Bulma clamped one hand firmly onto her mother's shoulder and applied steady, unmistakable physical pressure toward the nearest exit.
"Mom. We have actual work to do."
"Oh ho ho ho—" Mrs. Brief allowed herself to be aggressively guided out of the courtyard, still laughing merrily, displaying absolutely zero distress about her sudden eviction. "Little Bulma, you've always been so terribly sensitive! It was just a harmless joke—"
"That is definitively not the kind of joke a mother is supposed to make—"
"I'm going, I'm going!" Mrs. Brief reached the heavy blast doors and playfully spun back around, determined to deliver one final communication directly to Jordan. She offered a theatrical wink. She blew a dramatic kiss. "Little Jordan, please come visit us often! Auntie will always be incredibly happy to see you!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Brief," Jordan replied smoothly.
The heavy doors hissed shut.
Bulma stood completely frozen with her back pressed flat against the steel surface. Her face had flushed to a terrifying, incandescent shade of crimson that strongly suggested she had just spent the last ten seconds seriously contemplating legally changing her name and relocating to a different continent.
"Right," she said, projecting an enormous, brittle amount of professional composure. "The spaceship."
The interior of the reverse-engineered vessel was, Jordan had to admit, exactly what you got when you handed a pair of billionaire super-geniuses a blank check and absolutely zero practical constraints.
The outer shell was unmistakably descended from hostile Saiyan design. It retained the brutalist, compact efficiency, the aggressive spherical hull proportions, and the fundamental, airtight logic of a military vehicle built by people who intimately understood both the lethal hostility of deep space and the critical importance of not wasting mass.
Dr. Brief had cleverly utilized the original alien components as the load-bearing central core, and then aggressively built everything else outward from there. That meant the ship's fundamental propulsion and life-support systems were entirely alien-capable. But everything layered on top of that core was pure, unadulterated Capsule Corporation luxury.
High-end climate control. A fully stocked, walk-in refrigerator. A massive flat-screen television wired to an external sensor array that, Jordan was casually informed, could comfortably pull broadcast signals from relay satellites lightyears away. The primary rest area hadn't been configured as a bleak survival cot; it was a sprawling master suite. It featured a king-sized mattress, a dedicated shower room containing an actual porcelain bathtub, a separate lavatory, and a high-fidelity surround-sound audio system seamlessly threaded throughout the entire hull.
The overarching design philosophy, stated plainly, was: This vessel should feel like a luxury vacation, not a desperate fight for survival.
Jordan thoroughly approved.
"My personal training methodology doesn't require agonizing suffering as a strict precondition for growth," Jordan explained to Dr. Brief, who had been watching him evaluate the interior with the attentive, eager expression of an architect waiting for client feedback. "I don't need a gravity chamber that tries to crush my internal organs. What I actually need is somewhere incredibly comfortable to exist between layovers."
Dr. Brief nodded vigorously, radiating the deep professional satisfaction of an engineer whose wildest design instincts had just been completely validated.
Jordan walked over to inspect the pristine galley kitchen.
"One minor addition," Jordan requested. "A wine rack. And a proper, fully stocked bar setup—crystal glasses, a premium liquor selection, and secure, zero-G storage."
Dr. Brief happily pushed his glasses up his nose and scribbled a note on his datapad. "Easily done, my boy!"
Eating premium hot pot in the middle of deep space, Jordan thought with a smirk. Why suffer in the dark when you absolutely don't have to?
Jordan's polite offer to personally assist with the remaining mechanical assembly was accepted with the manic enthusiasm of an engineer who had been watching a terrifying launch deadline rapidly approach, and had just been unexpectedly handed a highly competent intern.
The Dragon Clan Magic was a brand-new toy, and Jordan was still aggressively testing its operational limits. But the fundamental rule—creation strictly bound by the user's conceptual understanding—covered a staggering amount of complex hardware when the person doing the 'understanding' possessed a vast scientific vocabulary and a working knowledge of three entirely different multiversal engineering traditions.
What should have taken another agonizing week of careful, microscopic assembly took exactly one afternoon.
Jordan and Dr. Brief worked shoulder-to-shoulder in the hangar. Bulma managed the volatile software integration testing from a nearby terminal, mostly trying very hard not to think about whatever the hell her mother had implied earlier.
Dr. Brief's running commentary during the rapid-fire assembly process was consistently excellent. He possessed the rare, beautiful intellectual openness of a man who had spent his entire life obsessively solving complex problems, and genuinely didn't care which universe the solution originated from—he just desperately wanted to understand the math behind it.
Jordan's Magnet Release casually manipulating heavy steel components at the sub-atomic level. His Dragon Clan magic spontaneously materializing hyper-precise, micro-machined engine parts out of thin air. The way he seemed to intuitively, instantly grasp terrifying structural load requirements. All of it was frantically cataloged, questioned, examined, and deeply appreciated by the older scientist in real time.
"Jordan," Dr. Brief said, finally stepping back to wipe his brow and assess the completed interior with the exhausted, euphoric air of a master craftsman admiring a finished masterpiece. "Have you ever seriously considered staying here? I could easily place you in charge of the entire Universal Capsule research division. I mean it genuinely. You possess absolutely exceptional instincts for this caliber of theoretical work."
Jordan reached out, affectionately patting the polished interior bulkhead. The synthetic metal was warm from the rapid assembly, solid and thrumming with the faint, rhythmic vibration of the alien fusion core running perfectly.
"I'm incredibly flattered, Doctor," Jordan said with a polite smile. "But my current goals are located elsewhere." He looked out the heavy viewport at the sprawling Capsule Corporation courtyard, taking in the clear blue afternoon sky, and the staggering implication of the infinite void waiting beyond it. "Out there, specifically."
Dr. Brief considered this rejection for a moment with the serene equanimity of a man who intimately understood the crushing weight of personal ambition.
"Ah, today's young people," he sighed, the words carrying genuine warmth rather than complaint. He pushed his glasses up. "Well then! The ship officially requires a name. I was waiting for the perfect moment to bring it up. Would you do the honors?"
Jordan looked at the pristine outer hull.
The iconic Capsule Corporation logo was already stenciled across the white plating—clean, professional, the universally recognized branding of the most technologically advanced engineering conglomerate on Earth.
Jordan raised his index finger. He tapped into the Dragon Clan Magic in the lightest, most delicate way possible, and effortlessly burned a single, massive character onto the hull in the exact same matching corporate blue.
1.
"'Universal Capsule No. 1,'" Jordan announced.
Dr. Brief read the stenciled name. His eyes went slightly bright behind his thick glasses. It was the specific look of a corporate CEO who had just heard something that deeply satisfied him on multiple, highly lucrative levels simultaneously.
"That is an absolutely excellent name," Dr. Brief said, nodding slowly. "Highly practical. And—" a slight, shrewd smile tugged at his mustache— "perhaps somewhat beneficial for brand recognition, out there in the wider universe."
Jordan had absolutely not been thinking about intergalactic brand recognition. But he accepted the corporate interpretation graciously.
Across the sprawling workshop floor, Bulma had been staring at the finished spacecraft with an expression that had been rapidly cycling between clinical professional assessment and something far more dangerously personal for the last twenty minutes.
The luxurious interior layout was clearly visible through the open boarding hatch: the massive suite, the pristine kitchen, the plush seating, the overarching atmosphere of a high-end vehicle explicitly designed for someone who fully intended to enjoy the journey. It was, objectively speaking, the greatest interstellar RV ever constructed.
She thought about deep space. About the crushing, agonizing travel time. About the inescapable fact that interstellar distances were terrifyingly long, and enclosed metal spaces were incredibly small, and—
She violently stopped thinking about that.
It absolutely wasn't worth finishing the thought. She and Yamcha were still together—technically. She hadn't broken it off. There were extremely complicated emotional circumstances that made the entire situation—
It's Mom's fault, Bulma thought firmly, aggressively shoving the entire mental thread into a heavy, reinforced psychological box and locking it. It is absolutely Mom's fault I'm even thinking about this. No further questions.
She fiercely turned her attention back to the glowing software integration readout.
Dr. Brief suddenly set down his heavy hydro-spanner.
He was holding a piece of hardware Jordan hadn't noticed him tinkering with. It was a bright red button housed in a compact steel casing, fitted with a small transparent flip-shield and a tiny numeric keypad on the side.
The primary attachment method, Jordan noted with mild alarm, appeared to involve a hammer and several large galvanized nails.
Jordan stared at the crude device for a long moment.
"Doctor," Jordan asked carefully, "exactly what is that?"
"Set a secure password and find out, my boy!" Dr. Brief beamed, stepping back with the delighted, innocent expression of a mad scientist who had just built an incredibly dangerous surprise.
Jordan cautiously punched six eights into the keypad. He flipped back the transparent shield. He pressed the red button.
The blinding white light was immediate and absolute. A concussive cloud of smoke violently filled the hangar for a full second before it cleared. The massive, two-story alien spacecraft was entirely gone.
In the empty space where it had been resting: absolutely nothing.
In the palm of Jordan's hand: a small, smooth, cylindrical white capsule, roughly the length of his index finger.
He stared down at it for a very long time.
"The final piece of the puzzle," Dr. Brief announced with enormous, booming satisfaction. "For proper interstellar travel, the ship should comfortably travel with you—not the other way around! If you happen to encounter any hostile entities with an aggressive interest in your vehicle, this ensures they can't easily locate it. Or steal it."
Jordan slowly turned the tiny white capsule over between his fingers.
Capsule Corporation had literally invented folded-space storage technology. This wasn't simulated digital compression. It wasn't advanced metamaterials boasting exceptional physical density. This was actual, literal, reality-bending spatial folding. The crushing, multi-ton mass of an interstellar spacecraft had been effortlessly reduced to a pocket-sized plastic toy. Jordan had always known this in theory.
The theory, and the terrifying practical reality of holding an entire building in the palm of your hand, were two wildly different experiences.
"Brilliant," Jordan breathed sincerely. "Genuinely terrifying, but brilliant. Thank you, Doctor."
Dr. Brief happily waved the praise off, displaying the modest pleasure of a genius who had received a compliment he entirely agreed with but didn't strictly need.
He whistled sharply, instructing a hovering guidance drone to retrieve something from the main laboratory. The robot quickly returned, carrying a sleek, double-layered, heavily reinforced storage case. The interior was fitted with neat, numbered slots. Most of them were already occupied by capsules of various bright colors.
Position Number One was currently empty.
"These are for your travels," Dr. Brief explained, pushing the heavy case into Jordan's hands. "Portable houses, off-road vehicles, survival field equipment—the standard explorer's kit. Plus, the latest batch of unprogrammed blank capsules on the lower layer! If you find something large and interesting you'd like to take with you, you can easily package it yourself."
Jordan did a lightning-fast mental estimate of exactly what a kit like this would cost at retail, briefly considered Capsule technology's absolute monopoly on the Dragon Ball universe's economic hierarchy, and immediately reached for a polite refusal.
"Doctor, I couldn't possibly—this is entirely too much—"
"Jordan," Bulma interrupted firmly.
She had finally recovered her composure. Her cheeks had cooled back down to a relatively normal, non-lethal temperature. "Just take it. If you're going out there into the unknown, you're going to desperately need it." A brief beat passed, and something significantly softer, heavier, entered her voice, hiding just underneath the fierce practicality. "And... when you've finally had your fill of the universe... make sure you come back before the Saiyans arrive. Goku is going to need absolutely all the help he can get."
Jordan silently placed the tiny white spacecraft capsule into Position Number One.
"I'll be back in time," Jordan said softly. "That's a cast-iron guarantee." He snapped the heavy case shut. "And you really should have more faith in Goku. I know it's incredibly hard to fully appreciate his potential from down here, but he is absolutely not going to waste this year."
Bulma stared down at the sleek storage box in his hands. She looked at the single white capsule resting in Position One—a tiny piece of plastic containing a massive spacecraft, containing a luxury kitchen, containing a fully stocked wine rack that absolutely hadn't existed this morning.