Disclaimer: The Dragon Ball franchise is the property of Akira Toriyama and Shueisha.
A/N: since Dragon Ball GT is not canon, the characterization of Trunks was based on Kid Trunks and Teen Trunks. If you want to know what really happened after the end of DBZ you can check out the story of Dragon Ball Online, which Toriyama had personally written. In there, it is revealed that Trunks and Goten didn't end up as useless wimps like they were in GT.
CEO
The bathroom door whished open. The drenched figure that emerged from the shampoo scented fog stepped from the slippery ceramic into the carpeted floor of the bedroom area, dimly lit with the nightstand lamp on his wrinkly side of the bed. He padded towards the closed curtains, his shadow traveling on the walls, and next, with the press of a button, the curtains parted open with a screech, pouring in the daylight that diluted the room's dark shades.
Trunks touched his reflection in the window, clad in a bathrobe adorned with the insignia of a brand unaffordable to a salary man, feeling today's coldness that contrasted with the hot season through the glass. He eyed the sky strewn as far as the eye could see with dark clouds that foretold a rainstorm, and his reflection smiled back at him. Back when he was a child, the prospect of rain would color his mood gloomy, because it meant he had to cancel whatever outdoor excursion he had planned with Goten and vent his frustration on the buttons of his game controllers that he would end up breaking and replacing in the next day. When staying indoors was compulsory and being limited in the options how to spend his free time, it was no different from being grounded by his mother in the wake of a prank.
Strangely enough, his views on rain had changed after being cooped up in his office building for the majority of the day had became a daily custom. The beating of rain against the windows and rooftops soothed him like a strange bolero generated from drums and tap-dancing shoes, quickening and orchestrating his body movements from the background like a conductor as he worked. The way rain rendered buildings to blurred outlines marked by neon signs created a pleasing painting out of the window, which he loved to glance at every time his eyes took a break.
After hoping that the scenery out of the window was not actually a bad omen, Trunks turned around. His bathrobe that he unfastened and towel that he had used to dry his hair pooling around his feet as he headed towards his dressing room.
Today marked the end of the first Fiscal Year during his presidency of Capsule Corporation. The eyes of the entire business world and global media were on him. They were all itching to know how fared the young successor who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who was reputed of cutting class during all of his academic years, who had been witnessed smoking, drinking and sneaking into nightclubs with fake IDs when he was still a minor. Overall, the youth who bore all signs of being another rich, spoiled punk with the ideology that 'rules were made to be broken'. They all must have their snide comments and pens, voice recorders and microphones ready in case he were to report that the Revenue or Net Income was even one Zenni short from last year when his mother, who had successfully maintained his grandfather's stroke of success, was still in command.
It was not like Trunks, the product of prodigious and ambitious parents, had not planned ahead and devised a large-scale plan in preparation for this moment that will determine his worth to the world. In order to awe the media and disappoint those who wished him failure, Trunks had figured out that the only option he had was to topple the revenue of last year with a percentage that was in the double digits or over. Not with products that were mere upgrades of what his mother and grandfather had patented, but with his own creations. And so, during his four years as an intern, he had made it his goal to come up with the schematics of a dozen of inventions to patent and market when he finally inherits the company.
For a Briefs who did not make a habit of carrying a toolbox around wherever he went and whose hobbies did not include tinkering with machines, it was an arduous task at first. But as he gained more understanding of the consumers' mentality and thought more of ways to facilitate life and provide people with even more free time, making things from wires and circuits and thinking up all sorts of neat and useful functions to attach to them became a second nature to him.
Trunks opened one of the many sliding doors of his walk-in closest that housed his expansive collection of clothes, half of which he had yet to wear or notice that he had in the first place. From business suits of every dark shade and color; shirts, slacks and vests emblazoned with Capsule Corp.'s logo, and other things like belts and boot-length sneakers that he wore off work and formal occasions.
He opened a drawer, and as he took in its contents memories resurfaced of last year's celebration of both his graduation and his assuming of the company's presidential seat. His mother, with collaboration with a prestigious watchmaker, had presented him with a watch that came with all sorts of merits that ranged from displaying the constellations and weather forecast to its durability to even gravitational and spatial anomalies. From his father (or his mother who had slipped the gift under his name) he had received a custom-made set of lapel pin and cuff buttons that both bore the company's logo. Bra had gotten him a pair of dress shoes, and his Uncle Tarble and Aunt Gure had given him a briefcase made from the leather of an animal from their planet that looked like a cross between a bear and a horned lion.
From their friends' side, Gohan and Videl had both presented him with an expensive pen that came with a matching letter opener, and Goten, who was still a student back then, could not afford buying him more than a schedule book and a thermos mug to 'keep his morning coffee warm and nice'. From Yamcha and the entire Kame House household he had received a necktie and a sunglasses respectively, both brand-name that Trunks had recognized were from the collection of some years ago, indicating that they must have bought it from a clearance. Finally, Chichi had knitted him a black and white muffler laced with Capsule Corp.'s logo. It quite touched him that though he had not been the best influence on Goten and had gotten him into many troubles, she still regarded him as a son.
Trunks slipped into a pair of boxers and swooped the items in the drawer that fitted today's weather conditions after picking up a suit with a color that matched them. As he eyed the gifts that he had received from their closest friends and thought about the small fortune they must have spent on them, his heart sank. After knowing him and his mother all those years, did the hard-to-please rich boy stereotype pop in their minds as they contemplated what to get him for a present? Did they think that unless they bore the seal of an expensive brand, their gifts would end up unused and forgotten in its plastic wrappings at the bottom of his drawer or in the nearest charity box?
Trunks approached his white dress shirt and boxer clad reflection in the full-length mirror as he secured Yamcha's tie under his collar. Though his elders did not realize it, he thought of their gifts as medals: as valuable things that he had not the right to show off to the public unless it was a joyous occasion to celebrate a victory he had scored.
"Good morning, President Briefs!"
Trunks, who had just entered the dining room, scowled irritably as he was greeted by his eleven-year-old sister, a derisive lilt in her voice as she purred his work title. She then walked toward him, swinging her undeveloped hips from side to side in an imitation of a seductress and stood before him, the top of her head reaching his bicep as she fingered his tie. "Who chose this tie and tied it for you? The new intern who just snuck out of the backdoor?" she asked, continuing to use that mock-seductive tone. Next, she tugged at his tie as though he was a chained dog, bringing his face mere inches from hers as she breathed out the following: "did she leave you her panties as souvenir of last night of passion?"
"Bra!" Bulma exclaimed reproachfully, her perfectly manicured fingers clutching a silver knife stopped spreading peach jam over her toast. The disapproving look on her face as she glowered at her pre-teen daughter made the wrinkles she tried to smooth over with face-lifting and anti-aging products all the more visible. Vegeta on the other hand almost choked on his juice, his princess' latest ad-libbing that indicated her increased awareness and curiosity about the filthy world of adults had set off an alarm in his head. He recalled when being in the care and company of the adults in Freeza's army when he was her age - how that had caused him to be exposed to things and pick up on stuff that he should not have in that verdant age. The culmination of all that was in his curiosity to experience it all firsthand once his body had developed the organs and became charged with the drive that enabled him to!
He remembered how his wife had laughed at his anxieties. She had rebutted if memory served her, Trunks when he was little had asked questions and made snide comments about their relationship that suggested he had been just as precocious as Bra was. She had attempted to reassure him that in his daughter's eyes he was the greatest man in the universe and all the others paled in comparison: Bra would never settle for a man he did not approve of or was unable to match his splendor. Well, according to all the things his wife had gotten herself into prior to his coming to Earth that he had heard of, she should be the first to understand how dangerous curiosity could be, especially to a female!
"Do you know jokes other than 'the CEO is sleeping with all the women in the office'?" Trunks questioned, removing her from his way to take his seat around the breakfast table with a finger jabbing at her forehead.
The fifth grader gasped as she ungracefully wobbled several steps backwards. Once she regained her balance and rubbed the spot where her brother had poked her she strode after him, the scraping of chair against the marble floor followed as she took a seat next to him. She spitefully snatched with her bare hand, adorned with trendy floral and star-shaped rings and bracelets, the almond croissant that he was reaching for with a tong, and gobbled it in an unladylike manner.
She swallowed and teased every time she successfully pilfered a food item he reached out for. "I've been expecting a new woman popping around the breakfast table every morning!" She stole a toast. "You coming home reeking of women perfume!" She nabbed a morning roll. "Mom pointing at the lipstick mark on your collar when she thinks no one is looking!" She beat him to a muffin. "Making a surprise visit to your office, only to be greeted with the sight of you locked in a hot kiss with the new intern on your lap!" She smacked his hand that sprang for a waffle. "If a good-looking businessman such as yourself was the star of a TV Drama and didn't end up building his own harem and instigating catfights over him, I'd be changing the channel by now!"
Trunks glared at her. He will only stoop to her childish level and feed her amusement if he was to express his annoyance at her antics, so instead, he indifferently unfolded the morning paper placed by his napkin and skimmed the headlines. "If I tailored my office life according to your wild imagination, all the good ladies out there will be turned off by how my name is synonymous with womanizing and sexual harassment."
"Why sexual harassment?" Bulma inquired as she poured herself more coffee.
"Those who I dump or realize that our affair won't end up in marriage may try to get out with something and file a sexual harassment lawsuit." He shrugged, the creaking of the newspaper as he flipped a new page emanated in the pause in his explanation. "Even if I won in the end, the sympathizers that they'll manage to gather around with their crocodile tears will spread that I only won through my superior lawyers, or that I must've bribed the jury. That's why it's not worth it dating women from work."
"Wow, you really thought it through," Bulma commented. A clink followed as she put her cup down on its saucer. "But you know, Trunks, this apathy towards women at work, coupled with no girlfriend in sight... add it with Goten constantly visiting you in your office and how often you two are seen leaving together, it will create misconceptions about your sexual orientation."
In other words, the only solution that will solve all problems was to get himself a girlfriend. It seemed that after passing the presidency on to him, the thing that was at the top of his mother's to-do list was to score him a bride and surround herself with little Trunkses running around. She had been throwing parties, inviting people over to their house and dragging him on social visits for no apparent reason other than to introduce him to the granddaughters of his grandfather's friends and the daughters of the company's most trusted employees. The girls were nice, some were quite pretty, and the decades-long friendship that bound their families together assured that his secret of being a half-alien who could vaporize star systems will be safe with them.
He remembered their wide smiles and the hope reflected in their eyes as they exchanged numbers and emails that he would ask them out soon. However, beneath the physical attraction and the positive impression they had left on him, he had yet to sense his heart tingling at their sight and proximity in the way that love-struck men had been describing in poetry since the dawn of time. Also, dating your friends or your parents' friends could be as detrimental as dating your own employees, and Trunks did not want deep-rooted friendships to deteriorate because of his whimsicality.
Out of courtesy, he kept in touch with them and sent them presents and his best wishes in special occasions, sent them samples of the company's latest products that he thought might interest them, and he even invited them to the chat room he was frequenting. His guilt somewhat eased as they seemed to be getting along with his online friends.
As his silence that followed her statement dragged on between them, broken by occasional rustling of the newspaper as he zoomed in the articles in the lower half of the page, Bulma repressed a sigh. Between a son who was indifferent to all the prospective brides around him and a friend who always highlighted stories about her granddaughter whenever bringing up her son's happy family, the mother felt quite disheartened.
She longed to be a grandmother: to hold her children's children in her arms, spot the resemblance to their father's side of the family and discern over the years whom they took after in their behavior. She could not wait until this large house echoed with the sound of their laughter as they play among the animals and plants of many genera in their garden. She wanted to shower them with toys and sweets, take them to amusement parks and fast food restaurants, and play the role of the babysitter and have them all to herself when their parents were out until late.
Just like when being with your closest friends, the time spent with your grandchildren was full of fun stories and good times that evoked warm feelings, free from the stress and frustration that their parents had to suffer through when trying to keep them in line.
"So, today's the big day. Excited?", She changed the subject.
"I've been waiting for this moment to rub it in their faces. That will teach them to expect great things from me from here on out."
"Spoken like a true son of your father and I!" Bulma chuckled. She rested her chin in her palm as she shared her own experience, "before taking helm of the company, the media wrote me off as 'the spoiled heiress who skipped school for weeks to run off with shady-looking men'. The fact that I was acquainted with all the men who participated in the Cell Games gave rise to all sorts of tabloid stories. It wasn't until I sued their asses for libel and threatened to never advertise in any of their publications ever again that they left my personal life out of it."
The hallway outside the auditorium, in which the press conference had just taken place, echoed with sounds of camera shutters and the questions of TV reporters and journalists, each contending to speak over their competition and catch the gaze of the youth at whom all the microphones and voice recorders pointed. Outside the crowd stood a woman, her dyed hair in a bun, secured to her scalp by a floral hairpin. Her wrinkly fingers were adorned with rings, a golden watch was secured around her wrist and the right lapel of her business suit was emblazoned with a rose broach - all were gifts from her husband in their many anniversaries.
The fine lines of elderly branched from the corner of her eyes that glowed with fondness as she clutched a clipboard to her chest. Her spectacles reflected the collective flash of several cameras that captured her young boss as he spoke and evaded taunts and personal questions with remarks that embarrassed and elicited laughter. She had known this boy since he was days old in his crib in the hospital. She then recalled her and the staff's shock as they all noted the resemblance to Dr. Briefs' gauche house guest, who had worked them all like a slave driver to upgrade the Gravity Simulator and build that state-of-art spaceship in which he had blasted off, never seen or heard of until The Cell Games.
Her arms tightened around the clipboard, her old heart swelling with sadness as all her memories of him resurfaced and rolled before her mind's eyes like a documentary. From those afternoons when he waited in the chair opposite her own for his mother to take him out per her promise the previous day, his legs that did not reach the floor back then swinging back and forth, looking like his father with his arms folded over his chest and the finger tapping impatiently on his bicep. When she offered him chocolate and cookies that were meant for waiting clients his grim face would light up, looking like the child he was.
She recalled those company's galas when women gushed over him as he made his entrance, dressed in kids tuxedo, hand-in-hand with his mother, and how their adoration would overturn to shock as they watched him with everyone else, eyes bulged, as he stuffed his face with that inhuman appetite, wondering if his esophagus actually connected to some black hole. Her trip down memory lane ended with the afternoons during his internship in the company. At the end of the day, while he waited for his mother on that same chair he sat on as a child, they would empty their package of gossips amidst laughter, with her giving a personality analysis on every employee that the young heir had met that day for future reference.
As she spotted her boss turning around, she trotted after him, cutting her way with the help of security guards through the press and media, who only became louder and more persistent as they followed him like bloodhounds. Once she was safely within his office, she with a polite smile closed the double door in their faces.
"You know, back when I was a kid, I thought mom looked pretty cool on TV making all those important statements and putting those annoying reporters in their place." His blazer that he tossed over his shoulder landed on the armrest of the couch. "Having an immediate answer ready for every question no matter how tricky it was, trying to remain civil when people are getting on your nerves, not ending up embarrassing yourself before of the millions who are watching you... I've never thought exerting this much self-control could be this taxing." The ice cube that he dropped with a tong hit the bottom of the glass with a clunk, followed by the gurgle of the non-alcoholic champagne that he poured into it. "And to think I'll be dealing with this again next year and all the years to come... I think I'll make it a custom to reward myself with a vacation to help myself get through this shit." His comfy, leather chair received his body that dropped into it with a loud creak. The sky through the wide window behind him flashed with lightning and roared with thunder as the black clouds spitted rain on West Capital.
"Unfortunately, I won't be around next year and all the years to come to witness it!"
The glass that he rose to his lips stopped midway, shock imprinted on his widened eyes and parted lips as he looked at Madeleine: his secretary that had served two previous generations of his family. His question came above a whisper, "how come?"
"My daughter lives in the next town; she and my grandchildren have been prodding us for years to come and live next to them. Also, me and my hubby have been getting on in years. When you began your internship at the company right after you started college, I retracted my resignation, wanting to watch over you and slip advice whenever needed during your first year as president."
Trunks wanted to declare his refusal of her resignation, that he could not trust anyone else with his documents and appointments, that he would miss the coffee that she prepared for him with so much love and care, but he did not feel he had the right to. "I bet your family really hate me by now!" he tried to mask his sadness with a chuckle that came out hollow. "I understand. Thank you for supporting my family all these years."
Madeleine took a deep breath, and plastered that warm, motherly smile that she greeted him with every morning. "I remember when I saw the ad for a secretary job when your grandfather established the company decades ago. I was a fresh graduate and job hunting for six months. You wouldn't believe my delight when I received a call from him, congratulating me on scoring the position and to start working the next day!"
Trunks returned her smile and thought that history will be repeating itself and that it was now his turn to post a similar ad, but will he too find a secretary as loyal and who possessed such work ethics as this woman?
"You'll at least allow me to throw you a farewell party? Of course, your family and friends are welcome to attend."
"I'd be honored to!" she beamed. "And after that, I hope next time we meet will be in your wedding day!"
It was a sunny morning, saturated with the scent of rain-drenched soil when Trunks pulled his sports air car into his private parking spot, rainwater splashing beneath its thrusters. He advanced towards the entrance, watching out not to dirty his dress shoes and the hem of his pants as he made his way between the muddy puddles. He casually greeted back his employees who paused to bow their heads with their effusive salutes, and as more morning greetings, bows and periods of silence that lasted until he was out of earshot followed him as he headed for the elevator, memories of his first day as president resurfaced.
He recalled how after he parked his car and walked towards the entrance, he in slow motion took off his sunglasses to look at the red carpet laid out for him, and the welcoming committee lined up on each side of it. After they barked their pompous welcome, offered to carry his briefcase for him while admonishing that a security guard would have saved him the trouble and parked his car for him, Trunks flipped at their cowering figures, stating that this was a company established on productivity and professionalism. He then shooed them, snarling that if they had time to waste in playing the welcoming committee then they better invest it in monitoring their subordinates' attendance and distributing work assignments.
During the four years of his internship, Trunks had realized that the business world differed from school, though they both featured a hierarchical system.
In school, he and his peers, regardless of their families' social or financial standing, were all lumped together into this group called 'students'. Teachers would treat students according to their grades and conduct, and lacking either or both, especially the latter, will get you on their blacklist. Students on the other hand treated each other according to how much they stood out. If you were physically attractive, the drooling opposite sex will be wrapped around your finger; if you were the brains, people would act nice to you to copy your notes and homework; if you were a power figure, like a student council member or you could just kick ass, people will brown-nose to you to remain on your good side. Through the eyes of his cohorts, Trunks was all of the above: the sexy, genius badass - the epitome of "coolness". Through the eyes of his teachers, to whom his mischief and class cutting always gave a headache, he was an unfortunate case in which his exceptionally brilliant academics were not complimented with an exemplary conduct.
The hierarchical system in the business world on the other hand was more complicated, capricious and not always fair. Education was necessary to secure you a white collar job, work ethics were important in order to keep it, but they some times do not get you ahead as much as connections, conversational skills and possessing a calculating mindset and servile demeanor around your superiors. Trunks will be the first to admit that if it were not for his family's backing he would not be here, reaping the benefits of their decades of hard work and having everyone kiss up to him.
The elevator parted for Trunks with a chime. Once he was inside, he picked up the sound of heels clicking loudly against the marble floor of the Reception Area, indicating that the approaching figure was racing for the elevator before it closed. He held the open door button and next, an intoxicating floral scent tickled his nostrils, accompanied with a woman's panting that filled the small space. And Trunks stifled a groan as he recognized the waist-length wavy chestnut hair, the hourglass form accentuated by its owner's business suit that would have violated the dress code if the neckline was an inch lower, and those green eyes that twinkled mischievously upon his sight like a cat that had just cornered a mouse.
It was the assistant at the Research & Development Department, Charlotte (or Charlie, as everyone nicknamed her). She had won his mother over when interviewing her with her postgraduate degrees and the fact that Bulma Briefs had been her role model ever since she was little. Aside from all the trophies won in inventing competitions that piled up on her shelves, anyone could spot the influence in her stylish wardrobe and polished appearance that made her look like a super model out of a fashion magazine. The reason why they had not crossed paths during their academic years despite being the same age and going to the same schools was because she had a habit of skipping grades.
"Oh, good morning, President Briefs," there was an impish lilt in her voice as his title and name rolled off her tongue. She looked him over as she fixed her hair, "what a coincidence!"
"Morning." Trunks smiled politely as the elevator closed and hummed as it began its ascension through the building's many floors. It seemed that Charlotte had also made it her goal to become the 'real-life female employee who was sleeping with her boss'.
"Wanna join me for lunch today? I'll update you on the product that we'll be announcing next month while hand-feeding you!"
She leaned back against the mirrored wall next to him, bending one leg clad in sheer pantyhose that gleamed enticingly in the electric light. She wrapped one hand around her midsection while the other played with her necklace, attempting to draw his eyes to fix on her cleavage that peered through her neckline.
"Thanks, but I'm cutting my lunch break short to interview the applicants for the secretary job." Trunks had always thought his ideal woman was delicate and modest, not cheeky and coquettish. He wondered what was fueling his attraction to her: his fascination by her personality, intelligence and ambition, or was it his testicles?
"That's our president: never mixing business with pleasure!" Charlotte breathed out as she unzipped her purse and took out a rectangular box with the product name displayed in pink fonts. And like a smoker, she clamped her teeth on the tip of the pink coated, stick-shaped confectionery as though it was a cigarette, which turned out as she lifted it off the box that it was a pocky.
"Damn, the last one," she grumbled, and Trunks was mesmerized as he watched the pocky move up and down tantalizingly as she spoke next, her eyes glinting mischievously, "wanna share? It's strawberry flavor, just like my lipstick!"
Trunks stared at the pocky that was tempting him to take the free tip into his mouth and munch until their lips meet. The reason behind Charlotte's abundant confidence around him was that there had been more than an occasion when she had caught him watching her… occasions when she sensed his body going stiff under her touch whenever she jumped to fix his tie for him. He had discussed this attraction with Goten, who had admonished that he will remain celibate for the rest of his life if he kept suspecting that every woman who approached him was just drawn to the zeros in the number that represented his fortune. But what if after quenching his curiosity of what this woman was like in bed all of her magnetism will wear off on him, and he will see her as nothing but a bothersome, vulgar woman?
"Thanks!" A crack accompanied his acceptance, and he relished the bewilderment in her eyes as he split the pocky with his hand and ate it. Did she expect that his eyes would widen in shock at her boldness and blush, stammer, cough as he composes himself before he states his refusal with an unconvincing chastising tone?
The elevator reached its first destination with a chime that broke the silence that lingered on between them. Charlotte gathered her wits as she stepped out, waving a hand over her shoulder. "Well, see you when you make your rounds. I'll have more strawberry pocky to split with you by then."
The elevator closed and ascended to the top floor that housed his office, his mind swirling with pocky and strawberries and his senses clouded with her perfume that lingered in the air. It seemed that was her strategy: to stuff his head with erotic fantasies until he could not contain himself any longer and haul her over his shoulder like a caveman to make them all real.
The elevator stopped four floors away from his office, and parted for two women from the Public Relations Department, who invited him to try out their tempura and tiramisu at lunch break. He also turned them down, giving the same excuse he had given their R&D colleague earlier. These daily lunch invitations reminded him of school when girls who had a crush on him would present him with boxed lunches or cookies that they had baked for him first thing in the morning. It seemed that lunch breaks were good opportunities for females to show off their culinary skills and give the impression that they will be capable housewives one day.
"How's it going? Any luck finding a replacement for Ms. Madeline?" Goten inquired as he plopped down on the chair opposite his lifelong friend, who was skimming through the file stuffed with résumés to the secretary job that they had received today. The sun's location in the sky tinted with a fiery golden indicated that it was late afternoon.
"No luck as of yet," Trunks sighed wistfully at her mention - Ms. Madeline had told him that she would stay until he had hired a new secretary; he did not want to trouble her any longer. "Can't they read?" The tearing of paper followed as he plucked a résumé from the file, crumpled it into a ball and threw it over his shoulder to land in the trash can. "I mentioned in the ad that I won't accept less than five years experience and a letter of recommendation."
After skimming through some more, he removed the ones that he approved of and placed them in another file to call for interviews. "You should've seen those who came overdressed and tried to work their sex appeal on me. At the end of the interview, they were eyeing me as though expecting me to seal the deal with handing them some key to a secret apartment that I have." He breathed out, "why does the secretary job mostly draw in the women?"
"Then you should've also mentioned that the job was only open for men and middle-aged women to save you the trouble, dude!" Goten chortled.
"And revive the old topic about my sexual orientation? No thanks!" Trunks chuckled.
'But back in the days it didn't prevent you from being the one who gets all the girls in the end, did it?" Goten didn't voice that thought as he traced with his thumb the edge of Trunks' lavish mahogany desk. Back when they were in school, the rumors about Trunks being gay for him were started by boys who mistook Trunks' aloofness for arrogance and who were envious of him for getting the best grades, showing up in those fancy cars and above all, resented him for monopolizing the adoration of all the girls in school.
Of course, Goten thought that Trunks in no way deserved it, and he would have told them all off if he had ever walked on them talking bad his best friend. But deep down, he could not help but familiarize himself with their frustration. Back when they were children, Goten was among the crowd awed by Trunks' popularity and superiority in both academics and sports. But as he had gotten older and dealt with the shock of girls he liked dismissing him for Trunks or dating him as a sham to get closer to his friend, he could not help but be overwhelmed by the shadow that Trunks' brilliance was casting over him.
Apart from lunch money, Goten did not get much of an allowance to buy girls gifts or take them to nice places in a nice car; his parents were nobodies; he did not radiate that bad boy aura that made girls weak in the knees and his grades were mediocre. The realization then hit him that if it were not for the fact that he was always seen with Trunks, no one would have paid much attention to his existence.
However, just recently, Trunks had told him how he envied him, clarifying that when someone was nice to him, it was because they truly meant it, not because they were afraid he was going to dock their pay or add them to his shit list... when women show attraction to him, he won't fuss over them being interested in his fortune, not in who he truly was. After some reflection on his friend's words, Goten could not help but feel sorry for him: it must be sad being blessed with all this money and success but not be truly happy about it.
"So, it's finally the weekend!" Trunks stretched like a feline as the file dropped on the glass surface of his desk with a thud. He added in a sing-song voice as he folded his hands behind his head, "are our plans to drink a toast to my victory in every club in Satan City still on?"
"Nah, you know the drill, Trunks: it will be you drinking in a corner and acting hard to get while the girls that I'm trying to hit on sneak looks at you, since you're cooler-looking!" Goten waved dismissively. "The new Giant Robots War game is out; how about we order a lot of take-out and play until morning, just like the old days?"
"Really?" Trunks raised a brow, sounding unenthusiastic by the idea. "The last two games' lousy AI and retconned stuff made me feel like I was losing brain cells while playing them!"
"Didn't you hear?" Goten began rocking himself on his chair, "since those games were badly received, they reconciled with the series creator to work back on it. Word has it that the deal included a luxury yacht!"
"Whoa, really? Sweet! I almost gave up on the series. I've been so busy lately that I haven't been keeping up with gaming news." Trunks got up, his briefcase and blazer that he had draped over his chair's backrest in two. "That settles it, man!"
This was the end of an ordinary day in the office for Trunks. A day filled with meetings, thinking up new inventions, him rolling his eyes at the sycophancy of his employees, him eluding the female staff's seduction, and filled with misconceptions regarding his personal life.