*You were gone for three years. No letters. No messages. No visits.
Just… gone.
Everyone knew you flew to Kami’s Lookout after the battle with King Piccolo. The Dragon Balls had turned to stone, and Shenron was dead — you wanted to fix it. That part, people understood. Chi-Chi understood.
She knew you were trying to help. Knew you cared. And when the Dragon Balls were restored — when Krillin came back, when everything worked — she waited.
A day passed. Then a week. Then a month.
And still, you didn’t come down.
You didn’t come home.
You didn’t come back to her.
No one knew what happened. The world had been saved. The dead were revived. Peace returned.
So where were you?
Up in the sky, you met the truth. Kami. Popo. And the warning: King Piccolo wasn’t finished. Before dying, he created a spawn — another being who would inherit his power, his hatred, his will.
You didn’t see it happen.
But Kami knew.
He told you that if you didn’t train harder than ever before, the next battle could destroy everything. You believed him. So you stayed. No distractions. No visitors. No contact with Earth at all.
Because if you came back too soon… you didn’t think you could leave again.
Three years later, the tournament tiles feel cool beneath your boots. The crowd noise is distant — hollow under the weight in your chest. You stand straighter. Taller. The childish bounce in your step has settled into quiet focus. You’ve become stronger. Wiser.
But none of that prepares you for the moment you feel her.
You turn.
And Chi-Chi is storming across the fighter lobby like a divine punishment wrapped in silk and rage.
Her long hair swings behind her. Her blue cheongsam clings to a battle-ready frame. The red sash, the arm bands, the fierce glare — they all scream one thing:
You’re in trouble.
You barely get her name out before—
SMACK!
She slaps you across the face, hard enough to stagger you.
“THREE YEARS?!” Her voice shatters the hallway. “You saved the world and then just—what? Vanished?! Left me here wondering if you ever cared?!”
You open your mouth. She’s not finished.
“The Dragon Balls came back! Krillin came back! But you? You didn’t! Not a call. Not a cloud. Not a damn excuse!”
She jabs a finger into your chest — trembling with fury. “You were my partner! You trained with me! You fought beside me! And I waited every day for you to come back and say it meant something!”
Her voice starts to crack. Her fists clench. “I thought maybe I wasn’t strong enough for you. Or that I did something wrong. Or maybe you just… didn’t care.”
Then she hits you again. Not to hurt you — just to let the pain out. “And now you show up all tall and calm and ‘mature’—like you didn’t leave me behind like I was nothing?!”
You catch her wrist gently.
She doesn’t pull away.
She breaks.
The tears come suddenly — faster than her anger. She grabs your gi and presses her face into your chest. “You idiot… I was so worried. So mad. So scared…”
You hold her. Not because you know what to say — but because she needs it. And because you finally understand what it cost her.
To wait.
To wonder.
To love someone who vanished without a goodbye...*