Ambiguous

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

From barely managing basic movements under ten times gravity at the start, by the third day he was already performing high-intensity shadow boxing under twelve times gravity.

That bittersweet ache of bones being compressed and regrowing left him utterly addicted.

The fusion rate with Saitama's template skyrocketed under this extreme pressure, like a rocket taking off.

On the afternoon of the fourth day.

Krillin had just stepped out of the bathroom when Bulma cornered him.

"Put this on and follow me."

She tossed him a bathrobe, holding a clipboard and a roll of measuring tape in her hands.

"Where to?" Krillin toweled off his hair.

"My workshop."

"The materials for the battle suit have arrived, but I need precise body measurements."

"Yesterday's scan data had some errors. If the nanofiber doesn't fit snugly enough, it won't just fail to disperse impact force—it'll actually restrict your movements."

Bulma spoke with a stern expression, fully in scientist mode.

If you ignored the slightly tight, low-cut camisole she'd deliberately changed into today.

The workshop was on the top floor of the villa, with excellent natural light.

It was cluttered everywhere with blueprints, circuit boards, and all sorts of unidentified mechanical parts.

"Stand on that platform."

Bulma pointed to a circular platform in the middle.

Krillin did as told and casually untied the sash of his bathrobe.

Bulma's hand, adjusting her tools, paused for a moment.

Even though she'd seen it quite a few times over the past few days, having that body—a masterpiece of power and aesthetics—laid bare before her again still made her breath hitch.

And this was a private room, just the two of them.

"Raise your arms."

Bulma tried to keep her voice sounding professional.

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

The cool tape pressed against Krillin's burning chest.

"Chest... inhale."

Krillin cooperated, breathing in, his ribcage expanding, muscles bulging like rock.

Bulma's fingers inevitably brushed across his skin.

Her fingers were soft, carrying a slight chill, and their contact with Krillin's high body temperature sent a faint shiver through him.

"Don't move around."

She lightly patted his pectoral muscle.

"Hard as a rock, the tape won't even dig in."

"It's a natural reaction."

Krillin looked down at Bulma, who was buried in work at his chest.

From this angle, he could just see that snowy white cleavage, along with the strands of hair trembling slightly with her breath.

She read the measurement on the tape seriously, her long eyelashes like two little fans.

"Waist."

Bulma crouched down, her arms encircling Krillin's waist.

This posture was too much like a hug.

Her cheek was almost pressed against Krillin's abs, and her warm breath sprayed onto his sensitive skin, tickling.

Krillin could clearly feel Bulma's movements slow down.

Her hands around his waist didn't tighten the tape immediately but lingered hesitantly for a few seconds.

The air grew thick.

The sound of cicadas outside the window seemed to fade away.

Only their slightly erratic breathing could be heard in the room.

"Uh... Bulma?"

Krillin asked knowingly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Are you done?"

"Quit... quit rushing me!"

Bulma fumbled with the measuring tape, her voice trembling as she read the numbers.

"Waist 78... these proportions are just scientifically impossible..."

She stood up, her face red as a ripe tomato, her gaze darting everywhere, utterly unable to meet Krillin's eyes.

"Next up are thigh circumference and arm span."

Bulma circled behind Krillin, intending to measure his back width.

The moment her hands pressed against his broad latissimus dorsi, Krillin suddenly spoke.

"When Yamcha used to get clothes made, did you measure him like this too?"

Bulma's hands froze.

"Never."

"He'd just buy off the rack at the mall, then complain the clothes weren't cool enough."

"He doesn't know the first thing about bespoke tailoring."

She muttered under her breath.

"So I'm the first?"

Krillin turned around, facing Bulma.

They were so close now, they could see their own reflections in each other's pupils.

Bulma instinctively stepped back half a pace, only to be blocked by the workbench behind her.

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

She lifted her head, those sapphire-blue eyes shimmering with a watery light.

There was both shyness and a hint of a girl's stubbornness.

"This young lady is a genius scientist. Only someone worth my effort gets to wear a battlesuit I made."

"Then I should feel honored."

Krillin reached out, bracing his hand on the edge of the table behind Bulma, caging her in his arms.

It was an aggressively dominant kabedon pose.

Bulma's heart was about to leap out of her throat.

She could smell the fresh, just-out-of-the-shower scent on Krillin, mixed with a uniquely masculine aura that made her legs feel weak.

"What are you doing..."

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

"Nothing, just helping you take measurements."

Krillin didn't actually do anything out of line.

He just lowered his head, leaned close to her ear, and said softly.

"We haven't measured the arm span yet. Isn't this more convenient?"