In-depth Study

The night in West City was anything but quiet, especially for the heiress of Capsule Corporation.

The neon lights outside the window painted this city of technology in cyberpunk hues, streaks of hovering cars tracing phantom lines across the glass curtain wall.

But Bulma was in no mood to enjoy the view of her own home right now.

She sat on the round king-sized bed in her bedroom, big enough for five people.

Her hand clutched the collar of her silk bathrobe tightly, her toes curling with tension, digging awkwardly into the plush carpet.

The sound of water in the bathroom stopped.

Every drop hitting the tiles struck like a hammer against her heart.

Bulma felt her brain overheating—this was more mentally taxing than calculating the formulas for an anti-gravity engine.

If it were that little bald guy without a nose from before, she might have been able to put on a big-sister act and tease him a bit.

But now...

The bathroom door slid open, and a rush of steaming white mist poured out.

Krillin emerged, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist.

After being reshaped by the "Saitama Template," every muscle on his body looked like a sculpture carved by Michelangelo.

Not the kind of dead muscle pumped up with protein powder in a gym, but explosive, sleek lines like a cheetah's.

Water droplets slid down his broad pectorals, traced the grooves of his abs, and finally disappeared into the precarious edge of the towel.

Bulma swallowed instinctively, her throat dry.

"What? Still not tired of looking?"

Krillin walked over to the bed, wiping his bald head.

He carried the fresh scent of body wash, mixed with an aggressive, masculine aura that no amount of washing could erase.

"Who... who's looking!"

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

"I was just thinking... thinking about new battle suit materials!"

"Oh? Is that so?"

Krillin casually tossed the towel aside and knelt on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly, and Bulma felt like a mountain was pressing down on her.

"Perfect timing. I've got a research project here on 'Human Limits and Endurance Testing.' I wonder if Dr. Bulma would be interested in participating personally?"

Krillin's voice was low, laced with a hoarse chuckle.

He reached out a hand, not touching her immediately, but bracing it beside her, trapping her in his shadow.

Bulma felt surrounded.

In front of her was his solid chest; in her ears, his steady heartbeat.

Her famously high IQ crashed completely in that moment, leaving only primal instincts screaming—or rather, cheering.

"You... you pervert..."

Bulma's voice was soft as water, completely stripped of her usual sharpness.

"Just won the championship and you're already this cocky..."

"Championship?"

Krillin chuckled softly, his fingers picking up a strand of blue hair that had fallen by her ear, gently twirling it.

"That trophy is for outsiders to see. I told you, the real prize is right here."

His fingers slid down the strand, his knuckles brushing her burning cheek, gliding over her slender neck, and finally stopping at the fragile knot of her bathrobe.

Bulma shuddered, as if struck by lightning.

She looked up, her big blue eyes misty, filled with both shyness and a reckless resolve.

"Krillin..."

"Yeah?"

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

It was a cliché question, but at that moment, it was the softest line of defense in this genius girl's heart.

Krillin didn't answer immediately.

He lowered his head, locking his gaze onto her eyes.

His look was no longer his usual carefree smirk, but a seriousness and dominance she had never seen before.

"Listen up, Bulma."

His palm pressed against her back, feeling her trembling skin through the silk.

"In this world, or 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 an alien trying to destroy Earth or some God of Destruction—if they want to touch you, they'll have to walk over my dead body first."

These words were more effective than any sweet talk.

Bulma felt as if something had slammed hard into her heart. That thing called "a sense of security" instantly filled every corner of her being.

"Idiot..."

She sniffled, then wrapped her arms around Krillin's neck on her own accord.

"Who wants you dead... You need to live. You have to be my workhorse, my bodyguard, and also..."

"Also what?"

Krillin leaned in close to her lips.

"Also... love me."

The last two words disappeared between their lips.

Krillin held back no longer.

He lowered his head and kissed her—no longer the kind of claiming dominance from back on the Arena, but a fervor that wanted to knead her into his very bones.

Bulma's bathrobe sash slipped silently away.

The light seemed superfluous in that moment.

Krillin raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The force from his fingertip struck the switch with precision.

The room plunged into darkness, with only the neon lights outside casting mottled streaks of shadow through the gaps in the curtains.