Welcome to DBZ Yaoi BL Hub

The black market for intergalactic species was a vast and secret network; not just anyone could access it. On the outside, it was masked under the guise of biotechnology corporations and conservation Zoos. However, its true core operated in areas without restrictions or legal jurisdiction, in orbital stations or supposedly uninhabited planets. The auction center where Trunks had been locked up was known among elite collectors as “The Chamber of Oddities”. There, not only exotic creatures were sold, but also creatures with unique abilities, hybrids, mutants, and even DNA remnants that could be cloned.
Only those with power, unlimited credits, and connections could gain access. They were given interactive catalogs with detailed descriptions of each specimen: origin, temperament, uniqueness, level of training, and usefulness. Buyers strolled around with an air of greatness, like nobles of the past in search of living trophies for their private gardens, secret laboratories, or personal collection chambers.
The atmosphere was tense, expectant. The scent of sophisticated perfumes and chemicals hung in the air, mingling with the hum of security devices and the electronic voice of the system announcing the next lots. Some of those present drank from glasses as their eyes scanned the cells with an interest that combined greed and morbid curiosity.
“Lot forty-nine, hybrid species, probable imperial lineage” a voice announced as Trunks' capsule was lifted onto the square platform where the Saiyans had been fighting a short time before. A three-dimensional projection showed his silhouette slowly turning, marked with a symbol of high demand.
An excited murmur ran through the room. Some voices began to offer obscene bids.
“One hundred fifty thousand zenis.”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“Two hundred fifty thousand zenis. Confirmed as a young noble. Possible long-term domestication."
Some buyers argued among themselves in mixed languages. Others scanned Trunks' information directly from their devices.
He, still locked inside his cell, gritted his teeth, humiliated by being displayed as a decorative object. No one called him by his name. No one saw him as a warrior. He was just another product, spinning like a trophy on a pedestal of lights and algorithms.
One of the most insistent voices belonged to a collector known for his predilection for Wild Saiyans. His bid quickly surpassed all others, prompting a wave of applause and laughter from the audience. And while all this was happening, among the audience, a dark haired young man with a serious look watched silently. He did not talk to the others, nor did he smile. He just clenched his fists, containing a growing rage at the grotesque scene unfolding before him.
His name was Gohan, and he was not there by choice. He had been invited by an old friend from high school, someone who now worked as a technician for the market. He had brought him along as if he were a special gift:
'So you can see what lies behind diplomacy' he had said with a cynical smile.
However, the half-saiyan only saw brutality. Injustice. Corruption disguised as business.
Trunks was returned to his cell shortly after, still under the effect of sedatives. There, in the shadows of the corridors where the specimens were stored as living merchandise, the abuse began.
The hunters who had captured him visited him frequently, not to feed him or watch over him, but to mock him, push him, tease him. They said things to him that he did not understand, but whose tone was enough to provoke anger or shame.
Even other Saiyans, deformed by time and captivity, rejected him. Some spat near his cell. Others ignored him completely. His title of prince meant nothing to them; he was just another prisoner.
And Gohan watched. Every day that passed, he returned to visit his “friend,” feigning interest, gaining access. Waiting for the right moment to step in.
Little by little, Trunks stopped fighting, shouting, and waiting. He no longer believed that his father would come, no longer dreamed of an elite squad descending to rescue him. Hope had become a faint shadow that escaped every time he closed his eyes. All that remained in his mind were the broken images of his planet, Vejitaseii, of his people... and of the silence that no one answered.
Until a new auction day arrived.
The young Saiyan was once again put on display as a collector's item. And the same depraved collector who had been present the previous time returned with renewed enthusiasm. He had a theory: untamed Saiyans better retained their instincts. They were more useful. More... “functional,” so to speak. And it should be clarified that he was not referring to the usual types of functionality, of course not, he was saying it from a more sexual perspective.
The offer was generous, and it was handed over before anyone else could object to the acquisition.
In the midst of the transaction and the bureaucracy of signing documents and certificates of both guarantee and authenticity, while the custodians celebrated this successful purchase and updated the inventory, Gohan slipped away. During a brief oversight, he managed to steal a knife from a guard and hide it in his coat.
He said nothing, but silently he had made a decision: he would not allow that child to fall into the hands of men like him. Today he would free him and help him escape, no matter what. He had done it before with other species, how hard could it be?

------

That night, when the lights went out and only the occasional footsteps broke the silent atmosphere of the facility, the dark haired half-saiyan returned. He moved cautiously, deactivating sensors with a small hidden device, repeating this procedure along the way until he reached Trunks' cell, where Trunks lay with his blue eyes open but empty.
He reacted when he heard a slight metallic sound and saw a silhouette in the darkness in front of his cell. More out of reflex than instinct, Trunks quickly got up and backed away until his exposed back hit one of the cell walls as he repeatedly inhaled and exhaled in an attempt to control his racing pulse.
“Shhh...” the figure whispered as it inserted the blade of the knife into the emergency lock panel “don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”
The glass opened slowly. Trunks pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them distrustfully. He wanted to move further away, but there was no more room left to hide. He was cornered.
“Dûshai... Fayek dûshai” the young Saiyan murmured in a low but tense voice.
Gohan lowered his hands, motionless and looked him in the eyes.
“I don't want to hurt you. I'm going to help you get out... but you have to trust me, just this once” the younger boy watched him silently, his eyes fixed on those of the stranger who was not entirely human. He sniffed the air, barely perceptibly... and noticed something. A familiar scent. Saiyan. He said anything. He did not nod. But he took a step forward. And with that, his escape began. The first steps out of the cell were uncertain. Trunks kept his shoulders tense and his body alert, while Gohan moved forward silently, guiding him with hand signals, avoiding the cameras and sensors that were still active. Every corner was a risk and every aisle a possible trap or dead end. They slipped through a secondary aisle where the lights flickered and the hum of the generators created a constant tension. Trunks followed his rescuer but never took his eyes off him, like an animal walking with its captor willingly but without trust. They turned a corner and heard voices; two human guards were talking near a surveillance panel. Gohan raised a hand, signaling Trunks to stop. The younger boy did so, but his muscles were tense and his fists clenched "don't move” he whispered.
The young Saiyan did not understand the words, but he understood the gesture. He nodded stiffly and they waited. The footsteps faded away and Gohan pulled him by the wrist but Trunks pulled away abruptly.
“Nnngh... Fayek dûshai!” Trunks snapped, backing away.
Gohan looked at him desperately.
“I'm trying to help you! we can't stay here!” Trunks did not answer. His breathing was heavy. Gohan clenched his teeth in frustration and gestured firmly for him to follow. This time, Trunks did not object. They reached a wide corridor near a loading area. That's when a distant alarm sounded. Someone had noticed the open cell “damn it...” he muttered.
Emergency lights came on and a group of armed guards appeared at the end of the hallway. There was no time to hide.
“STOP THERE! Get down on the floor, now!”
Trunks bared his teeth, stood in front of Gohan and growled fiercely.
“FAYEK! Rak'zhal! SOUKAI-DAN!!” his energy flared briefly despite the inhibitor, but Gohan threw himself at him just in time.
“No! don't do it!” he pushed him behind a column before the shooting started. One of the bullets hit the wall where Trunks had been a second ago. The young Saiyan looked at him, panting and confused “you can't use your ki! that collar will kill you if you try again!” Trunks frowned, not understanding anything he was saying, but his eyes read the tone. His rescuer was nervous, not because of the guards but because of him “trust me” he whispered as the footsteps approached “please, just hold on a little longer...”
The guards turned the corner, armed and ready to fire. Without thinking twice, Gohan came out of hiding and advanced toward them without raising his arms.
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE! DON'T MOVE!” one of them shouted.
Gohan did not respond. One of the soldiers fired. The bullet whistled through the air... and stopped right in front of the half-saiyan's open palm. In a matter of seconds, more shots were fired from the enemy rifles, but each of the bullets was stopped in midair. With a single outstretched hand, Gohan caught or deflected them as if they were mere flies.
The guards stood paralyzed, their eyes wide. One of them dropped his weapon, his mouth agape.
“What the hell... how did he do that?!”
“He's not human...!”
Before they could take another step or finish their sentence, Gohan teleported away from their sight with a swift and precise movement. He reappeared behind them and, with surgical precision, struck the back of each of their necks, knocking them unconscious before they hit the ground.
Silence returned to the hallway. Gohan glanced over at Trunks, who was still hiding behind the column. He nodded for him to come out.
“Come on, we have to keep going.”
Trunks emerged slowly, still surprised by what he had just witnessed. For the first time since he had met him... he did not feel fear, but something more akin to respect.
They walked silently through increasingly dark and narrow corridors, the emergency lights flickering irregularly. Trunks kept his eyes fixed on the broad back of his rescuer, slowly processing everything that had happened. For the first time, someone was protecting him, defending him, risking their life for him without asking for anything in exchange.
Gohan stopped every so often, assessing the routes and making sure there were no sensors or suspicious movements. Finally, they reached a rear door with an industrial seal that could only be opened from the inside.
“We're close...” he muttered, more to himself than to Trunks. As they opened the gate, they were greeted by the outside night air. Trunks took a moment to gaze at the sky after so many days without seeing it and without knowing how much time had passed. It was dark, stained by the glow of the futuristic-looking city over which the black market was hidden. Beneath their feet, a loading dock lay silent, floating vehicles parked along the pier. Gohan looked around quickly until his dark eyes settled on a medium-sized delivery truck with the side door barely closed “this way” he motioned to the young Saiyan, and they both slipped away quickly, keeping low until they climbed into the vehicle. Once inside, Gohan locked the doors and checked the interior; no one else was there. He slumped into one of the seats and took out a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth, handing it to Trunks “put this on” he said firmly. Trunks looked at him confused, then at the package. He opened it slowly. It was a set of loose-fitting clothes, a long oriental button-down shirt with wide sleeves and a pair of socks that would cover him up to his knees. He looked at it puzzled, then looked up at Gohan as if waiting for an explanation “if you don't change, they'll spot us right away” he added without looking at him as he checked the vehicle's control panel.
The boy pursed his lips but then turned away suspiciously to get changed. His body still ached. The ki inhibitor was still firmly attached to his neck, weighing him down like an invisible chain.
“Kss... rak'tosh...” he muttered pointing to the collar.
“I know” Gohan replied when he heard him “I'll take it off when we get to the mountains. I promise.”
Trunks kept quiet. He finished getting dressed and sat down in front of his rescuer. He was going to try to ask him something else, but Gohan had already started the vehicle's silent engine. The truck rose gently, moving away from the dock and disappearing into the shadows of the city.
The escape had begun... but the journey was just starting.
The sky was beginning to lighten, the first rays of dawn tinging the sky with a pale blue hue, the edges of the horizon as the vehicle floated over a landscape that was becoming increasingly rural, scattered buildings giving way to vast fields, green hills, and forgotten dirt roads. Inside the truck, there was almost complete silence. Gohan kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Trunks (now sitting in the passenger seat) had stopped watching him, his attention now focused on the landscape passing by the window: an unknown but curiously peaceful expanse, so different from the confinement he had known until now.
The wind gently blew against the windows, and only the low hum of the engine interrupted the peace. For a moment, Trunks closed his eyes. The silence did not feel threatening; on the contrary, it was comforting.
He opened his eyes again and turned his head toward his rescuer, then (without saying anything) slowly extended a hand as if trying to get his attention or thank him. Gohan said nothing, only looked away for a second and nodded very slightly, almost imperceptibly.
There was no need for words.
Trust, still fragile and formless, began to build between them, as the light slowly broke through the clouds at dawn.