Rejected but unfazed, Son Goku didn't take offense at being called gross. He simply pulled his light-yellow pants back on.
As he dressed, Bulma peeked—and froze when she spotted the long, furry tail swaying behind him.
"A tail? On his butt? Huh... I thought boys' tails were all in the front..."
Once dressed, Son Goku shrugged. "Okay then. I'm leaving—Grandpa's waiting. Bye, weird girl!" He stepped out of the stall.
Bulma, still curled up in the corner, watched him go. The moment he disappeared from sight, panic surged through her. Teeth gritted, she squeezed her eyes shut and yelled:
"HEY!—TAIL BOY! GET BACK HERE!!"
Son Goku, already at the restroom entrance, frowned and trudged back. "What now?"
"I... I... Give me your shirt!" Bulma's face burned as she spat the words through clenched teeth.
"My shirt?" He tugged at his blue cloth top.
"HURRY UP!!" Bulma felt another trickle and nearly exploded from embarrassment.
"Oh." Nodding, Son Goku yanked his shirt off over his head and handed it to the "weird girl." Bulma's eyes flickered over his bare torso—weirdly toned for a kid his age, almost like those martial artists she'd seen, all hard angles and compact muscle...
Snatching the shirt, she kicked him out. Son Goku stood outside the stall, utterly confused, until Bulma finally emerged—his shirt now tied around her waist, slightly torn, with no trace of where the missing piece had gone. Her legs were clean, at least.
Shuffling awkwardly, she caught Son Goku staring with those big, innocent eyes. Enraged, she lunged forward and yanked his cheeks apart, snarling: "WHAT'RE YOU LOOKING AT?!"
Son Goku pried her hands off, scowling. "Stop it! That hurts!"
"Hmph!" Bulma pouted, secretly impressed by his strength. Her gaze lingered on his defined muscles—too defined for a boy his age. (Curse her genius brain for knowing too much...)
Still flushed, she followed him out of the restroom.
"Can I go now?" Son Goku asked, bare-chested except for his white cloth wristbands. He turned to leave—Grandpa was probably worried.
"WAIT!"
Panicking, Bulma grabbed his fluffy brown tail—
THUD.
Son Goku's legs gave out instantly, his eyes rolling back as he face-planted hard onto the floor.
"GYAAHH!!" He convulsed as Bulma, startled, involuntarily squeezed tighter.
Though she blamed him for her awful day, seeing him limp and helpless made her lean down in concern. "What's wrong with you?!"
"Y-You... let go... of my tail..." he wheezed, completely drained.
"Oh!" Blushing, Bulma released it.
Like a switch flipped, Son Goku sprang back up, dusting himself off like nothing happened. Bulma gaped.
"You're so weird!" she blurted.
"You too!" he shot back. "Peeing your—"
"DON'T SAY IT!!" Bulma screeched, face crimson. This country bumpkin was insufferable!
"Okay." He shrugged.
They stood there, staring. And staring. And—
"Ugh!" Bulma finally broke. "Could you..."
"What?"
"Walk me to my parents?" she mumbled, legs still pressed together. "I'm... scared to go alone."
"Wow, you're such a coward!"
"SHUT UUUUP!!" (Her demon form was getting a lot of use today.)
"Bulma! There you are!"
A golden-curled, voluptuous woman glided over, her eyes perpetually half-lidded like she'd just woken up—Bulma's mom, Mrs. Briefs. Beside her stood her husband, Dr. Briefs, CEO of Capsule Corp.
"Mom! Dad!" Bulma's eyes welled up—salvation at last!
"Are they your family?" Son Goku asked, fascinated. He only had Grandpa... and an even older Grandpa and Grandma.
Mrs. Briefs sniffed. "Hmm... Why do I smell blood?"
"MOM!!" Bulma short-circuited.
Dr. Briefs observed the blue shirt around Bulma's waist, then Son Goku's bare chest. "Ah. Our daughter's grown up!"
"Indeed!" Mrs. Briefs clasped her cheeks, touched.
"DAD! MOM!" Bulma wished the earth would swallow her whole.
"Quite the sturdy boy," Dr. Briefs mused, eyeing Son Goku. "Here for the World Martial Arts Tournament?"
As a sponsor, he'd brought his family along to watch.
"Yep! Grandpa's making me compete," Son Goku said earnestly. Despite his size, his ripped physique made the claim weirdly believable.