The sun was setting slowly.
Inside the fortune teller's tent, now drowned in an unsettling silence, the day felt like it was coming to a close.
Reclined in her chair, the woman yawned lazily, her movements smooth and feline.
A smile played on her lips as she stretched her arms like someone satisfied with a day's worth of profit. (And deceit.)
Quite a day...
She was organizing her incense sticks.
Fooled a couple of idiots, and even that precious Capsule Corporation princess fell right into my web. Who would've thought?
She chuckled quietly, the sound muffled by the heavy fabric of the tent.
There was nothing more satisfying than seeing that spark of hope in the eyes of the desperate — that blind faith that made everything so easy.
Poor fools... The rich are the worst. Obsessed with fast answers, just like any dirt-covered peasant. Only difference is, they pay more.
Her fingers tapped against the table as her mind drifted.
A fancy dinner? An emerald necklace? Maybe something from Balenciaga. Why not?
There was something poetically ironic about funding a "sorceress's" luxury with money from fake miracles.
But before she could indulge too much in those thoughts, a sudden sound cut through the quiet.
A jingle.
The gypsy froze.
Her smile slowly vanished.
Her eyes swept the tent, alert.
Nothing looked out of place, but the sound echoed in her mind like a warning.
"— Brats..." she muttered.
But the air was different now. Heavy. Dense. Suffocating, almost — like something unseen was filling the space around her.
Jingle.
The sound came again, louder this time.
She spun on her heels, eyes locking on the entrance.
The tarp, once swaying gently in the wind, now hung still — stiff, like something invisible held it in place.
"— That's enough, you little pests!"
Her patience snapped.
She stormed toward the curtain, movements sharp.
With one swift motion, she yanked it open, ready to catch whoever was messing with her.
But what she found wasn't a prank. Or kids.
A tall, hooded figure stood there, its silhouette blurred by the dusk.
Its face was hidden in the shadows, but the cold radiating from it was undeniable. It wasn't natural — it was deeper. The kind of cold that made your bones ache before the air even chilled.
She stared for a moment, a chill crawling up her spine.
What... is this?
She tapped her temple lightly.
Relax. Just another client. No need to freak out.
"—...It's late for readings, sir. I've closed up shop."
The figure didn't answer.
"— Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you your fate," she insisted, taking a step back but not breaking eye contact.
Silence.
"— Got it?"
(...)
One single step forward shifted everything. The air inside the tent dropped in temperature. Even the lamplight seemed to dim.
"— Hmph... You tricked the wrong person, Kuri," — the figure said.
"— ...Huh?"
Color drained from her face.
"— Who... who are you?"
Panic began to creep in.
"— How do you know my name?"
The figure tilted its head, slow, deliberate.
"— It's not hard to figure out. You've tricked so many people, it was just a matter of time before someone gave it back to you. I'm the voice of all the ones you lied to. And today... you pay for your arrogance."
Kuri tried to move — but her feet felt rooted to the ground.
Then she noticed the shadows around the figure writhing.
They stretched like starving snakes, slithering toward her.
"—What is— stop this!"
Kuri screamed, but her voice was caught by something — shadowy tendrils moving as if they had a life of their own.
Before she could react, something invisible grabbed her ankles, yanking her to her knees.
"— Let's begin your reading, shall we?"
The cards on the table lifted into the air.
They spun in a chaotic vortex, images flashing: destruction, pain, fear.
"— Let's see... what fate has in store for you?"
"—Kh!"
Kuri struggled, but the shadows held her tight.
"— You'll regret this! If you kill me here, they'll come after you!"
The figure chuckled coldly.
"— That's your last line? How tragic."
"— I'm loved in this town! You think they'll let you get away with it?!"
"— Loved, you say?"
The figure tilted its head again — slower this time, almost enjoying her fear.
"— Oh, they remember you, Kuri. As the one who promised hope and gave them nothing. No one's coming to avenge you, fool."
The words hit her like a slap.
She knew her reputation wasn't perfect — but this? This certainty shook her.
"— No... That's not true! They trust me! I have influence here!"
The figure stepped closer.
"— If you believe that, tell me: where are they now? Where's the outcry from those you duped? The ones who filled this tent with coins and desperation? Why aren't they saving you?"
She had no answer.
The swirling cards slowed down, floating mid-air like fate itself was hesitating.
Then, one card pulled away, glowing dimly as it slid into place in front of her.
The image was clear: a crumbling tower in flames, tiny figures falling from its collapsing heights.
"— Looks like your card is... the Tower."
"— ...What does that mean?!"
"— Collapse. Destruction. Ruin, born from arrogance."
Kuri tried to argue, but her voice came out a broken whisper.
Her mind spun, struggling to make sense of it.
"— Please..."
She finally whispered, tears streaming down her face.
"— I can change... Let me fix this. I don't need anything else, just... just one more chance."
The figure paused, as if considering her plea.
"— I'll confess everything! Please!"
"— Hmmm."
"— Then say it, loud and clear: I fooled everyone in this village. I'm a fraud."
"— I-I fooled everyone in this village, I'm a fraud." — Kuri sobbed, the words spilling out in gasps.
"— Didn't catch that!"
"— I FOOLED EVERYONE IN THIS VILLAGE! I'M A FRAUD!"
(...)
Silence dropped like a hammer, until a blinding light cut through the tent.
(...)
"— Pftttt!"
The figure's intimidating stance dropped instantly.
"— I should've filmed your face," — said a woman's voice.
The figure stepped back, and the shadows that had once pulsed with life shrank away, revealing the trick behind the scene.
The metal tendrils retracted with a mechanical hum, disappearing into a device strapped to the young woman's arm.
The cards fell, lifeless — puppets with their strings cut.
A faint buzz echoed as the voice modulator shut down, returning the tent to its natural quiet, broken only by Kuri's shaky breathing.
(...)
WHAT?!
Bulma stood there, calm and completely in control.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, the smirk on her lips making it clear: this had all been carefully staged.
"— 'Fate reading'... seriously?" — she said, crossing her arms.
"— I've seen better writing in my middle school plays."
Kuri, still kneeling, was frozen. Her body shook, eyes locked on the girl in front of her.
"— Y-You?! It was you the whole time?"
"— Wow, what a fortune teller you are, huh? Couldn't even see that one coming?"
Bulma tilted her head, pretending to be surprised.
"— Don't you always brag about knowing the future? Looks like you got a little lost when the cards flipped."
She stepped closer, crouching to meet Kuri's eyes.
"— Not that it matters anymore."
Bulma casually pointed toward the entrance.
"— Some of your clients are right outside."
Kuri followed the gesture, eyes going wide as she heard angry voices outside.
No...
"— And guess what?"
Bulma grinned.
"— They heard your whole little confession. Loud and clear — just like I told you to say it."
Panic bloomed on Kuri's face.
"— No... What do you mean by that?!"
Bulma leaned in, her smile turning from playful to ruthless.
"— I mean it's over. That fairy tale you made up has short legs — you know how the saying goes."
Outside, the voices grew louder. Footsteps. Shouts. The crackling of torches.
"— Good luck. You'll need it."
Bulma threw the curtain open, revealing the angry crowd outside — and exposing Kuri completely.
"— EEEK!"
Kuri's face went ghost-white.
Before she could speak, the mob's cries drowned her out.
"— Bye-bye!" — Bulma said, waving as she turned her back.
The tent flaps flew open, and torchlight flooded in, forcing the shadows into the corners.
The crowd was furious — faces marked by betrayal and pain.
"— She tricked us!"
"— Stole our money!"
"— Made fools of all of us!"
The voices boomed like gunfire.
Still, Kuri tried one last act.
"— Wait! Of course I said all that, but it was a... game! Yes! A game! Just testing your perception! It's just fun! You know how gypsies are — we love messing with fate!"
The village chief stepped forward. His stern presence silenced the crowd instantly.
He took one step, torchlight reflecting in his eyes.
"— Spare us your crocodile tears, Kuri."
He went on.
"— You made us believe in lies. You fed off our fear. That ends now. You'll answer for every one of your crimes."
The crowd, emboldened, advanced.
Kuri raised her hands, begging.
"— Wait! Please! You're not listening!"
But her voice was lost in the noise.
From a distance, Bulma watched. Out of sight now, quiet and still.
She adjusted her blazer casually, a gesture at odds with the chaos behind her.
"— Well... Guess the show's over."
She watched as Kuri was dragged out of the tent. The gypsy kicked and screamed, but the villagers were like a tidal wave — unstoppable.
The cries echoed through the village, mixed with the snap of torches and stomping feet.
Bulma took one last look.
"— Another page for the biography. Time to get back to the main mission."
She turned away.
As she walked off, the noise behind her was swallowed by the night.
♦♦♦
Morning came cold.
Bulma stood beside her vehicle, its sleek frame gleaming under the early sun.
The engine hummed softly, ready to go — but she hesitated. Her eyes landed on the small group gathered a few meters away.
The villagers were quiet. Their looks held something — gratitude, worry, and something harder to define.
Like they feared she might be the last spark of change they'd see for a while.
"— Good luck finding Blouse!" — called the fragile voice of an old woman.
She stood at the front, clutching a wrinkled handkerchief like a talisman.
Her gesture was timid, but her eyes shone with genuine hope — something Bulma hadn't seen in a long time.
Bulma smiled.
Not that fake, polite one she used at social events or around her family.
This one was rare — tired, but real.
A smile that carried the weight of everything she'd been through.
"— Thank you."
Her voice was steady, even if her shoulders showed how tired she really was.
"— Take care of yourselves. This village deserves a better future."
The engine's soft growl blended with quiet goodbyes.
Some waved. Others just watched.
Even the skeptical ones couldn't deny the impact she'd had.
She stepped inside, door closing with a dry click.
The cabin was silent, sealed off from the world. She turned the key. The engine roared softly, filling the space.
As the car moved, Bulma took one last look in the mirror.
They were still there.
Waving.
Watching.
Like that moment tied them to something bigger — something they couldn't afford to lose.
She exhaled, eyes turning back to the road.
The village faded in the mirror, but the weight of their hopes stayed with her.
If this didn't bring me closer to Blouse... At least they're free now.
The memory of their grateful eyes brought a brief, warming spark.
A flicker of meaning in the middle of this maze her search had become.
She gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale. Doubts lingered. The road ahead was a question mark. But giving up?
Not an option.
Blouse... No matter how long it takes, I will find you.
The road stretched on — a narrow path through distant trees and dark hills.
The car picked up speed, kicking up dust like a memory refusing to fade.
To the villagers, she was a lone figure disappearing into the horizon — taking a promise with her.
To Bulma, it was one more step into the unknown. And hopefully... toward the truth.