Dragon Ball Human

As Yamiru spoke, Tights jotted down scattered words and phrases, fragments of inspiration and associations sparked by his story.

"Hmm… what do you mean by..."

Tap, tap. The tip of her pen tapped rhythmically against the notebook.

Tights frowned in confusion. "'A martial artist's path with no future to speak of'?" She organized her thoughts before continuing, "From what I've gathered, if you view 'martial artist' through the public's lens—as a profession, let's say—then martial artists inherently lack what most people would call a future. But if you're speaking from the perspective of identifying as a martial artist and still concluding there's no future... what exactly do you consider the future of a martial artist to be?"

Yamiru paused, slightly stunned, then smiled wryly. "Your questions are sharp. Yes, what exactly is the future of a martial artist?" He sat on the bed, lowering his gaze to his hands. "Probably… becoming the strongest. Being the strongest might be too ambitious, but at least breaking into the top echelon would feel worthwhile. Anything less would be too frustrating."

Tights nodded. "By 'strongest,' do you mean the best at fighting?"

"The best at fighting? That's not quite the right standard..." Yamiru thought abstractly, imagining a being whose ki was the strongest in the universe but who lacked any combat skills. Such a being would possess the greatest ki yet be utterly inept in battle. Would that make them the strongest or the weakest? After a moment, he nodded. "But… more or less, that's the idea."

Tights laughed. Just then, the curtains fluttered as a breeze wafted in, ruffling her short golden hair.

"Forgive me for saying so, but I think an eleven- or twelve-year-old who can dodge five consecutive point-blank gunshots while feverish is already incredibly, incredibly strong." She spoke earnestly. "You might not remember clearly because you were burning up with fever, but I saw it with my own eyes. You… you were unbelievable! You're so young, yet you can do things like that! And your strength—wow! It's comparable to some professional fighters I've met, and that's while you're sick and physically weakened."

"Honestly, if I were you, I think I'd have already decided I was destined to become the world's most, most, most, most… most powerful martial artist!"

She exaggerated her words, repeating "most" several times with a dramatic tone. Then, lifting her slender arm, she flexed it in a playful show of muscle. "Someone as amazing as you, doubting yourself? Ridiculous." She shook her head, but noticed Yamiru wasn't reacting. He listened quietly, then said, "That's because you have absolutely no concept of what martial artists—or the limits of human strength—are truly capable of."

"Hmm?" Tights pursed her lips. "Are you saying..." She stared at Yamiru, chuckling. "Don't tell me you've also heard those..." Seeing his lack of reaction, she finished her thought. "Those stories about ki techniques?" She raised her arms and mimicked a downward motion, pretending to unleash a beam of energy. "Like the kind of energy waves you see in movies? Come on, you don't actually believe that's real… right?" Her voice slowed as she noticed his calm expression. Lowering her hands, she asked, "You're serious?"

"Ki techniques are real," Yamiru said, shaking his head. "You don't need to exaggerate. Ki—or energy—could be explained in more scientific terms, like the latent bioenergy within the human body, if you prefer. But it's real. Skilled martial artists can awaken it, strengthen it, and use it."

Tights shook her head in disbelief.

Looking out the window, Yamiru added, "Your father's company researches superhuman abilities. I thought you'd be more inclined to believe in these supernatural powers."

"Really? My dad's company does that?"

"You didn't know? You've been away from home for a while, haven't you? Haven't you encountered anyone with strange abilities?"

"Strange abilities? Hmm... not that I can recall."

"Oh?"

Yamiru withdrew his gaze from the window, and his eyes suddenly turned golden. Using his heightened vision, he focused on Tights and noticed a faint white humanoid ki aura outlining her figure.

"How about this?" he asked with a smile. "My eyes are a superpower."

Tights immediately climbed onto Yamiru's hospital bed, leaning in close to inspect him. She asked curiously, "I thought I was imagining it the other day… but your eyes really turn golden? What is this? Some kind of bizarre mutation?" The sudden proximity, combined with her fragrance, startled Yamiru. In his enhanced state, he couldn't help but notice the curve revealed by her slightly lowered neckline as she leaned closer.

"Does she not realize it, or does she think I'm just a ten-year-old boy who wouldn't care?" Yamiru mused. Yamiru didn't pull back but maintained eye contact at close range, all while appreciating the view in his peripheral vision. Calmly, he said, "I can confirm it's not a mutation. These eyes have abilities far beyond anything natural… If you want proof…" His golden eyes shifted to the side. "Outside this room, down the corridor to the right, there's someone about 150 to 160 centimeters tall who's already passed by our door several times. Short and stout, they're probably looking for this room. I don't know anyone here, so they must be looking for you."

Tights turned to look at the door.

Knock, knock. "Anyone in there? I'm coming in," came a voice from the other side. The door wasn't locked, and as it opened, a short, stout, balding man carrying a briefcase entered. Seeing Tights, he breathed a sigh of relief. "So you're here, Tights."

Tights glanced back and forth between the man and Yamiru, who spread his hands and smiled. "Just so you know, I don't know him, and we didn't set this up."

"And who's this little boy?" the man asked, eyeing Yamiru.

"My sister's... friend," Tights replied, giving Yamiru a curious smile before walking over to close her notebook. With a scowl, she addressed the man, "Editor Yero, just call me by my pen name. Also, I've already stopped writing for your magazine, so stop pestering me. It's harassment."

Yero chuckled nervously. "Tights, you're a talented author. On behalf of our magazine, I'm formally inviting you to submit your work again. I'll personally review your drafts—"

"I told you! I'm no longer working with your magazine." Tights snapped. "And stop flattering me. I'm just a nobody with little talent or popularity..." She glanced back at Yamiru, who was grinning at her comment. Pulling a face at him, she continued, "I'm not interested in submitting anything! And I don't have any new ideas anyway. So, if there's nothing else, you can leave now."

"There's no need to be so harsh..." Yero, confident she wouldn't outright kick him out, maintained his greasy smile. "You—"

"Are you deaf?" Yamiru suddenly interrupted from his bed. "She said, 'Get lost, ugly!' Stop clinging on. It's disgusting, old man."

"Ugly? Disgusting?!" Yero looked as if he'd been struck by lightning.

"Old man?" Tights was equally taken aback.

Yamiru feigned an innocent boyish smile, but his golden eyes remained icy, devoid of any warmth. The gaze he gave Yero was one forged by a killer—a boy who had endured tortures severe enough to drive him to break his own limbs to escape. His stare conveyed that harsh reality.

The moment Yero met his eyes, his body tensed involuntarily, a primal fear clamping his throat. Though he opened his mouth to speak, no sound emerged.

"Could you please leave? Tights and I still have things to discuss," Yamiru said with calm authority.

For a fleeting moment, Yamiru was alarmed by his own impulse to snap Yero's neck with his bare hands. The intensity of the thought startled him, but it was clear Yero was far more terrified. Pale and trembling, the man stumbled backward, muttering incoherently before fleeing the room.

"Your eyes are terrifying..." Tights said after a long pause.

"Are they?" Yamiru closed his eyes, turning off his enhanced vision. Covering his face with one hand, he thought, "My mindset has changed... It's so easy for me to have murderous thoughts now. But… my golden vision hasn't weakened or disappeared. Does it see this shift as justified? Or was this always how it was meant to be? Or perhaps these eyes trust that I won't lose my way..." Yamiru opened his now dark eyes and met Tights smiling gaze.

She said, "But you only did it to protect me, didn't you? Just like when you saved me that day."

"Don't flatter yourself."

Yamiru looked out the window. "I'm naturally a bad person. I've just been nice to you because you paid my medical bills." Am I pulling off a Vegeta impression here? he wondered, smiling faintly as he gazed at the distant greenery outside. Life in the hospital wasn't so bad, after all.

"Too late to play the bad boy now\~" Tights teased, tapping her notebook. "I've decided—I'm going to write a story about a boy who dreams of becoming the strongest martial artist! Hehe…"

Yamiru glanced back. "Weren't you skeptical about martial artists?"

"Novels are fictional, aren't they? Besides, I've always preferred fantasy light novels," Tights replied.

"Second-rate author," Yamiru quipped.

Tights smirked. "Insecure third-rate martial artist." Holding her notebook proudly, she added, "Unlike you, I'm confident in my skills as a light novelist."

Yamiru said, "But you just claimed you lacked talent and popularity."

Tights replied, "That was humility! Imagine there's a supreme light novel genius somewhere in the universe—a god! Compared to someone like that, it's perfectly normal for me to say I have no talent."

Yamiru was incredulous. "You call that comparison 'humility'?"

Tights burst into laughter, unable to stop herself. Even after a pause, she would snicker again.

"I think you'd be better off as a comedy writer..." Yamiru muttered, glancing out the window before adding softly, "I don't know if there's a god of light novels, but as for battle gods... one will be falling from the sky in just over a year. Compared to someone like that, I really have no confidence..."

"Here it was again, that occasional despondency..." Tights studied the boy's profile. There was an air of mystery about him that made her want to uncover his secrets.

Including the week he was unconscious, Yamiru had been hospitalized for thirty-six days. His condition had significantly improved—he no longer needed a wheelchair and had begun rehabilitation training.

In the rehab room, most patients were struggling through exercises with nurses assisting them. But in one corner, a boy... was doing a handstand. Yamiru was counting in his head. By the time he reached 200, his arms gave out, trembling with fatigue. He exhaled and flipped back onto his feet—unsuccessfully, falling to the ground instead. A nearby nurse rushed to help him, but he declined.

"It's been a while since I've been this weak..."

Yamiru sighed, his arms shaking uncontrollably while his back and core muscles throbbed in pain. After several tries, he managed to stand up, visibly exhausted.

The nurse, unable to hold back, said, "You're already doing great. Honestly, we think you're fully recovered and ready to be discharged."

"You're joking, right?" Yamiru shook his head. "I'm so weak right now\... I probably couldn't even lift someone your size."

"What kind of ten-year-old boy does a handstand for that long and then expects to lift an adult? Most boys his age wouldn't manage it even without the handstand! Are you overestimating my weight or just severely misunderstanding the strength of kids your age?!" The nurse held back a mental outburst.

Leaning against the window, Yamiru observed the room full of recovering patients and thought to himself, "Come to think of it... I vaguely remember... when I rescued those kids from the traffickers, I used some kind of ability—similar to Buu's technique of binding people—on the last trafficker."

"Nurse," he called out.

"Yes?" The nurse approached him immediately, noting how his golden eyes seemed to flicker before returning to black.

"Never mind," Yamiru said, internally pondering, "I can't use it... Was I mistaken, or is there another reason? If the Golden Veil can replicate abilities, then if I ever meet the Ginyu Force... wouldn't that mean..."

Lost in thought, Yamiru glanced out the window. In the grassy field below, a blonde-haired girl carrying a lunchbox was walking toward the building.

"It'll probably take half a month... maybe two months to fully recover. After all, this illness nearly killed me. And the road ahead won't be easy. Taking a few extra days to rest won't hurt. Plus, Tights' homemade lunches are surprisingly good. Hmm..."

Humming a tune, Yamiru strolled away, leaving the nurse puzzled.