One of the Boys

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the Dragon Ball Series or its continuations and spin-offs. This is loosely based off of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night."

Summary: Bulma hatches a wild scheme to compete in the World Martial Arts Tournament.

Chapter Three: Welcome to Hell

Bulma had worked quite diligently the past few days to learn and retain everything Raditz had taught her about how to be a guy. Together, she and her brother had covered all the basics from belching to manly topics of discussion the first day.

He had taken her out to the city's most popular shopping center and instructed her to follow some of the male inhabitants, copying their style of walking. It was strange at first. She did struggle with getting over the feeling of being a stalker before she could properly emulate a guy's particular style of walking. She had followed several different guys to mirror their mannerisms, but not too closely to bring attention to herself and what she was doing. After figuring out which manner of 'dude-walking,' as she called it, suited her best, she moved onto the next step.

Raditz had taught her several types of guy-greetings which ranged from chest bumps, a simple 'sup man,' to more intricate handshakes which almost always ended in a solid shouldering which left her sore.

Next was transforming her appearance. Ranfan and Launch took over the project somewhat, choosing a salon to commit her to a short haircut. Raditz, of course, came along and selected two wigs for her, but not without complaint of how gay he felt in doing so. She often responded with undying appreciation and promised she would make it up to him.

Raditz, Ranfan, and Launch took Bulma shopping after. Often times, the three would come to a disagreement over which clothing style Bulma was to adopt. Launch preferred a more military look, lots of camo and skulls while Ranfan was an advocate for a stylish metro look. Raditz would have neither. He told Bulma it was in her best interest to blend in and to appear as much like Goku as she could. While the students and faculty of Saiyan Academy had never seen their brother, they had certainly heard rumors of him. He was too popular of a fighter for people to not know at least some of his attributes.

"You may even want to eat a lot," Raditz had told Bulma, earning a look of chagrin. "It's bulking season." She was a very picky and healthy eater, unlike her two brothers who would consume almost anything and in large quantities.

Gazing into her bathroom mirror, she looked her reflection in the eyes and said, "This is it, Bulma. From now on, you are Goku." She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder, as she was accustomed to, and made her way downstairs. She was almost to her front door when her mother called after her.

"Leaving somewhere, pumpkin?" Mrs. Brief sat at the dining table with stationary scattered about it, likely another one of her projects.

"I'm going to dad's before the semester begins, remember?" Bulma tried to sound as reassuring as possible, but she knew her mother wouldn't like that all of her children would leave her company to be in their father's.

"I won't allow it," Mrs. Brief said firmly. "I already have to deal with Goku and Raditz gone. I don't want to be here all by myself in this house. It's not mentally healthy for a woman my age to spend so much time alone." Her mother stuck out her lower lip in a pout, a telltale sign of oncoming waterworks if she didn't get her way. "I could get sick and die, and no one would ever know!" Bulma noted how childish her mother could be.

'That's why you should have never separated from dad,' Bulma thought gingerly. Nevertheless, she would never voice this. She didn't necessarily agree with the separation, but she also would never say anything hurtful to her mother about it. She frequently suspected that the separation had caused her mother much more grief than she let on. She'd caught her staring at old photos of her and her husband, ones she claimed to have thrown out, on more than one occasion. Mrs. Brief undoubtedly missed him, but neither of them was quite willing to swallow their pride and admit it.

Those morbid thoughts aside, it was time for her to put her brilliant mind to work and come up with an excuse. "Since Goku's over there so is Maron. As a well-versed geisha, I was hoping Maron could teach me everything I need to know." She smiled, showing the white of her teeth. "I'm actually kind of excited," she feigned giddiness.

Delighted, Mrs. Brief stood in her seat and rushed over to embrace her daughter. Joyous tears spilled from her eyes, which still seemed closed, as she tightened the hug. "I knew one day you would be 'about that life' like I always hear you say. I'm so proud of you I can hardly bear it!"

"Me too," Bulma admitted, but she was reffering to the forcible contact. It came out in a breathy gasp through the constriction of the embrace.

Her mother finally released her, almost pushing her to the door as if she couldn't wait another second for her daughter to be in Maron's enlightening presence. "We have a smaller festival coming up for fundraising. Remind your brothers when you see them that they both have booths to run, then there's the Festival of Shenron, your first coming out as a real geisha." She wiped at another tear. "Ask Maron to teach you to properly walk in getas—more like a lady and less like a man. You always stomp around when you wear them, like a hulking guy in drag trying them on for the first time." Bulma was about to respond to the gibe when her mother gathered her into another, more forceful embrace. She buried her face into her daughter's shoulder. "You were destined for great things Bulma and being a lady is one of them!"

Bulma couldn't help but laugh at the irony as she stepped out the door. 'Or being a man you mean…'

First Day of School at Saiyan Academy

Her transformation had begun with a chest wrap, securing her cleavage from protrusion. She was lucky enough that Saiyan Academy was strict about uniforms so she wouldn't have to stress out about picking out guy-appropriate outfits until weekends or other leisure time.

Launch had taught her to make her eyebrows thicker by using dark eyeliner, a useful trick, considering men typically had more eyebrow hairs than her perfectly tweezed ones. Other than that, she would have to make do without makeup. She could already foresee the struggles of going so long without lip gloss. Raditz had warned her that shiny cherry-flavored lips were a dead giveaway of either being gay or a woman, and neither accusation would work in her favor.

Bracing herself, she stepped out of the passenger's side of the car, wearing the black wig which closely resembled Goku's hairstyle. She nervously straightened her tie and then abruptly turned around to whisper loudly at Raditz. "Do you reall think it's time?"

"Of course," Raditz replied. "I wouldn't have brought you out here if I didn't think you could do this." He forced a smile, but his eyes were filled with concern. He wasn't quite sure he believed his own words either.

Still, Bulma nodded and turned to face Saiyan Academy. Just as she did so, a male student walked by her, gently brushing against her shoulder. "Sorry, man, almost didn't see you there."

She cleared her throat to make her voice sound gruff. "It's cool, man," she grunted. He nodded in response and then continued on his way. Bulma made a sharp about-face and almost yelled at her brother. "He's going to go tell on me," she hissed. She clambered back into the car. Raditz followed suit, but on the driver's side. The two engaged in a brief dispute:

"He probably felt my boobs when he bumped into me!"

"It was an accident. I doubt he could feel anything."

"Are you calling me flat?"

"I never said that—I'm just saying he probably didn't feel much with your chest all wrapped. Stop acting paranoid!"

"Paranoid? I'm clearly just confused about my gender."

"You knew this would happen when you decided to be a part of this insanity."

"You're right—this is insane. This is madness!"

"This isn't madness. This is Saiyan Academy!"

"I can't do this. I'm not doing this."

"Stop that! I'm not letting you puss out on me after I spent so much time teaching you guy shit."

"You can't make me! You can't make me! You can't make me!"

"Enough is enough," Raditz growled. He grabbed his sister by the shoulders and pushed her out of the car until she finally gave in and did the rest of the exiting on her own.

"Fine, fine!" She conceded defeat. He climbed out after from the passenger's side, making sure to grab her duffel bag for her as he did so.

"Practice round right now," he instructed. "Go!"

Clearing her throat to make it sound rougher, she said, "Hey, I'm Goku! Got anything to eat around here?"

"Perfect," Raditz nodded. "Just like him. Okay, let's see that Saiyan swagger." She complied, casually completing her man-strut, another term she'd come up with for her walking style. He gave another nod of approval. "Oh, no! Phlegm has built up in your throat, causing you esophageal discomfort, and your balls are being pinched by your pants. What do you do?"

Bulma rolled her eyes, but committed anyway. She formed a cough in preparation and then released a large glob of spit mixed with phlegm, shooting it from her mouth at a pretty decent distance, she smirked at the accomplishment. Next, she placed her hand to her crotch and shook the space where her 'junk' ought to be and straightened herself to show she'd achieved the adjustment.

Snatching her in an embrace, Raditz said, "I'd never thought I'd be so proud of my sister for a crotch grab. You were such a douche about it."

She beat him off, saying, "Cut it out, Raditz. It's not gay time!"

He released her and grinned. "Remember, Bulma—I mean, Goku—deep within a woman, is a man wanting to come into the world." She furrowed her brow and the reaction made him realize he could have phrased that better. "That sounded incredibly perverted," her brother admitted apologetically. "You catch my drift though."

She smiled and nodded, trusting in his sincerity. She took a deep breath and prepared herself to walk alongside the massive throng of students in quest for their dorm spaces.

"B," her brother called. She turned to face him one last time. "I know I told you I wasn't going to give you this until you had at least five of them." He reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and revealed a beautiful four-starred orb. "But, here. Keep it for good luck. Our brother would have wanted you to hang onto it too." He tossed it over to her and she caught it with both hands. "I outgrew those urban legends a long time ago, anyway. Just don't wish for Yamcha back."

"I won't," she promised and then took her first step toward her new high school.

Saiyan Academy was more than colossal. And it seemed as though every single faculty member and student was making their way through the school as she was. It was difficult for her to navigate through such a huge and crowded landscape. There were so many buildings with names she didn't recognize, although she had studied a campus map beforehand. Several club members had set up stands, looking to recruit new members into their organization. Many of them had beckoned her to which she politely mouthed no thank you.

She looked absolutely terrified. She was lost, with absolutely no sense of where she was going or where she currently was. She once considered herself good with map-reading, but this was clearly a test of her skill in which she was failing. She also couldn't shake the thought that every individual she passed by was onto her scheme, each eyeing her suspiciously. However, she settled herself to more reasonable and less paranoid thinking. It wasn't because they knew what she was up to but were instead perplexed as to why she was wandering around so erratically and with such a mortified expression. She had made a spectacle of herself with her unpredictable course-plotting.

"Get a hold of yourself," she growled. She barely managed to avoid being trampled by the school's marching band and had to thrust herself out of the way. After recollecting her composure, she got her bearings and now recognized what area of the school she was in. She steered through her decisive route and finally made her way into her dorm building, Namek Hall.

She narrowly dodged flying hockey pucks, basketballs, footballs, Frisbees and other random objects which threatened decapitation. A guy whizzing buy on a scooter nearly claimed one of her feet as she hobbled out of the way. It was like a testosterone jungle, but she wasn't ready to fall victim to it yet. She ducked, pivoted and even leapt out of the line of fire several times before nearly colliding into her own dormitory door.

She seized it, wrenching it open and rushed through it. She pressed her entire weight against it to ensure it had closed and would keep her safe from what viciousness lied on the other side. Breathing heavily, she slowly turned around and was surprised to see three young men eyeing her as if she were the most awkward human being on the planet.

She wondered briefly if perhaps they were correct in that assumption. Clearing her throat in preparation to use her man-voice, she stepped forward. "Sup!" It came out as almost a yell, earning her perplexed glances from each of the men in her company.

One of the guys was shirtless. Growing up with two brothers, she was used to the exposure. However, she hadn't expected to find this guy so attractive. Unlike Yamcha, he wasn't tall at all. He was actually very short in comparison, about her height give or take an inch or two. His hair was dark black and seemed to spike up. Perhaps an over usage of hair gel, but the longer Bulma looked at it, the more she began to wonder if it just naturally sat that way on his head. His eyes were dark and determined looking, but there was something startling magnetic about them, begging for a closer look, which Bulma resisted. He had an arrogant air about him. That was evident in his posture and his dude-walk. Whoever he was, he was proud of it.

He didn't pay her too much attention. Instead he carried on still confidently, but leisurely, as he organized some of his belongings. The other two guys didn't pay her any heed either. One sat at a computer desk. He was even smaller than the first guy she'd inspected. Then, next to him, was a very husky-looking man who shared a similar bald head as his companion who never removed his eyes from the computer. This burly hulk of being had stationed himself at the window seat as he looked over a magazine, probably filled with scantily clad or naked women and power tools.

"How's settling in?" Bulma asked in her awkward gruff tone of voice. She attempted to put her dorm keys back into her backpack but lost grip of them in her nervousness. They dropped to the floor and she clumsily bent over to pick them up.

"Who are you?" The spiky haired young man approached her at last. She fought hard to ignore his chiseled muscles. Raditz had warned her about being careful not to check out guys otherwise she'd come off as gay.

"Goku Son," she replied. Both Goku and Raditz had chosen to keep their grandfather's last name in remembrance of him.

"Vegeta Prince." He extended his hand for her to shake.

She immediately recognized him after he revealed his identity. She never knew him from appearance but she did by name. She had entered herself in the city's high school division of the annual science fair every school year, often taking first place. However, in the year of her parents' separation when her grades plummeted, someone named Vegeta Prince had won the honor. She had been disappointed to say the least, but the blame was hers for not trying hard enough.

She accepted his hand, and commenced a shoulder thrust. It ended up being more like an awkward half-hug as she slammed her hand hardily against his back. He shoved her slightly to remove her from him and end the discomfort as quickly as possible. Perhaps she should have practiced that particular greeting more with Raditz.

'That was super awkward,' Bulma thought to herself, but managed a smile.

Her roommate pointed to his two friends. "That's Krillin Pinewood," he said in reference to the diminutive boy at the computer desk. He'd finally unglued his gaze long enough to make eye contact with her. This time, she just gave a head nod. "And that's Nappa Greenfield." He gave a short wave of his hand. Bulma gave another head nod to remain inconspicuous. "Their dorm connects to ours." He motioned toward a subtle brown door that Bulma hadn't noticed when she first entered. It seemed to be able to lock from both sides so the room sharing would be mutual.

Krillin eyed her critically. "Are you lost?" He was probably referencing her petite size although she was definitely taller than him.

"You look like fresh meat," Nappa concurred. "Did you come to the wrong hall?"

Fearful she'd be found out this early in the game, she laughed it off. "I was homeschooled which put me ahead in all my classes. They just let me advance sooner—I'm kind of a genius." She placed a finger playfully to her lips, "Shh." She smiled, let a small giggle escape, and attempted to sit down on her new bed. She nearly fell over after forgetting that the space she chose to sit was already occupied by her duffel bag. She could see Vegeta just looked embarrassed. She tried to distract them with a new topic of discussion. "So, do you guys know when martial arts team tryouts are?"

"You're a fighter?" Vegeta looked amused.

"Definitely," Bulma responded. Not wanting to face them any longer because of the weird glances they were exchanging, she turned her attention to her duffel bag and began to unpack some of her belongings. "How about you guys?"

"All three of us are veteran team members," Vegeta informed her. "Nappa's got three titles, Krillin has one, and I have seven."

She arched an eyebrow, finally figuring out where his cockiness had been derived from. Seven titles was definitely something worth bragging about. Yamcha only had two titles and the second one he shared with another fighter because the match had ended in a draw. When Raditz was a high school student, he held five titles, the record at that time, until Goku came and claimed six and broke it. Bulma wasn't aware that the record had been shattered yet again. Goku would have been likely to remain the record holder, earning more titles, if his expulsion hadn't disqualified his admission in the tournament the last year.

"We have fourteen team titles." Nappa was grinning, clearly proud of the achievement. "No team in history can boast that, not even Orange Star despite their wins from the last couple years. This year, we'll be taking back our chamption titles and make it a beautiful record of fifteen."

'Interesting' Bulma surmised to herself, as she grabbed a pair of boots from her duffel bag and casually tossed them onto the bed. One of the pair fell over and a box of women products, tampons to be exact, made their presence known to the three men behind her. She prayed none of them would take notice, but quickly realized that was asking for too much.

"That time of the month again?" Vegeta asked harshly. He gave a crude laugh. The sound wasn't pleasant.

Bulma's mind scrambled to think up a list of possible excuses, and she chose the most probable. She tried to laugh it off. "My sister probably put them in my bag. We have a running joke with tampons and pull tamp-pranks on each other." She mentally congratulated herself on her cleverness, and the development of the term 'tamp-pranks.' She never ceased to amuse herself with her inventive vocabulary.

To the revulsion of the men, she picked up the box and removed a tampon from its wrapper. Every single one drew back, almost in fear, of the liquid-retaining product. "Sometimes I stick them up her nose when she's sleeping like this." To demonstrate, she took off the casing and shoved it up a nostril.

"What kind of person are you?" Krillin's lips curled in repugnance. "That's disgusting. Your sister must hate you!"

Nappa was in a state of blustering mirth. He clutched his stomach, as if the act caused him abdominal discomfort, with each laugh increasing in volume. He eventually had enough restraint to pat Vegeta on the back and managed to get out, "Good luck dealing with that, Vegeta."

The men howled with more amusement, making several more jokes regarding the tampons, most of which she would prefer not to meditate too much on later when she summarized her day, a habit she had before going to bed.

She pulled the tampon from her nose by its string and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket. Her first day hadn't gone exactly as she had hoped. She'd already made a fool of herself in front of her new dormmate and his two obviously close friends. It didn't help she would have to see much more of them once she tried out for the martial arts team.

She plastered a smile to her face, only to her knowledge for her company had already moved onto other conversations. She was going to make the best of this situation because she had a point to prove. She was stubborn, and she'd prove to the people of Orange Star that she had what it took to hold her own on the men's team.

Martial Arts Team Tryouts

Coach Piccolo's methods were far different than Coach Ginyu's whose lax nature had often rubbed off on his team. Piccolo was anything but lax though. Pacing along the lined up potential members of his martial arts team, he seemed to bark rather than speak as he sized each and every one of them up.

He paused at a young man about a yard away from Bulma, looking over him disapprovingly. "Lucky for you Saiyan Academy has an excellent gym," he grunted.

'Ouch,' Bulma winced. 'That was a tad harsh.' She could feel herself hold her breath as he neared her place in the line. Her heart almost sank when he paused, but instead of looking at her, he was scrutinizing the person beside her. He said nothing, only looked irately at the young man, but that somehow was worse than an insult. Only when Coach Piccolo finished overlooking the prospects, did Bulma feel a wave of relief wash over her. She was grateful to be spared by any hurtful remarks he may have had for her.

"Let's see what you girls are made out of." Bulma's eyes widened as the coach barked out, "Shirts and skins."

What happened if she got labeled as a skin and was expected to remove her shirt? She couldn't expose her chest. They'd all know she was a woman. It was excuse hatching time. She detested that she had been forced to lie so much to everyone around her, but there was no other way.

"Excuse me, Coach," she called to him. Piccolo turned to face her and she almost dropped the subject entirely. "Can I be a shirt?"

"What did you say?" That was a growl.

Teeth gritted to keep from quivering in his presence, she explained, "I have a skin condition and can't be overly exposed to the sun."

"Skin condition?" Piccolo sounded astonished.

"It could be fatal if I'm not careful," Bulma insisted, praying he wouldn't send her away completely for the excuse.

"Should I follow you around the field with a geisha's parasol to ensure your safety?" Bulma remained silent, recognizing it was a rhetorical question. She waited for a clearer answer. "Very well, you're a shirt."

No more time was squandered as Coach Piccolo blew his whistle, alerting the potential members to commence practice. He had them do several drills to condition them. Bulma was used to this type of training, but not on this level of exertion. Men's practice was much more physically demanding than she had expected, more so than she would have liked to admit. After going head to head with some of the men, Bulma quickly realized she greatly lacked in physicality in comparison. It was a hard pill for her to swallow.

"Line up," Piccolo ordered them as he made some final marks on the clipboard he carried. It had already been two straight hours of grueling practice and he'd witnessed enough to assess them all. "I saw a lot of potential today, which gives me hope for a good season. However, some of you have plenty of room for improvement." Bulma prayed he wasn't referring to her. "That being said, you'll be divided into two teams comprised of first and second string." He raised the clipboard, glancing over the notes he'd made. "I don't want you second stringers to take it to heart. Real fighters will put in the work and challenge their way to the top. But as of now, you won't have any matches unless someone in first string is unable to compete."

Bulma's heart skipped a beat as he called out several names. Coach Piccolo tossed an old jersey with each named called. 'Please, please, please don't let me be on second string,' she begged.

"…And Goku Son." Bulma looked down to the worn jersey she held in her hands.

'Second string—is that all I'm good enough for?' She thought, hanging her head low and letting the jersey rest at her side. She hadn't expected to be the best, but she hadn't expected to be the worst either. This was one rude awakening for her, she realized as she sauntered to the locker room alongside everyone else.

She scratched at her neck, too exhausted to feel grossed out by the grimy layers of dirt on her skin. She needed a shower badly. Sighing, she casually pitched the jersey she'd been given into her locker. She had been so wrapped up in her self-pity that she hadn't noticed when the men around her began to prepare themselves for showers until she bumped into Nappa's wide bare chest.

"You're in my way—get out of it," he grunted.

She did.

One of the guys threw her a towel, which she reluctantly accepted as she tried to determine what course of action she should take to avoid this increasingly awkward scenario. She placed a hand to her face in an effort to block her view of the many male reproductive organs she was unintentionally being flashed. Men truly had no shame in their nudity it seemed. Her eyes strained to the exit. She wondered how strangely it would make her seem if she bolted right then and there.

That is, if she could even make it there without fainting.

Author's Note: Things are certainly looking interesting for Bulma, and it's only her first day parading as Goku. What's to become of her?