The Universal Capsule wasn't just a product to Bulma. Smith understood that without her having to explain it. The capsule was her family's legacy — the invention that defined the Brief name across an entire world she couldn't go back to. Replicating it here meant something that went beyond the engineering problem.
She was twenty years old, and she missed her parents. She'd never said it plainly, but she didn't need to. He'd seen it on her face during the holidays, in the way she went quiet at certain hours.
She'd asked him once, on New Year's Eve, whether the dragon could bring them here from another world. He'd been honest: the current Dragon configuration couldn't bridge across universes. The system's partner and character pools showed no trace of Dr. and Mrs. Brief. It might be possible someday — Super Dragon Balls operated at a different scale entirely, and beyond that, there were configurations that could theoretically breach multiverse barriers. But nothing available now.
He hadn't stopped thinking about it since she asked.
For the moment, though, she was flushed with the win, and he let her have it.
They were still in the lab, Bulma settled against him in the chair, the hover bike parked where it had materialized. The conversation had drifted, as it often did with her, from the immediate problem to the next one.
"You said the tournament format proposals were all bad," she said.
"Every one of them was either 'do what we did before' or 'add a side event.' Nobody solved the core problem."
"Which is?"
"Six or seven people competing. That's too small. Too much depends on who happens to find a ball that cycle." He turned it over in his mind. "I want more people in the room. More competition, more legitimate outcomes."
Bulma was quiet for a moment. Then: "There's a competition back home — the World Martial Arts Tournament. Open entry, anyone can register, the best fighter wins. Tens of thousands of spectators. It's a real event."
Smith looked at her. "You knew about it when you were out looking for Dragon Balls?"
"I was sixteen. I heard things." She shrugged. "The point is — something like that could involve everyone. Not just whoever happened to collect a ball."
"The problem," Smith said, "is fairness in the other direction. If anyone can enter a martial arts tournament and win a wish, then collecting Dragon Balls becomes pointless. The people who put in the work to find them get nothing for it."
Bulma thought about that. He watched her work through it — she had the same expression she got when a technical problem was resolvable but not yet resolved.
"Two options," she said finally. "First: run this as normal, treat it as the finale of the original structure. After this, you switch to a World Martial Arts format — open entry, all individuals eligible, champion gets the wish. You collect the Dragon Balls in advance to prevent outside seizure, and the wish is offered under Universal Capsule Company branding rather than announcing the dragon directly. That keeps the public from panicking while still delivering a real prize."
Smith nodded slowly.
"Second option: convert right now. Anyone who already holds a Dragon Ball gets a direct pass to the finals — their collection counts as a qualifier. Everyone else goes through open preliminary rounds. The Dragon Ball holders keep some advantage, but they share the stage."
Smith considered both.
The first option was cleaner, shifting to an open tournament created genuine stakes for the next generation of individuals — people who hadn't had a ball find them, who didn't have the resources or positioning to collect one, but who were capable enough to deserve a shot. He could recover the Dragon Balls himself after the cycle's wish was granted, hold them until the next tournament opened, and offer them as the prize. He could even take a page from the Mr. Satan approach — challenge the champion himself afterward.
"First option," he said. "Then we build the open tournament from on forward."
Bulma smiled with the particular satisfaction of someone who had untangled something real. "Good. That was the better one."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"It's already gone to my head. I'm celebrating the capsule and solving your governance problem in the same afternoon."
He laughed despite himself.
On the other side of the world, Ajak had gathered all ten Eternals in the same room for the second time in as many years.
"The Dragon Balls are active again," she said. "The tournament is beginning and we don't have a ball yet. Thena's condition has waited long enough."
Kingo spoke up. "I've already put an offer on the dark web and across every relevant black market channel. Three and a half million per ball, negotiable upward." He glanced around the table. "Money is not a limiting factor for us."
Several heads nodded. With Sersi's ability to transmute matter, generating gold or any other currency was a minor inconvenience at most.
Gilgamesh leaned forward, his voice carrying its usual weight. "The money is secondary. We need to actually locate a ball before the collection window closes. If we arrive without a ticket, we lose entry to the competition entirely. That's the real constraint."
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