Chapter 4
O
Caught off Guard
Chi-Chi had barely gotten through prepping for dinner when Goku popped his head into the kitchen, shirtless and freshly showered.
"Cheech, you seen my gloves?"
She raised a brow. "You mean the ones that were literally on your hands this morning?"
"Yeah, but I put them down somewhere… or maybe I put them on the roof?"
Chi-Chi sighed. "You put them next to the rice cooker, like always."
"Ohhh, right!" he grinned, zipping across the kitchen in a blur.
She rolled her eyes with a smirk, then paused. "Hey. Don't forget, Bulma's going on a date with Vegeta tonight."
Goku paused, mouth full of water. "With Vegeta?"
"Yup. Be nice. If he makes her cry, I will unleash you on him."
Goku scratched his head, amused. "I mean… he probably wouldn't survive that."
Chi-Chi smiled sweetly. "Exactly."
But the smile faded quickly.
Chi-Chi tried to brush it off at first, the whispers she overheard in the grocery line about Bulma and Vegeta, some exclusive dinner at Capsule Corp, and a blurry photo of the 'scariest fighter alive' stepping into the building. But her grip on the rice crackers had said otherwise.
Later that afternoon, she went home and looked it up. Gossip blogs were already spiraling. Speculative headlines. Matching timestamps. Blurry screenshots. The internet's usual recipe for chaos.
And suddenly, Goku's earlier words 'maybe this is what she needs' sounded less like insight and more like blissful ignorance.
She stopped prepping for a moment and retreated to her living room. She sat on the couch, tea cooling in her hand, laptop open to a paused image of Vegeta's unmistakable silhouette. Her jaw tightened.
"Please," she muttered. "Let this not be another full-speed crash into emotional chaos."
Her grip tightened on the mug beside her.
She didn't need more headlines. She needed answers.
By the time Goku returned from sparring, she was already on the phone, only this time, she wasn't the one who dialed.
Yamcha's voice came through first. "You've seen the headlines, right?"
Chi-Chi's jaw clenched. "I've seen them."
"Some Capsule Corp blog says Bulma's hosting a dinner for some mystery guest tonight, and people are saying it's that guy, Vegeta. I've been getting texts all morning about it."
Chi-Chi's brows knit. "You've been getting texts?"
"I still know people," Yamcha muttered. "And a few of them saw him near Capsule yesterday. Alone. With her."
Chi-Chi frowned. "They could've just been talking. Doesn't mean she's letting him in the penthouse."
"I'm telling you, Chi-Chi, Vegeta is bad news. You know how many locker room fights I've seen him walk out of with blood on his boots and no explanation?"
"You're her ex. You're biased."
"I am her ex," Yamcha shot back. "Which means I know exactly how hard she can fall for a guy. This isn't about jealousy! it's about her. That man isn't wired for someone like Bulma."
Chi-Chi didn't reply at first. Her eyes lingered on the paused frame of Vegeta's silhouette on the screen. She knew Bulma, knew the way she threw herself into things full-throttle, especially when she felt unmoored. And if this really was just another whirlwind crash landing in disguise? The thought made her chest tighten.
"What if this isn't just fun for her?" she said softly. "Goku said maybe this is what she needs. But what if it's the opposite? What if she's spiraling again, and no one's there to stop it?"
"I've thought about that too," Yamcha said. "I know how she gets when she's vulnerable. She throws herself into the most chaotic things like they're coping strategies. And Vegeta? He's chaos incarnate. The guy has the emotional range of a broken toaster and the temper of a toddler with a scouter. What if she thinks she can handle him, and he's just using her for tech or leverage?"
Chi-Chi sighed, then: "Meet me at Capsule Corp at 7. Bring Krillin. Bring snacks. And bring your best spy gear."
"You're planning a recon mission?"
She smirked. "I'd like to say we're assessing... romantic risk management."
On the other end: "Alright. If we're doing this, we're doing it right. Operation Blue Flame is a go. Talk to you tonight."
Click.
Just then, Goku stepped through the doorway, holding up a tray of dumplings.
"You were on the phone with Yamcha," he said, clearly having caught the tail end of the conversation. "That about Bulma and Vegeta?"
Chi-Chi sighed. "Yeah. It's… a whole thing."
Goku sat beside her, setting down the tray. "You really think she's in danger?"
"I think she's unpredictable. And so is he. That's not always a good mix."
Goku nodded slowly, then picked up a dumpling. "Well… she's smart. And Vegeta might be a lot of things, but he's not dumb. He wouldn't mess with her lightly."
Chi-Chi gave him a sideways look. "So you don't think we should intervene?"
Goku shrugged. "I didn't say that. I'm just saying… let's make sure we're watching for the right reasons. Not just because we're worried, but because we care."
Chi-Chi paused, her features softening. Then she reached over and grabbed a dumpling, too. "Alright. Recon it is. But no going soft if he crosses a line."
"Promise," Goku said with a grin.
She narrowed her eyes. "Recon."
Goku blinked. "So… we're crashing the date."
Chi-Chi sipped her tea like it was wine. "No. We are monitoring a potential romantic security breach."
Goku raised a brow. "With dumplings?"
"Exactly. Stealth-snacking. Very advanced."
Back at West City Arena, Vegeta stood alone in the dimly lit training hall, the harsh glow of the digital board reflecting off his stern features. His name blinked in red at the bottom of the schedule—just below the name of a fighter known for cheap shots and dirtier tactics.
"You sure about this, Vegeta?" the coordinator asked, arms crossed. "You've been offered the title shot in two months. Why risk it now?"
"Book it," Vegeta said without looking at him.
The coordinator frowned. "There's chatter picking up about you and Capsule Corp. Rumors. Headlines. You're not exactly blending in these days."
Vegeta's jaw ticked. "Let them talk."
"You know this guy's a Frieza rep, right? He doesn't fight clean."
"I don't need clean. I need sharp."
The coordinator lowered his clipboard. "You're top-seeded. Already lined up for a title match. If this guy lands one dirty hit—"
"Then I'll land five cleaner ones," Vegeta cut in. "I'm not here to play it safe. I'm here to prove a point."
He turned toward the lockers, the heavy thud of his boots echoing off the arena walls.
The point wasn't just about titles, not entirely. It was about dominance. Control. Making sure no one ever questioned his place in the ring or the galaxy again.
That was the mission.
He hadn't come to Earth to settle. He came to rise. To destroy the ceiling that had once been placed over his kind and step over whatever scraps remained.
Distractions? Soft things? He didn't have time for that.
Still… a flicker of teal hair passed through his mind. A laugh, too loud, too casual for someone like him. Brief. Unwelcome. Distracting.
He clenched his fists.
She was flashy. Noisy. Always challenging him. And somehow, her voice lingered longer than it should've.
He scoffed under his breath.
If she became a problem, he'd handle it. One way or another.
Right now, there was only the fight. The title. The legacy he was carving with his own hands.
Everything else could wait.
Bulma stood in front of her closet like it was mocking her. She was on outfit number four. Maybe five. One dress made her look too eager. Another felt like she was dressing for court. She threw one on the bed, tried a sixth, and immediately stripped it off.
"This is dumb," she told herself, zipping into a midnight blue number she'd once worn to a capsule tech gala. "It's just dinner. Not an intergalactic treaty."
But even as she tried to blow-dry the last of her bangs, her thoughts buzzed. What was she doing? Going on a date with a man who barely spoke in full sentences, who could probably suplex a boulder, who made her feel like her bones were vibrating anytime he looked at her too long?
She looked at herself in the mirror and pointed. "You are a genius billionaire. You do not get flustered by bad boys with punching problems."
Then she curled her lashes twice.
Just in case. Bulma had changed outfits three times, curled her hair twice, and threatened her reflection at least once. She wasn't nervous. She just didn't want to give him the satisfaction of looking anything less than spectacular.
When Vegeta showed up to Capsule Corp's private penthouse. It was meticulously staged to resemble a candlelit restaurant for two in the estate's ornately designed dining room (a setup her mother insisted they use for "VIP guests and romantic business") he didn't look like a man who'd been dragged there against his will.
He wasn't in his usual training gear. Instead, he wore a tailored black button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the top two buttons left undone with unapologetic confidence. The fabric hugged his torso just enough to hint at the power beneath. Slim, dark charcoal pants. Polished black boots. No visible logos. No armor. Just clean lines, sharp presence, and the smolder of someone who didn't try to impress
but somehow still did.
Bulma blinked when he stepped into the room.
He looked… expensive. Dangerous. Like he'd walked out of a high-end assassin catalog.
And then, of course, he had the audacity to look unimpressed by her.
Her pulse jumped. She hated that it did. She'd spent forty-five minutes battling her own closet and curling her lashes to perfection, and here he was—cool as hell, sharp as sin, and acting like this was a board meeting.
She forced herself to sit straighter in her chair, swirling her wine with casual precision. "Nice of you to show up dressed like you didn't roll out of a sparring match," she said dryly.
Vegeta's eyes flicked over her once. "Your mother made it clear. 'Romantic business,' wasn't it?"
"Don't quote my mother at me," Bulma snapped, but her lips twitched at the corners.
He shrugged and took his seat like it was a throne. "I figured if I have to suffer through dinner, I might as well wear something they can bury me in."
She took a long sip of wine to hide her smirk.
They were fifteen minutes into their meal; he ordered meat, she ordered wine, and it was suspiciously quiet. Almost too quiet.
Meanwhile, crouched behind a large decorative fern near the back of the penthouse restaurant, Chi-Chi squinted through a pair of binoculars. Yamcha ducked beside her, chewing on the end of a straw like it was tactical gear. Krillin held a notepad labeled "Operation Blue Flame."
"Okay," Chi-Chi whispered. "So far, no red flags. She hasn't screamed, stormed out, or throat-punched him. That's a good sign."
"She just laughed," Krillin noted. "That could be bad, though. Like nervous laughing. Or seduction laughing."
Goku suddenly popped up from behind the next potted plant over, arms full of snacks. "You guys want anything? The kitchen let me order from downstairs."
"GOKU!" they all hissed.
He blinked, confused. "What?"
Back at the table, Bulma paused mid-sip. "Did you hear that?"
Vegeta didn't even look up from his steak. "Third plant on the right. Krillin's sneezing in five… four…" His words trailed off has his fingers counted down the remaining numbers.
A loud "HAAA-CHOO!" exploded from the ferns.
Bulma bit her lip to keep from laughing, pretending to glance around innocently.
Vegeta calmly returned to his steak. "Try not to blow our cover just yet."
Bulma murmured back, "You're playing along?"
He smirked. "Let them think they're winning."
From the ferns, Chi-Chi winced. "We're fine. He didn't look over."
"Keep it together," Yamcha muttered. "Just act natural."
Krillin fumbled with his notepad and tried to scribble discreetly. As he did, his elbow knocked over a tower of napkins. They spilled across the aisle with a loud flutter.
Bulma blinked mid-sip and set her glass down carefully.
"Napkin avalanche," she murmured.
Vegeta didn't look up. "Left side. Krillin again. Don't react. Keep sipping."
Bulma suppressed a laugh, adjusting her wine glass like it was a prop in a spy movie. "You coaching me through this?"
"Someone has to," Vegeta muttered. "Your poker face is appalling."
"And next time, I'm picking the location," Vegeta said under his breath. "Underground. No guests. No cameras."
"No ferns?" Bulma teased.
"No ferns," he replied.
She raised her glass. "Deal."
After the napkin incident, the team relocated to the dessert bar, convinced they needed better vantage and a refill on snacks.
The recon crew relocated to the self-serve dessert bar, crossing over the spilled napkins and past the laminated menus. It wasn't as private as the ferns, but it gave them line of sight and a false sense of stealth.
As they settled in, Yamcha bumped the dessert tongs off the counter with a loud metallic clatter. The whole group froze.
Back at the table, Bulma arched an eyebrow. "That sounded expensive."
Vegeta didn't glance over. "Yamcha. Dessert bar. He's got butterfingers."
"You really know their habits, huh?"
"I've sparred with toddlers who were less obvious. Keep your face neutral."
Bulma bit back a grin and lifted her glass, clinking it gently against his with mock formality. "To espionage theater."
"And amateurs in costume," he muttered.
"Okay," Krillin whispered. "She's giggling again."
"She's leaning," Chi-Chi whispered louder. "That's flirty lean."
"She's doomed," Yamcha declared. "He's got her under a Saiyan mating trance."
Goku bit into a bao bun. "Didn't I say this wasn't about tech theft?"
Back at the table, Bulma leaned in toward Vegeta. "Wanna mess with them? Maybe surprise them a little, make them think they're getting ahead, then pull the rug out from under them?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
For the next twenty minutes, they turned up the drama—whispering too close, laughing too loud, drawing out every glance and toast like a scene from a scandalous romance. Bulma even reached across to trail her fingers along his arm.
Krillin, mid-note, froze. "Okay… now they're being theatrical. She's totally playing with his sleeves."
"Alright," Yamcha said. "They're leaving. Everyone up. Let's follow."
They watched as Bulma stood up first, brushing her hand briefly across Vegeta's shoulder before heading toward the back hallway. Vegeta followed, cool and composed, glancing over his shoulder just once.
"Okay, move!" Chi-Chi whispered, motioning sharply.
The crew scrambled up from their hiding spots, ducking low and scurrying toward the hallway like they were on some covert ops mission. They peeked around a corner in sequence: first Krillin, then Yamcha, then Chi-Chi, trying to remain unseen, convinced they were being sneaky. This coast was clear.
Then they tiptoed around another one…
...Only to be met by Vegeta, already waiting at this corner with arms crossed like he'd been standing there the whole time, amused.
They skidded to a halt.
Vegeta raised a brow. "I'd say this recon mission's been compromised."
The team jumped.
"Oh no," Yamcha groaned. "The walking muscle cramp found us."
Vegeta scanned them with disdain. "Loser. Bald one. Screaming woman. Kakarot. I hope this isn't your best stealth team."
Chi-Chi stiffened, her mouth already halfway open in protest before she caught herself. Goku, sensing her rising volume, subtly ducked behind a napkin tower like he knew what was coming.
"I am not screaming."
"You were about to."
Krillin raised a hand. "We were just, uh..."
"Leaving," Vegeta finished. "And next time you want to stalk me, try covering your sneeze, baldy. And maybe bring a spine next time, too."
Chi-Chi straightened. "We were concerned."
"I'm not interested in your concern. Or your stakeout tactics. Or your fried dumplings."
There was a long pause. No one said anything. The sting of defeat had settled over the group like a wet blanket.
It was over. They had been spotted, outmaneuvered, and utterly humiliated. There was no recovery from this one.
Krillin groaned. "He saw the dumplings?"
Goku picked one up and shrugged. "At least he gave all of you cool names. I don't even get a nickname. Just Kakarot."
"…Actually, that might be worse," Krillin muttered.
"Yeah," Yamcha nodded. "Means he's saving something truly savage for you."
As they sulked away, Bulma peeked out from behind a hallway curtain, perfectly composed.
"You know," she called after them sweetly, "next time you want to eavesdrop, at least spring for better cover than the dessert bar."
She winked.
Vegeta smirked at her side. "Told you the bald one would blow it."
Bulma looped her arm in his as they turned to walk away. "Next time, let's give them a real show."
Vegeta scoffed low in his throat, leaning close enough for only her to hear. "You mean the kind where I toss everything off the table and mount you right then and there like any Saiyan male would someone he's got his eye on?"
Bulma blinked. Then grinned. "Now that's a show worth selling tickets to."
A few feet back, Goku froze mid-chew. He tilted his head, dumpling still halfway to his mouth.
"Wait... did he just say... mount her?"
Krillin winced. "Yep."
Yamcha dropped his face into his hands. "Saiyans, man."
Chi-Chi grabbed the dumpling from Goku's hand and took a bite.
"Operation Blue Flame is officially snuffed out. Permanently. And I need a drink."
Goku looked around slowly, inspecting another dumpling, before looking up. "Wait... is that... part of the mission?"