The ruins were quiet again.
Only the soft crackle of Bulma's makeshift fire broke the stillness — small, fragile, but stubbornly alive against the dying light.
Mai checked her weapon for the third time, though there was nothing left to fight.
Bulma sat nearby, staring into the flames, lips pressed thin.
Then, without warning, the air shifted.
No light. No sound. Just presence.
The fire bent sideways, and space itself rippled. A familiar hum filled the air, followed by a faint pink shimmer.
Mai was already standing, pistol raised. "You feel that?"
Bulma's eyes widened. "Yeah… I think he's—"
The air burst open like a held breath finally released.
Buu appeared — calm, unscathed, dust swirling around his feet as the storm's remnants bent away from him.
Bulma stepped forward. "Buu! Where were you? What happened back there?"
He didn't answer.
His gaze swept the area — the fire, the scorched sky, the faint traces of pink still clinging to both women. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes: relief, maybe.
"You're both still alive," he said quietly.
Mai frowned. "You're welcome."
Buu tilted his head slightly. "You met him."
"Fu?" Bulma asked. "Yeah, and he almost—"
"Later." Buu's tone was calm but firm, the kind of voice that closed doors without raising volume.
He turned toward the horizon — toward where the smoke gave way to mountains and the glint of water far beyond.
"Where are you going?" Bulma demanded.
"Home."
Bulma blinked. "Home? You mean—"
"Your home," he said simply. "Capsule Corp."
Mai holstered her pistol, eyeing him carefully. "You just came out of a temporal storm and want to visit someone's house?"
"I need time," Buu replied. "As for answers... we can talk somewhere… quieter."
Bulma crossed her arms. "So you do plan to explain?"
"Yes," he said, already walking. "But not here."
The tone left no room for argument — and yet it wasn't cold. Just… final. Like a teacher asking for silence before the real lesson began.
Mai sighed, glancing at Bulma. "Are we seriously just following him?"
Bulma hesitated. The wind picked up, brushing her hair across her face — and for a moment, she thought she saw something in Buu's step.
Not fatigue. Not pain. Just… weight. Like each stride carried more than his body.
She exhaled and picked up her capsule case. "Yeah. We are."
"Figures," Mai muttered, falling in behind them.
As they began walking, the horizon slowly shifted — the faint shimmer of the time storm fading completely, replaced by the first traces of dawn.
Buu didn't speak again.
Bulma tried, twice, to ask something — where he'd gone, what he'd seen, what exactly he was now — but every time, the words died when she looked at him.
There was something different.
He wasn't just quiet. He was still — like the world moved around him, and he let it.
By the time the smoke cleared and the green valleys came into view, Bulma finally spoke.
"Alright," she said, breaking the silence. "Once we get home, you're answering everything. No more cryptic 'later's, understood?"
Buu's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile. "Understood."
Mai glanced at him from the side. "You'd better be ready for questions."
"I always am."
The wind rose again, carrying the scent of rain from the distant forests.
Behind them, the ruins vanished into the haze.
Ahead, the world stretched open once more, peaceful and deceptively ordinary.
And for the first time since the storm, Bulma allowed herself a small, cautious smile.
Home.