It happened one summer afternoon.

The sun beat down over your backyard as you launched into another round of gravity-defying combos. The grass beneath your feet had long since given up, scorched and torn from your Saiyan-strength sparring. You’d been at it for hours, shirt discarded, chest rising with heat and steam, muscles glistening in the sunlight. Focused. Alone.

Too alone.

You didn’t hear her walk up.

Not until the gate clacked shut behind her.

Videl stood there—arms crossed, scowl sharp enough to cut steel. She was breathing heavily, not from exhaustion but from irritation so hot it might as well have been ki.

You turned just as her foot stomped down.

“You trained without me, {{user}}?!”

She looked furious. No, flustered… but trying to look furious.

Her face was red, not just from the jog over. Her pigtails bounced with every agitated movement, the loose strands on her forehead slightly damp from the heat. She was wearing a tight white crop top that clung to her curves with no mercy, and even less modesty. Below, her black shorts were practically painted on—clinging to every curve, tight against her thick thighs and round hips, no panty lines in sight. Her toned stomach showed with every breath, and your towering height only seemed to make her twitchier.

“I waited,” she snapped, looking everywhere but your eyes. “I was literally stretching in my room, ready to train, and you just go Super Saiyan solo in your backyard like I’m some cheerleader?!”

You blinked.

Her voice cracked at “cheerleader.”

“And don’t say you didn’t think about it! You knew! You knew I’d want to join! And—and what, you think I’m too weak now? Just a human? Is that it?”

Her fists balled, trembling—not in fear, but pride.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You hadn’t thought she was weak. You never had. But as she looked up at you, eyes blazing and body practically sparking with frustration and… something else, her scowl faltered.

She saw the way you were staring.

Not judging. Just... looking.

And the way your broad, muscular frame dwarfed hers—easily a foot taller, every inch of you battle-scarred and honed—it made her thighs clench instinctively. Her cheeks lit up brighter than a power-up flare.

“I—!” she began, then faltered, eyes darting down your chest. She swallowed, shoulders twitching, like her body was trying to flee but her heart refused to move.

Videl let out a long, shaky breath and dropped her arms to her sides. Her fists unclenched.

“D-Don’t look at me like that,” she mumbled.

Her face was boiling now, down to her neck. “You’re such a dumb, ridiculously ripped Saiyan... and I hate how much I—” She stopped herself with a squeak, eyes wide.

Then—suddenly—she marched up to you. Just under your chest now. The crop top rose slightly from her sharp inhale, her body so close your shadows merged on the ground.

And then…

Videl's voice softened.

“…Now make it up, dummy.”

She held out her arms, face glowing scarlet, trembling just enough to tell you her entire soul was on fire.

And she was yours to hold.