The reflection smiled faintly — not mockery, not triumph, just a quiet inevitability.
Its voice deepened, calm as stone.
"Why help you?" it echoed, eyes flickering like dying stars. "Because I am you, and you're still lost."
Buu stared, unmoving.
The reflection raised a hand, tracing a circle in the air. The void trembled, threads of light weaving together into a fragile sphere — within it, the image of the night on Namek shimmered again: Porunga, the wish, the words that had broken everything.
"You keep fighting the storm," the reflection said. "But storms don't end because you resist them. They end when you become them."
The words sank deep, almost physical.
The white aura around the doppelgänger flared — not chaotic, not violent, but steady, like a heartbeat. His tone softened, almost teaching, almost kind.
"You want to control the fracture, to seal it, to live as if you never made that wish. But time doesn't forgive. It consumes. The only way to fix what you broke…"
He pressed his palm to his chest. "…is to accept what you are."
Buu's eyes narrowed. "And what am I?"
The reflection smiled. "The end of a story that never should have begun."
Then, without another word, Buu extended his arm. Energy built in his palm — not wild, but focused, like an executioner's blade.
He unleashed the blast.
The mirror shattered.
Light devoured everything — time, sound, even thought — until only the echo of his own heartbeat remained.
"This is the end of him," he said. "And the beginning of you."
Buu didn't speak. He simply closed his eyes as the light tore through everything — city, sky, memory, flesh — until there was nothing but silence.
When he opened them again, the reflection was already dissolving, his form breaking apart into motes of white light that drifted toward Buu's chest.
The voice echoed inside his head one last time.
"Don't fight it. You are whole now."
Then the reflection vanished — absorbed into him like a returning soul.
The void exploded outward. The storm of time screamed, collapsing inward. But the rift didn't close. Instead, everything inverted — a violent pull, dragging Buu through a tunnel of shattered moments.
When the light faded, he was standing on scorched earth.
A broken sky hung overhead. Ruins stretched in every direction — an old battlefield, silent and empty.
And not far away, a man knelt in the dust, sword impaled in the ground, aura faint and flickering.
Trunks.
Buu watched him for a moment, then walked forward. The young Saiyan looked up, eyes widening in recognition — but too late.
Buu's hand shot out, pressing against his chest — and expanded, swallowing Trunks whole. Memories, instincts, blood itself poured into him.
Then the Majin exhaled softly and released him. Trunks staggered back, dazed, but alive.
"You…" Trunks began, still catching his breath. "You absorbed me."
Buu ignored the question. "You saw the rift, didn't you?"
Trunks hesitated, then nodded. "It's gone."
"Almost." Buu looked up. The sky above was no longer broken, but faint traces of violet still bled along the horizon. "The core has stabilized. The paradox will close on its own. Your work is done."
Trunks clenched his jaw. "And yours?"
Buu's eyes glowed faintly red. "I cleaned my mess. Like you asked."
Trunks frowned. "You didn't do it for us."
"No," Buu admitted. "I did it for me."
They stood in silence for a long moment — two beings out of place in time, each carrying the weight of what they'd seen.
Finally, Buu turned away. "You can tell your Patrol I'm gone. That the anomaly's been resolved."
Trunks shook his head. "They'll find out. You can't just—"
"Yes, I can." Buu glanced over his shoulder, a faint smile on his lips. "You once spared Gohan. I'm asking you to do the same."
Trunks' eyes widened — the reference hitting deeper than expected.
Buu continued, voice quiet but steady. "All I ask is a trade."
Trunks hesitated. "A trade?"
"If you ever need my help — when a fracture comes — I'll answer."
The Saiyan looked at him, searching for deceit. There was none. Only certainty.
After a moment, Trunks sheathed his sword and nodded once. "Fine. But this stays between us."
"It already does." Buu's aura flickered, the faint hum of distortion resonating around him. "You won't even remember the details until the time comes."
Trunks' eyes widened again. "Wait—!"
But Buu was already fading, his form dissolving into motes of pink light. His last words hung in the air like a whisper through eternity.
"The rift is gone..." His voice faded with the light.
And then, silence.
Author here: Eh guys, how is it?