The courtyard was silent again.
Only the faint marks of battle remained — scorched stone, cracked walls, and the faint metallic scent of energy still hanging in the air. The breeze moved through the trees as if trying to erase what had happened.
Inside Capsule Corp, the house was still.
Bulma sat alone in the lab, the glow from a dozen monitors reflecting off her tired eyes. She hadn't slept.
Her fingers hovered over the console, but the data meant nothing now — just numbers and readouts, all whispering the same thing: They'd crossed a line.
She glanced down at her hands. They still trembled faintly.
When the door opened, she didn't need to look up. "You couldn't sleep either, huh?"
Mai stepped in quietly, arms crossed. Her usually sharp posture was softer, her eyes heavy. "Every time I close my eyes… I see it again."
Bulma swallowed hard. "He wasn't supposed to die."
Mai's jaw tightened. "You heard Buu. It was necessary."
Bulma turned, frustration flashing in her voice. "Don't start quoting him like he's a teacher. We vaporized someone, Mai. Someone who thought he was doing his job."
Mai met her gaze — calm, but not cold. "And what would've happened if we hadn't? You think he'd have just left us alone?"
Bulma didn't answer. She leaned back against the console, exhaling shakily."He looked… terrified. Right before the end."
Mai looked away, voice lower. "We're not human anymore, Bulma. That's what he said."
"That doesn't mean we stop feeling," Bulma shot back, but the conviction in her words wavered halfway through.
Silence stretched between them — not awkward, just… heavy. The kind that pressed on the chest.
Finally, Mai spoke again. "You know what scares me the most?"
Bulma shook her head.
Mai's eyes flicked toward her, a rare vulnerability in them. "It didn't feel wrong. The moment it happened — the power, the instinct — it felt right. Like my body already knew what to do."
Bulma stared at her, then whispered, "Yeah… I know."
They both turned toward the glass wall overlooking the courtyard. The morning sun was rising, painting the scars of battle in gold.
In that light, the cracks looked almost beautiful — like something reborn instead of broken.
"Do you think he planned this?" Mai asked quietly. "Letting us kill, just to see how far we'd go?"
Bulma exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. "Buu doesn't do anything by accident."
The lab's door slid open then, and the smell of breakfast drifted in — rich, sweet, and utterly at odds with the tension in the room.
Mrs. Brief's voice carried down the hall. "Girls! Breakfast! And tell that handsome guest of ours he's missing the pancakes again!"
Mai's lips twitched into a humorless smile. "Handsome guest, huh?"
Bulma rolled her eyes but couldn't help a small smirk. "Trust my mom to flirt with a walking paradox."
"Seems she's not the only one he's got under a spell," Mai muttered under her breath.
Bulma pretended not to hear — but her cheeks flushed just a little.
She shut down the console and stood. "Come on. If we don't go, she'll start bringing food to the lab."
Mai followed her to the door, glancing back one last time at the courtyard. The air outside shimmered faintly — the leftover ripple of broken time.
"He's dangerous," she said softly.
Bulma nodded. "Yeah. But so are we now."
Outside, in the garden, Buu was already awake, sitting under the pergola with a cup of tea in his hand and gazing at the rising sun—calm, smiling, as if nothing had happened.
Mrs. Brief was laughing beside him, her hand resting too casually on his arm.