Chapter 3
O
Curiosity Kills the Chill
Bulma had made it exactly six hours before the curiosity broke her.
She told herself it didn't matter. That it was just a one-time, hormone-fueled mistake. That he probably hadn't even remembered her name. She told herself these things while pacing her room in fuzzy socks and a science expo t-shirt, muttering like a madwoman and occasionally opening the wallet again just to glare at it.
But by hour six, she was curled up with her laptop, a blanket burrito of shame and caffeine, ready to dive headfirst into bad decisions.
Her laptop was open. Her coffee was cold. And her search history looked like a preteen crush had hijacked her brain.
Vegeta Saiyan fighter record.
Vegeta MMA highlights.
Vegeta shirtless weigh-in interview.
She clicked one video.
Vegeta stood in the middle of the ring, his torso glistening under overhead lights. He was practically snarling at the camera, arms folded, expression carved from stone.
The announcer said something about him being undefeated in direct contact matches. That his opponent tapped out without a single landed hit. The crowd roared.
Bulma leaned forward, squinting. "That's not hot," she told herself. "That's unstable."
The clip cut to him shoving someone across the mat like a rag doll.
She flushed. Slammed the laptop shut.
"I'm broken," she whispered.
A second later, her phone buzzed.
Dr. Briefs: Did you piss off a Saiyan recently, dear?
She blinked.
Bulma: ...Define recently.
Dr. Briefs: There's one standing in the Capsule Corp lobby asking for you by name. Says it's urgent. Looks like he could lift my entire lab bench. Didn't even take a capsule snack.
Bulma nearly dropped her phone.
She ran to the window and peeked through the blinds like she was expecting him to materialize on the lawn.
He found her?
She wasn't ready. She hadn't even figured out if she was returning the wallet or framing it.
Another buzz.
Dr. Briefs: Also he left this image at reception. I think it's from security footage?
A photo attached.
It was her. Disheveled. Stumbling into the elevator in last night's dress.
Bulma shrieked and threw her phone across the bed.
Then immediately scrambled to grab it again.
Bulma: Tell him I'm not here. Or that I died. Use whichever one sounds more believable.
Dr. Briefs: ...He's already in the elevator.
Bulma froze.
Capsule Corp had nine floors.
She was on six.
She had maybe thirty seconds.
She bolted for the mirror, fixing her hair in frantic handfuls, then immediately gave up and started hiding things. The wallet. Her laptop. Her exposed shoulders. Her entire being.
Then she froze again. New thought. What if she didn't open the door?
She tiptoed across the lab, locked the door, and sat down at her desk like she hadn't just had a panic-induced wardrobe crisis. She took a slow, measured breath. She could ride this out.
A knock at the lab door.
Soft.
Then harder.
Then a voice that vibrated through the steel.
"Open the door, woman. I know you're in there."
She didn't move.
Five seconds passed.
Then ten.
Then, blessedly, a ding. The elevator. A voice.
Dr. Briefs (muffled through intercom): "She said she's not available right now, sir. Something about a, uh… plasma containment leak."
Another pause.
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Bulma waited five whole minutes before daring to breathe again.
She collapsed in her chair, heart pounding.
That was too close.
She stayed in her lab for the rest of the day, then the next. Anytime she heard the faintest shuffle outside her door, she paused like a hunted animal; staring at the handle, waiting for it to turn. Once, she heard heavy bootsteps echo down the hallway and nearly dove behind a filing cabinet, only to realize it was the janitor with a speaker blasting heavy metal.
Chi-Chi, predictably, wouldn't stop calling.
"Have you returned the wallet yet?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because if I do, that means I have to see him again."
"Oh my Kami, Bulma. You let him raw-dog you but now you're scared to say hi?"
"I accidentally stole from him! There's a difference!"
"Girl," Chi-Chi said, voice flat. "You engineered a space shuttle in three days but can't engineer a basic apology?"
Bulma hung up. Then locked the door again for good measure.
She even considered mailing the wallet anonymously until she remembered his address was probably orbiting a moon base or guarded by laser wolves.
So she hid. And worked. And replayed flashes of the night more often than she'd ever admit aloud. Worked longer hours. Avoided the lobby like it was cursed. Ghosted Chi-Chi's texts.
By the third day, she was halfway through reconfiguring a gravity calibration rig when she heard a throat clear.
And there he was.
Standing in her doorway, arms crossed, unimpressed.
"How do you people sneak up on me like that?" she snapped.
"You left the door open this time."
She looked. Damn. She had.
He held up the wallet.
"You dropped something."
Her mouth opened. Then closed.
"You broke into my building to give me back your wallet?"
His eyes narrowed. "You had something of mine. I decided to take something of yours."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
He stepped inside without asking.
"Time. Information. Face-to-face contact. Call it interest. Call it balance."
"Call it unhinged," she muttered.
He looked around the lab, taking in her workstation, her schematics, the machines she hadn't powered down.
"You're smart," he said flatly.
"I know."
"And arrogant."
"Takes one to know one."
They stared.
He held out the wallet again before pocketing it. "Next time you steal something, at least take the cash."
"Next time, check your floor before you pass out naked."
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smirk.
"So," she said, watching him. "Now what?"
He looked her over.
"Now you owe me a rematch."
"A fight?"
"Dinner," he clarified. "Unless you want to go three rounds in that hallway again."
Bulma flushed.
She hated that her stomach flipped.
"Fine. One dinner. That's it."
He turned, heading for the door.
"Wear something that won't wrinkle so fast this time."
"Out!" she shouted, slamming the door behind him.
But she was smiling.
And he knew it.