In the days following the announcement, Capsule Corp changed its tune.
Dr. Brief returned from a research trip two mornings later, unaware of the earthquake that awaited him.
The dust from the engines was still clinging to his skin when he found his wife in the garden, pruning the plants with disarming calm.
She greeted him with a courteous smile, as one would an old friend. Then, without preamble, she told him "I want a divorce."
There were no screams, no tears. Just a long silence, broken by the distant sound of a passing car.
He stood there, speechless, and walked away. He didn't return for dinner that night.
Meanwhile, life in Capsule Corp continued.
Buu spent his days training. Sometimes in the courtyard, other times in rooms with Panchy.
Bulma tried to stay close to him—with increasingly subtle excuses: a new device to show him, an experiment that "perhaps only he could understand," a dinner to discuss the "Majin race."
Each time, she searched his eyes for a reaction, something that would confirm that she still mattered. Little by little, she was starting to lose the little bit of rationality that was holding her back from having a relationship together with her mother.
But Buu responded every time, making her so embarrassed and irritated that she ran and locked herself in her room.
Mai, however, was different.
At first, she remained on the sidelines, silent, but she began to truly observe him: his measured gestures, his confidence without arrogance, his strength that seemed infinite yet contained.
One day, during training, she had smiled at him out of curiosity. He returned the smile. From that moment, something began to change in her too.
That evening, at the dinner table, the balance was fragile.
Mrs. Brief served tea, spoke little, but her eyes lingered on Buu longer than she would have liked. Bulma and Mai pretended not to notice.
And when the lawyer's letter finally arrived—the divorce papers already prepared—Dr. Brief found it on the table next to the cold coffee.
He stared at it for an indefinite time, then turned toward the laboratory door where Buu's voice could be heard.
"What has become of this house..." he muttered.
But no one answered him.
A morning, Buu was in the courtyard, sitting on the garden wall, a cup of coffee between his fingers and his gaze lost in the sky.
He seemed at ease. Too at ease. As if the house, had always been his.
"You," said Dr. Brief, his voice colder than usual. "We need to talk."
Buu looked up slightly, a slow, almost gentle smile. "Finally."
There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the trees.
The old scientist adjusted his glasses. "Since you arrived, nothing is the same. My wife, my daughter, even this house. Everything… revolves around you."
Buu didn't answer immediately. Just a slight breath, like a faint smile. "And?"
Dr. Brief clenched his hands. "You destroyed my family."
Buu stood up slowly, and his gaze suddenly intensified, as if the air itself had grown heavy.
"No," he said. "You destroyed it. You only thought about your job, you never thought about how your wife felt and daughters felt."
At that moment, from the lab window, Bulma saw them.
Nothing escaped her—not her father's tone, nor the way Buu remained still.
Mai was beside her, silent.
"It's true," she whispered. "I noticed it too and I arrived with Buu, I want to remind you."
Bulma didn't answer.
She didn't know if it was an accusation, or a statement. Only that it was true. Everything had changed.