Sitting cross-legged sounded simple, but doing it felt as difficult as climbing to the heavens.
Yamcha tried hard to calm himself, but his mind was a mess.
The emotionless faces of the Androids, the deafening explosions, that friends and family photo… all kinds of images flashed through his mind like a spinning lantern.
"Concentrate, you idiot!"
He cursed himself silently, forcing deep breaths to drive out every stray thought.
According to Dragon Ball theory, Ki was life energy, present within every living being.
To sense it, he first needed a mind as calm as still water.
He inhaled slowly, feeling the air enter through his nostrils, and exhaled gently.
Little by little, everything outside seemed to fade. The moldy smell, the dust, the cold ground… All of it dissolved as he focused inward.
He could feel his heartbeat and the flow of blood.
"And then? Where's the Ki?"
He tried to "see" and tried to "hear," but inside his body he sensed nothing except ordinary biological activity.
Minutes passed. His legs went numb, yet he gained nothing.
"Damn it, is my method wrong?"
He opened his eyes, feeling irritated.
"No, Yamcha could use Ki naturally. It should be a physical instinct. It's just that I, as a foreign soul, don't know how to activate it."
He changed his approach.
Since it was instinctive, he would use the most direct method to trigger it.
He stood up and took the starting stance of a classic move he remembered Yamcha using—the Wolf Fang Fist.
He closed his eyes, imagining a strong enemy before him, imagining gathering all his strength into his fist.
"Yaaahhh!"
He shouted and threw a punch!
The punch sliced through the air with force, but… that was it. It was just a heavy punch from an ordinary person.
"It's still not working…"
Yamcha felt discouraged.
How long had he been here? One day? Two? There was no sense of time in the underground parking lot. The biscuits he'd eaten had long been digested, and hunger gnawed at him again.
He couldn't afford to waste any more time.
He decided to adjust his plan—first find supplies and transportation. Training could be worked on along the way.
He returned to the entrance, confirmed that nothing unusual was happening outside, took a deep breath, and slipped out.
Seeing daylight again, the gray sky weighed down on him with a suffocating heaviness.
He moved through the ruins like a silent ghost.
His goal was clear: find any vehicle that still looked intact, or locate basements and warehouses that might be hidden beneath collapsed buildings.
But the process was even harder than he expected.
The entire city looked like it had been plowed through by some colossal beast. Debris was everywhere.
He passed a plaza and saw numerous scorched, human-shaped silhouettes—the final traces of people vaporized instantly by energy blasts.
His stomach twisted. He forced down the urge to vomit and sped up his steps.
This was hell.
He had to get out as soon as possible.
Under a collapsed apartment building, he found a ramp leading to an underground garage. Although blocked in many places by rubble, it looked much easier to access than his previous hiding spot.
He slipped inside and was pleasantly surprised to find several vehicles still in decent condition.
One of them was a sturdy-looking off-road motorcycle.
Yamcha's eyes brightened, and he quickly walked over.
He examined it carefully; the body only had a few scratches, and the tires were still inflated. He pressed a button—an electric start.
"That's great!"
As long as it still had power, he wouldn't have to worry about making loud noises when starting it.
He searched the area again, scavenging more bottled water, some canned food, and even a first-aid kit from the trunks of several cars.
He wrapped everything in cloth and tied the bundle securely to the back seat of the motorcycle.
Now, everything was ready.
He straddled the motorcycle and located the ignition button.
His finger hovered over it, but he hesitated.
He knew very well that once he started the engine—even if the sound was faint—it would carry far in this absolutely silent city.
What if… the Androids were nearby?
He hesitated.
Should he stay here, surviving like a rat for a few more days? Or risk everything for the chance to reach Korin Tower?
His gaze fell onto the rearview mirror on the handlebars.
Reflected in it was his scarred face, eyes filled with conflict and fear.
"This is pathetic. Stop being a fucking loser!"
Yamcha stared at himself in the mirror and muttered a curse.
"You're Yamcha now, a member of the Z Fighters! Maybe the weakest one, but you're not a coward!"
"Vegeta dared to fight 18. Gohan and Trunks kept resisting again and again. Which one of them wasn't afraid of death? But they still went!"
"And me? I have information none of them ever had. I know where the only turning point is, yet I don't even have the guts to start a motorcycle?"
The more he spoke, the more the anger in his chest surged.
That deep resentment and unwillingness drowned out the fear.
"What am I scared of? If I die, I die. I'll just get reincarnated again in eighteen years… No wait, I just climbed out of a grave—I'm not going back yet!"
His eyes hardened.
Without another moment of hesitation, he slammed the ignition button!
Vroom—!
A faint electric hum sounded, and the motorcycle's dashboard lit up.
Success!
Yamcha's heart leapt with joy. He twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle growled softly before speeding up the ramp and out into the City of Death.
He avoided the main roads entirely, deliberately choosing small, debris-filled paths. The motorcycle handled beautifully, weaving through the ruins as if the terrain were flat.
Wind whipped past his ears, carrying the stench of the ruined city.
Yamcha stayed completely focused, dodging potholes and protruding rebar while constantly keeping an eye on the sky.
He knew those two demons preferred flying overhead.
He was like an ant scurrying beneath the shadow of a giant elephant—insignificant, but stubbornly alive.
His destination was the Korin Tower that lay far to the east.