Bulma stopped in front of the mansion, her eyes scanning the massive iron gate—it looked more like a fortress wall than an entrance.
Someone's trying real hard to one-up the neighbors.
Her doubt was written all over her face.
As she walked forward, something off caught her attention: a tent made of colorful fabrics fluttering in the wind.
Bulma parked and got out of the car.
The air felt thick, like something was about to happen.
Inside the tent, someone was waiting. Bulma expected a cliché storybook witch—hunched, wrinkled, maybe with a staff and mysterious smoke swirling around.
But reality had other plans.
The woman standing before her had the posture of royalty—tall, straight, and confident, like someone used to calling the shots.
Her face wasn't wrinkled at all. It was smooth, elegant, and cold in a calculated way. Dressed in clothes that blended luxury with eccentric flair, she looked more like a noble than a fortune teller.
For a second, Bulma froze. This woman wasn't what she seemed—and that was both interesting and concerning.
"…"
"— Welcome, traveler."
The fortune teller spoke in a low tone, her smile just faint enough to suggest she already knew what Bulma was after.
"— Ah, I see your heart craves answers… Come, come! Let me help you."
This woman smells like trouble.
Bulma let out a sigh.
Well, I'm already here. Might as well see what she's selling before calling it a waste of time.
"—Hey. So, I'm looking for a friend who went missing. Her name's Blouse. They said you might be able to help."
The fortune teller smiled, but not kindly.
"— Hmmm… I see, a friend."
(...)
There was a pause. The gypsy narrowed her eyes, studying Bulma, then finally spoke again.
"— I see restlessness and worry in your eyes, dear... But don't fret. Let's uncover what fate has in store for you."
With practiced movements, she started laying out cards across the table. It looked choreographed—smooth, hypnotic—but made Bulma instinctively check her pockets.
"— The cards never lie. They won't show you what you want… only what you need to know."
"..."
Bulma crossed her arms, watching closely. She didn't buy any of it, but something about the fortune teller's confidence made her hold back her sarcasm.
Not a fan of suspense. Just get on with it...
The gypsy flipped a card. Her eyes sharpened.
"— Oh my…"
"..."
"—Your path is twisted… full of shadows and deception. This is not good. Not good at all."
Great. Just what I needed to hear—not that I believe a word of it.
"— I can guide you—for a fair price, of course," the fortune teller added.
"..."
There it is.
"— How much?"
"..."
"— 100,000 zennies."
…What?
"— 100,000 zennies? Did I hear that right?"
"— That's right." — The fortune teller replied, unblinking.
"....."
"— Okay, I must be jet-lagged or something. I could've sworn you just said a hundred thousand zennies. But that can't be right."
"— You heard me. The darker the fate, the higher the price… Balance is everything. This friend of yours—she means a lot, doesn't she?"
She said it calmly, unfazed.
You've got to be kidding me. That's insane.
"— Look… I'll give you fifty thousand."
What am I even doing?
The fortune teller watched her in silence, like she knew something Bulma didn't.
"— Eighty thousand."
Bulma pressed her lips together, annoyed.
"— Fifty thousand is my limit. Be reasonable—anything more is daylight robbery."
The fortune teller paused and her smile turned sharp.
"— Oh, come now. Fifty, eighty, a hundred… To you, that's pocket change, isn't it?"
"— ...What?"
"— You think you can fool me, sweetheart? Miss Starch, don't underestimate a fortune teller's eyes."
Her voice dropped slightly, heavier now.
"— You know who I am? Wow…" — She said sarcastically.
"— I know more than you think. I know who you are—and fate has already whispered your secrets to me."
She tilted her head, grinning with mystery.
"— This world is smaller than you think. News travels fast. The Starch name carries power—but also weight. And you... you wear that weight like a crown. Just remember: it's not about what you carry. It's about what you're willing to pay to get what you want."
Bulma didn't flinch. She wasn't the type to get rattled.
"—You seem pretty influential for a so-called fortune teller…"
"—Ah, my dear, sometimes staying in one place gives you more power than running around… I'm much more than I appear."
"—I believe it. But don't assume I'm just another pawn on your board."
"—Oh, I'm wounded, Starch! I just read fate for a living. Everything comes at a cost… I've got bills to pay too, you know?" she said, leaning in slightly.
"..."
The air felt heavier now, like it was pressing against Bulma.
"—So? You gonna pay or keep wasting your precious time?"
Screw it...
"— Eighty thousand zennies. Deal."
She walked back to her car, grabbed a checkbook from her bag.
"— Eighty thousand is way too much to carry in cash. Hope you're not expecting a credit card."
"— No, no. This will do just fine," — the fortune teller replied, suddenly all smiles.
Bulma signed the check and handed it over.
The fortune teller smiled like she'd just won a prize, pulling out an aged map from somewhere in the tent.
She passed it to Bulma with a slow, almost ceremonial gesture.
"—This map… will lead you to what you seek. Follow it, and you'll find a magical artifact inside a temple. It has the power to bring your friend back."
Bulma took the map, but her face said it all: frustration, skepticism.
"—That's it? A map?"
The fortune teller chuckled low.
"— The journey is the real trial. Patience will be your best ally. Time waits for no one. Trust me, it'll be worth it."
"— Hmph. We'll see."
Without another word, Bulma turned and left the tent, map in hand, mind already set.
Let's see where this leads...
She got back in her car.
♦♦♦
The late afternoon light filtered through the trees as Bulma studied the map, exhaustion on her face.
The car was left behind, abandoned by the road.
She tightened the straps on her backpack, packed full of capsules and gadgets.
" —This is the place." — She double-checked her GPS.
With brisk steps, she entered the forest.
The wind had picked up, leaves whispering around her like nature had secrets to share.
Golden rays flashed between the trees. Then up ahead, a temple emerged from the shadows—abandoned and quiet, as if it had been waiting.
"..."
No need to ring a bell here.
She stepped inside carefully, taking in the ancient, Eastern-style decor. A box in the center caught her eye.
Cautiously, she approached. Her hand hovered above the lid for a moment, then she opened it.
The "magical artifact" was... disappointing.
A bunny doll. Sunglasses, rattles in both hands, and a look that screamed "kids' party reject.
Tch… What the hell is this?
Bulma stood there, holding the doll, staring like she'd just been betrayed. Not that she expected treasure.
She wasn't expecting anything — she just wanted to see what that fortune teller was about. Still, a toy bunny? That was just insulting.
You've got to be kidding me... this is the ultimate scam.
Her eyes drifted to a pull string on the bunny's back.
Suspiciously detailed for a joke.
Or maybe just another dumb prank.
What is this? A talking bunny with a string? At least it's not a cheap knockoff.
She sighed and pulled it, more bored than curious.
The bunny twitched in midair like it was on parade... then spoke.
"—Bwahahahaha! I see an idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Bwahahahaha!"
"..."
Bulma's mouth dropped.
She squeezed the bunny tight.
"—Wow. You just unlocked a new level of trolling. Congrats."
Her expression leveled out.
She'd seen worse—but that didn't make it any less annoying.
She held the toy up to eye level.
"—Alright, 'fortune troll'."— she said, voice steady.
"— Let's see who's laughing when I turn your face into abstract art."
The bunny didn't reply. Just kept giggling, flailing in her grip, clueless to the storm brewing.
Then—heavy footsteps at the entrance.
"…?"
Bulma turned toward the sound, eyes narrowing.
Shadows shifted. Four figures stepped into view.
The dim lighting made their silhouettes long and menacing.
Of course. Classic ambush timing.
She smirked.
It was like watching a rerun of a bad show.
The men wore ridiculous outfits. Each had on a bunny hat like they raided a discount costume shop.
Their scimitars were rusted—more dangerous from tetanus than sharpness.
So this is it? The talking bunny's just an alarm for these losers?
Bulma crossed her arms, trying not to laugh.
"— Yo, check it! Sniff sniff… Bunny on the run!" — one of them said, mimicking a rabbit poorly.
He pointed at Bulma, eyes gleaming.
"—Look at this—lost little hottie, totally clueless, following that ratty old map from Kuri! Tchup!"
Ah, so her name's Kuri. Good to know.
One of them stepped forward, eyeing Bulma like a clearance item.
"— Damn, nice outfit. That bag? Designer, for sure. Let's start by checking what's inside, shall we?"
Bulma said nothing. Just raised an eyebrow like she was waiting for them to get even more ridiculous.
The goons exchanged looks, confused by her silence.
"— What, scared already? Ghe ghe ghe..."
He forced a laugh to cover the awkwardness.
"—Don't worry, won't take long, pyon."
Bulma finally spoke—calm, almost bored.
"—…Am I supposed to take this seriously?"
(...uh?)
"— I'm confused. Is this an ambush or a kindergarten play?"
Silence. Then they all burst out laughing.
"— Kyakyakya! Oh, she's got jokes!" — one of them said, wiping fake tears.
"— We're the great Usagi Clan, pyon! We run this whole zone! You better start trembling, cause the only cute thing around here is how we talk! Kyakyakyakya~!"
Bulma sighed, arms crossed, waiting for them to shut up.
"— Cute? You sound more pathetic than those rusty blades you're swinging."
"— Enough talk, pyon! Let's see how tough you are once we— ...What's this?"
She quickly pulled a capsule from her pocket.
Click.
POOF!
A flash of light, then a futuristic weapon appeared in her hands. Sleek. Deadly. Way out of their league.
The goons froze. Panic crept in—but predictably, stupidity won.
"— She's bluffing! Just a toy!" — one charged with his rusted sword.
Bulma didn't hesitate.
POW. POW. POW. POW!
Each shot hit its target—sticky pink goo wrapping all four of them like they'd fallen into candy quicksand.
Bulma walked up casually, picking up one of their dull swords.
"— Well, that'll keep you busy for a while," — she said, spinning it mockingly before tossing it aside.
"— What the hell did you do, you freakin' witch, pyon?!" — one shouted, writhing uselessly.
Bulma smiled—sweet and venomous.
"— Technology, genius. Something you clearly don't get." — She pointed to her weapon like a teacher.
"— This beauty? Capsule Corp tech. Designed for law enforcement. Non-lethal. Perfect for clowns like you."
She stepped back, pleased.
"— I prefer not getting my hands dirty with cavemen like you, so… I've grown fond of it."
The gang looked around, confused and defeated.
"— Here's some free advice: next time, bring real weapons. Maybe you'll stand a chance."
They didn't reply—just glared, helpless.
"— Anyway. If you need more advice, you know where not to find me. Later."
"..."
"— You stuck-up little brat! Tchup Tchup!" — yelled the bandit, trying to sound intimidating but failing so miserably that his voice actually wavered.
"— Just wait until I get out of here! I'll—"
"— You'll what?" — Bulma cut him off, leaning in slightly, her smile cold and merciless.
"— Trying to threaten me in that state? Oh, please... Usagi clan? Pfft, give me a break."
The bandit shut his mouth, clearly caught off guard, but the second one, more desperate, tried a different approach, swapping bravado for something closer to begging.
"— Look... we can work this out! Just let us go, and no one has to get hurt, pyon!"
Bulma raised an eyebrow, her smile turning into something almost amused.
"— Right. Except for the little detail where you tried to rob me, threatened me, and — oh yeah — totally earned every second of this humiliating mess."
She started to walk away, then paused, as if something had just occurred to her.
"— Oh, and speaking of getting hurt... you do know this area's known for being wild tiger territory, right?"
The bandits froze, glancing at each other nervously.
"— W-Wild tigers? Pyon?!"
"— That's right." — Bulma replied, casually brushing dust off her blazer shoulders.
"— Big ones. Fast. And with a sharp nose for sniffing out... helpless little bunnies."
Their expressions shifted quickly from fear to sheer panic.
"— But hey, don't worry, guys... You've got a few hours before they catch your scent. Just try not to scream too much, okay? That just brings them faster."
She started walking toward the exit, raising one hand in a carefree wave over her shoulder.
"— Good luck, sweethearts. Hope you have a peaceful night."
"— Ngh! Wait up!"
"— Don't leave us here! Come back! Sniff!"
Bulma didn't even glance back. Her footsteps echoed through the space as she left, the bandits' pleading and curses blending into a chaotic chorus.
"— No, please! I don't want to die! Pyon!"
"— YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS! IF I EVER GET OU—"
THUUD!
The door slammed shut, cutting off the sound abruptly, like the room itself had been sealed.
Bulma, however, didn't seem the least bit disturbed.
She tossed her hair back.
Her steps slowed until they disappeared completelu.
Whatever was waiting for those bandits inside, she'd already decided one thing:it was no longer her problem.