Ginyu Force, Reporting In!

"103,653."

"103,654."

In the afternoon sunlight, Bulma's massive courtyard in West City looked like a sand table plated in gold.

At the center of the lawn, Fang Yu was engaged in a form of exercise that seemed plain to the point of primitiveness to outsiders—push-ups.

Sweat rolled down his taut back and splashed onto the neatly trimmed grass blades, filling the air with a strange, scorching scent that mixed green grass with pure physical exertion.

Under the shade of a tree not far away, the Turtle School disciples sat in a row, each holding a cup of Bulma's specially supplied chilled fruit juice. Yet their gazes seemed magnetically drawn, firmly fixed on Fang Yu's rising and falling figure.

"This guy..." Krillin muttered softly, his adam's apple bobbing unconsciously. Watching Fang Yu's arm muscles tense and relax like steel cables, he felt as though the iced fruit juice in his hand had become a little too hot to hold.

He could not help nudging Tien Shinhan beside him. "Hey, Tien Shinhan, tell me. Isn't he... being a little too old-fashioned? The Hyperbolic Time Chamber and the gravity room at the temple—aren't either of those, uh, more efficient than this?"

Tien Shinhan shook his head. "I can't see through him. His ki is condensed like a black hole. Between motion and stillness, his energy flows without the slightest obstruction. This kind of training..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. "It feels more like... a habit?"

Piccolo crossed his arms, his green face expressionless, but his tightly pressed lips exposed his confusion.

To martial artists like them, who had long since surpassed the limits of the human body, this level of physical training was no different from a baby learning to walk.

Goku, on the other hand, watched with great interest,