The noon sun scorched the beach mercilessly. The air shimmered from the heat, making the distant scenery appear distorted.
Yamcha stood shirtless under the blazing light, his bronze skin glistening with sweat.
Beads of perspiration traced the lines of his muscles before dripping onto the scorching sand and instantly evaporating into wisps of steam.
"Wolf Fang Fist!!!"
With a feral roar, Yamcha's body blurred into an afterimage.
His hands formed claw shapes, slicing through the air with sharp whistles as he launched a storm of strikes at the two-meter-high granite block in front of him.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The impacts rang out like rapid drumbeats.
Stone chips exploded from the rock's surface, and within seconds, deep grooves were carved into the granite.
"Hah!"
Channeling power from his waist, Yamcha spun and delivered a heavy roundhouse kick straight into the center of the rock.
Crack… Boom!
The granite split apart and shattered into rubble.
"Huff… huff…"
Yamcha landed lightly, chest heaving. He wiped sweat and dust from his face, pride flashing in his eyes.
A week ago, he would not have dared imagine this level of destructive power.
Was this the result of Kame School training?
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A sparse and extremely perfunctory round of applause sounded from beneath a nearby coconut tree.
Yamcha spun around sharply.
Krillin leaned casually against the trunk, holding a freshly picked coconut with a straw in it.
He watched Yamcha with a leisurely expression, like a tourist observing a circus act.
"Not bad," Krillin said after taking a sip. "As a warm-up exercise, it's so-so."
"Krillin!"
Yamcha's fists clenched.
That infuriating superiority was still there.
"When did you get back?" Yamcha asked coldly.
"I thought even if you didn't die in your lap of luxury, you'd at least wait until the tournament to show your face."
"Just now," Krillin replied as he brushed sand off his pants.
"You looked focused, so I didn't want to interrupt. Watching a 'Lone Wolf' vent his anger on a rock is quite entertaining."
A vein throbbed on Yamcha's temple.
He sized Krillin up carefully.
After a week in West City, Krillin did not appear stronger. He carried no obvious aura. In fact, he felt almost ordinary.
Except his bald head seemed even shinier.
Yamcha snorted and picked up his weighted vest.
"The Martial Arts Tournament is starting soon. Pray you don't run into me, otherwise even Master Roshi won't be able to save you."
"Don't worry," Krillin said casually, tossing the empty coconut shell.
It traced a perfect arc and landed in a trash can dozens of meters away. "You can't beat me. I went through hellish special training in West City."
"Special training?" Yamcha narrowed his eyes. "What kind of high-tech equipment did Bulma build for you?"
At the mention of Bulma, Krillin smiled faintly.
"That was just the appetizer."
He walked closer and activated [Genius Intellect].
In his vision, Yamcha's emotional fluctuations were like a wildly unstable candlestick chart, each spike radiating jealousy and insecurity.
Perfect.
"The real special training was in the workshop," Krillin said in a lowered voice. "You know, making a Battle Suit is a rigorous scientific process.
To ensure a proper fit, Bulma had to measure precise data for every part of my body."
Yamcha's pupils contracted.
"Every part?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yeah," Krillin nodded, gesturing casually.
"Chest, waist, hips, even the expansion coefficient of my muscles. She used a cold measuring tape and pressed it against my skin bit by bit.
The air conditioner in her workshop was broken. It was hot. We were both covered in sweat."
Krillin paused thoughtfully, "Oh right, that citrus perfume she wears mixed with sweat smells really… special."
Boom.
Yamcha felt like his brain had exploded.
Very special?
They were alone together. Measuring. Sweat.
Logic?
What the Hell was that?!
"You… you bastard!!" Yamcha's eyes turned bloodshot.
"I'm going to kill you!!!"
Without warning, he lunged forward.
"New Wolf Fang Fist!!"
This was no training strike.
His speed surged to the limit. The air tore apart with sonic booms as his punch shot toward Krillin's face.
Fast. Accurate. Ruthless.
Six months ago, Krillin would have had to roll desperately to avoid this attack.
But now…
[Warning: Hostile attack.]
[Analysis: Right punch aimed at face, speed 42 m/s. Left leg charging for sweep. Center of gravity unstable.]
[Weakness: Underarm exposed. Emotional instability causing scattered power.]
[Solution: Sidestep 15 degrees left. No counterattack necessary.]
Krillin did not even raise his hands.
When Yamcha's fist came within a centimeter of his nose, Krillin simply took a small step to the left.
Just one small step.
Whoosh—
Yamcha's punch hit nothing but air.
His momentum dragged him forward uncontrollably.
"What?!"
Before Yamcha could recover, Krillin's toe casually hooked his ankle at the precise moment his old force was spent and new strength had not yet gathered.
Thud!
Yamcha crashed face-first into the sand and slid two meters.
Silence.
Yamcha lay motionless, mind blank.
What just happened?
He had not even seen Krillin move.
Krillin squatted beside him.
"This is your special training result?" he asked calmly. "Yamcha, your heart is in turmoil. Fight like this, and you might even lose to Puar."
Yamcha stared up at him.
The little bald monk who once relied on tricks to compete with him now stood at a height he could not comprehend.
The gap was not power.
It was Realm.
"Enough."
Master Roshi appeared silently between them and tapped Krillin's bald head with his pipe.
Thwack.
Then Yamcha.
"Ow!"
Yamcha clutched his head.
"Losing isn't scary. Being a sore loser is," Master Roshi said sternly. "If this were life or death, you would have died ten times over just now."
He glared at Krillin next.
"And you! Always spouting nonsense! If you used that cleverness on the Righteous Path, you would have reached the heavens already!"
Krillin looked innocent.
"I didn't lie. My dimensions were measured. It really was hot."
Yamcha spat sand from his mouth and stood up slowly.
The fury in his eyes faded into something complicated.
"Hmph. We'll settle this at the Martial Arts Tournament. I'm hungry. I'm going to eat."
He walked away, shoulders slightly slumped.
Krillin watched him leave and sighed.
"Forget it. You'll only lose even more miserably then."
...
Author's Note:
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