Chapter 6 - Logical Lies

ALIZA

AWAY FROM HER. At least she wasn't near the toxicity anymore. The lips as wet as gentle poison, the perfume as pungent as acrid gas, the blond strand of her hair dangling as a dangerous snake. Now, she wished, Colleen would be nothing but a haze that wouldn't haunt her again. She'd rather be stuck in here forever than to be with her again, than to be fake around her, than to lay her eyes on her blue ones. The white tank top blended with her pale complexion well, gritting her teeth as it was Colleen who gave her this.

Colleen should be a forgotten memory. She deserved it!

Thinking about it, a weight on her shoulders disappeared, but something But her other friends, her sister, her father . . .

The chest piece on Vegeta's torso gave her a sense of assurance, luring her into her the situation at the moment. She needed a break, and she won't waste any more time. She had to enjoy Martin's birthday party, as Piccolo suggested, instead of thinking of her. Vegeta slid the fingerless glove over his hands before entering the building.

But before they had entered, Vegeta had warned her not to aggravate the purple cat that she would soon meet, in addition to Piccolo's tip not to spoil this occasion. She had just nodded at them, being clueless in pretense, but she couldn't ignore the throbbing inside her chest.

Once they entered, Vegeta lead her toward a garden, a place filled with scampering dinosaurs and animals of that sort, and she hid herself behind Vegeta's back, her face moist with sweat. She didn't want them to see how she looked like. When she finally revealed herself, time itself seemed to have stopped in her garden. She herself got frozen in place, her face heated with embarrassment, red probably prominent against her white skin.

"Vegeta, who is this?" Bulma asked, as if moving time again, a glass of cocktail swinging slightly on her hand. The swaying movements of her hands were in a circular motion, and her green scarf coiling around her neck looked sleek, almost like a snake. Her lips still curved upward, but her eyes showed something else. That mere action mirrored Colleen's and the others' perfectly.

Was she faking it?

No, it had had to be different. Perhaps the memories of school had spoiled her eyes, poisoning her perception. As far as she had been concerned, that could be the only explanation. That was when she had neared Aliza, hands on her hips as she squinted her eyes. "Do you have any business with my husband?"

She didn't utter a word—at least, she couldn't. Her eyes flashing like a deer in the headlights, she stood still, frozen by her question, a trail of sweat on her temple.

This sort of introduction was way worse than she had expected!

"Uh, no, I—"

"Relax, it's not like Vegeta would have time for girls, anyway. I'm just teasing you. No use of getting pissed over a snarky joke." Bulma stopped her inclination. "I'm Bulma."

Right, she had to calm down. The least she wanted to do here was to get humiliated in front of these characters she adored. Beerus, that purple cat, was already there, too, eating with a wide smile, and she didn't want to create such a ruckus, considering the fact that he could destroy this whole universe if he wanted to. She must keep on a low profile.

"Aliza." She smiled.

"So you two know each other?" She faced his husband, a hand on her hip, prompting Vegeta to say something.

"This brat right here just appeared out of nowhere, claiming to be looking for that Kakarot!" Vegeta answered.

"Oh, really," she drawled, looking back at Aliza again, "then where is Goku?"

No answer. Beerus stopped eating, ears perked, eyes narrowed. Whis, an angel wearing an intricate maroon attire, with a blue halo right behind him, had his eyes divert into their direction without moving his body. Aliza didn't know what to say, nervous as their attention were pulled.

"Goku has something as a surprise for Marron!" Piccolo said, words sputtered like a geyser. That made the others react in surprise, faces in disbelief. The god of destruction ate again, but the angel kept staring—not at them, but her.

His eyes wouldn't blink; his expression was blank. She only smiled, trying not to let the foreboding stare affect her.

Vegeta had his arms crossed again while standing beside a nagging Bulma as she held their baby Bulla.

Beside them were Gohan and Videl, son of Goku and daughter of Satan, who were lost in their own world, no care at all. Their daughter was playing around with the other children, Goten and Trunks, each the sons of the most formidable Saiyan warriors.

One of them, a guy, in his orange gi, smeared with scars on his facade, with his spiky hair falling down at the back of his shoulders, had his eyes dilated. A floating blue cat leapt a feet higher in the air, also surprised. "Can you believe this, Puar?" Yamcha asked, sounding bemused as he faced the cat.

Then there was a man with an extra eye on his forehead, wearing a baggy yellow long-sleeved shirt, underneath a black vest with a Chinese character on it, with a white sash around his waist. He was talking with a white-skinned midget, who was also floating in midair, attire nearly identical. Talking to them wore a red dress with a wineglass in hand . . .

She couldn't believe it. After the sequel of the *Dragon Ball* series, the author seemed to have forgotten she existed. But she was here! The blonde woman noticed her, snarling, voice gruff. "What you staring at?!"

"Oh, nothing. It's just—your dress looks good on you." Sweat trickled down Aliza's face, a blush discoloring her pale cheeks. She did look good—in fact, better than her.

"Oh, really?" The woman challenged, blushing as she asked the three-eyed man. "Tien, do I really look good in this?"

"Launch, now's not the time!"

"Chiaotzu?"

"Launch, you look good on everything." The small one smiled, avoiding her wrath.

Aliza stopped eavesdropping any further, proceeding to the mother of the celebrant, who was seated by a table. But before that, with a slow breath, she checked Whis again, thankful that he stopped staring at her. The mother fixed her bob-cut hair, drinking alongside her bald husband. Marron was with them, panting, face soaked with sweat, her legs buckled. Apparently, she had been frolicking with the animals when she got tired.

18 gestured Aliza to come near them once she saw her staring, and her smile seemed sincere. She went there, heart racing, almost like it was programmed to do it more often.

"Welcome to the party. What's your name?" 18's smile wasn't contagious, but her lips still did it on their own, having a good job at faking it.

"I, uh, Aliza, Aliza Keensley."

"18." Her hands motioned to her husband. "This is Krillin, and this is Marron, the birthday girl." Aliza nodded, trying her hardest to seem like she just knew them.

"Nice to meet all of you! I'm sorry if I just barged in earlier . . ." Aliza kept her hands fixed against her lap, trying to be as prim as possible.

"Which reminds me, do you really want to see Goku?" Krillin asked, doubt lingering in his eyes. 18's smile faltered, now devoid of emotion.

She gulped, bowing as a sign of respect. "I'm a fan of Goku and you." They had no response, probably prompting her to continue.

"When you two were kids, I always was fascinated of your moves. I was never that fond of Martial Arts," she said, thinking of any logical lie. "My dad was, but that all changed when I saw you—I was six years old during the 21st Martial Arts Tournament . . . I watched you fight ever since, but I never saw the two of you again."

"The 23rd Martial Arts Tournament was 2 decades ago," Krillin stated. A knot was now in her chest. "Which means you're over 20 years old now, but you don't look like one."

What had she brought herself into? She's 17 years old, but stating that fact would just render her confession fake. It's true that it had been almost two decades since that event. She had to say something, before they would force her to tell the truth. Sure, she could just say that she randomly appeared here, and she could have told Vegeta and Piccolo that, too!

But would they believe it?

She had to think, calculate. During the 23rd Martial Arts Tournament, Goku was 18 years old, and considering her statement before, she could say she was 12 and that they were 6 years apart. Wait, she never knew how old Goku was now.

"Just tell us how old you are; we won't judge."

*Oh boy* From that period of time, she thought, Goku was 18. During the first episode of the sequel, Gohan was three or four years old. From what she remembered, every main saga was a three-year interval—but the Buu saga took seven years after Cell's rampage. If that were true—

"I'm 26 years old," Aliza said, eyes beaming with an expectation that they'd be convinced. She knew her calculations were wrong after thinking about it further, but she couldn't just take that back now. Krillin stared into the ceiling, contemplating, while 18 still remained her stoic expression.

"Come to think of it, we never knew how old he is, nor the date of his birth." Krillin had his head bent down now, eyes now closed.

"I never knew yours too," 18 said, now smiling.

"What?" Krillin shot his eyes open.

She just shrugged, a smirk clearly etched against her artificial skin.

Krillin leaned into the chair, head down low. "26, right?"

Aliza nodded, reluctant.

"But you look like a teen—Ow!" Krillin was rubbing his head, hissing in pain from 18's smack.

"I told you not to judge." She smiled at Aliza.

She had to think of something before they'd grow more suspicious. Then a part of herself sparked, a part of her that was kept hid for too long. "Uh, mister, uh . . ."

"Just call me Krillin."

"Krillin, I want to fight with you."

"I'm not sure about this."

"I—" Her own thoughts disturbed her chain of words. She shouldn't be saying things like this! Krillin was too strong for her!

Well, at least the subject diverted into something else.

"Just a little sparring match?" She looked into his eyes. At least the subject diverted into something else.

"You sound like Goku."

Her words came, almost foreign but natural, but her body was stiff, reacting differently. In her peripheral vision, Marron had her attention at them.

"It's okay if you don't want to," she said.

"Maybe some other time."

"Anyway," 18 intervened, causing the tension to drop, "stop stressing yourself and enjoy the party." She stood up, picking up her daughter and pecking her cheeks "Marron, say hi to Aliza."

"Hi." Then she hid her face, making 18 chuckle. That warmed her heart for once.

Krillin pushed back his chair, nearing his daughter. "Are you enjoying this party so far?"

"I think so . . ."

"It's still early, and the fun is still about to start. For the mean time, just stay here with your mom." And he scurried away, running through the door and fading in the night.

Then a man with curly black hair came rushing toward her, a red long cape wrapped around his neck, holding a huge bowl of popcorn. "Hey, miss, seems like you're looking for the strongest man alive."

"Mr. Satan," she said, trying to act like she was a fan, just noticing the huge alien eating a stockpile of food behind him, skin pink and elastic like gum, with an antennae protruding from the middle of his head, a violet cape around his neck. *Majin Buu.*

"That's right!" Satan exclaimed, clenching his fists in prideful proclamation. "The one and only."

This was the right cue. She had to do something believable. "I'm a huge fan!"

That seemed to be the most logical thing to say, but Satan only inched closer, hand by his mouth as he whispered, "Listen, I know how badly you want to fight with someone strong, so I'm gonna be generous and give you a chance to fight the strongest man alive! What do you say?"

She had no more reason to back out now. She could, but that could make her less believable. She just had to agree. "Where?"

The man faced the whole crowd, getting a glass of wine and clinking it with a spoon. "Attention, everyone! We all know what's the occasion today, so I'm—"

She couldn't believe it. She really had to fight. But she didn't know if she had the guts to, not after what she'd seen five years ago: her father was colored with violet bruises, a broken bone on his leg, blood on his white shirt, disfigured hands, a gaping bloody hole on his chest. It was all because of "the beast" within her, his father would say. A dream, he said—after the release, she gained consciousness of her surroundings, then later fainted, and her dad was good as new when she woke up. Everything that happened was just a figment of the mind. Even her sister said it didn't happen. But everything felt real. It just didn't make sense. After that, she didn't train anymore, and that dream never came again.

Vegeta stared at her, showing something that of suspicion, and seriousness with an intention to watch the whole scene. Or maybe he knew all along, but that was too far from logic. He already knew she could fly. Then there were Beerus and Whis, their gazes directly at her.

"—so as one of their guests, it'll be a good decision to just stop what you're doing for a while and join her in witnessing a match between me and . . ." Satan stopped, realizing something. "What's your name, miss?"

"Aliza."

"And Aliza, so give us two a round of applause."

They did.

The Z fighters were watching, the women obeyed, the children were amused, the gods were talking about something. Yamcha was snickering with Tien, but he stopped when Launch pointed her gun at his throat. Vegeta and Piccolo both had their intimidating looks. The children were on their bellies, watching. 18 sat with Bulma and her parents, but ChiChi wasn't there—she couldn't find her, but her father was present. Majin Buu was still eating, the caterers aggravated and sweating. Beerus slung his arms against the side of the chair, head leaning while muttering something to Whis, both of their eyes also held against her.

And then there was her and Satan, in front of each other, encircled by the audience. The cacophony of chatters began to fade out, drowned by the beating of her heart. She took one last glance at the gods, who were watching her intently, before facing at Satan, who was already in his fighting stance.

Satan smiled, his teeth glinting, and prompted her to start: "Ready?"

"Ready . . ."