(The Day I Met the Weirdest Kid on Earth, or: How I Almost Died in the Middle of Nowhere)

I still don't know why I even went through with this whole Dragon Ball thing. I mean, seriously—who does this? Who hops in a car, armed with nothing but a radar, a couple of gadgets, and high expectations, thinking they're about to find some legendary magical orbs and make all their wishes come true?

Oh yeah. Me. Because I was a genius. And possibly a little desperate.

But anyway, there I was, out in the middle of nowhere—just trees, dirt roads, and the occasional freaky noise from the wildlife. And of course, in true Bulma fashion, I was speeding like my life depended on it, completely unbothered, when out of nowhere this little wild child runs right into my car.

Like, full-speed into it.

I slammed on the brakes, practically gave myself whiplash, and—this is the important part—the kid? Didn't even flinch. Just bounced off, stood up, and looked at me like I was the crazy one.

So, naturally, my first reaction was to do the sensible thing: I grabbed my gun and shot him.

(And no, I don't regret it because who just shakes off getting hit by a car like it's Tuesday?!)

But the bullets? Didn't. Do. A. Thing. This kid—this barefoot, wild-haired, clueless little maniac—just stood there, blinking at me like I was some kind of city-slicker idiot, which, okay, maybe I was, but that's beside the point.

And then, just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder, he lifted my whole car. Over his head.

Like it was nothing.

I swear, at that moment, I thought I had driven straight into a bad sci-fi flick.

So then, instead of, y'know, running like a normal person, I did what any rational teenage girl would do—I asked him who the hell he was.

His name? Son Goku.

And if I'd had any idea what kind of madness that name was about to bring into my life, I would've turned that car right around and gone back to Capsule Corp. and never looked back.

But I didn't. Because I was still thinking about my real goal: finding the Dragon Balls.

And lucky me—turns out he had one. A four-star ball that he was absolutely convinced was the spirit of his dead grandpa.

Let me repeat that.

He thought. A ball. Was his grandpa's soul.

…I don't even know where to start with that.

But you know what? I saw an opportunity. I explained what the Dragon Balls were, and I managed to talk him into coming with me. He didn't really understand the whole "wish-granting" thing, but whatever—he had super strength, so I figured he'd be useful.

And that's how it all started. Me, a city girl with big dreams, and him, a country bumpkin who had literally no idea how the world worked.

…And somehow, that was the least insane part of the whole journey.

Footnote – Bulma's DBZ Afterthoughts:

Oh. My. God.

Reading this back just makes me want to scream into a pillow.

I really went on a cross-country road trip with some random child with a tail because I thought I could trick him into giving me his Dragon Ball. What was wrong with me?!

And the fact that he was lifting cars and shaking off bullets should have been my first clue that he wasn't normal. But noooo, I was too busy thinking about my wish and the fact that he was kind of an idiot.

Little did I know he'd grow up to be the biggest headache of my entire life.

And let's just take a second to appreciate that I almost ran over the guy who would go on to save the universe multiple times.

Like. Imagine if I'd just kept driving.

Maybe the world would've ended.

Or maybe I would've had a nice, quiet life without aliens, time-travelers, evil androids, and my husband trying to fight God every other week.

Who even knows anymore?

—Bulma