The sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, and the sky was colored with hues of purple and orange.
The container depot was a labyrinth of rusty steel and shadows, hushed except for the far-off cry of seagulls and the thrum of the city behind them.
"Okay, hold up. We need to breathe. The adrenaline dump is hitting hard, and we're running on fumes. If we walk into that complex sloppy, we're going to get slaughtered."
"She's right. If these bastards are anything like the last two... going in half-assed is a death sentence." Yamcha muttered then halted his pacing and braced his back against the metal wall across from her, folding his arms.
Bulma flinched.
Her fingers paused above her flank, she sucked air through clenched teeth while she lifted the shredded strip of her shirt.
Three parallel gouges, raw, scarlet and carved by Kurella, now looked uglier than a moment ago.
Crimson crusted the grooves but the bordering skin glowed hot plus beat with every heartbeat.
"Damn it, that looks nasty." She whispered, inspecting the wound with a critical eye.
"You okay? Does it hurt?" Goku asked
"It burns. But the pain isn't the problem, the dirt is. If I don't scrub this out right now, I'm going to be fighting a fever by morning instead of the bad guys."
"We can't pop a House Capsule here! Look around—it's pitch black! A giant, glowing yellow dome is gonna light up this whole yard like a flare. We might as well paint targets on our foreheads and scream 'Come and get us!" Oolong yelled, shaking his head.
"He makes a point. But that cut needs handling now. Lucky for you, field medicine is part of the job description out in the wastes. I know what I'm doing. Let me take a look."
Yamcha opened a pouch on his belt and took out a small, battered tin of antiseptic plus a roll of gauze.
He stepped forward, reaching out to help check the wound.
"Whoa, hey! Wait!" Bulma flinched back, her hands flying up to cover her chest.
Yamcha froze mid-step, hand still in the air.
"What? I'm just trying to help."
"I... I know, but..."
Bulma stammered, her usual confident swagger hitting a brick wall. She glanced down at the tear in her top.
The claw marks were high on her ribs—way too close to personal territory. To bandage that properly, she'd basically have to strip.
The realization hit her like a truck. Her face burned, and she suddenly found a patch of rust on the ground incredibly fascinating.
"It's... the placement. Okay?"
"She's shy!" Puar chirped, floating up between them. He pointed a paw at Bulma.
"Yamcha, back off! It's a girl thing!"
"I am not shy!"
Bulma snapped, her face turning an even deeper shade of red. She glared at the floating cat.
"I just... I don't need a babysitter! I'm an adult, I can handle a little scratch!"
"It's okay to be shy!" Puar giggled.
POOF
The small blue creature vanished.
In his place stood a petite nurse, complete with a white cap and a little apron with a red cross on it.
"Nurse Puar to the rescue!" he announced in a professional, albeit squeaky, voice. He grabbed the disinfectant from Yamcha's hand.
"Don't worry, Bulma! I've seen Yamcha naked plenty of times, so anatomy doesn't scare me! Let me fix it!"
Yamcha rubbed the back of his neck, looking away to give them some privacy.
"You didn't have to add that last part, buddy."
//////////////////////////////////
Hidden behind a wall of rusted crates, Puar tightened the last metal clip on the bandage. He gave it a gentle pat.
"There, nice and snug. How does it feel?"
"Better." Bulma exhaled, running her fingers lightly over the white gauze wrapped around her ribs.
"Stings less now that it's covered."
She reached into her bag, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and a sweater.
Once the sun set, the air chilled in minutes, a sharp wind blew straight from the water.
She eased the shirt over her shoulders, gave a small hiss as she straightened her arms and settled the sweater on top.
"You got lucky, you know. I checked the edges. No weird swelling, no bad smell, and no angry red lines. I don't think that fox-lady had anything toxic on her claws."
"Thank God for small miracles, I can handle a scar, but not losing a limb because of a dirty fingernail." She offered Puar a smile.
"Thanks, Puar."
Puar beamed, finally poofing back into his normal, blue cat form.
"Now let's get back before Yamcha starts pacing a hole in the ground."
Bulma nodded, smoothing out her sweater as she stepped back around the stack of crates to rejoin the others.
Yamcha was standing a few meters away, staring out toward the city. Puar immediately floated over to his side, whispering something that made Yamcha's shoulders relax slightly.
Seeing the distance, Oolong huddled closer to Bulma and Goku, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Are we seriously doing this? I mean, really? Can we actually trust this guy?" Oolong hissed, glancing nervously at Yamcha and Puar.
"We don't have much of a choice, Oolong."
"People don't just flip a switch, Bulma! Yesterday he was trying to turn us into roadkill. Today we're pals? That's not how the world works."
"Normally, I'd agree." Bulma said, her eyes drifting toward Yamcha's stoic figure.
I wouldn't trust a bandit with a burnt match. But this is different."
She paused, her expression darkening.
"You saw his face when he talked about his crew. He lost his family this morning. That kind of grief... it rewrites a person's priorities. He's thinking about killing the people who hurt him. As long as our goals align, he's solid."
"Yeah, as long as our goals align." Oolong mimicked her, sweating profusely.
"But what happens after he gets his revenge? Huh? Once he's done slicing up the bad guys, what's stopping him from turning that sword on us? He's a bandit!"
"You guys worry too much." Goku chimed in, leaning against a crate with his hands behind his head, completely unbothered.
"Yamcha's not gonna do that."
"How can you be so sure?" Oolong snapped.
"Because he said he wouldn't. And besides, if he tries anything weird, I'll just beat him up again. It's not a big deal." Goku shrugged.
Bulma and Oolong froze. Slowly, they both turned their heads toward Goku.
"Not a big deal?" Bulma whispered, a vein throbbing on her forehead.
"You..." Oolong pointed a finger at Goku.
"Do you have any idea why we're even having this conversation?!"
"Huh?" Goku blinked.
Bulma snapped. She stared at him, baffled.
"He wouldn't even know there was a wish to steal if you hadn't blurted out the secret of the Dragon Balls like it was the lunch menu!"
"We could have lied!" Oolong shouted.
"We could have said we were collecting shiny rocks for a museum! But you? You basically handed him a loaded gun!"
"I was just answering him! He wanted to know." Goku said, raising his hands.
"He wanted to know if it was worth the trouble, not how to become God! Do you have a filter? Like, at all? Or does every thought in your head just fall out of your mouth?"
"Hehe... my bad?" Goku chuckled nervously, scratching his cheek with his index finger. He looked down at his shoes.
"I didn't think it was a big secret. I won't say anything else. I promise."
A few meters away, hidden by the shadows of a towering crane, Yamcha watched the exchange in silence.
He couldn't hear every word, but the body language was loud and clear: Oolong's frantic pointing, Bulma's glares, the way they kept glancing over their shoulders at him.
"They're talking about you, you know." Puar whispered, floating down to hover next to Yamcha's ear. His tail twitched with annoyance.
"Oolong. He keeps looking at you like you're going to eat him."
"I know, buddy, I see 'em." Yamcha murmured, his eyes not leaving the group.
"It's rude! You just helped them! Why do they still look at you like you're the bad guy?" Puar huffed, crossing his little paws.
"Because I am the bad guy. Or I was. You don't wash off a lifetime of dirt in two hours."
He pushed himself off the wall, his expression hardening as he looked at his own hands.
"Use your head. If I tried to kill you yesterday, would you trust me today? Hell no."
"But you mean it!" Puar insisted, his ears drooping.
"You swore on your dad. You never break a promise like that."
"Yeah, well, we know the truth. They don't. In their eyes, I'm just scum. And you don't give trust away for free, that's something I gotta earn, inch by inch."
He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck.
"Can't blame 'em. I wouldn't turn my back on a guy like me, either. They're just being smart. I can respect that."
He nodded toward the group.
//////////////////////////////////
Yamcha grunted, planting his shoulder against a rusted steel shipping container.
With a low growl of effort, he shoved the multi-ton metal box a few feet across the concrete, creating a makeshift windbreak in the center of the depot.
He dusted his hands off, then knelt down to strike a flint against a small pile of dry wood scraps he'd scavenged.
The sparks caught, and a small, controlled fire crackled to life, casting long, dancing shadows against the metal walls.
Bulma, Goku, and Oolong walked over, drawn by the sudden warmth.
"Making yourself at home?" Bulma asked.
"Gotta eat." Yamcha muttered, not looking up as he pulled a few dented tins from his pack. He tossed one to Puar and held up another.
"Beans. Maybe tuna. That's the list. Help yourselves. It ain't five-star, but it shuts your stomach up."
Bulma looked at the rusty can in his hand with mild horror.
"You were actually going to put that in your body?"
"Fuel is fuel." Yamcha shrugged, reaching for a knife to pry the lid open.
"Do me a favor. Put the cat food away."
She reached into her hip pouch, fished out a capsule labeled with a knife and fork icon, and tossed it casually onto the concrete between them.
POOF.
A cloud of white smoke exploded outward.
When it cleared, Yamcha and Puar nearly jumped out of their skins.
Sitting perfectly level on the rough concrete was a round dining table covered in a white cloth.
And on it wasn't just food, it was a feast.
A roast chicken, steaming bowls of pasta, fresh bread, and a pitcher of juice.
The aroma hit them instantly, smelling like a five-star restaurant kitchen.
"Holy—!" Yamcha scrambled back, his hand instinctively going to his sword hilt.
"What the hell?!"
Puar hid behind Yamcha's leg, peeking out with wide, terrified eyes.
"It... it's hot! Yamcha, look at the steam! How is it hot?! She just pulled it out of her pocket!"
"What kind of witchcraft is this?" Yamcha demanded, looking from the food to Bulma like she'd just summoned a demon.
"You got a chef locked in there or something?"
Bulma smirked, crossing her arms and enjoying the look on his face.
"It's not witchcraft, it's engineering. The capsule creates a localized stasis field. It locks the food in the exact state it was when it was cooked, temperature, texture, freshness. It doesn't rot, it doesn't get cold. It's 100% fresh."
She gestured to the table.
"Dig in. It beats the hell out of canned food."
Yamcha stared at the roast chicken, then at Bulma, completely bewildered.
"That... that shouldn't be possible."
"Hahahaha!" Goku burst out laughing, grabbing a drumstick and taking a massive bite.
"See? I thought she was a witch too when I first met her."
"I am not a witch!" Bulma huffed, though she grabbed a bread roll for herself.