In the afternoon, the sunlight over West City carried a dry heat with a metallic quality, refracting through skyscraper-high glass curtain walls and onto the streets.
Hovercars weaved along aerial tracks, their humming like the breathing of this enormous mechanical city.
Yet at the mouth of the alley, the air seemed to have solidified into something gelatinous, heavy enough to suffocate anyone.
The once-vibrant red roses now lay quietly on the dusty concrete.
Several petals had scattered from the impact of the fall, like a shocking pool of blood.
Yamcha removed his iconic windproof sunglasses, revealing eyes now webbed with red veins.
His gaze was like a rusty saw, sawing relentlessly into Bulma's arm as she clung to Krillin.
The girl's fair, delicate fingers were wrapped tightly around the man's bronze-colored forearm, the fingertips turning faintly white from the force.
It was an instinctive gesture, seeking protection.
The muscles bulging along the man's arm gleamed under the sunlight with a rock-hard luster, brimming with heart-stopping strength.
"Get lost?"
Yamcha forced the words up from deep in his throat, his voice trembling with disbelief before morphing into utter absurdity and fury.
The cross-shaped scar on his cheek twisted with the spasms of his facial muscles, making him look especially ferocious.
"Where did this wild bald guy come from? You sure have a big mouth."
Yamcha laughed out of sheer fury and stepped forward, the aura around him suddenly turning sharp.
"Bulma, is this why you disappeared for several days?"
"You said you were going to look for rare ores, but you actually went and found yourself a... personal trainer?"
His gaze swept over Krillin from head to toe like a searchlight, filled with contempt and jealousy.
Although he had to admit that the bald man's physique before him was as perfect as a sculpture from ancient Greece,
in the eyes of a true martial artist, a musclehead who looked like he only knew how to lift weights was merely a pretty face with nothing beneath it.
Dead muscle and true "ki" belonged to two entirely different dimensions.
"Yamcha! Watch your mouth!"
Bulma instantly bristled, her willow brows rising sharply.
She released Krillin's arm and was about to rush forward and argue,
"Just because your own mind is filthy, do you have to assume everyone else is like you?"
"He's Krillin! We just got back from Master Roshi's place!"
"Krillin?"
Yamcha looked as though he had just heard the biggest joke of the century.
He froze for a moment, then burst into exaggerated, ear-piercing laughter.
He laughed so hard that he doubled over, even raising a hand to wipe away imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes.
"Ha! Bulma, even if you're going to lie, couldn't you come up with a more convincing story? Do you take me for a blind man or a fool?"
Yamcha pointed at the man, who stood half a head taller than him, his finger nearly poking Krillin in the nose.
"Krillin was that short, noseless runt whose height barely reached my belt! This guy?"
He exaggeratedly gestured at the difference in height, his tone dripping with ridicule.
"You're telling me that in just a few days, that bald egg didn't merely ferment and swell up, but also got a full-body makeover?"
"Other than being bald and having no nose, how does this guy look anything like Krillin?"
Faced with Yamcha's rapid-fire insults, Krillin remained silent the entire time.
He simply stood there with both hands in the pockets of his orange Martial Arts Uniform, his gaze as calm as a bottomless ancient well.
This calm did not come from weakness, but from the absolute condescension of looking down from above.
At the corner of his vision, the system's pale-blue screen cheerfully flickered, displaying lines of text.
[Ding! The host has been detected facing provocation from an "ex."] [Emergency quest triggered: A Man's Dignity.] [Quest description: Yamcha has expressed serious doubts about your identity and verbally insulted your goddess. This is not merely a matter of proving your identity, but also a struggle over masculine territory. Please completely shatter Yamcha's confidence without killing or crippling him.] [Quest restriction: Due to the host's current overwhelming strength—and the numerous uncontrollable factors involved—you must activate "Precision Control" mode. Warning: With one punch, Yamcha may become an abstract painting on the wall. Proceed with caution.] [Quest rewards: Agility +5, skill "Wolf Fang Fist (Improved Version)," and a significant increase in Bulma's favorability.]
Seeing the restriction forbidding him from crippling Yamcha, Krillin sighed inwardly.
This is the hardest part.
If he had been the old Krillin, he might have needed to go all out against Yamcha, perhaps even rack his brains a little.
But now, after merging with the Saitama Template, his strength had grown exponentially.
Having to control his force as delicately as embroidery under such power was even more exhausting than asking him to lift a mountain.
"Yamcha, long time no see..."
Krillin finally spoke.
His voice was low and steady, carrying the casual familiarity unique to old acquaintances, without the slightest trace of anger.
He took one step forward, completely shielding Bulma behind him.
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