At the dining table in Kame House.
Krillin stared blankly at his arm.
The [Muscle Control (Beginner)] he'd gained by absorbing Master Roshi's technique was far more intricate than he'd imagined.
It wasn't merely about showing off muscles like a bodybuilder. It was a microscopic control over the density of his body.
He focused his thoughts.
His biceps, bulging like rocks, slowly contracted beneath his skin, flowing like water as they compressed.
Visually, his arm shrank by an inch.
It went from an exaggerated bodybuilder's build to a sleek, streamlined shape. It looked less intimidating, but the hardness within had increased severalfold.
"Compress," Krillin murmured to himself.
It was like squeezing a spring to its limit.
In this state, his resistance to impact and his explosive speed would both increase dramatically.
"What are you doing?"
Bulma asked indistinctly, her mouth full of tuna.
"Your arm keeps getting bigger and smaller. It's kind of gross."
"Just adjusting my condition."
Krillin answered casually and picked up his chopsticks to grab some meat.
Crack.
A sharp snap rang out.
The moment the specially made hardwood chopsticks touched the fish, they burst into splinters.
The air suddenly fell silent.
Master Roshi froze with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses.
"Krillin, you..."
Krillin looked at the two broken pieces of wood in his hand, the corner of his mouth twitching.
He'd let too much strength slip out.
The fusion with the Saitama Template was still underway. Combined with his newly acquired Muscle Control, his body was like a barrel packed with gunpowder.
The slightest movement could set it off. He'd thought he was only giving the chopsticks a gentle squeeze.
"That's already your third pair."
Bulma rolled her eyes and tossed him her fork.
"Use this iron one. If you can still crush it, I'll slice you up and study you."
Krillin took the fork.
This time, he held his breath and carefully controlled every muscle fiber in his fingers, as if handling fragile porcelain.
[Muscle Control proficiency +1]
So that was how it worked.
Every movement in daily life, not just combat, was practice in muscle control.
If he wanted to master this unreasonable "bald power," he had to engrave this control into his bones.
After dinner, night fell.
Waves pounded the beach.
Krillin didn't go to sleep. He stood in the clearing outside Kame House, where the mission countdown on the System Panel had already begun.
[Persist with the Saitama Training Method for 7 days: Day 1] [Push-ups 100/100 (Complete)] [Sit-ups 100/100 (Complete)] [Squats 100/100 (Complete)] [10-kilometer run (Complete)]
Looked simple enough?
No. The real torture was only just beginning.
The system's prompt sounded cold and emotionless:
[Detected host's completion of the first day's basic training. Deep fusion with the Saitama Template initiated. Cell reconstruction will occur during sleep. Pain suppression: None.]
Pain suppression... none?
Krillin was just about to ask what that meant when, without warning, a piercing pain burst from deep within his bone marrow.
"Ugh!"
He groaned and dropped straight to his knees on the beach, digging his hands into the sand.
It wasn't the pain of an injury.
It was the pain of growth.
It was as if countless tiny hammers were smashing his bones apart, then reforging them more tightly.
Every muscle fiber was being torn, stretched, and then forcibly healed.
His body burned as his temperature skyrocketed, hot enough to boil an egg.
The sea breeze washed over him, and great clouds of white steam rose from his body.
"Is this... the price of breaking the Limiter?"
Krillin gritted his teeth, the veins in his forehead bulging. Sweat evaporated as soon as it appeared.
In the original story, Saitama had endured this inhuman torment before going bald.
Krillin had started out bald, but he hadn't been spared any of the suffering.
He curled up on the beach for the entire night.
The next morning.
As the first ray of sunlight fell on Kame House's pink walls, Krillin climbed out of the sand.
He rolled his neck, and it cracked loudly.
He didn't feel tired as he'd expected. On the contrary, he felt alarmingly energetic.
He looked down. The skin on his arms was smoother.
But when he pressed a finger against it, it felt like he was pressing on high-density specialty rubber—unbelievably resilient.
[Strength +0.5] [Constitution +0.5]
Just one night of "growth" was worth three years of hard training for an ordinary person.
Krillin pushed open the door to Kame House.
"Morning, everyone."
He reached for the doorknob and turned it casually, without using any force.
"Crack."
The round brass doorknob crumpled like modeling clay in his hand. Then he ripped it straight out, lock cylinder and all.
Krillin held the lump of scrap brass and stared at the dark hole in the door, lost in thought.
Inside, Bulma, still in her pajamas and yawning, and Master Roshi, who had been secretly hiding something under the sofa, both turned to look at him.
"Um..."
Krillin raised the doorknob in his hand and gave them an awkward but polite smile.
"I don't think this lock is very good quality?"
Over the next three days, an eerie atmosphere settled over Kame House.
Master Roshi thought his student had gone crazy.
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