Hearing Master Roshi's words, Yamcha finally felt the weight on his heart lift.
It worked!
The first step of his plan was a complete success.
He forced down the joy surging in his chest, kept an expression of deep gratitude, and bowed low to Master Roshi.
"Thank you, Master Roshi! I… I won't let you down!"
"Don't celebrate too early." Master Roshi waved a hand, his tone returning to its usual lazy drawl.
"My training is harsh. If you dare slack off—even if you've come back from the dead—I'll still toss you off the Lookout."
"Yes! I understand!" Yamcha straightened his back immediately, answering loudly.
Was he kidding? Compared to scavenging for food in the ruins of a destroyed world, any training—no matter how brutal—was heaven.
"Mr. Popo," Master Roshi turned, "I'll leave this kid's food and lodging to you."
"No problem, Master Roshi." Mr. Popo nodded, then looked at Yamcha.
"Your room is over there. I will bring your meals on time."
"The Lookout is large, but there are areas you must not enter at will—especially Kami's personal quarters."
"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Popo," Yamcha responded quickly.
He understood perfectly—Popo was reminding him to follow the rules.
This seemingly simple, honest attendant of the Lookout possessed unfathomable strength—so Yamcha knew it was best to behave himself around him.
"Alright, you arrived today. Rest well and get adjusted," Master Roshi said. Then he leaned on his wooden staff, wandered back to the edge of the Lookout, found a comfortable spot to lie down, and began sunbathing—humming an unknown tune.
His relaxed, carefree attitude left Yamcha speechless.
This old man really was the same no matter where he went.
But somehow… that familiarity made Yamcha feel safe.
Under Mr. Popo's guidance, Yamcha reached his room.
The room was spacious yet simple, with nothing but a bed and a table.
But through the window, he could see the rolling sea of clouds outside—a breathtaking sight.
Yamcha closed the door, lay on the bed, and let out a long breath.
"Damn… finally settled down."
Ever since he crawled out of his grave, he had been like a tightly wound string.
Only now, in the absolute safety of the Lookout, could he truly relax.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him, but he couldn't sleep; his mind was consumed by the plans ahead.
First step: cling to Master Roshi's thigh—success.
Second step: use 'restorative training' as an excuse to openly cultivate and rapidly raise my strength.
"My physical foundation is solid, and with an adult mind, it shouldn't take long to get back to the few-thousand power level I had before dying."
"At that speed, Master Roshi will think I'm an 'extraordinary talent.' That'll raise my standing."
Third step: once I hit a bottleneck, I'll request to use the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.
"That's the most crucial step. I have to choose the right moment and the right excuse."
Yamcha's eyes gleamed with excitement.
He was like a player holding the ultimate strategy guide. The difficulty of his starting point might be hell, but he knew the route to victory.
All that was left was to take it one step at a time—turning that strategy into reality.
Knock, knock.
A knock sounded at the door.
Yamcha quickly got up and opened it—it was Mr. Popo holding a tray.
On the tray was a simple grilled fish and a bowl of clear water.
"Your dinner," Mr. Popo said.
"Thank you, Mr. Popo." Yamcha took the tray, and the aroma of the grilled fish instantly awakened his hunger.
He was about to close the door when Mr. Popo suddenly spoke.
"Your eyes do not belong to someone who has lost power and memory."
Yamcha's heart tightened, the hand holding the tray freezing mid-motion.
He slowly lifted his head and met Mr. Popo's ink-black eyes.
Those eyes carried no emotion—yet seemed capable of seeing through everything.
"You… what do you mean?"
Cold sweat trickled down Yamcha's back.
No way.
Already exposed on day one?
Mr. Popo is terrifying!
"In your eyes," Mr. Popo continued in the same flat tone, "there is no confusion. No despair."
"Only… planning and ambition. You came to the Lookout with another purpose."
It's over.
Yamcha's mind spun at high speed, scrambling for a response.
Should he keep pretending? Or…
"Mr. Popo," Yamcha said, abandoning the act. He looked straight into Popo's ink-black eyes and lowered his voice. "If I told you… I can see the only hope left in this world, would you believe me?"
Mr. Popo stared at him silently for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"It's getting dark. Rest. Tomorrow's training will be harsh."
Without another word, he turned and left, disappearing into the quiet halls of the Lookout—leaving Yamcha standing at the doorway, drenched in cold sweat.
Damn, that scared me to death.
What did he mean by that?
Did he believe me?
Did he not?
Or… was that silent approval?
...
Early the next morning, Yamcha was awakened by Popo.
He stepped out of his room and saw Master Roshi already standing in the plaza at the center of the Lookout—his usual laziness gone, replaced by a solemn, focused expression.
"Boy, are you ready?" Master Roshi asked.
"I'm ready, Master!" Yamcha straightened up immediately.
"Good." Roshi nodded. "Among the abilities you've forgotten, the most important is the use of 'Ki.'"
"So today, we begin with the most basic—sensing Ki."
Master Roshi walked up to him, extended one finger, and tapped Yamcha's lower abdomen.
"Calm your mind, close your eyes, and feel the faint Ki I'm sending into your body. Then try to use your will to find the source of your own dormant Ki."
A faint yet incredibly pure warm current seeped from Master Roshi's finger into Yamcha's body.
Yamcha immediately sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and followed Master Roshi's instructions.
Of course, he didn't need to search for anything.
His Ki had long since been awakened.
But he had to act the part.