Schizophrenic

At the end of the commercial street, a heavily modified motorcycle charged into the pedestrian zone like a runaway bull.

Street stalls were sent flying in all directions, fruits and accessories scattering across the ground.

On the bike sat a woman.

Her voluminous, spiky blonde hair blazed with unruly light under the sun.

A dark green crop top hugged her explosive physique, and she carried a rocket launcher thicker than her thigh, chewing gum with a wild, vicious gleam in her eyes.

Golden Haired Lanchi.

The most unstable bomb of early Dragon Ball, a two-personality outlaw.

"Hahaha! Get the hell out of my way if you don't wanna die! That armored car up ahead is mine!"

Lanchi steered with one hand while expertly adjusting the rocket launcher's angle with the other, aiming it straight at the entrance of West City Bank not far away.

The crowd erupted in chaos.

"Ahhh! It's that crazy woman!"

"Run! She's got heavy weapons!"

"Where are the cops? Where are the cops?!"

Screams and cries tangled into a mess.

Bulma was startled by the sudden commotion, dropping her hairpin to the ground.

"Seriously, I finally get to go shopping."

She frowned but didn't panic too much, because the strongest man on Earth stood right beside her.

"Krillin, isn't that Lanchi?"

Krillin didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched the blonde woman with interest. A system panel flickered before his eyes:

[Special character detected: Lanchi (Golden Hair Form)]

[Personality: Irritable, greedy, extremely dangerous]

[Current threat level: D (to ordinary people), SSS (to wallets)]

"Interesting!"

A playful smirk curled at the corner of Krillin's mouth.

"Looks like I've got somewhere to blow off some steam."

Just then, several police cars screeched to a halt, trying to block Lanchi.

"You there, criminal! Drop your weapon—"

"Drop my ass!"

Lanchi spat, pulling the trigger without hesitation.

Boom!

A rocket with a crude, menacing graffiti design streaked through the air, trailing a long plume of fire as it screamed toward the police cars.

The terrifying speed and impending explosion made everyone shut their eyes in despair.

"We're done for!"

But the expected explosion never came.

It was as if the world had hit pause.

A blur shot past, too fast for the retina to catch.

When everyone opened their eyes again, that bald man was standing between the police cars and the rocket, somehow.

He was still holding several shopping bags, his posture barely changed, except he'd freed his right hand, held flat in front of him.

The rocket, powerful enough to blow up an entire street, now sat obediently in his palm.

Its rear thruster still blasted flames, trying to push the warhead forward, but Krillin's hand was like an insurmountable wall of sighs, utterly unmoving.

"Th-this... how?!"

The gum fell from Lanchi's mouth, her sunglasses sliding down to the tip of her nose. She stared wide-eyed at the bald man catching a missile barehanded, her mind blank.

That was an anti-tank rocket!

Even a steel plate would get a hole punched through it. Was this guy's hand made of diamond?

Krillin looked at the still-vibrating warhead in his hand and smiled.

"Is this your greeting? A bit too enthusiastic."

He suddenly clenched his fingers.

Creeeak—!

A grating sound of metal twisting filled the air.

The high-explosive warhead crumpled in his grip like soft clay, squeezed and rolled into a ball.

The gunpowder inside the missile, compressed by the pressure, let out a muffled puff as it smoldered. A few wisps of black smoke seeped through Krillin's fingers, but they didn't even scorch his skin.

A few seconds later, Krillin opened his palm.

A metal flower, crudely shaped from scrap iron, still steaming, and extremely "abstract" in craftsmanship, lay quietly in his hand.

"Here, take it back."

Krillin flicked his wrist, and the "iron flower" turned into a streak of light, flying straight toward Lanchi with pinpoint accuracy.

Clang!

The iron flower lodged itself perfectly into the fuel tank cap of Lanchi's motorcycle, embedding deep, the heat sizzling the paint.

The entire scene fell dead silent.

Then, a thunderous roar of exclamations erupted.

"Oh my god! Who's that bald guy? That was awesome!"

"Crushing a missile with his bare hands? Is he a superman?"

"That's Krillin, the Martial Arts Tournament champion! I recognize that bald head!"

Lanchi stared at the iron flower on her fuel tank, her throat bobbing with difficulty.

Cold sweat trickled down her forehead.

As a sharp-sensed outlaw, she instantly realized she had kicked the hardest iron plate of her life.

"Retreat!"

Lanchi made a snap decision, turning her bike around to flee.

"You're already here, why rush off?"

Krillin's voice suddenly sounded right in her ear.

Lanchi's body went rigid. Before she could react, she felt the back of her collar tighten.

Her entire body, along with the hundred-plus-pound motorcycle, was lifted with one hand!

Krillin held Lanchi up in the air like he was carrying a little chick.

"Let me go! You damn bald bastard! Fight me one-on-one if you've got the guts!"

Lanchi struggled wildly in midair, her long legs kicking frantically, and she opened fire with her submachine gun straight at Krillin.