The courtyard was silent again. Dust floated in the air like pale ash, carrying the echo of their last blows.
Mai stood across from Bulma, chest rising and falling, her aura still faintly shimmering. Bulma's gloves were scorched, her breath sharp. "You're not fighting seriously," she snapped. "You're thinking about him again."
Mai's jaw clenched. "And what if I am?"
That stopped Bulma cold. "You— what?"
Mai exhaled through her nose, her voice quiet but shaking. "You think I don't see it? The way you look at him. You act like you're above it, but you're not. You're worse."
Bulma's face hardened. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I do," Mai said. "You were there yesterday, weren't you?"
The silence that followed said everything.
Bulma's lips parted — denial on her tongue, but it never came out.
Mai took a step closer, her eyes burning. "You spied on him. On them."
Bulma's fists trembled. "I didn't mean—"
"Don't lie to me," Mai cut in. "You wanted to see it. You wanted to know what it was like."
Bulma's expression cracked, fury and shame twisting together. "And what about you? You've been staring at him like you're under a spell!"
Mai's laugh was bitter, almost a sigh. "Maybe I am."
That hit harder than either expected. Both of them went still — two hearts beating in sync, mirrors of the same confusion.
For a long time, neither spoke. Only the wind moved, carrying the faint hum of Buu's presence from somewhere far inside the house.
Finally, Bulma looked away, voice low. "This isn't what I wanted."
Mai's reply was just as soft. "Then find out what you really want, before I stop holding back."
She turned and walked off, aura fading with each step.
Bulma stayed where she was, staring at the cracked tiles under her feet — and for the first time since it all began, she didn't know if she wanted to fix anything at all.
While all this was happening, off to the side, Buu sat with one leg crossed over the other, an untouched cup of tea cooling beside him.
The faint breeze carried the sound of raised voices — Bulma's sharp, Mai's low and cutting. He didn't move. He just watched.
Mrs. Brief followed his gaze, frowning slightly as the echo of Bulma's shout reached them. "They're fighting, aren't they?"
Buu's lips curved in that slow, unreadable smile. "More like a discussion."
She looked at him skeptically. "That's a strange way to describe screaming at each other."
He leaned back, arms stretched along the bench's edge. But his eyes stayed on Bulma, the faintest glint of amusement hidden behind them.
For a while, they just listened — the wind, the faint hum of the courtyard, the last sting of Bulma's voice fading into silence.
Then Mrs. Brief spoke again, softer this time. "Tell me honestly, Buu. What do you want to do with my daughter?"
He turned his head toward her — not surprised, just thoughtful. The question lingered between them like a slow heartbeat.
"What do I want, eh." he said finally, "I think you alredy know... Tell me what you think instead "
Mrs. Brief tilted her head. "So it's like this..."
That answer didn't soothe her, but it didn't frighten her either.
Mrs. Brief sighed, glancing toward her daughter in the distance. "With me it was a fling, then?"
Buu chuckled, low and quiet. "No. But if you don't want to continue this story with me you can tell me."
He rose from the bench, stretching lazily, the light catching on his eyes just enough to make them seem a shade too bright.
"I'll give you time to think." he murmured.
And with that, he stepped away — leaving Mrs. Brief watching him go.