Dragon Ball Human

"Day 156 in the Dragon Ball world, and I still haven't figured out what kind of person I should be in the future."

"My current body is about ten years old, but my strength is greater than that of an average adult man. If I keep growing like this, maybe I could become an athlete?"

"Crossing into the Dragon Ball world only to end up as an athlete? That's kind of hilarious."

"South City is one of the five major political, economic, and cultural hubs of Dragon Ball Earth. Finding a job that pays isn't too hard, but the weather's hot. I wonder if the martial arts masters in this world have techniques to resist heat and cold. From what I remember, in the Android Saga, when Krillin and the others chased Dr. Gero up north, Krillin asked Tien for money to buy a coat. So maybe ki doesn't help regulate body temperature? Whatever, those high-level techniques have nothing to do with me."

"When others cross over into the Dragon Ball world, seven or eight out of ten become Saiyans. They learn to use ki from the start, fly around effortlessly, and casually level up through self-damage training. Before you know it, they're Super Saiyans, then Super Saiyan Gods. Changing hair colors like it's a fashion trend—red, yellow, blue, green, white—it's endless fun.

"As for the remaining two or three, if they're not Namekians, then they're some kind of cosmic prodigy with extraordinary talents. Basically, everyone gets lucky with their new life."

"But me? Not even a lucky reincarnation? I crossed over with my original body."

"My body shrank to that of a ten-year-old, and compared to my previous life, aside from increased strength, there aren't many changes. Even my eyesight hasn't improved."

"But damn it… what good is strength?"

"It's not like I'm so strong that I can crush everything in my path. I can't even beat the tougher dinosaurs on Dragon Ball Earth. Before crossing over, I was an ordinary human; after crossing, I'm still just an ordinary human! Damn it, this is so frustrating."

The sky was still dim as a ten-year-old boy with black hair sat at a small, shabby desk inside a rundown room. He wore a gray tank top and black shorts, holding a pencil to write in his journal.

His clothes were old, seemingly second-hand. His pencil was the cheapest kind, and his notebook was made of coarse, low-quality paper.

The boy's name was Sato Yamiru, a transmigrator.

About five months ago, he woke up in what should have been an anime world. His body had shrunk to about ten years old.

Oddly enough, instead of losing physical capability due to his younger body, it had significantly improved. Shortly after his arrival, he got into a fight and discovered that both his stamina and strength were twice that of an average adult male.

But Yamiru didn't feel like this was anything to brag about.

In the five months since he crossed over, he hadn't slept well even a handful of times.

Once, he had a nightmare.

In the dream, like countless protagonists in Dragon Ball fanfics, he immediately started training after crossing over.

Master Roshi, Kami, King Kai… he treated them all like family, practically groveling for their techniques and special moves. They handed everything over without hesitation.

He trained like a maniac, leveling up at lightning speed.

Eventually, he strutted onto the stage of the World Martial Arts Tournament, full of confidence, only to get thrashed by Mr. Satan in front of millions of live spectators. It was a humiliating beatdown.

In another nightmare, he became the leader of the Z Fighters, leading everyone to Namek to grind against Frieza's army.

But…

Frieza had already transformed and powered up three times.

Our allies, including Goku, were all on the ground, critically injured. According to the usual flow of the story, this would be the moment for me, the transmigrated protagonist, to turn the tide and save the world.

But...

Dream Yamiru charged at Frieza, only to trip over a rock, smacking his face and bleeding from his mouth. Fearing a counterattack from Frieza, he tried to retreat strategically by jumping into the air, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fly.

He tried to mimic a ki blast at full-power Frieza, but his energy fizzled out halfway, leaving him humiliated in front of everyone.

That nightmare terrified him.

In a panic, he realized he was dreaming and hastily muttered "Nice move" to full-power Frieza before waking up in cold sweat.

The shame and fear from that dream... It was unbearable.

It exposed his insecurities and anxieties in the harshest way possible.

Who hasn't watched Dragon Ball?

He knew all too well the kind of beings who could truly dominate in this universe.

Aside from the overpowered Saiyans, the rest of the Dragon Ball warriors either quietly faded into the background or ended up as comic relief or walking memes.

As a manga reader, Yamiru used to find this hilarious.

He'd often mock characters like Krillin, Tien, and Piccolo for becoming increasingly useless. But now, as part of this world, he might not even measure up to them. How could he laugh now?

Sure, his strength was above an ordinary Earthling's, but all that meant was he leveled up from " Trash Battle Power of 5" to "Garbage Battle Power of 10."

The base stats for Earthlings were pitiful, with little potential for growth.

What could an Earthling even do? Nothing much! Even carrying a bag of Senzu Beans to act as a medic could backfire if an enemy killed him in one blow—or worse, stole the beans.

At best, an Earthling could hope to reach Krillin's level of strength.

"Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!"

Yamiru furiously scrawled the word "Dammit" seven times in his notebook.

His frustration was understandable...

Before transmigrating, he'd watch Dragon Ball with a casual attitude, throwing around terms like Super Saiyan God and Ultra Instinct. Even Super Saiyan 3 seemed unimpressive to him—he'd dismiss it as a "deviant path," claiming Future Trunks Full Power Super Saiyan 2 was the true way to go.

Conversations like that had prestige.

But after transmigrating? Forget Super Saiyan—he couldn't even measure up to Yamcha, one of the weakest fighters. He couldn't even dream of leaving Earth, the starting zone.

How could he not feel this crushing disparity?

"Another day brimming with negativity begins!"

Yamiru sighed, then tore the page he had written from his notebook and burned it with a match.

As per the universal transmigrator's rule, he made sure not to leave behind any evidence that might expose his origins.

After all, Chinese characters existed on Dragon Ball Earth, and the last thing Yamiru wanted was for someone to stumble upon his writings and create trouble. So, he burned them as soon as he wrote them.

The fire consumed the paper, its flames reflecting in his eyes.

"Burn, burn, burn it all..." he muttered.

He wished he could burn away his cowardice and hesitation along with those pages.

As the flames reached the word "Saiyan," Yamiru's expression turned blank, filled with envy for this overpowered race.

When the flames engulfed the word "ki," he couldn't help but think, Deep down, I'm still hoping for something, aren't I? After all, who hasn't mimicked a Kamehameha as a kid?

He tossed the burning paper into a bowl of water. After a soft hiss of smoke, all that remained was a bowl of ash-filled water.

"Cool," he muttered, then opened the window and poured the water outside.

The sky outside had brightened a bit.

The air was fresh.

Yamiru set the bowl down and glanced at a poster pinned on his desk.

It was something he had found over five months ago when he first transmigrated and was scavenging trash to earn some money.

It was a poster for the 17th World Martial Arts Tournament.

The poster's main image depicted the iconic tournament grounds, the familiar Martial Arts Temple located on Papaya Island. The bold calligraphy on the banner read, "World Martial Arts Tournament."

The poster was old, crumpled, and filled with folds and smudges.

For some reason, Yamiru couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

Whenever he felt frustrated and tempted to give up on this world, wanting to live as an ordinary person, this poster would always catch his eye.

It seemed to mock him: Yamiru, you really are just a failure.

He pressed his hand against the poster, tracing the image of the Martial Arts Temple's entrance with his fingers.

Pouting, he put the poster back under his notebook, donned a red, worn-out jacket, and headed for the door.

Though he looked like a ten-year-old boy at only 4 feet tall, his jumping ability was remarkable. As he reached the doorway, he leaped lightly, grabbing the window's lower edge with ease.

Yamiru theorized that the process of transmigration might have "compressed" his body into its ten-year-old form, boosting his physical capabilities in the process.

Alternatively, it could be like those online stories he'd read—where humans from Earth were inexplicably stronger than natives of other worlds.

"Ha... Ha... Ha..."

He effortlessly did pull-ups, completing more than a dozen in the time it took to drink a glass of water.

Despite his disdain for his Earthling bloodline, his current strength was enough to dominate several blocks, neighborhoods, or even public squares if he returned to his previous world.

But here, on Dragon Ball Earth, things were different.

With his "Garbage Battle Power of 10" strength, countless pure Earthlings could easily crush him.

Take the first World Martial Arts Tournament from the manga, for example. Nam, the fighter with an Indian-like appearance, could leap dozens of meters into the air with his Cross arm dive.

Yamiru had tried his best to jump too, but at most, he could manage five or six meters.

In other words, even a "nobody" like Nam in Dragon Ball could easily crush Yamiru right now. While his initial stats seem impressive, they're really just average—he's leagues ahead of the weaklings but falls far short of the strong. On Earth in his previous life, he'd easily dominate, but in the Dragon Ball universe, where powerful martial artists are a dime a dozen, there are plenty of people who could easily defeat him. Even Son Gohan's little girlfriend, Videl, might be able to pin him to the ground with one hand.

Let's not forget that Videl's father, Mr. Satan, as unremarkable as he is in the manga, has combat power comparable to Master Roshi—minus the ability to shoot energy waves. His stats even surpass the "God of Martial Arts" in some areas.

How many more "ordinary" experts like Mr. Satan—ones who never even appeared in the manga—are out there? Who knows?

That's why Yamiru doesn't think much of his current strength.

Call it paranoia or excessive pessimism, but…

Despite crossing into the Dragon Ball world, he's spent over five months wandering around the Southern Capital and still hasn't made any real progress.

Occasionally, though, he lets his imagination run wild.

Somewhere across the globe in West City, the second daughter of Capsule Corporation, Bulma, should have already been born, right? She's four years older than Goku, who landed on Earth in Age 737. Since it's now 735, she must already be two years old.

But whenever he thinks about all the potential disasters…

Yamiru doesn't dare assume he's some overpowered protagonist in a Dragon Ball fanfic. If he recklessly meddles with the plot and messes things up, leading to the destruction of Earth—or even the entire universe—how could he live with himself?

That thought makes him feel uneasy.

Although he'd love to see a real-life version of Bulma, the Dragon Ball heroine, there's no way he could afford the transportation to cross the bay and half a continent separating the Southern Capital from West City.

Besides, Bulma doesn't even know he exists. What would he say if he showed up unannounced at her house? Should he bring up her future boyfriend, Yamcha? The mere thought of it feels awkward.

"If this whole reincarnation thing was written by some idiot fanfic writer, I'm probably the most unambitious Dragon Ball protagonist ever…"

Irritated, Yamiru channeled his frustration into his workout, doing pull-ups with renewed vigor.

"Ah, that feels good!"

He banged out sixty or seventy reps before twisting and landing on the ground, exhaling a deep breath of relief.

Staying cooped up indoors makes it easy for your mind to spiral into negativity.

Getting outside and moving around always clears his head.

Like a scene out of Shaolin Soccer, he shadowboxed and kicked as he walked, pretending to be a martial arts expert.

Yamiru lived on the outskirts of the Southern Capital in a rundown little house, miles from the city center. The area was sparsely populated, and beyond it was mostly countryside.

He glanced at the second-hand digital watch on his wrist. It was just past 5 a.m.

"Living like some retiree, waking up early and going to bed early…"

He chuckled at himself.

There's no internet in Dragon Ball's Earth, and he couldn't afford a TV yet. Besides, the cultural differences in this world made most forms of entertainment—movies, dramas, novels—impossible for him to appreciate. They all seemed interesting but failed to hit the right notes.

After a quick stretch, he started jogging.

He ran along the dirt road leading to the city, keeping a steady pace.

His running form was amateurish, as he'd never trained in his previous life. But after several months of persistence and the boost in physical fitness from his reincarnation, Yamiru could now run dozens of kilometers without much fatigue. His short legs moved so fast they were a blur, like miniature windmills, leaving any passing tractor drivers staring in disbelief.

"There goes that kid again…"

Yamiru's early-morning routine wasn't just about exercise; it was also because he had several part-time jobs waiting for him in the city.

After all, even if he was a reincarnated traveler from another world, he still needed money for food, housing, and everything else.

To earn it, he had to work.

Robbery was out of the question, and he didn't have any literary talent. Even if his previous academic credentials were valid here, they wouldn't mean much. So, for now, he was stuck with menial labor jobs in the Southern Capital.

Thankfully, Yamiru's physical strength was his greatest asset after reincarnation, and since he was still figuring out his path in life, he didn't mind taking on low-paying jobs. Earning a living was enough.

"Huff… huff…"

Yamiru ran, breathing rhythmically. The stamina coursing through him gave him a glimmer of confidence—maybe he wasn't so weak after all. Could he actually be a martial arts prodigy?

For the past five months in the Southern Capital, he'd been stuck in a loop of uncertainty and hesitation.

Deep down, Yamiru undeniably longed for the flashy, over-the-top scenes from the Dragon Ball manga. Yet, every time he glanced at his Earthling arms and legs, a wave of disappointment would wash over him, extinguishing his ambitions.

"Arghhh!"

He picked up speed, sprinting with his eyes shut. If he ran fast enough, maybe his worries couldn't catch up.

An hour and a half later…

The roadside changed. The iconic dome-shaped buildings of the Dragon Ball world became more frequent, clustered together like beads on a string. The streets grew broader and smoother, with intersections, overpasses, and bustling cityscapes.

The noise of vehicles, chatter, and the buzz of city life filled the air.

Yamiru, now drenched in a light sweat, had run all the way from the outskirts to the city's edge. He was tired but not exhausted.

Exhaling deeply, he slowed down, tying his faded red jacket around his waist. Dressed in a gray tank top, black shorts, and a pair of worn sneakers reminiscent of Stephen Chow's style, he strolled along the busy streets of the Southern Capital.

Yamiru enjoyed quietly observing the city's vibrancy.

Whether it was the dog-headed, tiger-headed, or bird-headed people roaming the streets, or a stylish woman pulling out a small device from her chic handbag and tossing it casually to transform it into a sleek motorcycle with a BOOM, everything fascinated him.

Seeing elements from the manga come to life felt endlessly fresh and novel.

The only odd thing was the absence of the anti-gravity hovercars that filled the manga's streets.

"Maybe the anti-gravity tech hasn't been developed yet?" he wondered.

As he walked, Yamiru arrived at an open-air park's fitness area, filled with workout equipment like pull-up bars and parallel bars.

It was around 6:30 a.m. on a weekday, so the park was nearly empty of younger folks. Only a few elderly people were around, exercising in their peculiar ways—twisting their waists, swinging their arms, kicking their legs, or simply strolling aimlessly.

As usual, Yamiru headed to the sit-up bench, sat down, and took a moment to rest.

After a while, he laid back completely, arms and legs relaxed, staring up at the morning's blue sky, pure and serene.

"Hm?"

His eyes flicked, spotting an old man upside down in his view.

A strange old man.

Yamiru sat up abruptly and turned to look toward the edge of the fitness area, near the artificial forest.

There, a silver-haired, gaunt-looking elder in gray-green robes practiced martial arts alone.

None of the other elderly park-goers seemed to notice him. Not a single person approached.

The old man had his eyes closed, one hand clasped behind his back, the other moving like a blade, slicing through the air as if sparring with an imaginary opponent.

Yamiru squinted, trying to study the elder's movements, but the more he watched, the more dizzy and drowsy he felt. A headache began to creep in.

"What the hell?" he thought, dumbfounded. "What kind of martial arts is this?"

Suddenly, the old man stepped forward lightly, slashing downward with his hand while raising his elbow. In that precise moment, he unleashed a burst of force.

Yamiru wasn't sure if it was an illusion, but he thought he heard a deep hum resonate through the entire artificial forest. The trees appeared to sway collectively, as if responding to the elder's single elbow movement.

Shocked, Yamiru wondered, "That strong? Are there really people this powerful among Earthlings in the Dragon Ball world? Or… was the shaking of the trees and the sound just a coincidence?"

His first suspicion was whether this might be Master Roshi.