Deep Research

West City's nights were anything but quiet, especially for the heiress of Capsule Corporation.

Neon lights outside the window painted the technological metropolis in cyberpunk colors, while the streaks of hovering cars slid across the glass walls like fleeting shadows.

But Bulma had no interest in admiring the cityscape outside her home.

She sat on the round bed in her bedroom, large enough to fit five people.

She clutched the collar of her silk bathrobe, her toes curling nervously and digging awkward arcs into the thick-pile carpet.

The water in the bathroom stopped running.

Every droplet striking the tile sounded like a hammer pounding against her heart.

Bulma felt her brain overloading. This was even more taxing than calculating the formulas for an antigravity engine.

If he were still that little bald guy without a nose, she could probably put on her big-sister act and tease him a little.

But now...

The bathroom door slid open, and a cloud of steaming white vapor billowed out.

Krillin stepped out wearing nothing but a towel.

His body, reshaped by the "Saitama Template," was sculpted, every muscle like one of Michelangelo's masterpieces.

They weren't the dead muscles built up with protein powder at the gym, but sleek, explosive lines like a cheetah's.

Water droplets slid down his broad chest, traced the grooves of his abs, and disappeared beneath the edge of his precariously low towel.

Bulma swallowed involuntarily, her throat dry.

"What? Haven't seen enough?"

Krillin wiped his bald head as he walked over to the bed.

He smelled of body wash, along with that unmistakably masculine, predatory presence no amount of washing could remove.

"W-Who's looking?"

Bulma stubbornly turned her head away, but her cheeks were red as ripe fruit.

"I'm only thinking... thinking about materials for a new Battle Suit!"

"Oh? Is that so?"

Krillin casually tossed the towel aside and climbed onto the edge of the bed on one knee.

The mattress sank slightly, and Bulma felt as if a mountain were bearing down on her.

"Perfect. I've got a research project on 'the limits of the human body and endurance testing.' I wonder if Dr. Bulma would be interested in taking part herself?"

Krillin's voice was low, with a hint of husky amusement.

He reached out, but didn't touch her right away. Instead, he braced himself beside Bulma, surrounding her with his shadow.

Bulma felt herself being cornered.

Before her was the man's firm chest, and beside her ear, his steady heartbeat.

Her vaunted intelligence completely shut down. All that remained was her instincts, blaring alarms—or perhaps cheering.

"You... you brute..."

Bulma's voice was soft as water, nothing like her usual fiery self.

"You just won the championship, and now you're getting cocky..."

"Championship?"

Krillin chuckled and lifted a strand of blue hair that had fallen beside Bulma's ear, twirling it gently around his finger.

"That trophy was for everyone else. I told you, the real prize is right here."

His fingers slid down along her hair, brushing her burning cheek, then her slender neck, before finally stopping at the fragile sash of her bathrobe.

Bulma shuddered as if she'd been shocked.

She raised her head. Her bright blue eyes glistened with tears, filled with both shyness and a resolve to throw caution to the wind.

"Krillin..."

"Hmm?"

"Will... will you be good to me for the rest of my life?"

It was a clichéd question, but at that moment, it was the most vulnerable part of the genius girl's heart.

Krillin didn't answer right away.

He lowered his head, his gaze fixed on Bulma's eyes.

His expression was no longer his usual playfulness. It was more serious and domineering than she had ever seen.

"Listen, Bulma."

Krillin pressed his palm to her back, feeling her trembling skin through the silk.

"In this world, even in this universe, no one is stronger than me."

"As long as I'm still standing, no one will make you suffer even the slightest grievance."

"Whether it's aliens who want to destroy Earth or some God of Destruction, if anyone wants to lay a hand on you, they'll have to step over my dead body."

Those words worked better than any sweet nothings.

Bulma felt as if something had struck her heart. A feeling called "security" instantly filled her from head to toe.

"Idiot..."

She sniffled and willingly wrapped her arms around Krillin's neck.

"Who said I wanted you to die...? You have to stay alive and keep doing my grunt work, be my bodyguard, and..."

"And what else?"

Krillin leaned close to her lips.

"And... love me."

Her last two words disappeared between their lips.

Krillin stopped holding back.

He lowered his head and kissed her—not like the kiss in the Arena, which had been a declaration of ownership, but with a fervor that seemed determined to meld them into one.

The sash of Bulma's bathrobe slipped loose.

The lights seemed superfluous now.

Krillin snapped his fingers, and a precisely aimed burst of ki struck the switch.

The room fell into darkness, with only a few mottled streaks of neon slipping through the gap in the curtains.