The first match of the semi-final has officially started and so far Yamcha's already on high alert and not acting as rash as he sometimes tends to act. Had he been rash and unthinking he would have sought to land the first blow and would have been dealt the first blow instead. He understands how I fight - at least I assume he does - and knows that he needs to be very careful. It's quiet between us and quiet around us, as not even the spectators dare utter a word. It's amusing when this happens and I wonder how long this can go on before the people become restless and annoyed.

"You're free to strike first," I say at the minute mark and Yamcha scoffs out a laugh. He doesn't move an inch from where he stands and continues to watch me like his next prey.

"Don't try to taunt me into anything stupid" is his reply and he steps to the right slowly, watching me and cautious. "I know how you work"

"And how do I work?" Because I'm curious to know what he thinks of me at this point. He's an odd one and has been since he suddenly appeared at the last tournament. He changed for the better and it's admirable, but sometimes it's hard to believe he was that dumb cowardly bandit roaming the desert four years ago.

"You've never made the first move," he says and he's right. It's not a preference and not something I do on purpose, it just works out that way and I've never made it an issue. "Your opponent always attempts to land the first blow and maybe they do, but you retaliate two-fold"

He's taken this quite seriously, hasn't he? And he speaks from personal experience I'm sure.

"You wait, and watch, and plan, and strike with scary precision" 

Seems he's fully prepared for every possibility and that's worth something. From this stalemate between us I've gathered that he's not willing to strike first, he's extremely cautious and on high alert and knows what to expect from me.

"You're fast, not strong" he continues. "But you have this annoying tendency to erase that drawback with the use of ki. Luckily it's noticeable when you do it and you expel more ki"

When he smiles it's not the cocky one he had worn when we had first met. 

He truly has changed.

I haven't fought him in years and I haven't been around enough to know what skills he has picked up on. There was not much revealed from his fight against Roshi and all I know is that he has developed his wolf fang fist further and learned the Kamehameha wave. His ki has also shot through the roof and he must have enough control to back it if his match with Roshi is anything to go by. 

Alright then, since he's unwilling to make the first move, I shall initiate this fight for him.

What he doesn't understand is when I'm given the chance to be the aggressor, it won't start out too well for him. 

Yamcha, like Kakarot, is more power-focused than anything else so his speed isn't anything comparable to me or even Chichi or Krillin. Despite that, he manages to react on time to shift his stance into something more defensive and his once exposed stomach is no longer vulnerable. Sadly for him, I have no issue changing my target or my attack to something else entirely. What was first meant to be a hard open palm to the stomach has quickly shifted into a high kick to the temple. And Yamcha - prepared as he is - is quick to try to block the attack which only leaves his torso unprotected once more. 

I suppose a strike to the stomach would be preferable over a kick to the temple, so I oblige.

When I intend to strike the stomach, I strike the stomach and I make it a painful experience every time. There are certain places on the body that are bound to have you feeling on the edge of death if hurt.

One strike to the stomach; I hear the telltale sign of his body reacting to the blow which is likely some stomach acid traveling up his system. He stumbles back and his defenses fall apart in that instance. Second strike; I'm low and drive my hand up for one to the chin and his entire body tilts back.

It's never good if I'm given the opportunity to strike first because sometimes it can end right there.

He's done on the floor after that and the silence that had once been comforting has quickly morphed into deafening cheers and the voice of the announcer rings above them all.

"Stealing the first move and possibly the last, Durian opens the match with two deadly blows!" He's always so enthusiastic when narrating the fights and he's quickly next to the fallen Yamcha who gasps and sputters on the floor. "Ten, nine...."

Yamcha jumps onto his feet on the count of seven and blood leaks down his chin and onto the floor. He sways for a moment and I have to refrain from attaching immediately. Yamcha wants to prove something today and I will give him the time to do so, as his friend.

"I should've att-" he starts but coughs up a fit, more blood exiting his system and he laughs, pained yet amused. "Lesson learned"

"Ready to go again?"

"I'm surprised," he sighs heavily and breathes deeply. "I'm surprised you haven't knocked me out yet"

"You're a special case so I'm willing to take a page out of Kakarot's book" just for today and only against friends.

"I'm honored" he chuckles and slides back into his stance, ready to go again. "I won't waste any more of your time"

He's the first to move this time around and I prepare myself for what I know to be powerful strikes. The first couple are dodged, those following blocked and whatever got too close for comfort redirected. He's gotten faster, as expected. Stronger too as I struggle to tank his strikes more often than I would like and in one instance he forces me back a step and sweeps my left leg away and upsets my balance. He's quick to use that to his advantage because in the next instance I'm struck in the head with a blow so powerful it would have brought tears to my eyes in any other circumstance.

"Crap"

The world spins for a second and I'm on my knees when things begin to make sense. Yamcha stands over me with this toothy smile and a puffed-out chest - proud.

"How was that?" 

Oh, it was good. It hurts like hell and it has quickly started a miserable headache behind my eyes and it takes a moment for me to get to my feet.

"You could have cracked my skull open" I'm not sure it's still intact as we speak. "Maybe you did"

And just as I say that my vision is colored red and my head feels uncomfortably damp. Something is running down my forehead and the back of my neck - blood. The lightheadedness is bound to worsen the longer I bleed.

"It seems you've come too close to that" 

Yamcha snickers.

"I wanted to grab your tail, but I figured you have trained it by now," He says. "So I settled for the next best thing"

Well, it was the best move as my tail wouldn't have offered him any sort of advantage.

"I can already feel Bulma's glare burning a hole through me," I mutter, wiping the blood from my forehead and out of my eyes. The thought of facing her wrath adds an unexpected weight to the fight for Yamcha.

"She's not gonna chew me out, is she?" Yamcha's earlier confidence fades at the prospect of Bulma's displeasure.

"It's anyone's guess," I reply dryly. "Depends on how this ends."

Yamcha sighs, nodding in reluctant agreement. "Alright, let's get this over with before you collapse from blood loss."

He takes the initiative once more, but this time I'm not letting him gain the upper hand. I block his strikes and dodge his attacks, refusing to give him an opening. When he gathers ki in his palm, I brace myself. The blue energy ball whizzes past my face, singeing the air with its heat.

I retaliate swiftly, striking him in the side and creating some distance between us. Now that ki spheres are in play, I decide to have some fun of my own. I summon two ki spheres in each hand and launch them towards Yamcha. They track his movements, forcing him to dodge and weave to avoid being hit.

"Uh-oh, I think I messed up," Yamcha mutters, realizing his mistake too late as my ki spheres close in on him.

He manages to evade a few, but one explodes close enough to him to cause damage. His pristine gi is now marred with blood from a shoulder wound, and he's bleeding from a cut on his cheek. Despite this, he grins defiantly, standing firm.

I start to feel lightheaded, a sign that I can't afford to drag this fight out much longer.

Yamcha charges at me again, low and focused. I wait for the right moment and then, in a swift move, I redirect his momentum and throw him over my shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground.

I aim my strikes carefully, targeting vulnerable spots—head, stomach, neck. Each blow lands with precision, testing his endurance. He manages to get up faster than I expected, but it works to my advantage. Before he can fully regain his balance, I hit him squarely in the jaw, followed by a strike behind his knee that sends him sprawling.

I crouch down cautiously, observing him closely to assess his condition.

"He's out cold," I declare, relieved that the fight is over.

---

"Seriously?"

Exasperated, Bulma tilts my head down to inspect the wound on my forehead, and pain throbs behind my eyes. Yamcha's strike could have been fatal to a normal human, a fact not lost on either of us. Bulma's concern is palpable, though she's not displaying her usual anger when worried. Instead, she carefully examines the injury, not exactly a doctor but understanding enough to realize the severity had I been anyone else.

The medics were quick to offer assistance earlier, but I sent them away, reminding them of my ability to heal rapidly—similar to how I had helped Chichi and Krillin moments ago. They're amazed by my abilities but have stopped questioning the unconventional methods I use.

"Where are the senzu?" Bulma asks abruptly, tilting my head back to face her. Blinking to clear my vision, I point behind her to the cluttered table where the pouch of magical beans rests. Learning to grow those senzu beans has been a lifesaver.

"Eat," she instructs, slipping one into my mouth. I swallow, and instantly, my headache dissipates along with the feeling of drifting on air. The beans' instantaneous effects never cease to amaze me.

Before I can fully savor the relief, a wet cloth covers my face, and I sputter in shock. Bulma laughs at my reaction, finding amusement in catching me off guard.

"That's not very funny," I protest, though a hint of amusement colors my voice despite myself.

She continues cleaning my face, almost treating me like a child. It takes several minutes, during which I endure her meticulous attention with resigned patience.

"So, you're not an eligible bachelor," she remarks once the cloth is put away, abruptly changing the subject.

"I'm not even a bachelor," I reply with a wry smile. "I might give off that vibe, though."

"Hmm, you do," Bulma concedes, surprising me.

"You admit it!" I exclaim, genuinely taken aback. Bulma rarely admits such things, especially not so openly.

She playfully pinches my cheek in response, and it actually hurts a bit more than her punches. "Yeah, well, I'm the reason you're not eligible, so I can say whatever I want."

"You admit it again!" I tease, finding it amusing to see her flustered.

"Okay now, you're just being dramatic," she retorts, though her cheeks betray a pinkish hue.

"You don't usually admit such things, Bulma," I observe, genuinely curious about her uncharacteristic behavior.

She shrugs nonchalantly, avoiding my gaze and appearing slightly sheepish. "Is the great Bulma Brief embarrassed?"

Her glare suggests she doesn't want such a thing pointed out too blatantly, and I raise my hands in surrender and peace.

"No, but really, why would you say you're not eligible?" she asks.

"You just said why," I reply, puzzled by her confusion and defensive reaction. Was she joking? Because I certainly didn't take it as one.

"You're serious?" She sounds surprised, as if that's the actual reason.

What other reason would there be? I haven't met anyone else worth my time, and there's certainly no one else who has my attention quite like Bulma does. Kakarot is more like my brother, Krillin is in the same category, Yamcha just doesn't count for many reasons, and Chichi is like a little sister. There's no one else in my life save for them, and I don't think the math is that hard to understand.

"Are you serious?" I lean back in my seat, watching her carefully.

"I mean, I was just joking because of 'our marriage' and that whole situation," she admits, sounding even more embarrassed.

I stare at her, and the pinkness on her cheeks slowly becomes red until she can't hide it anymore and stomps her foot in frustration.

"Stop staring at me, Durian."

I smile, and she bristles.

"You like having my attention, don't pretend to be mad," I point out. She remains silent, either shocked or too flustered to respond.

"Really, I'm surprised you had to ask me that. Panchy would be ashamed," I add playfully.

She gawks at me, and I shift slightly away, anticipating any potential retaliation.

"Don't bring my mother into this."

"Okay," I nod. "How about your father?"

Her expression is answer enough.

The announcer's voice interrupts us, reminding me of the ongoing match and Chichi and Kakarot's rematch.

"Durian?" Bulma calls, sounding curious."Did you take my parents seriously?"

"Oh no, not quite," I reply, and she raises both brows in question.

"What does 'not quite' mean?"

"Well, at first, I considered it a joke, but then I started thinking about it. I've realized I'm dangerously attached to you, and that led to some thoughts, which led to a realization, and many other things," I explain, reflecting on how my feelings have evolved. "So now the thought is a pleasing one."

She blinks, clearly taken aback by my honesty.

"Don't look so dumbfounded, I know you've considered it too," I say, noticing her reaction. "I do believe the thought crossed your mind when I gave you that plushie. I've gotten quite good at reading you, and I'm proud of that."

"Your honesty still amazes me," she admits, her expression softening.

"And your genius still fascinates me," I say, sincerely. "You don't even begin to understand how much I appreciate your intelligence and fast learning capabilities."

Bulma gets a certain way when I compliment her, as if she can't quite believe my words. It's something I've never fully understood.

"You make me mad sometimes," she says with a small smile.

Oh yes, I've realized that. Apparently, I'm a frustrating factor in her life, and she's made that clear on numerous occasions.

"You do and say things no one else has ever done or said, and your compliments are never the ones I'm used to. You listen, you stay up with me, you take time out of your day for me, and it's frustrating because I'm supposed to like men, but then you come along and ruin it all! You've ruined everything for me, you bastard!" Bulma's voice trembles with a mix of frustration and something deeper, and she paces back and forth in the room. It's clear she's been holding this in for a while, and now she needs to let it out, directed at me—the cause of her turmoil.

"Usually, one would apologize for ruining things," I comment casually, watching her with a slight tilt of my head.

"Let me guess, you're not sorry," she retorts sharply, shooting me a pointed look.

"I'm quite pleased, actually," I reply with a nonchalant shrug. "As it turns out, it's good to ruin certain things."

If it turns out to be a good thing, would that mean it hadn't been ruined in the first place? Now, that's food for thought and something to ponder at a later date.

"You're infuriating," Bulma declares, finally sitting down on the nearby bed with her gaze fixed on me.

"Could it be that your frustration is not purely on an emotional level?" I wonder aloud, finding amusement in the sudden twist of our conversation. "You do openly gawk, Bulma. I wouldn't be surprised."

Bulma sputters in surprise or indignation—it's hard to discern with her. I brace myself for a rebuttal or a scolding, but none comes. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bed, cheeks pink, eyes avoiding mine, clearly embarrassed.

"Not gonna deny it?" I press on, curious to see her reaction.

"No," she admits reluctantly, surprising me. This isn't the kind of admission she usually makes so easily.

"Can I a-"

"No," she interrupts sharply, shutting down any further discussion on the topic.

"Okay," I relent, raising my hands in mock surrender.

Bulma falls silent, seemingly lost in thought. The distant sounds of an intense battle echo through the room, and by the announcer's voice, it sounds like Kakarot has the upper hand in his match. I glance at Bulma, noticing her loud groan of exasperation as she flops back onto the bed.

"You okay there, bunny?" I ask, concerned yet teasing.

"No, I want cuddles, but I can't get cuddles right now because you have a match soon, so I'm not okay," she complains with a pout. "And I want to be mad at you, but I'm not, so I'm mad that I'm not mad at you."

"Very complicated feelings you've got there," I remark, unable to suppress a smile.

"Let's go out after the tournament," she suggests suddenly, her tone changing. "We can go to that restaurant that just opened."

"Hmm, sounds like a date," I tease lightly.

"That's because it is," she sighs. "Don't play dumb, Durian."

I chuckle softly. "Aren't we long past things like dates?"

"You don't get the concept of dates," Bulma retorts with a hint of amusement. "Besides, you've been dying to go to that restaurant, so we're going."

Should I be surprised that Bulma knows about my desire to visit that restaurant? I haven't mentioned it to anyone, so logically, she shouldn't know. Yet, here she is, acting like she's privy to all my thoughts.

"Durian, I've known you for four years, and I have a habit of paying very close attention to you. There's no way I wouldn't know that you wanted to go to that restaurant," she explains matter-of-factly, a touch defensive.

"Aww, you love me," I tease, knowing full well it'll provoke a response.

When she smacks me with a pillow, I'm not even surprised by her sudden aggression. After all, I've embarrassed her enough for one day—it's only fair she gets to vent a bit.

"Yes, I do," she admits, her voice softer now. "So stop being annoying."