The morning light poured through Capsule Corp's glass panels like liquid gold, soft yet intrusive.
Bulma stood by the balcony, arms crossed, watching Buu as he adjusted a cluster of energy amplifiers in the courtyard below. The faint pink shimmer of his aura caught the sun — it almost looked gentle.Too gentle for someone who had nearly destroyed time itself.
Mai leaned against the doorframe behind her. "You've been staring at him for ten minutes."
Bulma scoffed. "I'm analyzing. Not staring."
Mai arched a brow. "Right. Analyzing his shoulders, too?"
Bulma's retort caught in her throat, half irritation, half something she didn't want to name. "You know, you're not helping."
Down below, Buu looked up, meeting their eyes as if he'd heard every word. That small, knowing smile curved his lips — the one that always felt like he was already three steps ahead.
"Come down," he called. "Both of you. Let's see if you've learned anything."
In the courtyard, heat shimmered from the ground. The smell of ozone hung thick in the air.
Buu raised a hand lazily. "Attack me."
Bulma blinked. "No warmup? No—"
"Too much thinking," he interrupted. "Instinct, remember?"
Mai moved first. A violet burst lit the air as her palm shot forward — Buu deflected it without even looking. Bulma joined in, her energy forming rings that tightened like a magnetic net.
Buu twisted through them, almost amused. "Better. But you're still fighting me like a human."
Bulma grit her teeth. "And what does that mean?"
He appeared behind her, whispering close enough for her hair to stir. "You hesitate."
Her pulse spiked — she turned, releasing a shockwave point-blank. The explosion of pink and blue tore the courtyard tiles apart.
When the dust settled, Buu was standing a few meters away, completely unharmed. His shirt had a single scorch mark — and his grin was wider than ever.
Mai's voice was tight. "You're enjoying this."
"Maybe," he said, stepping closer. "Or maybe I enjoy watching beautiful girls try."
The air between them crackled — part challenge, part something that neither of them wanted to name.
Mai broke the silence, folding her arms. "If you're done flirting, maybe we can get back to—"
Buu glanced at her over his shoulder, smile lazy and deliberate. "Who said I stopped?"
Bulma flushed — with anger or something else, she couldn't tell. "You're impossible."
"Not impossible," Buu said, turning away. "Just honest."
He left them standing there, tension still hanging like static in the air.
That night, Capsule Corp was quiet again.
The moonlight fell soft over the veranda, silvering the leaves and catching on the rim of two half-empty glasses.
Mrs. Brief laughed — low, warm, tipsy. "Buu, you're really funny."
Buu lounged back in his chair, a faint smile curving his mouth. "It just comes naturally around beautiful women."
She swatted his arm lightly, still laughing. "Oh, stop it."
But she didn't move her hand away.
For a long moment, they sat like that — laughter fading into silence, eyes meeting over the rim of another poured drink.
"You know," she said softly, "I haven't seen anyone make Bulma this… alive in years. Whatever you've brought here, I like it."
Buu's gaze softened — genuinely, for once. "Sometimes chaos is the only way life remembers to move."
Her smile wavered. "That sounds… lonely."
"Maybe," he said. "But tonight doesn't have to be."
The words hung between them like smoke.
She leaned in, just slightly — enough for her perfume to mix with the faint sweetness of the wine.
The distance between them vanished like a held breath finally released.
Buu's gaze dipped to her lips, then lifted to her eyes. For once, he didn't smile. He simply looked — like someone savoring something rare, something fragile.
Mrs. Brief's voice was barely a whisper. "You have that look again."
"What look?"
"The one that says you already know what happens next."
His tone was low, velvety. "Maybe I do. Maybe I just want to see if you'll prove me right."
Her laugh was soft, nervous, but she didn't pull back. The candlelight painted her face in warm gold, reflected in his eyes.
"You're trouble," she murmured.
"I've been called worse."
Her hand brushed his arm again — this time slower, deliberate. He caught it, fingers closing gently over hers.
Neither spoke for a while. The world outside seemed to fade — no hum of machines, no ticking clocks, just the faint pulse of something dangerous and human between them.
She finally stood, her glass empty, her cheeks faintly flushed. "You should… come inside. It's getting cold."
He rose too, silent, following her as the veranda lights dimmed behind them.
Author here: It's time... but not today. (heheh)