Ambiguous

For the next three days, Krillin practically lived in the Gravity Room.

At first, he could only perform basic movements under ten times gravity. By the third day, he was already able to carry out high-intensity afterimage training under twelve times gravity.

The exhilarating sensation of his bones being compressed and then growing stronger left him unable to stop.

Under this extreme pressure, the fusion rate of the Saitama Template skyrocketed like a rocket.

On the afternoon of the fourth day.

Krillin had just come out of the bathroom when Bulma blocked his path.

"Put this on and come with me."

Bulma tossed him a bathrobe while holding a clipboard and a roll of measuring tape.

"Where?" Krillin asked, rubbing his hair dry.

"My workshop."

"The materials for the Battle Suit have arrived, but I need precise measurements of your body."

"Yesterday's scan had some errors. If the nanofibers don't fit closely enough, they won't just fail to disperse impact—they'll restrict your movements."

Bulma wore a serious expression as she spoke, completely carrying herself like a scientist.

That is, if one ignored the tight, low-cut camisole she had deliberately changed into today.

The workshop was located on the top floor of the villa and had excellent natural lighting.

Blueprints, circuit boards, and all kinds of unknown mechanical parts were piled everywhere.

"Stand on that platform."

Bulma pointed at a circular platform in the middle.

Krillin obediently stepped onto it and casually untied the sash of his bathrobe.

Bulma's hand paused as she adjusted her tools.

Although she had seen it many times over the past few days, when this powerful, aesthetically striking body was once again revealed before her without a shred of concealment, her breathing still quickened slightly.

Moreover, this was a private room, and there were only the two of them.

"Raise your arms."

Bulma tried her best to make her voice sound professional.

She approached with the measuring tape, and a faint citrus perfume slipped into Krillin's nose.

The cool measuring tape pressed against Krillin's scorching chest.

"Chest measurement... breathe in."

Krillin cooperated and inhaled. His chest expanded, and his muscles rose like rocks.

Bulma's fingers inevitably brushed across his skin.

Her fingers were soft and slightly cool. When they touched Krillin's feverish skin, they stirred a faint shiver.

"Don't move."

Bulma lightly patted his chest muscles.

"They're as hard as stone. I can't even get the tape around them."

"It's a natural reaction."

Krillin lowered his head and looked at Bulma, who was bent over his chest.

From this angle, he could just see the snowy-white cleavage at her chest and the strands of hair trembling slightly with each breath.

She was earnestly reading the markings on the tape, her long eyelashes like two little fans.

"Waist measurement."

Bulma crouched down and wrapped both arms around Krillin's waist.

The pose looked far too much like an embrace.

Her cheek was almost pressed against Krillin's abdominal muscles, and her warm breath brushed across his sensitive skin, tickling him.

Krillin clearly sensed that Bulma's movements had slowed.

Her hands around his waist did not immediately tighten the tape. Instead, they lingered hesitantly for several seconds.

The air grew thick.

Even the cicadas chirping outside seemed to fade into the distance.

The only sounds in the room were their slightly disordered breaths.

"Um... Bulma?"

Krillin asked despite already knowing the answer, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Are you done?"

"Wh—why are you rushing me?"

Bulma hurriedly tightened the tape, even her reading trembling.

"Waist measurement, seventy-eight... This proportion is simply unscientific..."

She stood up, her face as red as a ripe tomato. Her eyes darted about, and she did not dare meet Krillin's gaze.

"Next are your thigh measurement and arm span."

Bulma moved behind Krillin, intending to measure the width of his back.

When her hand pressed against Krillin's broad latissimus dorsi, Krillin suddenly spoke.

"When Yamcha had clothes made before, did you measure him like this too?"

Bulma's hand went rigid.

"Never."

"He only buys ready-made clothes at the mall, then complains that they aren't stylish enough."

"He doesn't understand a thing about custom tailoring."

She muttered under her breath.

"Then I'm the first?"

Krillin turned around to face Bulma.

The two were extremely close, close enough to see their reflections in each other's pupils.

Bulma instinctively took half a step back, only to be stopped by the workbench behind her.

"So... so what if you are?"

She raised her head, moisture glimmering in her deep blue eyes.

There was shyness in them, along with a hint of the stubbornness unique to a young girl.

"I'm a genius scientist, you know. Only someone worth my effort has the right to wear a Battle Suit made by me."

"Then I should feel honored."

Krillin reached out and braced his hand against the edge of the table behind Bulma, trapping her in his embrace.

It was an extremely aggressive wall-pin.

Bulma's heart nearly leaped out of her throat.

She could smell the clean scent of Krillin just after his shower, mixed with a distinctly masculine scent that made her legs feel weak.

"What are you doing...?"

Her voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz.

"Nothing. I'm cooperating with your measurements."

Krillin did not actually make any inappropriate move.

He merely lowered his head, leaned close to her ear, and spoke softly.

"You haven't measured my arm span yet. Wouldn't this make it more convenient?"