"Hungry?"
The voice came from outside — calm, almost lazy.
Bulma blinked, turning from the smoking console. The last sparks from the overloaded scanner fizzled out beside her. Her heart was still racing. "Seriously?"
Mai gave a dry chuckle. "You heard him."
They exchanged a look, then stepped out into the garden.
The night was quiet — Capsule Corp's blue lights humming softly, the air warm and still.
Buu was there, leaning against the garden fence, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his lips.
He nodded toward the tray of pastries Mrs. Brief had left on the patio table. "I figured you'd need something after almost blowing yourselves up."
Bulma scowled. "That wasn't my fault — your energy's unpredictable."
"Or maybe," Buu said, picking up a pastry and taking a bite, "you need training."
Mai's brow arched. "You talk like you've been through this before."
"I have," he said easily. "Power is power. The only difference is what you do with it."
Bulma folded her arms, studying him. "You make it sound simple."
"It is simple," he replied. "You're the ones making it complicated."
"Excuse me for not being used to glowing pink and breaking lab equipment," Bulma shot back.
He grinned. "You'll get used to it."
Mai leaned against the railing beside him, arms crossed. "You seem awfully calm for someone hunted through time."
"Calm doesn't mean safe," he said. "It just means I don't waste energy worrying."
Bulma rolled her eyes. "You sound like a monk."
"Are monks this handsome?" he asked smoothly, glancing at her over his shoulder.
Her mouth opened — then closed again. "You're impossible."
He smiled, and there was something in that smile — not arrogance, not quite charm, something subtler. Confidence that didn't need to prove itself.
The kind that could convince anyone he already owned the room.
Mai gave a small, amused snort. "He's good. I'll give him that."
"I try," Buu said, wiping a crumb from his thumb. "But really, you both underestimate yourselves."
Bulma frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," he said, stepping closer, "you felt that pulse earlier — the way your body responded when you stopped thinking and just acted."
Mai nodded slightly. "Like instinct."
"Exactly. That's what being Majin is. Not control through logic, but through will. You decide what you are — every second."
Bulma's expression softened despite herself. "So… it's not corruption."
"It's freedom," Buu said quietly. "But only if you don't let fear write the rules."
For a moment, the air between them changed — lighter, charged, almost intimate.
Bulma forced a grin. "You talk like a philosopher."
"I talk like a man who's made mistakes," he said.
Mai tilted her head. "Big ones?"
"The kind that break timelines," he admitted, smiling faintly.
They all went silent again. The city lights shimmered in the distance, and the night breeze stirred faintly between them.
Then Bulma spoke. "You really believe this power can be controlled?"
"I don't believe," he said, meeting her eyes. "I know."
He turned slightly, leaning back against the fence again. "Control doesn't come from fear, Bulma. It comes from knowing exactly what you want."
Bulma stared at him for a moment too long. "Are you always this confident?"
"Only when I mean it," he said.
Mai sighed. "You're dangerous."
He smiled at her. "So are you."
And with that, the tension broke — half challenge, half invitation.
Bulma rubbed her temple. "Fine. You win. For tonight."
Buu's smirk softened into something almost genuine. "Good. Tomorrow, we talk again. About training and the future."
He started toward the house, slow and unhurried.
When the door slid shut behind him, the two women stood there in silence for a while, the night pressing close.
Mai finally spoke. "You know he's up to something."
Bulma crossed her arms, lips curving faintly. "Of course he is. The question is — are we smart enough to find out what before he does?"
The faint pink in her eyes flickered once more — and somewhere, inside the house, Buu smiled without needing to hear the words.