"I'm back, Bulma!"
The moment Vitelli stepped through the door, he was met with Bulma's most enthusiastic welcome.
"Husband!"
Her voice rang out like music. She sprang from her chair and launched herself perfectly into his open arms.
Vitelli caught her easily, feeling the warmth of her body—and the completely unhidden longing and joy wrapped inside that embrace.
"Ha!" Vitelli laughed freely, lifting her and spinning her around several times until Bulma burst into giggles, her short blue hair fluttering in the air.
Only when she laughed and lightly smacked his shoulder did he finally stop, still reluctant, carrying her over to the wide, soft couch and settling down so she could sit comfortably in his lap.
"I'm back," he murmured again, forehead pressed to hers—low, gentle, sincere.
Bulma's face glowed with happiness as she nodded hard.
They stayed like that for a while before Bulma finally spoke, casual on the surface—yet clearly relieved to have him here.
"So… you went to deal with King Piccolo?"
"You knew it was me?" Vitelli asked, mildly surprised.
"Idiot. Live broadcast." Bulma sighed, then suddenly remembered what she thought was the real prize. Her sapphire eyes lit up so brightly it was almost alarming.
"Was Mr. Popo telling the truth?! The Guardian really wanted you to take his position? Become Earth's new God?!"
"Popo…?" Vitelli blinked, then understood—and immediately rolled his eyes at Bulma's expression, which looked like she'd just won the world's biggest lottery.
"Don't tell me you actually want me to become 'God.'"
"Of course I want it!" Bulma nodded fiercely, grinning as she shook his arm like an excited kid.
"That's God! The legendary Kami-sama! That's a storybook thing! You're not tempted?! Imagine—if you became Earth's God, and I told my girlfriends? How insanely cool would that be?!"
Vitelli shook his head without hesitation, pinching her cheek with a helpless laugh.
"Enough, Your Highness. That job isn't as glamorous as you think."
Then his expression turned serious.
"Forget everything else—just this one point. If I become Earth's Guardian, I don't get to leave easily. I'd be tied to protecting the planet."
"And what happens when you, Bulma Briefs, wake up one day and decide you want to go see a comet up close… or vacation on some alien world?"
"What—am I supposed to let you fly alone through the cold emptiness of space, all by yourself?"
He painted the image so vividly that Bulma's excitement instantly froze.
In her mind, she saw it:
herself alone in a ship, surrounded by endless black, no one beside her—only silence.
Just imagining it made her shiver.
"Ugh—" Bulma sucked in a breath, instantly sobering up. "Yeah. No. Absolutely not."
She shook her head like a rattle drum and hugged his arm tighter.
"Forget it! We're not doing the 'God' thing! Whoever wants it can take it. Traveling together matters way more!"
Vitelli's eyes flickered with smug amusement—he'd successfully redirected her.
And then he added, casually:
"Besides… whether that old Guardian would even keep his promise now is questionable."
"Hm?" Bulma looked up.
Vitelli smiled faintly, meaningfully.
"He wanted to pass the position to me because he thought he was going to die to end Piccolo for good."
"He needed a strong successor."
"But now?" Vitelli dragged the word out. "Piccolo's dead. His 'scheduled death' is canceled."
"You really think a guy who's been 'God' for hundreds of years—who just got his life back—is going to hand over power and status that easily to an… unpredictable alien?"
He snorted.
"Even though he's an alien too."
Bulma blinked, processing.
"So… Kami is an alien. And he'll probably go back on it."
"Not probably," Vitelli shrugged. "Most likely."
He didn't want Bulma wasting mental energy on the Guardian's political drama, so he changed the subject immediately.
"Anyway. Something more important."
Bulma's attention snapped back. "What?"
Vitelli's face hardened.
"Beerus is coming. Soon."
"Beerus…?" Bulma frowned. The name felt vaguely familiar—she'd heard Whis mention it.
But the title—
God of Destruction—
made her instincts flare.
Vitelli nodded.
"Whis's boss. He can destroy planets—maybe whole systems—if he feels like it."
"He's temperamental. Extremely. Spoiled. Moody."
"If he says something arrogant, or talks down to you, or acts like—"
Vitelli paused, meeting Bulma's eyes.
"Don't get impulsive and smack him. Right now, I'm not his match."
"I can protect you, sure. But if we truly tear things open and go all-in… I can't guarantee the outcome."
Bulma stared at him for half a second—then rolled her eyes with theatrical elegance and poked his chest.
"Hey. In your heart, am I some brainless, tantrum-throwing princess who doesn't understand the situation?"
"I'm not stupid. If he's someone we can't afford to offend, why would I provoke him? We'll feed him, flatter him, and get him out. Done."
Vitelli shook his head, catching her finger and—suddenly—his gaze turned cold and razor-sharp, the faintest trace of killing intent leaking out.
"No."
"You misunderstood."
"I'm not telling you to swallow humiliation. I'm not telling you to fear him."
His voice became clear—steady—unyielding.
"I'm saying: don't start trouble for no reason."
"But if he truly makes you angry—if he humiliates you, insults you, makes you feel wronged…"
Vitelli's eyes burned.
"You don't have to be afraid."
"Curse him out if you want."
"Talk back if you want."
"No restraint."
Bulma's jaw dropped. "What?! Why?!"
Vitelli's voice carried a dangerous resolve.
"I won't let my woman be wronged."
"If it comes to it, I'll fight him."
"Even if I can't beat him cleanly right now… if I burn everything—if I go all the way—"
"I can hurt him."
"And I'll make sure he learns this: touching what's mine comes with consequences."
"Even if he's a God of Destruction."
Bulma's throat tightened. Heat surged behind her eyes—warm, sharp, overwhelming.
She was about to respond—
When—
A voice like ice slid into the room without warning.
"Ohhh~ is that so?"
The sound wasn't loud.
But it made the hairs on their bodies stand up.
The space in the center of the living room rippled like water. A rainbow-like streak of light condensed instantly into two figures.
Beerus.
And behind him, Whis—covering his mouth with one hand, eyes curved into crescents, plainly enjoying the disaster he'd just delivered.
Beerus was small and lean, skin pale violet, dressed in strange divine garments with purple patterns. His golden slit pupils locked onto Vitelli. The air around him carried the suffocating finality of destruction itself.
He grinned, sharp teeth showing.
"So, boy," Beerus said lightly, eyes glinting. "From what I just heard… you're very confident in your strength."
The room turned rigid.
Bulma grabbed Vitelli's arm—her palm sweating.
Vitelli's heartbeat skipped once—but he stabilized instantly, months of brutal training snapping his mind into steel.
He patted Bulma's hand once, reassuring, then stood smoothly as if he hadn't just been caught red-handed boasting about giving a god "a hard hit."
"Lord Beerus. Master Whis," Vitelli said with a perfect, polite smile, and a slight bow. "Welcome to the Briefs estate."
Bulma also moved—fast. Social mode activated instantly, flawless and bright.
"Welcome! You must be tired from traveling. Lunch is ready—Earth's finest food. Why don't we eat first, and talk afterward?"
A flawless diversion.
Beerus's gaze slid between them. Pressure thickened the air.
After a long moment, he snorted.
"Hmph. Food?"
"If the taste doesn't satisfy me…"
His eyes shifted toward the distant outline of West City through the window.
"I'll destroy you… and this worthless planet."
Bulma's smile tightened—but held.
Vitelli smiled like he'd heard a mildly annoying weather report.
"Relax, Lord Beerus."
"As for taste…"
He paused just long enough to be irritating.
"Guaranteed."
The Feast of Gods
They were led into the lavish dining hall.
The table was a masterpiece of excess:
paper-thin fugu sashimi shimmering under the lightsdinosaur ribs glazed and smoked, fragrance thick as a spelldreamlike rainbow pudding stacked in seven layers like edible artcountless other dishes—hot, cold, sweet, savory—arranged with surgical perfection
Beerus's pupils narrowed slightly.
His nose twitched—barely.
Whis's eyes brightened openly.
Then—
The "God of Destruction" stopped being a god.
And became a starving cat.
Beerus attacked the food like he'd been food-deprived for centuries.
Forks blurred.
Meat vanished.
Sashimi disappeared like flowing water.
Pudding was shoveled in scoop after scoop.
He even made a faint purring sound, cheeks full, chewing loud enough to offend fine dining itself.
Whis maintained angelic elegance—posture perfect, movements refined—
yet his speed was terrifying.
Worse: he constantly predicted Beerus's next target and stole the best portions with impossible timing, eating serenely while committing culinary robbery.
It wasn't a meal.
It was a silent war.
Vitelli watched, mouth twitching, thoughts screaming:
You two are gods. Have you considered—just once—having dignity?!
But then he realized something horrifying:
If he didn't join now, he wouldn't get anything.
So he jumped in too, shamelessly eating like his life depended on it.
Bulma couldn't even participate.
She became a full-time battlefield commander, shouting orders at robots:
"More ribs! More sashimi! Is there pudding left?! Make more—faster! Faster!"
And while managing logistics, she still found moments to slip food into Vitelli's bowl—because against Beerus and Whis, Vitelli was only a "fast eater," not a "mythical predator."
At last, the table was annihilated.
Empty plates piled up like wreckage.
Beerus, Whis, and Vitelli all collapsed in their chairs with zero dignity—belly slightly swollen, toothpicks in mouth, letting out satisfied burps like synchronized sinners.
The room smelled of victory and sauce.
Vitelli turned his head, smiling.
"Well? Lord Beerus. Satisfied?"
Beerus half-lidded his golden eyes, utterly content.
He huffed.
But this time it wasn't cold.
It was the lazy, spoiled huff of a cat who just conquered a buffet.
Satisfaction… Then the "Activity After Eating"
Time passed.
Food settled.
Beerus's eyes sharpened again, interest reigniting.
He sat up, neck cracking with a few dry pops, and looked straight at Vitelli.
"Boy."
"You said earlier that if you got serious, you could hit me hard."
"I'm full now."
"Perfect time to move."
"How about it? I'll give you a chance."
Vitelli's battle-lust ignited instantly.
He sprang up, excitement blazing openly.
"With pleasure, Lord Beerus."
Beerus grinned.
"Good."
He shot upward as a streak of violet light, piercing the roof.
Vitelli followed as a gold streak.
Bulma rushed out, pulled out a capsule—pop!—and produced a compact aircraft, climbing in and chasing after them.
Whis rose leisurely beside her craft, floating as if he weighed nothing—smiling like a spectator at an extremely expensive show.
West City Outskirts — The Wasteland
They hovered above a barren red wasteland—empty, wide, safe for destruction.
Beerus folded his arms, posture lazy, eyes sharp.
He hooked two fingers at Vitelli with an insulting little gesture.
"Come on. You first."
"Use your full strength. Entertain me."
"Show me what Whis has taught you."
Vitelli didn't transform.
He didn't explode with aura.
He didn't roar.
He simply closed his eyes.
Wind screamed around him—but he became still.
Then his presence… faded.
Not hidden.
Not suppressed.
It was as if he had been erased from the "sense" of the world.
And yet—
A pressure began to form.
The air thickened, heavy, oppressive—like reality itself was becoming viscous.
Then—
Vitelli's eyes snapped open.
Deep within the black, something silver detonated—like starlight cracking through obsidian.
A vast, sacred aura bloomed silently.
No flames.
No blinding glow.
Just a thin, near-transparent layer of pale silver sheen over his skin—like moonlight clinging to a blade.
Beerus's pupils expanded.
His expression shifted from playful to stunned—then to raw, instinctive shock.
His mouth moved slowly, each word forced out as if he didn't want to believe it.
"U… I… Ultra Instinct."
And for the first time since arriving on Earth—
The God of Destruction looked at a mortal…
Like he was staring at a monster.
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