The World Where Only Yamcha Gets Hurt

The afternoon sun in West City carried a metallic, sweltering heat, refracting off towering glass curtain walls onto the streets below.

Hovercars zipped along their aerial tracks, their hum like the breath of this colossal mechanical city.

At the mouth of an alley, the air seemed to congeal into a gelatinous mass, heavy enough to choke.

That bouquet of once-vibrant red roses now lay quietly on the dusty concrete ground.

A few petals had scattered from the impact of the fall, like a splatter of blood that caught the eye.

Yamcha pulled off his signature Sunglasses, revealing eyes shot through with bloodshot veins.

His gaze, like a rusty saw, ground relentlessly into the sight of Bulma's arm linked with Krillin's.

There, the girl's fair, delicate fingers were tightly gripping the man's bronze forearm, the tips whitening from the pressure.

It was an instinctive, seeking-protection posture.

And the bulging muscle lines on that man's arm gleamed under the sun with a rock-hard luster, exuding a chilling sense of power.

"Scram?"

Yamcha's voice squeezed out from the depths of his throat, trembling with a hint of disbelief, then dissolving into sheer absurdity and rage.

The cross-shaped scar on his cheek twisted with the twitching of his facial muscles, making him look especially ferocious.

"Where the hell did this bald bastard come from, with that big mouth?"

Yamcha laughed in fury, stepping forward, his aura suddenly sharp and aggressive.

"Bulma, so this is why you've been missing for days?"

"Your so-called search for rare ores was really about finding a... gym trainer?"

His gaze, full of contempt and jealousy, swept up and down Krillin like a searchlight.

Though he had to admit, this bald man's physique was as perfect as an ancient Greek sculpture.

But in the eyes of a true Martial Artist, this kind of muscle-bound meathead who only looked like he lifted weights was nothing but a flashy pillowcase.

Dead muscle and real "ki" were two different dimensions.

"Yamcha! Watch your mouth!"

Bulma instantly bristled, her brows arching sharply.

She let go of Krillin's arm and was about to charge forward to argue.

"You're the one with the dirty mind, projecting it onto everyone else!"

"He's Krillin! We just got back from Master Roshi's!"

"Krillin?"

Yamcha acted like he'd heard the biggest joke of the century.

He froze for a second, then burst into an exaggerated, grating laugh.

He laughed so hard he bent over, even wiping at the corner of his eye for tears that weren't there.

"Ha! Bulma, if you're gonna lie, at least come up with a believable story. Do you think I'm blind or stupid?"

Yamcha pointed at the man who was half a head taller than him, his finger nearly poking Krillin's nose.

"That short, noseless runt Krillin barely reaches my belt! This guy?"

He made an exaggerated gesture to show the height difference, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Are you telling me that in just a few days, that boiled egg not only fermented and swelled up, but got a full-body plastic surgery?"

"Besides both being bald and noseless, what part of this guy looks like Krillin?"

Facing Yamcha's barrage of insults, Krillin said nothing.

He just stood there quietly, hands in the pockets of his orange Martial Arts Uniform, his gaze as calm as an ancient, bottomless well.

This calm wasn't from cowardice, but from absolute superiority.

In the corner of his vision, the system's pale blue screen cheerfully flickered, scrolling lines of text:

[Ding! Detected host encountering an "ex" provocation.]

[Emergency quest triggered: A Man's Dignity.]

[Quest description: Yamcha strongly doubts your identity and insults your goddess. This isn't just about proving who you are—it's a battle for territory. Without killing or causing permanent disability, completely crush Yamcha's self-confidence.]

[Quest restriction: Due to the host's current excessive power (and uncontrollable factors), please activate "Precision Control" mode. Warning: One punch, and Yamcha might become an abstract painting on the wall. Proceed with caution.]

[Quest reward: Agility +5, Skill "Wolf Fang Fist (Improved Version)," Bulma's favorability significantly increased.]

Seeing that "no permanent disability" restriction, Krillin sighed inwardly.

That was the hardest part.

If this were the old Krillin, facing Yamcha might have required his full effort, even some clever tactics.

But now, after fusing with the Saitama template, his power had grown exponentially.

Trying to control his strength like threading a needle under these conditions was more exhausting than lifting a mountain.

"Yamcha, long time no see..."

Krillin finally spoke.

His voice was low and steady, carrying the casual ease of an old acquaintance, without a hint of anger.

He stepped forward, completely shielding Bulma behind him.