That morning, a soft breeze drifted over the hills of Paozu, like the world itself was trying to whisper secrets to anyone patient enough to listen.
The sky was clear — a blue so pure, it made you forget problems even existed. The rising sun bathed the rice fields in gold, making them shimmer like a sea of gems. It was the kind of peace that only seemed to exist in old stories — simple, steady, and untouched.
Paozu was a place where time stood still. The distant mountains formed a natural wall, guarding the region from whatever lay beyond.
Life there was simple. Wooden carts creaked down dusty roads, donkeys plodded along at their own pace, and children ran through the fields, their laughter echoing across the countryside like a soundtrack of innocence.
Then came the sound.
Vroooom.
A low rumble rising in the distance. At first, no one paid it much attention. But the metallic roar grew louder, pulling everyone's focus. Farmers dropped their tools. Kids stopped mid-game.
And then it appeared.
A car.
Not a cart — a sleek machine of metal and glass, catching the sunlight like it was built from mirrors.
Zooooom.
It tore down the dirt road at a ridiculous speed, kicking up a cloud of dust that mocked the calm that had ruled moments before.
The engine roared like a beast, leaving the quiet village stunned.
Just as fast as it arrived, the car vanished. But the dust — and the questions — lingered. What was that? Why was it here? Was it a sign? A mistake? A warning?
♦♦♦
Sunlight danced across the polished surface of the car as it sped down the winding road. On the back, a silver emblem gleamed with a name everyone knew — even out here: Capsule Corporation.
In Paozu, that name was from another world. It meant tech, luxury, the future — things that belonged in cities, not on dirt roads and broken trails.
Inside the car, though, the vibe was different.
"— Come on... just this once, play something decent," muttered the driver, her voice sharp with impatience as she flicked through radio stations for the tenth time.
The girl behind the wheel had a look that matched her tone: focused, annoyed, not here for anyone's nonsense.
"— Mmm."
The car's dashboard looked like something ripped straight from Back to the Future, full of buttons and screens the average person wouldn't even know how to use. But she treated them like old toys. The only thing she cared about was tuning into ZTV Radio.
Finally, the static cleared.
"— Don't miss your chance! The new WMX86 from Capsule Corp is now available for just 400,000 Zennies! Get yours today—☆"
She rolled her eyes and dropped her head against the seat.
Fantastic. Just what I needed this morning — an ad for my own car.
She was driving the latest Capsule Corp model — naturally, a gift from her dad for her 16th birthday. A masterpiece of tech, sure. But not built for backroads. Every bump and jolt on the dirt track was a reminder that sleek design didn't mix well with potholes and dust.
"— Maybe they should test these things out here before calling them 'perfect for exploring the world." — she muttered, feeling each bump like a personal insult.
Outside, the Paozu hills rolled by in shades of green and pale brown. Most would call it a perfect day for hiking or a picnic. To her, it was just the backdrop to a mission.
She straightened her navy school blazer, fixing the ribbon that refused to sit right.
On the passenger seat sat a bag and a school ID: Bulma Starch.
She opened the glove compartment and pulled out a photo — just her and her best friend, Blouse, shopping at a mall, both smiling like life would always be that easy.
Her bright blue eyes darkened.
"..."
"— Will I actually find you?" — she whispered, slipping the photo back.
Two days.
Blouse had been missing for two days. And no one had a clue where she'd gone. Not even the police, with their helicopters and dogs, had come up with a single lead.
Bulma wasn't the type to accept "I don't know."
She stared at the road ahead — long, rough, and, to her, endless.
It mirrored her search: full of unknowns, but with one clear goal.
"..."
Giving up wasn't an option.
She stepped on the gas.
The engine roared like it shared her resolve. One thing was certain: Bulma wouldn't stop until she brought her friend back.
♦♦♦
After a while on the open road, Bulma pulled up beside an old gas station in the middle of nowhere. She took a deep breath, fixed her blazer, and stepped out.
The smell of gasoline mixed with the hot air, reminding her — just slightly — of the city.
As she pushed open the convenience store door, a chime rang like it was announcing something important — though clearly, it wasn't.
Behind the counter, the clerk looked up, unimpressed. His expression screamed outsider, the moment he saw her: city clothes, polished shoes, the Black Hawk school crest on her blazer.
"— Well now, look what the city done dragged in... What's a gal like you doin' all the way out here? Chasin' smokes or just out for a look-see?"
"..."
Bulma took a deep breath, her patience already hanging by a thread.
"— Cigarettes are illegal for minors." — she replied, her voice cool and robotic.
"And no — your idea of fun isn't on my list."
Is this how you welcome strangers? Who the hell hired this guy?
The clerk laughed, leaning over the counter like he had nowhere better to be.
"— Easy there, princess. I was just jokin'. Lost, huh? Why don't ya ring up mama from that ol' phone booth over yonder?"
"..."
"— Let's make something clear. I don't have time for some dropout comedian trying out material on strangers."
His smirk faded. He looked away, but she didn't let up.
"— I'm looking for someone. So either help me or point me to someone who can. That simple."
The tension in the store thickened. Even the flies seemed to stop buzzing. After a long, awkward pause, the clerk raised his hands in surrender.
"— Alright, alright, no need to get all huffy. Who're ya lookin' for?
Bulma pulled out the photo — the same one from the car — and placed it on the counter.
"— Her name's Blouse. Has she been through here recently?"
He stared at it for a moment, leaning back, hiding discomfort behind a fake shrug.
"— Maybe so. Hard to tell. My memory's been a bit foggy lately...
Bulma's eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what this was.
"— Oh? You sure? She's been all over the news. Even people out here must've heard."
"..."
Before he could reply, she pulled out a recorder and hit play. The voice was clear, serious — a professional newscaster's tone:
"— Good evening. An update on the disappearance of Blouse, a 16-year-old last seen at Azure Star School in West Capital. Authorities are still searching and ask for the public's help…"
The air changed.
The clerk swallowed hard. Even the group in the back of the store went silent.
"— Now." — Bulma said, shutting off the recorder.
"— You gonna tell me what you know?"
He looked ready to say something — but a voice cut in from the back.
"— Chimo! Shame on ya, boy!"
A stout woman marched up, hands on her hips, glaring.
"— This gal's worried sick 'bout her missin' friend, and you're out here makin' jokes? Where're your manners, huh?"
Bulma blinked, surprised, as the woman turned to her, still scolding the clerk.
"— Sorry 'bout my boy, ma'am. Name's Maju, and this little rascal here's Chimo. What can I do for ya?
"Ah… thanks. Nice to meet you…"
Bulma explained the situation, showing the photo again.
"— Hmmm…"
"Blouse, you said?" Maju frowned.
"— ...Sorry, ain't seen her."
"— Alright. Thanks anyway."
Bulma nodded politely and turned to leave when a big guy in an open shirt stepped forward, hesitant.
"— W-Wait!"
"..."
He scratched the back of his head, awkward.
"— There's a fortune teller up yonder, north ways. Folks say she helps people out. Might be worth a shot."
"— A fortune teller?"
Bulma raised an eyebrow.
"— You want me to find my best friend using magic?"
He nodded, surprisingly serious.
"— I know it sounds kinda dumb, but she's helped folks 'round here before. Might be yer best bet."
Skeptical, but with nothing else to go on, Bulma gave in. She set her GPS, noted the coordinates, and headed north.
As the car bounced down the dusty road, she muttered to herself:
A fortune teller... This better not be another dead end.
To be continued...