There were days when her trip to class from her dormitory and back would be uneventful. But I saw how those days slowly became too few and far between.

Every other day, it was like wading through a warzone for her, fending off at least one to two harassers daily. And those were on the good days. After witnessing the horrors she had to go through every day, I began to empathize with her misandry. Most guys who pestered her were such rotten representations of the male class that I myself was starting to feel bummed that I belonged to the same gender. On worst days, she had to fight her way through clusters of them and it was all I could do to refrain from jumping out and just punching the living daylights out of all of them myself.

One thing I immediately learned about her was that Cello Maoh was indeed, an extremely capable young woman, and she had every right to be angry that I had underestimated her the first time I jumped into her fray. She was strong enough to handle them herself even when outnumbered. However, sad to say, that didn't mean she was impervious. Fighting was almost always a double-edged sword. She would be lucky to get out of one unscathed, but more often than not, there would be injuries, minor ones, at the very least. But sometimes, even the smallest injuries had a profound effect on her mobility, which often led to even more injuries.

I couldn't bear watching her being roughed up by those jerks, and yet, I couldn't keep my eyes off of her every time. No matter how handicapped she was, her fighting form stayed fluid and graceful (if not more brutal). Just imagining what kind of hard work she must have put in to accomplish that level of discipline blew my mind. What's more, she employed a fighting style that was more commonly used by boys; one that utilized maximum strength and damage for each efficiently delivered blow, instantly immobilizing without having to expend unnecessary energy. It was quick and precise. But this style had a serious downside if your strength or concentration was on low. You would have to put more effort into your movements to compensate, and this caused tremendous strain to her injured body. Which brings me to the second and third times I gave in to the impulse to "assist" her.

I ended up with far more memorable souvenirs from her than just a few biting words and extra shower time. The second time I was treated to excruciating pain from a dislocated jaw and several nearly dislodged teeth which I owed to her killer right-hand uppercut. The third time, I woke up in the infirmary, feeling very sore and tender in that area in-between my legs. The last thing I remember before blacking out was the sensation of mind-numbing pain as a result of my being too distracted to keep her knee from crashing into my groin with incredible speed and force. The indescribable pain that caused me to view the vast entirety of the solar system and every single constellation in those moments before the merciful darkness swallowed me, certainly got me wishing I was born with the opposite set of merchandise instead.

So there I was, lost in introspection as I lay on that bed in the infirmary. It had been over an hour already but my lower regions still felt numb. I should have been fuming mad, right? But, I wasn't. Thinking back to the two events that were now the top two most painful experiences of my whole life so far (which was saying a lot, since I do have some decent martial arts background and was no stranger to pain), I realized that these were something I brought upon myself.

The second time I interfered was out of brashness, just like the first time. True, her aggressors had snuck up on her and pinned her from the back making it look like a hopeless situation to any outsider. But I should have known better. Anyone with ample self-defence training would have easily escaped such a hold (as Cello Maoh would have likely done if I hadn't decided to play knight in shining armour too soon).

The third time I played hero—which is where I was granted the unforgettable pleasure of having the jewels smashed in—was also something I deserved. To her credit, she didn't go for the kill right away. In fact, she dished out her signature mean uppercut first (the one that got me in the jaw the second time) only this time, I was able to catch her fist and… I think, I might've gotten a little too overjoyed about it, and I might've allowed a self-satisfied smirk to cross my face, which she most likely—and understandably—took as an ill-timed provocation.

I made a mental note to be extra careful that I didn't inadvertently provoke her again in the future. The whole idea was to get on her good side after all, not the opposite.

But was that even possible?

I was being swayed by the very convincing argument put forth by the scrambled state of my upper regions amplified by the equally scrambled state of my lower regions, that as long as I had the set: penis, balls (crushed as they may be), Adam's apple and the whole male package, Cello Maoh would not want to be within a hundred kilometres of me. As long as I was classified alongside the creatures considered the closest relatives of the Sasquatch in her eyes (even if I wasn't even that hairy), we could never become anything more than whatever this was- which somehow seemed even less than enemies and much colder than strangers.

Of course, Trunks finally found out what I've been up to and wasted no time gloating over my predicament. He took great pleasure in giving me his version of 'I told you so' by saying that if I used my actual brains to think instead of my dick like he advised, I wouldn't be where I was now, literally half the man I used to be. Very humorous. Normally I would have let that one slide. Normally. But that day, you could say that I was feeling somewhat 'testy', and couldn't resist defending my brains (and my dick).

"Did you ever think that maybe it's just that kind of thinking that made her hate men in the first place?" I said. "She thinks all men are either after her body or out to torment her for being a strong individual. And you are so willing to affirm it, even when that is not what I am doing."

"Fair enough." I was looking up at the ceiling but his stern expression was within my periphery. "Tell me, what are you after then, Gohan?" I shifted my gaze to meet his.

"Nothing. I'm just… concerned about her."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Of all people you can be concerned with, why her?"

I scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean? It's fine to be concerned about everyone else except her?"

"In case you haven't noticed, she's clearly fine without anyone's 'concern'."

"No, she isn't," I muttered. "She just doesn't know it yet."

Trunks scoffed back, looking unamused. "I'm pretty sure Cello Maoh isn't the only girl in the galaxy who needs your concern, Mr Ambassador of Goodwill. And you and I know she isn't the most helpless of them all either."

Why was I so concerned about her? There was an answer that Trunks was waiting for me to own up to but I'm sure that whatever he thought it was, wasn't what this was about. Still, I grit my teeth as I second guessed myself…

Was it?

"C'mon, dude, be honest."

"Be honest about what?"

"Do you really want me to be the one to say it?"

"I have no idea what you're driving at."

"You either feel sorry for her or… You're in lust with her. Knowing you? Maybe both."

"What? What the heck is that supposed to—"

"Knowing you—" he interjected. "You'll be in too deep before you even realize what's happening because you're an idiot like that."

"I do not think of her that way."

"Whether you accept it or not is out of the question. You're a dude. A guy, a man. We, 'males', don't fall in love with females so that we could make daisy chains to hang around each other's necks and share idealistic theories on love and perfect platonic relationships.

"…Unless of course, you're going to tell me that you're actually gay and not really looking for a girlfriend, but a 'girl friend'."

I opened my mouth to retort.

But decided to save it. Because honestly? I couldn't think of anything to say to him then that didn't include the "f-word".

And I just wasn't in the mood to give him the pleasure.

End of Chapter 3
Continued in Chapter 4: "The 'L' Word"…

Replies to Reviews:

To GoHaNViDeLSoN:
Thanks so much for your review to my other story "The Red Strung Kissing Booth of Fate" and this story's previous chapter. I read some stories before that portray Gohan as a teenager with poor hygiene, which doesn't really make sense and is a terrible misrepresentation of his character. In the canon series, he has always been shown to be very neat and clean, even when he was living in the wastelands with Piccolo, he would fold his clothes, want to wash up, etc. He wasn't disorganized and sloppy like Goku at all. He didn't even eat like Goku, he had table manners. So it really is more consistent with his personality to be one of the rare few men who actually know how to clean up and smell good.

To X3runner:
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I agree with you. I don't like how the show made Gohan as dense as Goku because even if Gohan is as innocent, it has always been established that he was much smarter, not only academically but practically as well. I feel that in the Majin Boo Saga, they changed so many things about him and made him stupid in their efforts to turn him into a clone of Goku to appease the Goku fans. It's sad because they ruined Gohan's unique and very promising personality when they made him a victim of Videl and Hercule Satan's blackmailing and he just went with everything he was bossed into doing like a total wuss. That wasn't like Gohan at all, it was more like Goku. Even Goku wasn't exactly blackmailed by Chi-chi. She was forceful, yes. But she still asked him. Sort of. She still gave Goku a choice and Goku could have refused. Goku just happened to not care at all, or be too stupid to, and just went with it.