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Queen Bulma didn’t look at her. She kept her gaze on the screen, but there was something almost cautious in the way she spoke.

“He said all the Saiyans are dead,” she murmured. “That Vegeta-sei was destroyed. What happened to him?”

Bulma’s stomach tightened.

She glanced toward her alternate self, taking in the calm, composed way she had asked the question.

But it was too calm.

Like she was bracing herself.

Bulma hesitated. Then, slowly, she leaned against the console, exhaling softly.

“It was Frieza,” she said.

Queen Bulma’s entire body stiffened.

Bulma swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “Frieza wiped out pretty much all the Saiyans years ago. Vegeta-sei was completely destroyed.”

Silence.

Bulma hesitated, then continued. “Vegeta was just a kid when it happened. Frieza took him as a soldier, forced him to work under him for years.”

Queen Bulma’s hands curled into fists.

“He was raised under Frieza’s rule,” Bulma murmured. “Taught to obey, taught to murder. And for a long time, I think he thought he could—” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “—make himself indispensable. That if he got strong enough, Frieza would never be able to get rid of him. He’s never said as much, but I think that while he was doing all that, he may have been secretly trying to figure out a way to ascend, kill Frieza once and for all.”

Queen Bulma closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply through her nose.

Bulma knew that look.

It was the look of someone calculating the weight of what they had just learned.

The look of someone who had just lost something.

She swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t until we went to Namek last year to stop Frieza from using their Dragon Balls that he found out the truth.”

Queen Bulma’s eyes snapped open.

Bulma exhaled slowly. “Frieza never planned to keep him around. He was just… convenient for a while.”

For the first time, Queen Bulma’s composure cracked.

She turned her gaze toward the screen, her jaw tight, her tail curling and uncurling around her waist.

“…And you?” she asked quietly.

Bulma blinked. “What?”

Queen Bulma’s gaze sharpened. “What role did you play in his life then?”

Bulma hesitated. “…At first? Nothing.”

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Back then, I barely even knew who he was. He was just some enemy Goku…uh…Kakarot fought. Some villain we needed to stop. Vegeta initially came to Earth looking to destroy it. It’s a long story.”

Queen Bulma’s expression darkened.

Bulma continued. “But after Namek, after Frieza was defeated… he came to Earth. I offered him a place here.” She glanced toward the monitor, watching the scanner continue its process. “And for some reason, he stayed.”

Queen Bulma was silent, her tail curling tighter.

Bulma frowned. “You’re taking this really hard.”

Queen Bulma exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You don’t understand.”

Bulma raised a brow. “Then make me understand.”

Queen Bulma turned to her fully now, her arms still crossed tightly.

“In my universe, Vegeta-sei was obviously never destroyed.”

Queen Bulma’s expression was carefully neutral, but the fire behind her eyes was unmistakable.

“My Vegeta was never forced to serve Frieza,” she continued. “He was never made into a weapon.”

Bulma felt her chest tighten.

Because suddenly, she realized what was actually happening here.

Queen Bulma wasn’t just mourning the fate of this timeline’s Vegeta.

She was mourning the loss of everything he could have been.

She was mourning the fact that he had never been given a chance to be the man she knew.

And for the first time since all of this started—

Bulma genuinely felt for him.

Her mind flicked back to him—to the Vegeta of this world, the one who had lost everything before he even had a chance to claim it.

The one who had been raised under a monster.

The one who had spent his entire life clawing for power, not just to become stronger—but to survive.

She had always known his past had been brutal.

But she had never really felt it until now.

Never really thought about what it had cost him.

The Vegeta Queen Bulma knew had grown up with an empire behind him. He had never had to beg for power, never had to bow to anyone. He had lived with pride, with purpose, with a people who had never been taken from him.

But her Vegeta?

Her Vegeta had nothing.

No kingdom. No home. No family.

He had been left to fend for himself in the cold, ruthless grip of an enemy who had shaped him into something he was never meant to be.

He had spent years believing he was alone.

Bulma’s throat tightened.

For the first time, she saw him in a new light.

Not just as the stubborn, arrogant warrior who got under her skin—

But as a man who had survived unimaginable loss.

Her chest ached.

Queen Bulma exhaled slowly. “I was not supposed to meet him like this.”

Bulma swallowed hard. “…What do you mean?”

Queen Bulma’s voice softened, her usual sharp confidence giving way to something… fragile.

“He was never supposed to be alone.”

Bulma’s breath hitched.

Because she knew—she knew—that her counterpart wasn’t just talking about his people.

She was talking about her.

About Bulma.

The Bulma he should have had.

The Bulma who should have been there for him, should have helped him long before Namek, should have seen him before he was too broken to believe in anything else.

And that thought—that realization—

It hurt.

More than she ever could have expected.

Bulma exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “…Well. He’s not alone anymore.”

Queen Bulma’s gaze flicked to her.

Something in her eyes shifted.

And then—very, very subtly—

She smiled.

–

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the occasional clinking of silverware against plates.

The meal was long finished, but neither Vegeta had moved.

They sat across from each other, mirroring postures—arms crossed, expressions sharp, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

King Vegeta leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking toward his counterpart, studying him like one might an unpolished weapon.

Then, after a long moment, he finally spoke.

"Why are you here?"

Vegeta scoffed. “Tch. Ask your mate. Apparently, I’m pathetic and weak. I am here to train.”

King Vegeta smirked slightly. “She is not wrong.”

Vegeta’s eye twitched. “You wanna repeat that?”

King Vegeta merely lifted a brow, unconcerned. “You are on Earth,” he pressed, ignoring his counterpart’s irritation. “You live among humans. Why?”

Vegeta exhaled sharply.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, at last, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

“…Because I have nowhere else to go.”

King Vegeta’s expression darkened.

Vegeta’s jaw clenched. “This Vegetasei you come from? It doesn’t exist here. It was wiped out. Gone.”

King Vegeta remained silent.

Vegeta continued. “Frieza destroyed it. Wiped out our entire race.” His fists clenched. “I was a child when it happened. He kept me alive—made me his soldier. Used me until he had no further need for me.”

King Vegeta exhaled through his nose. "You were weak."

Vegeta’s teeth ground together. “I was a child,” he snapped.

King Vegeta’s expression didn’t change. “A true Saiyan would have fought to the death.”

Vegeta bristled. “And then what? He would’ve killed me, like he killed everyone else. The Saiyan race would have died even faster.”

King Vegeta tilted his head slightly. "Yet you still serve no kingdom, no ruler. You fight for what, then? The scraps of an old empire?"

Vegeta scowled. “I fight for myself.”

King Vegeta leaned back slightly, assessing him. “And yet you are here. Among humans.”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, Vegeta continued.

“I spent my life trying to get strong enough to kill Frieza,” he muttered. “When I arrived on Earth, I came here for one reason—to get stronger. To surpass Kakarot.”

King Vegeta narrowed his eyes slightly. “Kakarot.”

Vegeta exhaled sharply. “Tch. Don’t tell me you don’t know who that is.”

King Vegeta’s expression remained impassive. “In my world, Kakarot is a good soldier. Nothing more.”

Vegeta huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. In this one? He’s the reason I’m sitting here talking to you.”

King Vegeta’s brows lifted slightly.

Vegeta leaned back, crossing his arms. “On Namek, Kakarot ascended. He became the first Super Saiyan.”

For the first time, King Vegeta’s expression actually shifted.

His posture straightened slightly, his eyes sharpening.

“You saw it.”

Vegeta gritted his teeth. “Yes. And I was—” He cut himself off, scowling deeper. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

King Vegeta studied him carefully. “And Frieza?”

Vegeta huffed. “Kakarot beat him. Or so we thought. Turns out, Frieza survived. He came back to Earth for revenge.”

King Vegeta’s jaw tightened slightly.

Vegeta continued, his voice lower now. “But before Kakarot could even arrive to fight him—some kid showed up. A lavender haired brat with a sword.”

King Vegeta’s gaze darkened.

Vegeta leaned forward slightly, voice quiet, but sharp.

“He killed Frieza. In one strike.”

Silence.

King Vegeta’s fingers flexed slightly against the table.

Vegeta exhaled. “Said he was from the future. Came here to warn us about some androids. He knew everything about Kakarot. About us.” His brows furrowed. “And he had Saiyan blood.”

King Vegeta’s mind was racing.

A Saiyan from the future.

A boy strong enough to kill Frieza in an instant.

A boy who somehow knew this timeline’s Vegeta and Kakarot.

Slowly, his gears began to turn.

Vegeta sat rigidly, arms crossed tightly, his entire body wound like a spring ready to snap.

Across from him, his alternate self—the King of a world that no longer existed in this universe—was watching him with an expression so smug it made Vegeta’s blood boil.

King Vegeta smirked, slow and infuriating, as he leaned back in his chair.

“And you never thought to ask his heritage?”

Vegeta stiffened.

For a second, his stomach dropped, something clawing at the back of his mind that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Because now that he thought about it—

Now that the words were laid out in front of him—

His breath caught in his throat.

“…What are you implying?” he asked, voice low.

King Vegeta smirked.

"I am not implying anything." He leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto Vegeta’s with something almost condescending.

"I am telling you—"

His smirk widened.

"The boy is yours."

Vegeta’s mind blanked.

Froze.

For a full, terrible second, his brain outright refused to process what he had just heard.

Then—

Realization slammed into him like a full-force ki blast.

His jaw clenched.

“No,” he snapped immediately, shaking his head violently. “That’s impossible.”

King Vegeta lifted a brow. “And why is that?”

Vegeta’s hands curled into fists. “Because I don’t have a son.”

King Vegeta’s smirk did not waver. “Not yet you don’t.”

Vegeta exhaled sharply through his nose. “He could just as easily be Kakarot’s brat.”

King Vegeta scoffed instantly, shaking his head. "No."

Vegeta's brow furrowed. "What do you mean no?"

King Vegeta exhaled sharply. "Have you seen Kakarot’s mate?"

Vegeta hesitated. “…That harpy Chi-Chi? Yes.”

King Vegeta smirked. Apparently a lot of things were still the same in this universe.  "In that case, if Kakarot had sired this boy, he would have black hair, not—" he tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening, "—a certain shade of blue."

Vegeta stiffened.

His stomach churned.

Because there was only one alternative.

But he refused to say it.

King Vegeta smirked like a man who had already won a battle before it began.

"Face it." His tone was infuriatingly confident.

"The boy is yours."

Vegeta’s nails dug into his palms, his body rigid with tension.

Because as much as he wanted to deny it—

As much as he wanted to shove the thought away—

Some deep, primal part of him knew.

King Vegeta let out a low chuckle. “You truly are dense.”

Vegeta growled. “You don’t know that for certain.”

King Vegeta smirked wider. “I know enough.”

Vegeta’s mind was still reeling from the revelation—the implication—of the boy’s identity. The very idea that he could have a child in the future, that he and that damn woman would—

No.

No, that was ridiculous.

He wasn’t some sentimental fool. He wasn’t some soft creature bound by weakness and attachments.

And yet—

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists beneath the table.

Across from him, King Vegeta watched him carefully, his smirk tempered now, his expression shifting from amusement to something closer to intrigue.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound was the subtle hum of the refrigerator.

Then, Vegeta scoffed sharply, shaking his head.

"Tch. It’s irrelevant." His voice was gruff, dismissive. "Even if that brat were mine, it doesn’t change anything. I have no interest in playing the part of some domesticated fool like you and that blue-haired menace you’ve shackled yourself to."

King Vegeta’s smirk disappeared.

For the first time since they had sat down, his expression hardened.

His fingers flexed against the table, his dark eyes sharp and unwavering.

“You think that’s what this is about?”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. “What else would it be?”

King Vegeta exhaled sharply through his nose. "You truly are blind.”

Vegeta bristled. "And you are wasting my time."

King Vegeta’s tail flicked, but he remained composed. “Tell me something, imposter,” he said coolly. “You assume my mate belongs to me, don’t you?”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened. “Doesn’t she?”

King Vegeta let out a short, humorless laugh.

"No."

Vegeta blinked, thrown off by the simplicity of the response.

King Vegeta leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his presence suddenly heavier. "She is my equal in every way. Although if anything," he murmured, "it is the other way around."

Vegeta’s brow furrowed.

King Vegeta’s gaze was piercing. His expression was no longer smug, no longer condescending. It was… something else.

Something serious.

Something firm.

Something proud.

"She saved me."

Vegeta stiffened.

King Vegeta continued, his voice low, measured.

"When I was a child, I was taught that power was the only thing that mattered. That I was destined to rule, destined to be superior. But in the end, I was just another pawn—no different from you."

Vegeta’s fingers twitched.

King Vegeta exhaled, eyes darkening. "For years, I let my pride blind me. I let my anger consume me. I closed off from everything and everyone. And then… she found me."

Vegeta scoffed. "So what? She coddled you? Softened you?"

King Vegeta’s jaw clenched. "Far from it. She believed in me."

Vegeta's breath hitched.

"She saw something in me that I could not see myself. She fought beside me, not as my queen, but as my equal. She made me better. And when the time came—"

His fingers flexed against the table.

"She gave her life for me."

Vegeta swallowed hard, his stomach twisting with something uncomfortably foreign.

King Vegeta’s voice dropped lower. "She made me strong, not through brute force, not through rage, but through trust. And in the end—"

His gaze sharpened.

"I was the one who killed Frieza."

Vegeta’s entire body locked up.

His breath stilled.

His pulse pounded.

"...What?"

King Vegeta exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving Vegeta’s. "In our universe, it was not Kakarot. It was not a child from the future."

His fingers tapped against the table.

"It was me."

Vegeta’s throat felt dry. “You—”

"I ended him on Namek. I ascended. I snapped his neck."

Silence.

It stretched between them, thick and suffocating, the weight of the words pressing against Vegeta’s skull.

King Vegeta leaned back slightly, studying his counterpart with something unreadable in his expression.

"So now tell me, prince," he murmured. "Which one of us is truly free?"

Vegeta’s hands curled into fists beneath the table.

His breath came in slow, controlled exhales, but something inside him was burning.

Because he should have been the one to kill Frieza.

He should have been the one to avenge their people.

Not Kakarot.

Not some brat from the future.

Him.

And yet—

In another world, another version of him had done exactly that.

And it hadn’t been through hatred or pride.

It had been because someone had believed in him.

Vegeta’s jaw clenched. "I don't need anyone to make me strong."

King Vegeta’s smirk returned, but it was different now. Softer.

"Then why are you still so weak?"

Vegeta saw red.

His aura flared, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood abruptly, fists clenched.

King Vegeta did not move.

He simply lifted his chin, watching him carefully.

"You think strength is only about power, don’t you?" King Vegeta murmured, his voice quiet but firm. "That is why you will never have it."

Vegeta growled, his aura crackling. "You don’t know a damn thing about me."

King Vegeta tilted his head slightly, considering him. "Don’t I?"

Silence.

Vegeta’s breath came in sharp exhales.

His pride was screaming.

His body was tense, wired with anger, frustration, resentment.

But deep down, beneath the fury, beneath the resistance, beneath the unbearable weight of his own limitations—

He knew that something had just changed.

Something fundamental.

Something he wasn’t ready to face.

King Vegeta exhaled slowly, then leaned back in his chair. He picked up his cup, taking a slow sip of his drink, utterly unbothered.

Then, after a long pause, he smirked.

“Now,” he said, stretching his fingers against the table, “let’s go see what our women are up to.”

Vegeta scowled. “Tch. She’s not my woman.”

King Vegeta threw his head back and laughed.

A deep, knowing, utterly amused laugh.

Vegeta’s eye twitched violently.

"Then hurry up and claim her, fool. Or are you afraid?" King Vegeta said, his tone full of unapologetic condescension.

Vegeta shot back from where he stood at the table so fast that his chair nearly toppled backward. "I AM NOT AFRAID!"

King Vegeta simply turned, already walking toward the exit, his tail flicking behind him in amusement. "Come. I grow tired of this conversation."

Vegeta seethed.

His pride screamed.

His pride also really wanted to blast his counterpart through a wall.

But—

The bad feeling in his gut was only getting worse.

With an irritated growl, he stomped after him.

–

The air shifted.

One moment, the four of them were standing in the lab, knee-deep in discussion, Queen Bulma analyzing energy readings while the two Vegetas remained in a silent battle of wills.

The next—

A bright flash filled the room, blindingly intense, as a chorus of high-pitched giggles echoed through the space.

Bulma yelled in surprise, throwing up an arm to shield her eyes. Vegeta instinctively stepped forward, his muscles tensed for battle, while King Vegeta and Queen Bulma whirled around, their bodies poised for attack.

And then—

They appeared.

Two tiny, floating figures, identical to each other, grinning mischievously as they bobbed in midair like this was all a fun little game.

Bulma blinked rapidly. “…What the actual hell?”

King Vegeta’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "What manner of creatures are these?"

Queen Bulma studied them carefully, but even she looked mildly unsettled.

The figures giggled. “Oh wow! They’re so confused! ”

“So confused! ”

King Vegeta’s brow twitched. “Who are you?”

The two beings turned in midair, floating upside down as they observed the Saiyans with amused interest.

“We’re Zeno! ”

“Zeno!”

Bulma gawked. “That… explains absolutely nothing.”

Queen Bulma exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple as if she had finally reached her limit. “What do you want? Are you the beings who brought us here?”

The Zenos grinned wider.

“We wanted to see what happened if we put you together!”

“It was so fun! ”

Vegeta’s entire face darkened. “…You did this?”

“Yep!”

Bulma threw up her hands. “Are you kidding me?!”

Queen Bulma’s eyes sharpened dangerously. “You mean to tell me we have been stranded in another universe for your entertainment?”

The Zenos clapped their hands joyfully. “Yes!”

King Vegeta’s aura flared immediately, his fists tightening. “You dare — ”

But before he could unleash his wrath, the Zenos cheerfully clapped again, and another bright flash filled the room.

Queen Bulma gasped, her body glowing slightly, her outline distorting as the energy around her shifted.

King Vegeta staggered slightly, his form flickering with the same golden aura.

“It’s time to go back now!”

“Bye-bye!”

And just like that—

They vanished.

The room fell into dead silence.

Bulma’s mouth fell open. “Did… did that just happen?”

Vegeta scowled deeply. “Tch. Ridiculous.”

Bulma exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “God, I need a drink.”

A few minutes later, after several exhausted sighs, Bulma and Vegeta found themselves standing outside Capsule Corp, the night air cool and heavy after the chaos of the day.

The silence between them wasn’t tense—just full.

Bulma stretched, rolling her shoulders before flashing Vegeta a teasing grin. “Well. Um. That was weird.”

Vegeta huffed. “It was infuriating.”

She smirked, shifting her weight onto one hip. “Y’know, it’s interesting to know that if things had gone a little differently, I could’ve been a queen.”

Vegeta side-eyed her.

She grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’d make an awesome queen.”

Vegeta snorted. “You’d be insufferable.”

Bulma mock-gasped. “How dare you!”

Vegeta smirked slightly, shaking his head.

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of the bizarre experience lingering in the air between them.

Then—finally—Bulma exhaled, folding her arms. “Look… as much as this entire thing was insane, we probably shouldn’t mention it to anyone.”

Vegeta scoffed. “Obviously.”

Bulma raised a brow. “No, I mean it. Not even to Goku.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “I would rather die than explain this nonsense to that idiot.”

Bulma sighed, rubbing her temple. “Good. Because the last thing we need is for anyone to start freaking out about paradoxes or alternate realities.”

Vegeta cut her off before she could finish. “Yes, yes, it could be detrimental to the space-time continuum. I know.”

Bulma froze.

She turned to stare at him, blinking. “…You actually know what that means?”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened. “What do you take me for, woman? I’m not an idiot.”

Bulma smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Vegeta shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’ve heard you ramble about physics for long enough. Even a fool would’ve picked up something.”

Bulma raised a brow. “Wait. So you do listen to me?”

Vegeta suddenly looked incredibly disinterested. “…Shut up.”

Bulma snickered. “Aw, you totally do.”

Vegeta exhaled sharply, as if actively restraining himself. “Are we finished?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I guess.”

Another pause.

Then, finally, Bulma softened, her teasing dropping just a fraction.

"You know…" she started, tilting her head as she looked at him, "I don’t care what that other you and me said to you. I think…no I know, you’re stronger than you realize. You’ll become a Super Saiyan soon. I know it."

Vegeta blinked. His arms were still crossed, his expression unreadable, but something in his stance shifted—just slightly.

Bulma stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Welp. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She winked, turning toward the house.

But before she could take a single step—

A strong, calloused hand grabbed her wrist.

Bulma stiffened.

Her breath hitched as Vegeta tugged her back, forcing her to turn toward him.

Her heartbeat quickened. "Vegeta?"

His expression was unreadable. His grip on her wrist wasn’t tight—just deliberate. Testing. Measuring.

And then—

He kissed her.

Not hesitant. Not unsure. Firm. Confident. Unapologetic.

Bulma’s world tilted.

His lips were warmer than she expected—hot, even, like the energy that burned within him. His grip tightened on her wrist, the other hand lifting, hovering just slightly at her waist, as if resisting the instinct to pull her closer.

Bulma reacted before she could think, pressing into him slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His chest was solid beneath her hands, muscles tensed, his whole body coiled like a storm waiting to break.

It wasn’t long.

But it wasn’t short, either.

It was just enough.

Just enough to make her breath catch.

Just enough to make her pulse race.

Just enough for both of them to know—this wasn’t an accident.

When he finally pulled back, their faces were so close she could feel his breath ghosting over her lips.

Her eyes fluttered open, her pupils blown wide.

Vegeta’s expression was serious. Calculating. But his gaze had shifted.

There was something new there.

Something dangerous.

Something undeniable.

He lingered for a second longer—then, voice low, he muttered:

“…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, he let go of her wrist and turned, walking toward the gravity chamber like nothing had happened.

Bulma stood there in complete silence, her body still thrumming.

Her lips still tingling.

Then—

Slowly—

A wide, knowing smirk curled onto her lips.

“Huh,” she mused, touching her fingers lightly to her mouth.

“…Didn’t see that coming.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back inside—
feeling quite smug herself.