It remembered you .
“Delete Slot 6,” Trunks rasped. “But if you do… you delete me for good. No Dragon Balls. No next save.”
The room exploded in light. When his vision cleared, Riku stood on the ruined outskirts of West City—in the game. But he wasn’t a character select icon. He was real. And standing across from him, sword drawn, was the real Future Trunks—flesh, scars, and all.
But tonight was different.
The screen bled. Black ki tendrils curled from the TV, smelling of burnt circuitry and rain. A hand—pixelated, then too real—pressed against the glass from the other side. Then a voice, distorted but unmistakable:
Riku stared at the glowing menu screen. DRAGON BALL Z: SHIN BUDOKAI 6 — a game that didn’t officially exist. He’d found it in a dusty game store, disc cracked like old lightning, case reeking of ozone. The clerk had just shrugged and said, “That one chooses its player.”
Tonight, the corrupted save file had a timestamp: Tomorrow, 11:47 PM. Dragon Ball Z Shin Budokai 6 Save Data
The corrupted slot shimmered, revealing a version of Future Trunks with gray skin and white eyes. Not a villain. A survivor. He’d been trapped inside a corrupted timeline branch for 300 resets—every time Riku fought in the game, Trunks felt the blows. Every loss, he died again.
Riku cracked his knuckles. “Guess I’m your New Game Plus.”
Riku’s thumb hovered over the controller. Delete or keep? He could hear his own heartbeat through the speakers. It remembered you
“You… loaded me.”
Every time he tried to load it, the screen flickered. A glitched version of Future Trunks would appear, sword raised, mouth moving in reverse. Then the game would crash.
And in the strange, impossible world of Shin Budokai 6 , the last save data didn’t just remember your progress. No Dragon Balls