Goku immediately tried to defend himself.
"But Bulma—these past two years, we haven't even slept in the same room! It's just that Master Roshi's place doesn't have enough bedrooms, so everyone had to squeeze together!"
Bulma planted her hands on her hips, chin lifted like she owned the world.
"I don't care. I'm your official girlfriend. I'll do whatever I want!"
Goku blinked.
For a brief second, Bulma looked exactly like the spoiled, willful young lady she was born to be.
Then he thought again—well… she's literally a rich heiress.
So in the end, Goku could only give in.
When the two of them returned to the room, they froze the moment they saw the bed.
Violet lay neatly on one side, sleeping quietly and elegantly.
But blonde Launch… was an entirely different story.
Her sleeping posture was a battlefield.
She'd already sprawled sideways across the bed, leaving practically no space. Bulma poked her gently, trying to get her to shift and make room.
Launch did shift—
…and somehow made it worse.
Her limbs stretched out even more shamelessly, and at some point, her foot ended up nestled right in Violet's arms.
Violet, still half-asleep, hugged it like a pillow… and seemed to sleep even more soundly.
Bulma stared at the scene, speechless.
Now there truly wasn't even a sliver of space left.
She exhaled, finally accepting reality.
Not everyone lived like the Briefs family, where a "house" meant endless rooms and endless options.
Goku scratched his cheek. "So what do we do? Sleep on the floor? Or use one of your capsule houses?"
Bulma rubbed her head awkwardly. "Sorry… I didn't bring a capsule house this time."
After thinking for a moment, she said, "Let's go to the study. We can lay down a mat and squeeze in."
Goku nodded. "Okay."
In the study, they spread a floor mat.
Bulma lay down on her side with her back to Goku. Her silky sleepwear caught the light faintly, the outline of her figure soft and clear in the quiet room.
Goku lay facing her back at first.
His instincts flared—an impulse to wrap an arm around her.
But Bulma wasn't some distant girl.
She was Bulma.
The one he'd traveled with since childhood, argued with, laughed with, survived danger with.
He'd known her for so long that the sudden shift—this strange, grown-up tension—made him feel clumsy and unsure.
His face warmed.
In the end, he turned away and lay on his side, forcing himself to stare at the wall.
But that only made things worse.
Bulma's scent lingered in the air—clean, sweet, familiar in a way that made his thoughts stumble.
Goku lay stiffly, hardly daring to move, like he'd been pinned down by his own heartbeat.
Then—
Bulma turned over.
She faced him now, eyes half-lidded, voice soft and teasing.
"You know… when you were little, you were always relaxed around me."
"So why are you acting so tense now that you've grown up?"
Her fingertips brushed lightly over his arm—over muscle tightened like coiled rope.
"Relax," she whispered. "I'm not going to bite."
Goku swallowed, throat bobbing.
He tried to loosen up… but the moment he did, that faint fragrance seemed even stronger, washing over him like warm air.
Bulma watched him closely, and a tiny, satisfied glint flickered in her eyes.
"I'm your girlfriend," she said quietly.
"So… just hold me."
She took his hand and placed it around her waist.
The moment his palm met her, Goku felt his entire body jolt—like the world had suddenly narrowed to nothing but the warmth between them.
His fingers tightened unconsciously.
Bulma's lashes trembled. Her cheeks turned faintly pink, and her voice dropped to an even softer murmur—half shy, half pleased.
"Goku… you're holding me too tight…"
Goku's face went hot.
"…S-Sorry."
Bulma didn't push him away.
Instead, she just nestled closer, and the two of them finally—slowly—settled into silence.
Before either of them realized it…
sleep took them.
The next morning, sunlight slipped through the curtain gap and spilled into the study.
Bulma opened her eyes and sat up.
Goku was sprawled on the floor beside her, sleeping like a rock. The blanket had been kicked down near his feet.
Bulma gently pulled it back over him.
Then, like a cat sneaking across a table, she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Goku didn't wake.
Bulma smiled quietly, then tiptoed out.
The kitchen was already filled with the smell of breakfast.
Blue-haired Launch looked up and greeted her cheerfully.
"Morning, Bulma! Is Goku awake?"
Bulma nodded. "Morning. He's still sleeping."
"He went to bed late. Let him sleep a little longer."
Launch's lips curled into a knowing grin. "Oh? Late night, huh? Sounds like you two finally made some progress…"
Bulma nearly choked.
"H-Hey! Don't say weird stuff!"
"Goku's tall, but he's only sixteen! We didn't do anything!"
At that moment, Violet walked in, rubbing her eyes.
"Bulma," she said in a calm, teasing tone, "age isn't really the issue…"
"Goku's already grown up."
Bulma blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Violet paused, then said cautiously, "A few days ago on Mount Paozu… I saw him washing some of his clothes early in the morning."
Bulma stared. "And?"
Violet went silent.
Launch burst into laughter and leaned on the counter.
"Bulma… did you take biology in school?"
Bulma scratched her head. "Biology…?"
"…Oh! I remember!"
"I wasn't interested in biology or history. In the second half of first year, I skipped classes and went Dragon Ball hunting with Goku."
She said it like it was completely normal.
"But it's fine," Bulma added proudly. "I graduated with full marks in the main subjects and science. That was enough."
Violet: "..."
Launch laughed even harder, covering her mouth.
"So you skipped the important class."
Bulma puffed her cheeks. "I'm the daughter of a genius scientist! Who needs remedial lessons?"
Before she could argue further, a shout rang out from the living room.
"Everyone—come watch the TV! Something big happened!"
Krillin's voice was sharp, urgent.
Launch immediately turned off the stove. Bulma and Violet followed her out.
They rushed into the living room—
and froze.
On the TV screen, Demon King Piccolo was standing before the King.
The King trembled, sweat pouring down his face.
"W-Who are you?! What do you want?!"
Piccolo crossed his arms, smiling arrogantly, as if the entire world was already beneath his feet.
"It's simple."
"From this moment on, I, Demon King Piccolo, will replace you as king."
"You will announce it to the entire world."
"This world… will belong to me."
The King shook his head violently.
"T-That's impossible! I can't do that!"
Piccolo chuckled, as if he'd expected those words.
"Of course you'd say that."
"So I prepared… a little performance."
He turned his gaze toward the camera.
"To make you humans surrender with peace of mind…"
"I'll demonstrate, through television, what happens when you resist."
The King looked confused, terrified. "W-What are you doing?!"
Piccolo's grin widened.
"Watch carefully."
He raised his arm.
Energy surged along it like a living thing.
Then he swung.
A single blast fired past the camera—
and struck the city below.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then—
BOOM.
A violent explosion swallowed everything.
A city of towering buildings—gone in an instant, erased like chalk wiped from a board.
The camera shook wildly, the image blurring from the shockwave. The audio collapsed into harsh static and ragged breathing.
In the living room, everyone turned pale.
"W-What…?"
"A whole city…"
"It just… disappeared…"
On the screen, Piccolo floated above the ruins, cape snapping in the wind like a banner of death.
His blood-red eyes stared straight into the lens—straight through the glass—like he was looking directly at every person watching.
"Pathetic humans."
"Do you see now?"
"If I wished it… I could destroy the world."
"Have you finally understood how small you are?"
His laughter filled the television, cold and triumphant.
"From this moment on…"
"This world belongs to Demon King Piccolo!"
"HAHAHAHAHA—!"
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