A too bright light stung her eyes as tall figures and disjointed voices blurred in and out of focus. There was something soft beneath her head. She was lying on the living room sofa. Had she fallen asleep there? The last thing she remembered was being in the garden with her grandmother…
"A little heads up would have been nice! It's called a phone Goku! You have one! Consider using it once in a while!"
"I'm sorry Bulma, I just didn't think—"
"That much is obvious! You all scared the shit out of her! Which is exactly what I was trying to avoid!"
"Tch. That girl's never been afraid of anything a day in her life." A deeper voice chimed in.
"These are —unprecedented circumstances—."
The source of the noise soon became clear: her mother, her face a mix of anger and worry; arguing with a dark-haired man in an orange and blue ghi. Her father stood on the other side of the coffee table with her brother and a tall man with a powder blue complexion who was happily cooing over what looked like some sort of fruit parfait.
Beside him was the cat-man from the garden.
Bulla instinctively leaped to her feet, snatching the lamp from the side table with such force that the power cord was yanked out of the wall. She raised it high over her head, poised to strike.
The purple cat man's attention immediately turned to her, his golden eyes narrowed, his tail flicking ever so slightly. "Don't even think about it, girl."
Bulla's heart raced, and her grip on the lamp tightened as she stared him down, noting all the startled faces staring right back at her. What in the world was happening? What was this creature and his strange companion doing in her house? Who was that man in orange?
"Bulla, sweetheart," her mother said gently, stepping forward with her hands raised in a placating gesture. "Please put the lamp down. I know you don't recognize him, but there is no reason for you to be afraid of Lord Beerus."
"That thing attacked me!" She cried, her grip on the lamp's base unwavering.
"I did nothing of the sort! You're the one who threw a plant at my head!" He spat back indignantly.
"Don't yell at her! You're not helping!" Her mother snarled without an ounce of fear before turning back to her, her countenance softening immediately. "Bulla, I know this is all very overwhelming. If it were up to me, we wouldn't be springing this all on you, but everyone here is a friend. You're safe. I promise."
Her gaze drifted over the three unfamiliar faces watching her, landing on the man in the orange ghi. He smiled back at her. His dark eyes were gentle and warm, and vaguely familiar, though she was sure she had never met the man before.
Her mother drew her attention back to the tall figure dressed in intricate robes of black and maroon with a gesture. "This is Whis, and he's a friend."
"He is?"
Bulla's eyes darted between her mother, the overgrown cat, and the blue-skinned man, who seemed utterly unconcerned that she was armed as he shoveled spoonfuls of fruit and yogurt into his mouth. "You're friends with a giant cat and a…what? Some kind of alien wizard?"
The man let out a chuckle at her assessment. "A wizard? Oh, how charming."
The older woman shook her head. "No, he is not a wizard, though he does kind of dress like one. And yes, he's obviously not human, but he is a very good friend of mine. He actually delivered you when you were born."
"He… did?" That seemed… highly unlikely.
"Well, in a manner of speaking. You're welcome!" The man beamed in between bites.
"What exactly are… you?" Bulla's wary eyes raked up and down Whis' form, taking in his calm, otherworldly presence. His pale blue skin and flowing attire set him apart from everyone else in the room, save the surly, overgrown feline.
He paused his feasting, blinking down at her. He really was absurdly tall, even without his fluffy plume of white hair. "Oh my, what a rude question. I won't dwell on it though, extenuating circumstances and such—"
"Cease your prattling. She is awake. Do what you came here to do," her father commanded, his smooth baritone voice cutting through the chatter like a knife, his tone commanding and sharp. The sound of it shocked her. She had only heard him speak a few times before: twice while eavesdropping, and the other occasions were so rare and brief they were hardly worth noting and never directed at or pertaining to her.
"Do… what?" She asked, eyeing the stranger.
"With any luck, Whis is here to restore your memories." Her mother replied.
Bulla felt a brief flicker of hope, but distrust quickly overshadowed it.
"And just how do you intend to do that?"
"Oh, let's not get too tied up in the details. I could explain it to you, but I doubt your mortal mind could comprehend it, even if you were not in your present state."
That did nothing whatsoever to reassure her.
"It's okay Bulla." Her brother drew up beside her. She noted the calm in his tired, slate-colored eyes and the relaxed line of his shoulders and, reluctantly, she allowed him to gently prize her 'weapon' from her hands. Her arms were heavy as she lowered them and her legs unsteady, likely because of the adrenaline wearing off. "He's here to help, I promise."
The man with the staff stepped forward, his expression calm and serene. "No reason to be nervous, my dear. I assure you I mean you no harm," he said, his voice almost musical.
"Wait," she said, feeling her heartbeat pick up once again as he approached. He obliged, stopping in his tracks. "Will... will it hurt?" she asked hesitantly.
"Not at all." He smiled kindly. "May I proceed?"
Bulla glanced between her mother and her sibling, searching their gazes for the slightest hint of trepidation. She found none. While she didn't feel any less uncomfortable under the odd man's scrutiny, and while she wasn't particularly happy with her brother or her mother after the last week, she knew deep down they wouldn't let this man do anything to hurt her.
But still…
What if he tried, and it didn't work? Alternatively, what if it did work, and she wished it hadn't? Would she wake up as her former self? And if she did, what would happen to her as she was now? Would she cease to be? Evaporating like a strange, passing dream. Forgotten in an instant?
Bulla supposed she had no choice but to find out. She swallowed, offering him a small nod of assent.
Whis raised his staff, and a soft, ethereal glow enveloped the room. Bulla felt a gentle warmth spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She closed her eyes, leaning into the odd sensation, hoping for anything, a glimmer, a spark, the tiniest fragment of recognition.
"Hmm. Interesting. There is a strange disruption in the flow of your ki." He murmured.
But as the glow faded and the strange warmth receded, Bulla's mind remained a blank slate. She opened her eyes to see Whis shaking his head slightly, his expression apologetic. "I'm afraid I can't help."
"You can and you will." Her father said in a low, menacing voice.
Whis didn't seem the least bit phased by the absolutely murderous expression on her father's face. Bulla would have shriveled beneath such a glare. He looked ready to tear the other man's throat out. Was the thought of her in her present state so unbearable to him? She couldn't help but think perhaps it was. If what she had learned about her former self was true. There was no way she could fill the shoes of such a woman. She didn't even know if she had it in her to try.
"I'm afraid not, my prince. Physically, she's the picture of health. This is a matter of the mind. I have no sway over such things."
"So, what now? If you can't help, what does that mean for me?" She glanced around the room once more, taking in the concerned faces of the people who seemed so desperate to help her. They were no more familiar to her now than they had been five seconds ago.
The corners of her mother's mouth dropped, and her eyes were devoid of any semblance of the light she had glimpsed in them in photographs she'd seen in articles detailing the various successes of this brilliant woman. It made her feel sick.
Her brother stepped up beside her, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders, and Bulla's chest tightened at the sight. Her hands itched to reach out for the older woman. She wished she could offer her some semblance of comfort, but how could she, when every time she looked at her, she likely only saw a shell of her former self?
"Alright Bulma, we tried handling this your way." Her father finally said without sparing his wife a single glance. His tone left no room for argument. "Bulla. Sit down."
Nothing could have prepared her for what he had to say
Bulla sat on the edge of the couch, trying to remain calm as her father stood before her, arms crossed over his strange white and gold armor. His voice was stern and unyielding, devoid of the gentle comfort one might expect from a parent. The room felt smaller with each passing moment; the walls closing in around her. Her heart raced, and she clenched her hands in her lap, focusing on her breathing to keep her rising anxiety at bay.
He spoke of a distant world, of a planet that had been destroyed decades before she was born. The destruction of this world had set off a chain of events that ultimately led to their current predicament. Each word he uttered felt like an anchor, dragging her further and further down into a sea of confusion as she tried to piece together the fragments of this new information and make it line up with what she knew to be true.
He had to be lying. It was impossible. Bulla thought of the lifeless body of that strange blue skinned man. She glanced down at herself, and then at her father and brother. She looked human. They looked… human. He had to be making it all up. A glance at the other otherworldly beings that occupied the room told her that was wishful thinking. And why would he lie? What purpose would that serve?
But everything he was saying… it sounded so… absurd. It sounded like the ramblings of a madman. Perhaps she was mad, and this was all an elaborate hallucination.
Bulla took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Let me get this straight. You are an alien, a Prince at that, from another planet. And you, whoever you are," she turned to face the man in orange, "are also an alien."
He nodded, offering her a wide smile. His cheery disposition only unsettling her further. One thing was certain about the man. The ability to read a room was completely beyond him. "Yup. I'm Goku, by the way. Your Dad likes to call me Kakarot though."
"And I'm… half alien?" She gestured to herself with a shaky hand.
"Half-Saiyan." Her father clipped.
"And this giant cat-man—"
Said cat-man blanched, practically hissing, "Excuse me?! 'Cat-man'!? I have seen what you humans call a 'cat' and I am nothing whatsoever like that plump, lazy fur-ball you have scurrying about your abode. I am a God. That you would even draw such a comparison is an insult."
"Well, forgive my impertinence, your worship." She scowled at him, before moving onto the third and final stranger in the room. "And you're supposed to be an angel." She raked a hand over her face and let out a strained little laugh. "And I cannot remember my own phone number because some psychotic alien emperor named Freezer—
"Frieza." Her father corrected.
"—Tried to murder me." She swallowed as her vision swum with visions of ash and smoke. The image was so vivid she could practically smell and taste it.
Her mother placed a hand on the small of her back to comfort her. "Sweetie, are you alright—"
Bulla shrugged off the contact and shot to her feet. What an absurd question. "No, I am not alright! I could barely wrap my head around the 'normal' girl I thought I was, and wondering how I was ever going to measure up to her. Only to be hit with the revelation that, 'by the way, you're also one of the few surviving heirs to the monarchy of a planet that no longer exists! Oh, and from time-to-time, enemies of said planet, like to drop in and try to kill you and everyone you know'! I think I get why I don't remember any of this! Who would want to?!"
For a moment, the only sound that filled the space was that of her own labored breathing. A crowd of faces stared blankly back at her, speechless at her outburst.
Her father was the first to break the silence. "Are you finished?" He asked, his face perfectly poised in that stern scowl she recognized as uniquely his.
"Pretty much." She replied, those two small words dripping with all the sarcasm she could muster.
"Good. Now you know the truth. It's time to get to work."
That was not the response she was expecting at all. "What are you talking about?"
"We need to resume your training. Promptly."
"Training?"
"You need to be back in fighting form. The sooner the better."
"You want me to train… to fight aliens?" He nodded curtly, his expression unchanging.
She thought again of that corpse, the burning city, the smoke, the ash. She never wanted to see anything like it again. Ever.
She had nearly lost her life, she had lost her whole identity, and his response was to toss her headfirst back into the fray again? What kind of unfeeling monster was this man?
"And if I say no?"
Her Mother's brows shot up. "Vegeta, it's too soon to even be talking about that!"
"Who says I want to talk about it at all?!" Bulla shot back indignantly.
"Dad—" Her brother stepped forward, but their father held up a silencing hand, and Trunks immediately shut his mouth.
"Enough. I have coddled you both entirely too much. No more. Neither of you can afford the luxury of growing complacent." His tone had an air of finality to it. As if she had no say in the matter.
"I thought you said this emperor Frieza guy or whatever, was defeated. If that's the case, then we should be safe. Why the urgent need to prepare?" Bulla shot back.
"Frieza is only one on a long list of individuals that would happily see me and, subsequently, you two, dead."
"And just why are there so many people that want you dead?" That question must have touched a nerve, because his expression faltered for a fraction of a second. "Don't skimp on the details now, Dad."
"I think this is enough for one night." Bulma interjected, stepping between them. "We all just need to calm down."
Her father opened his mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly, seeming to rethink whatever he was about to say before pasting the same aloof, unreadable expression firmly back into place.
"If it's all the same to you, Bulma, we really need to be getting back." Goku said, scratching the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
"Yes, we must depart," Whis turned to Bulla, "I apologize for being unable to assist you. Best of luck regaining your memories, my dear." He offered her one last cheery smile and then, with a wave of his staff, a shimmering portal appeared seemingly from nowhere. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, taking the three men with it.
She had gotten her wish; she had gotten some answers, but she didn't have the slightest clue what to do with any of them.
Bulla stood at the kitchen sink, carefully washing the flower vase from her cluttered nightstand. She spent the better part of the last three days in the garden with her grandmother. The simple task was a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming revelations of several nights ago. And it kept her well away from her father and his incessant poking and prodding about 'training'. She filled the vase with a mix of peonies, roses, hydrangeas and some white lilies that she'd grown particularly fond of because they resembled stars. She gave the bouquet a quick watering and as she swept the old flowers into the trash, she noticed something peculiar — they were sunflowers. Her grandmother's garden didn't have any sunflowers, and their presence struck her as odd. They must have been lovely when they were alive. Perhaps she and her grandmother could plant some.
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face. "Sweetheart, you have a visitor."
A short woman with silky, straight hair and a tentative expression stepped into the view, her expression one of apprehension. "This is Pan. You two are very close, almost like sisters."
"Hey Bulla." The woman, Pan, offered her a small smile.
"Hi," Bulla replied awkwardly, unsure of what else to say.
Bulla vaguely recognized the young woman from a few old selfies she'd seen while perusing her Instagram, searching for more information about her former self. If memory served her right, those photos had been over a year old. Abruptly, the woman's gaze dropped to her red sneakers. "I would have visited sooner. But Trunks said it wasn't the right time."
"I also wanted to show you something, I went through my office and found this," her mother said, holding up a thick, leather-bound book. "This is us over the years," Bulma explained, the faintest hint of sadness in her voice. "Birthdays, holidays, family vacations... maybe they'll trigger something. I thought maybe you two could spend some time together and look through it?"
"Sure." Bulla nodded, drying her hands on a small towel. Her mother placed the book on the table and excused herself with a hopeful smile.
"So… you can't remember me?" Pan asked with a slight tilt of her head.
"I don't. I'm sorry." Bulla tried her best to conjure up a smile for the woman.
"Oh, you don't have to be sorry. I… I'm sorry. That this happened to you. I wish I had been there when everything… when it happened."
"You weren't there?" Bulla said as she poured them both glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade.
The dark-haired woman shook her head. "No, I was off world. I work for the Galaxy Patrol, so I'm gone for long periods of time. I didn't hear about it until it was over. I came as soon as I could."
"'Off world'?" That piqued her interest. "You mean you've been in space?"
"Mhmm," Pan grinned, pulling out her phone and showing her a picture of herself and a short, curious looking man, both wearing a purple and white uniform, against the backdrop of a strange landscape of red sand in the distance she spied a vivid blue planet ringed with yellow.
"Can you tell me about it?"
"Maybe, if you give me a slice of that cake." She grinned, nodding toward the freshly decorated strawberry shortcake her grandmother had whipped up.
Bulla's eyes lingered on the array of photos, some depicting joyful family celebrations, others with more simple candid moments.
The first one that caught her eye featured Beerus, the cat-man who considered himself a 'God' holding a blue-haired infant that had to be her. She didn't seem even slightly afraid. If anything, she looked happy. Weird. But then again, if all the things she'd been told were true, weird was probably the norm for her.
At least for the version of her in these photos.
One picture showed herself on the arm of a handsome blonde boy in a lavish dress. Another depicted a stern-faced man, her father, the Prince, feeding a toddler with pink icing smeared across her rosy cheeks and in her feathery blue hair as she gazed adoringly up at him. Another portrayed a slightly older version of herself dressed as a fairy princess, a dark-haired little girl dressed as a pirate, obviously Pan, and a disgruntled-looking teenage Trunks.
Bulla studied the images intently, her brows furrowing in concentration. She recognized the faces—their family, friends, and herself—but the emotions that should connect her with those moments remained elusive. It was as if the photos were a puzzle missing critical pieces.
Pan watched her closely, a mix of concern and compassion in her dark eyes. "Nothing?"
"It's strange. I look at that little girl, and I know she's me, but…" Bulla shook her head. "It feels like someone else's life."
Pan nodded, teeth worrying at her lower lip. "It's going to take time. Maybe we can visit some of our old haunts and see if something clicks."
She could see why she had been friends with this girl. She was nice. Easy to talk to. A good listener. A great storyteller. Hearing about her adventures with her companion Jaco was a pleasant change from the usual topic of conversation lately: her. Or rather, the version of herself she was supposed to be piecing back together instead of 'hiding amongst the shrubbery' as his majesty, the Prince, had so kindly put it.
She was beginning to seriously miss the previous version of the man who left her the hell alone.
"I would like that, I haven't left the house since this all started."
Bulla flipped to the next page in the album. The first photo made her pause; it was a more recent photograph of Trunks and herself with a dark-haired man between them, face bright with happiness as he looked at her, his arms slung over their shoulders.
"Who is this? He's the man who was there when I… woke up," She pulled the picture out of its slot to inspect it more closely, "and he came to the hospital."
Pan glanced down at the photo before taking another sip of her lemonade. "That's my uncle Goten."
"Who is he to me? Are we close? Is he my friend or…" She remembered the feeling of him holding her amidst all the chaos of that day. He'd held her so tightly. She remembered the alarm she'd felt as she took in his bloodied face. The calm cadence of his voice when he'd spoken to her. The subtle warmth in his eyes. The same warmth they radiated in this photograph.
Pan's brow creased, and she seemed to consider her response. "You and my Uncle…? Uhh… not really. You're more or less just acquaintances, I guess? You two don't talk much. Our families are really close though. And he's your brother's best friend."
"Oh. Is that all?"
"Pretty much." Pan slid her phone out of her back pocket and grinned. "I am still starving after all that cake. Wanna order a whole mess of pizza?"
Bulla studied the picture. She supposed what Pan said about Goten made sense. Yes, He'd come to the hospital to deliver that Senzu bean to her, but he'd declined to visit her when her brother offered, and he hadn't visited her once in the days since.
Still, she couldn't help but find it strange, especially when juxtaposed with the memory of him from that day.