CHAPTER SIX – Chasing ghosts

Vegeta's Room – 06:42 AM

Bulma stirred slowly, blinking up at the unfamiliar ceiling—flat, metallic, and totally devoid of personality.

She groaned.

"Ugh… what the hell—"

Everything hurt.

Her lower back, her thighs, her neck—especially her neck. She shifted and immediately regretted it, a low hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

"…Okay. That's new."

She sat up with great effort, the sheets slipping down her bare shoulders. Her eyes scanned the room, and then it hit her.

"…This isn't my room."

The bed was too firm. The air smelled like ozone and training oil. There was exactly zero décor. No clutter. No fluff. Just clean lines and spartan furniture.

"Oh no. I'm in his room."

She let herself fall back into the pillow with a dull thud.

"Did I fall asleep here?"
A pause. A smirk tugged at her lips.
"Last thing I remember was asking for a time-out."

She chuckled.

"How many… lessons did we get through?"
Another pause.
"All of them, probably."

She rubbed her shoulder, only to freeze at the sudden flare of tenderness. She shifted again, lifting the sheet just enough to examine the spot.

There it was.

"Did he bite me?"
A purple mark bloomed near her collarbone.

And then she laughed—outright laughed.

"…Right. I bit him first."
Grin.
"More than once, if I remember right."

She shook her head, still half-amused, half-sore.

"He doesn't need to be taught. Not really."
"His learning grows naturally like a wild force."

It started with a flicker. Just a brush of heat.
Then came the slow burn. The simmering tension.
And once lit, he didn't stop. Didn't retreat. Didn't flinch.

He simply blazed.

And somewhere along the way, she'd forgotten every ounce of restraint she ever claimed to have.

With a slow stretch, she slid off the bed and reached for her clothes scattered across the floor. Tank top. Bra. Shorts. One sock. She located her other sock behind a nightstand and shook it like it owed her money.

"Saiyans and their stamina. Unfair."

She tugged her shirt over her head and moved to collect her bra when something on the desk caught her eye.

A plain black hair tie.

She picked it up, turning it over in her fingers. Still faintly smelled like her shampoo.

"Is that mine?"
She frowned.
"I don't remember wearing this last night…"

And then it clicked.

The gravity chamber.
The first time.
That night when she'd scrambled to grab her clothes and escape before he woke up.

She stared at it for a second longer, then let out a soft, awkward little breath through her nose.

"Huh."

No big reaction. No dramatic music. Just… huh. Why would he keep this?

She slipped it around her wrist with a shrug and turned back to the bed—empty now, of course. He was gone.

She tilted her head and smirked.

"Fair enough," she muttered.
"Looks like it was your turn to disappear first."

With that, she tossed her hair over one shoulder and padded toward the door, limping just slightly as she went.

"God, I hope I don't have a meeting today…"

Capsule Corp Lab – 5 days later, 10:03 PM

The lab was quiet except for the hum of machines running idle. Bulma leaned back in her chair, eyes unfocused, gaze lost somewhere in the ceiling tiles. The blue glow of a monitor flickered against her skin, and the remnants of a half-eaten meal sat cold beside her keyboard.

She exhaled through her nose. Tired. But not from the calculations.

Her hand moved almost of its own accord—click.

Recording Started.

"Uhh... addendum to the 'Understanding the Grumpy Saiyan' research, I guess," she muttered. "Or maybe not research. I'm not even sure what this is anymore."

Pause.

"Subject V is acting out again." She rolled her eyes. "Avoidance behavior. Classic. Possibly sulking. Possibly plotting galactic conquest. Who knows."

She leaned forward, chin propped on her fist, hair falling in loose waves.

"He's obviously avoiding me. Like last time. I tried to read it the same way—was it shame? Was he trying to hide attraction? Something he didn't want me to see? Same old mystery."

Beat.

"This time I didn't wait. I tried flirting. Openly. I practically laid out the welcome mat. And he—dismissed me. Like I was a bug. Not even amused. Not even irritated. Just... cold."

Her jaw tightened.

"It's not the same situation. Last time he kept his distance because he was embarrassed about his performance. But now... now it's like he's punishing me for something."

She crossed her arms and stared at the monitor.

"And the worst part? This time he wasn't confused. That night... the rematch? He knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't fumbling. He wasn't surprised. He was focused. Intentional."

Bulma bit her lip, gaze dropping to the surface of the desk.

"He was kind of savage, sure, but there was passion. Connection. Real, unmistakable connection. I had to tap out. And don't even get me started on the look on his face afterward—like he'd conquered a planet. Like he'd earned something."

She sat back slowly, brows knitting.

"So no—he's not clueless. He knows what that night meant. He knows how I responded. Hell, I responded so hard I should've gotten a trophy."

Her voice cracked just a bit.

"He can't pretend it didn't matter. And yet... here we are. Back to avoidance. Back to ice-cold glares and silence."

Her eyes landed on the black hair tie beside her keyboard. She picked it up, slowly winding it around her fingers.

"And what about this, huh?"

"This isn't just 'trash.' This showed up on his night table. He doesn't keep trash. He doesn't keep anything."

A long pause.

"So if he wants to act like it's nothing... fine. But he's gonna have to say it."

She stood abruptly.

Click.

Recording ended.

She slipped the hair tie onto her wrist, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and stormed out.

Capsule Corp Hallway – a few moments later

The lab hallway smelled like soldering flux and fresh coffee. Bulma leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the gravity chamber lights blink red through the observation window. He was still in there.

She'd timed this perfectly.

Vegeta exited exactly one minute later, towel slung around his neck, body steaming from the artificial heat. He didn't look surprised to see her.

"Thought you might be in there forever," she said, casual, teasing. "Didn't know Saiyan warriors needed saunas to train."

He grunted. No smirk. Just walked past her like she wasn't there.

Her smile faltered.

She fell into step beside him, ponytail bouncing with each quick step to keep up.

"I've been meaning to ask," she said lightly, tugging at the black band on her wrist. "You kept my hair tie. The one from… before."

A pause.

"I didn't keep it," he replied.

She blinked. "What?"

"It was stuck to one of my gauntlets. I threw it away. I don't like clutter in my space."

The words hit like a slap. Her chest tightened, breath catching before she could hide it.

He glanced at her then, just briefly. Saw it land.

Didn't take it back.

She stopped walking. He didn't.

"You didn't have to lie," she said quietly.

"I'm not," he said over his shoulder. "You're the one overthinking a piece of garbage."

She stood frozen, her mind still trying to process.

The change was instant, like Dr. Jekyll turning into Mr. Hyde.

Oh, no, you jerk, you won't dismiss me just like that.

Her jaw tightened, a familiar surge of defiance battling the sting of his dismissal. She followed him, her steps quick and determined, the gravel crunching underfoot. She caught up with him at the edge of the pond, the scent of water lilies doing little to soothe her rising anger.

"Don't you dare lie to me, Vegeta!" Her voice, usually so steady, trembled slightly. "I know there are things you don't say, things you keep locked away. But don't make up lies to hurt me, just to push me away!"

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. He didn't even turn, his back a wall of unyielding muscle. The only sound was the gentle splash of the koi, their movements oblivious to the human drama unfolding nearby.

"Say something," she demanded, her voice softer now, laced with a desperate plea.

A long pause. The air crackled with unspoken tension. Finally, he turned. Five feet separated them, a chasm of unspoken emotions. His arms were folded, a defensive posture she knew too well. His jaw was clenched, the muscles working beneath his skin.

"About what?" The words were clipped, devoid of warmth.

Her eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance flickering in their depths. "Anything. What we did the other night? Or the other times before? We didn't even talk about it."

"I don't need to talk about it." His voice was flat, dismissive.

"Well I do!" Her voice cracked, betraying the vulnerability she fought to suppress. "Do you feel anything for me? Is this just some… casual thing? Do you even care about anything besides becoming Super Saiyan and beating Son-kun? Say something—anything!"

He flinched. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A flicker in his usually cold eyes, a momentary wavering in his carefully constructed mask of indifference. Then it was gone, replaced by a glacial hardness that chilled her to the bone.

"What do you want to hear?" he asked, his voice low and sharp, each word a carefully honed weapon. "Do you want reassurance? Do you want me to validate your ego for sleeping with me? Do you want me to play along with your desperate little fantasy that I'm… worth saving?"

Bulma recoiled, as if struck. The air seemed to leave her lungs.

"I'm not," he continued, his eyes narrowing, his gaze piercing. "I'm not some wounded warrior waiting for your compassion. I'm not a project. I'm not good. I'm not soft. I'm not yours."

The silence between them buzzed, heavy with unspoken accusations and raw, exposed emotions. The night seemed to hold its breath.

"You knew damn well who I was when you seduced me." The word dripped with disdain.

Her breath hitched. "I didn't seduce you," she whispered, the words barely audible.

"Oh, no?" A bitter laugh escaped his lips, devoid of humor. "You fed me, dressed me, played scientist and therapist and whatever other role you thought would fix me. And then you acted surprised when the monster bit back."

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Her hands trembled, a betrayal of her carefully constructed composure.

"Did you think you could change me with your… charms?" He spat the word like venom, his face twisted in a sneer. "Did you think this would turn into some fairy tale, charming prince?"

She didn't know why the tears were coming, hot and stinging against her skin. Her pride should've kicked in by now. She should've had a comeback, a cutting retort to slice through his cruelty. Something devastating. She always had something.

But there was nothing. Just a hollow ache in her chest, and the ugly throb of her heart cracking.

Vegeta stared at her for a beat, his expression unreadable, a mask of cold indifference. Then, with a scoff so harsh it made her flinch, he turned. And with a burst of power that ruffled her hair, he flew away, leaving her alone in the starlit garden.

That cruel bastard.

The words echoed in her skull like gunfire, a painful truth she couldn't deny.

He had to hurt me like that.

Had to say the one thing I couldn't argue with—

Her breath shuddered, a sob she couldn't quite suppress.

—because some part of me believes it, too.

She bit down on her lip, the sharp sting grounding her, pulling her back from the edge.

He's right. I shouldn't care for someone that rotten. That cold. That—

She exhaled, a long, shaky breath.

But then why do I?

Eventually, her legs gave way, and she sank to the cool grass, the silence pressing on her chest like a physical weight. She pulled a small voice recorder from her pocket, her fingers clumsy.

And clicked record.

"Subject V flees when he feels cornered," she said, her voice eerily calm, devoid of emotion. "Too much pressure makes him erratic, and… brutally honest."

She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then, with a decisive click, she ended the recording.

That's just who he is.

But… should I chase him?

He's right, you know. If I do, what am I even trying to achieve?

I was chasing a fantasy. He bit my curiosity, woke something in me—passion, maybe. Hunger. I wanted more. I wanted everything.

But what will I get besides what he's already giving me?

Even if he feels something… he'll never say it. And me thinking he does? That's what's driving me crazy. That's the real problem.

Trying to prove it—it's what's fed this obsession. What's turned research into delusion.

If I keep going down this path, nothing good will come of it.

She pulled her hair tie loose, the elastic snapping softly. She held it for a moment, then, with a sigh of weary resignation, threw it into the pond.

Into the recorder, she murmured, "Understanding the Grumpy Saiyan—research officially concluded. I'm done chasing ghosts."

Click. Recording saved.

Writer's Note:
I was a little nervous about this scene, mostly because I try to stay as close to canon as possible. But as you'll see, I've used the three-year gap Akira gave us to weave in my own story—hopefully in a way that still feels true to the characters.

I know Vegeta isn't exactly the chatty type, but I've always imagined that when he's pushed to talk about things that make him uncomfortable, he lashes out—like a cornered animal. That's the version of him I'm exploring here.

His real motives, thoughts, and feelings will stay hidden throughout most of the fic. It's Bulma who gradually learns how to read between the lines, and in many ways, that's what this whole story is about.

Also, I've noticed more readers joining in—thank you so much for sticking with the story! If you're enjoying it, a review would mean the world.