Bulma kicked the bright green double doors.
"Room service."
No response.
She stepped inside.
Bulma's eyes swept across the room.
It wasn't the mud cave she'd pictured, but it was still strange.
To her left stood a large enclosed bed.
Its teal-green wooden frame held up heavy red curtains, pulled back to reveal plain white sheets. The whole thing looked like something from an antique alcove, oddly elegant for a hut in the wilderness.
In front of it sat a low red lacquered table with a white, drum-shaped ceramic stool beside it.
"Good grief…" She ran a fingertip across the tiny stool, collecting a thin layer of dust.
She turned toward the right wall.
A circular window with a dark, geometric lattice let in slanted beams of dusty sunlight.
In the corner: a brown ceramic urn, a folded red umbrella, and a wooden staff leaning casually against the wall.
Bulma moved to the back of the room.
At its center stood a black, blocky pedestal, an altar of sorts.
On top lay a purple cushion, empty now, and a photograph in a cracked glass frame.
Black and white.
An old man with a thick white mustache smiled at the camera, his hand resting on the shoulder of a wild-haired boy.
Bulma leaned closer to read the faded inscription.
"To my grandson, Goku. With love, Gohan."
Goku.
Gohan.
Just data for the report, nothing more.
She turned sharply.
Where was the signal coming from?
Bulma pulled the dragon radar from her vest pocket.
The green glow cut through the dimness of the hut.
The beeping was constant a flat unbroken line of sound.
Distance: 0 meters.
Bulma frowned.
She smacked the side of the device with her palm.
Don't even start. I soldered your circuits myself last night.
Two steps left.
No change.
Two steps right.
The dot stayed dead center on the grid.
"Distance zero…"
She looked down.
Nothing buried.
Thermal readings, cold.
Then, a thought she didn't like crept in.
Her thumb slid over the side button, switching the radar to a Z-axis readout.
The screen blinked.
Altitude: +5 meters.
Not in the hut.
Above it.
Bulma slipped the radar back into her pocket.
She turned toward the door, flicking the pistol's safety off with her thumb.
Her weapon stayed low, but her finger rested on the trigger.
"Okay, show yourself—"
"What are you doing in my house?"
The voice came from above.
No menace, just curiosity.
Bulma lifted her chin.
Perched on the highest tier of the blue pagoda roof, right beside the golden finial, crouched a boy.
Perfect balance.
Black hair jutting skyward in wild spikes.
Worn, patched clothes clinging to a lean frame.
And behind him, swaying lazily in the mountain breeze, a furry tail.
He looked at her with black eyes that swallowed the light.
Bulma glanced at the Tracker in her hand.
He was the target.
And he had the high ground.
Bulma slid the gun back into its holster.
If he'd wanted to kill her, he wouldn't still be up there.
"Ah, so it's you."
The boy leaned forward slightly.
"Look, I can explain. Technically, I didn't break in."
Bulma gestured toward the green doors she'd kicked open.
"I entered. The door was open."
"You kicked the door."
Ugh. He saw that.
He pushed off the roof.
No sound when he hit the ground.
He landed on the packed earth like a feather made of lead, knees bending just enough to absorb the impact.
Then he straightened, stepped into her space, and sniffed.
His nose wrinkled.
"You smell weird."
"That's called perfume."
"Smells like fruit left out in the sun."
"…Right. Let's start over. I'm Bulma. And you must be… the young boy, Goku, right?"
"I am. You know my name."
"…Y-Yeah. Of course." Bulma recovered quickly, forcing a confident smile.
"I was looking for you. Figured you'd show up eventually."
It was a lie, but she told it like a pro.
Her gaze drifted to the furry tail swaying lazily behind him.
Is that… a fake tail? Why is this backwoods kid wearing a costume prop? Does he think it looks cool?
…Whatever.
Weird fashion choices weren't setting off the energy reading.
She checked the radar again.
The blip was screaming, bright and loud, right in front of her.
She studied Goku again, this time forcing herself not to fixate on the tail.
Her gaze drifted lower, then stopped.
A round shape bulged faintly against the fabric of the pouch tied at his waist.
"That. What is it?" She asked, pointing at the pouch.
"This?"
Without hesitation, Goku untied the pouch and pulled out a small, orange sphere.
Light slid across its surface like liquid.
Four red stars floated deep within, suspended in glass that seemed almost alive.
Bulma froze.
So that's the source… just a sphere.
No—not just.
Her pulse quickened.
The symmetry, the hue, the way the light refracted inside—
Wait.
Her stomach dropped.
That can't be—
The readings, the energy spike… it's this? A Dragon Ball? From a fairy tale?
"My grandpa." Goku said suddenly, his voice calm. He looked down at the orb as if it were a memory, not an artifact.
Bulma's brain was already spiraling.
The legend. Seven orbs, each marked by stars. When united, they summon a dragon—the dragon—who grants one wish.
A myth. A bedtime story. Something her caretaker used to whisper to her before lights-out.
And now it was sitting in front of her, in the hands of a barefoot kid in the middle of nowhere.
"Can I just—"
"No."
He slipped the sphere back into the pouch, his body shifting—softness gone, muscles tight, ready.
Bulma froze.
All right. Breathe. Don't panic. You can unpack the whole "magic artifact that defies physics" thing later.
For now?
Focus.
You just need to get that orb from the kid.
How hard could it be?