The midday sun scorched the beach mercilessly. The heat warped the air, making the distant scenery seem to shimmer.
Yamcha stood bare-chested, his bronzed skin gleaming with sweat.
Sweat ran along the contours of his muscles, gathering into rivulets that dripped onto the scorching sand and instantly evaporated into wisps of white steam.
"Wolf Fang... Fist of the Wind!!!"
With a feral roar, Yamcha's figure blurred into a streak.
His hands curled into claws, their fingertips whistling as they tore through the air. Like a raging storm, he hammered the two-meter-tall granite boulder in front of him.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The heavy impacts rang out in a rapid rhythm, like drumbeats.
Stone chips flew from the hard granite surface. In just a few seconds, he had raked it with countless grooves, each an inch deep.
"Ha!"
Finally, Yamcha put his strength into his hips and swung a powerful spinning kick into the middle of the boulder.
"Crack—BOOM!"
The massive rock gave a mournful groan, split down the middle, and shattered into chunks of all sizes.
"Whew... whew..."
Yamcha landed and came to a stop, his chest heaving like an old bellows.
He wiped the sweat and stone dust from his face. As he looked at the rubble, he couldn't hide the pride in his eyes.
A week ago, he wouldn't even have dared to dream of this kind of destructive power.
Was this the result of training in the Turtle School?
"Clap, clap, clap."
A sparse, halfhearted round of applause came from beneath a nearby coconut tree.
Yamcha spun around, his gaze instantly sharpening.
Krillin leaned against the trunk, holding a freshly picked coconut with a straw in it. He watched Yamcha with an easygoing expression.
He looked just like a tourist watching a monkey jump through hoops at a circus.
"Not bad." Krillin took a sip of coconut water, his tone casual.
"That rock's probably around a six on the Mohs scale. Breaking it means your burst strength must be at least 300 kilograms."
"Not bad for a warm-up."
"Krillin!"
Yamcha gritted his teeth, his fists clenching unconsciously.
That infuriating air of superiority was as familiar as ever.
"When did you get back?"
Yamcha asked coldly.
"I thought that even if you didn't die in the arms of luxury, you wouldn't show your face until the day of the Tournament."
"Just now."
Krillin straightened up and brushed the sand off his pant legs.
"You looked so focused on your training, I didn't want to interrupt."
"Besides, it's pretty amusing watching a 'lone wolf' take out his frustrations on a rock."
A vein twitched at Yamcha's temple.
He looked Krillin up and down.
Krillin had spent a week in West City, but Yamcha couldn't sense any sign that he'd gotten stronger.
There was no pressure from a powerful fighter. If anything... he seemed more like an ordinary person now.
Even the distinctive energy and spirit of a martial artist had been reined in completely.
Aside from that bald head being shinier...
Yamcha snorted, picked up his weighted vest, and put it on.
"The Tournament's about to start. You'd better pray we don't meet in the ring this time. Even Master Roshi won't be able to save you!"
"Relax."
Krillin casually tossed his empty coconut. Its shell sailed through the air in an arc and landed perfectly in a trash can several dozen meters away.
"You can't beat me!"
"Besides, while I was in West City, I went through hellish special training."
"Special training?"
Yamcha eyed him suspiciously.
"Did Bulma build you some high-tech training equipment?"
At the mention of Bulma, the corners of Krillin's mouth lifted in a meaningful smile.
"That was just an appetizer."
Krillin slowly walked over to Yamcha and activated [Genius Intellect].
In his eyes, Yamcha's emotions looked like a wildly fluctuating stock chart. Every peak represented jealousy and unease.
This was the perfect moment to strike a psychological blow.
"The real training took place in the workshop."
Krillin deliberately lowered his voice, speaking in a tone only men would understand.
"You know, Yamcha, making a Battle Suit is a very precise scientific process."
"To make sure the nanofibers fit perfectly, Bulma had to measure every part of my body with precision."
Yamcha's pupils contracted sharply.
"Every part?" His voice sounded a little hoarse.
"That's right."
Krillin nodded, gesturing with his fingers at his own chest, waist, and inner thighs.
"My chest, waist, hips... even how much my muscles expanded when they were pumped up."
"She pressed that cold measuring tape against my skin, inch by inch."
"The air conditioner in her workshop was broken, so it was really hot. We were both covered in sweat..."
Krillin paused, as if savoring the memory, then added:
"Oh, and the citrus perfume she wore, mixed with a little sweat... it was really... something special."
BOOM!
Yamcha felt as if a volcano had erupted inside his head.
As Bulma's ex-boyfriend, he knew exactly how that scene would have looked.
A man and a woman alone in a room, taking close measurements...
Reason?
What was that?!
"You... you bastard!!"
Yamcha's eyes instantly turned bloodshot. His once-handsome face twisted like a demon's.
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