Tenfold Gravity

The Underground Laboratory of Capsule Corporation was filled with the distinctive smell of oil mixed with ozone.

A huge hemispherical Gravity Room stood in the center, like a sleeping steel behemoth.

Its heavy alloy hatch stood open, revealing a vast, chilly training space inside.

"Even though it's a prototype, the core stabilizer is pretty good."

Dr. Brief held his pipe in one hand and tapped a few keys on the complex control console with the other.

"In theory, it can go up to three hundred times gravity, but the foundation of this villa would probably collapse by then."

He turned to look at the bald boy standing beside him, practically itching to give it a try. There was a strange look in his eyes behind his glasses.

"Krillin, are you sure you don't want to wear a protective suit?"

"Even astronauts have to wear pressure suits to protect their internal organs during training."

"No need."

Krillin was bare-chested, wearing only a pair of loose training pants.

Under the cool lights, his skin had a healthy bronze hue. Beneath his modestly defined muscles lay astonishing explosive power.

"Only when my body directly feels gravity crushing it will my cells remember this fear, and then... evolve."

Krillin stepped through the hatch.

The heavy hydraulic door slowly closed behind him with a teeth-grating clunk.

The world fell silent in an instant. Only the ventilation system's faint hum remained.

"Let's try two times gravity first," the doctor said over the speakers.

"Go straight to ten times," Krillin said, gesturing at the camera.

Dr. Brief's hand shook at the control console. The black cat on his shoulder let out a shrill cry.

The doctor sighed and pushed up the red lever.

"Vrrrr—!!!"

The red lights inside the Gravity Room suddenly came on, and a low-frequency vibration instantly filled the entire space.

It wasn't like carrying a heavy load.

Gravity pressed in from every direction.

In that instant, Krillin felt as if the blood in his body had turned to mercury.

The liquid, which had flowed so freely before, suddenly became incomparably heavy.

His heart had to work ten times harder with every beat to pump that heavy blood to every part of his body.

"Gah!"

Krillin grunted. His knees buckled, and he nearly dropped straight to the floor.

His eyeballs felt a downward tug, blurring his vision.

Every breath felt like inhaling air filled with razor blades. His diaphragm had to contract frantically to fight the invisible pressure.

This was ten times gravity.

It was like ten Krillins piled on top of him.

And they were pressing down on every inch of his skin, every blood vessel, every organ.

An ordinary Earthling would already have suffered ruptured organs and severe internal bleeding.

But Krillin didn't fall.

"Saitama Template... adaptive mode activated."

He repeated the words silently to himself.

The bald Demon King hadn't been born with his power. He had gained it by breaking through his Limiter day after day.

This pressure, pushing him to the brink, was the perfect fuel for breaking the Limiter.

Krillin gritted his teeth. Veins bulged along his neck like writhing earthworms. Slowly, inch by inch, he straightened his back.

His bones creaked and snapped like an old wooden ship groaning in a storm.

"In... out..."

He forced himself to adjust his breathing, pushing the heavy oxygen deep into his lungs.

"First exercise... one hundred push-ups."

Krillin dropped to the floor.

Even this simple movement became like lifting a mountain with gravity magnified tenfold.

He planted his hands on the floor.

The floor was made of high-strength alloy, and it sank slightly beneath his palms.

"One."

Down, then up.

The moment sweat seeped from his pores, gravity yanked it down, splattering it across the floor.

"Two."

His triceps screamed. His muscle fibers tore at a microscopic level, then rebuilt themselves, becoming tougher than before.

This was what he wanted.

Delivering milk and plowing fields at Kame House had helped him train, but for someone who already had Saitama's physique, the results were too slow.

He needed this kind of brutal, unreasonable abuse.

Outside the control room,

Bulma held a tray with a towel and a special electrolyte drink on it.

She stood before the huge one-way window, watching the scene inside, and stopped in her tracks.

She had seen Yamcha train.

Yamcha liked to yell while practicing. His movements were flashy, and he struck a cool pose after every punch, as though someone were filming him at any moment.

Krillin was different.

The bald boy inside made no unnecessary movements.

He simply lay on the floor, mechanically and silently repeating the tedious push-ups.

Sweat pooled beneath him, while steam rose from his bare back.

Pulled down by gravity, the white steam didn't drift upward. Instead, it flowed eerily along the floor.

The sight wasn't pretty. It was almost grotesque.

Yet Bulma couldn't look away.

She watched the muscles in Krillin's back rise and fall with every movement, like a great bow drawn taut.

Every muscle trembled, yet each was imbued with a rhythm that made her heart skip a beat.