Dragon Ball Human

The next day.

Yamiru opened his eyes before dawn.

His strengthened physique after transmigrating had also reinforced his internal clock, making it as unshakeable as steel.

He glanced at the clock on the wall of the inn. 4:51 AM.

After nearly five hours of sleep, his energy was fully restored. This made Yamiru reflect on how fortunate he was to have gained some "perks" from his transmigration. If he had retained the feeble body of his previous life as a happy couch potato, there was no way he would have entertained the idea of pursuing martial arts. In other words, it was only because his body had improved that such ambitions had even crossed his mind.

Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling for three quiet seconds before flipping upright with a kip-up—only for the bed to collapse under him.

Buried under the mess of thin blankets, Yamiru sighed. What kind of garbage quality is this bed?

Gripping the bed frame with both hands, his taut muscles—from his arms to his back, core, glutes, and legs—worked in unison as he smoothly balanced himself in a handstand on the edge of the bed. With his head down and legs maintaining balance, he began a series of push-ups.

When he finally landed lightly on the ground, the bed frame groaned and toppled over with a clatter.

"So flimsy!" Yamiru brushed off his pants and checked his belongings before leaving the room.

The tape sealing the pouch inside his waist bag was still intact. He pressed it lightly, confirming that his "revival coin"—or rather, the half Senzu Bean—was safe and undamaged. The capsule containing food and water was still secure, as were his maps, compass, and other supplies. Even the high-tech "sword Ball" gifted by Jiora was in its place.

Finally, Yamiru took a stack of cash from the money box, stuffed it into his pocket, and stored the box back into its capsule.

He stepped out of the room.

At the front desk, while returning his key and checking out, he casually slapped down a few bills, not bothering to ask if the bed was broken. After all, money wasn't an issue.

"Having money is great!" Yamiru remarked absentmindedly as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the inn. With a map in one hand and a compass in the other, his eyes glinted like lightning as he oriented himself and set off.

At just past 5 AM, the sky was faintly lit, and the streets were nearly empty.

Yamiru didn't rush, walking leisurely along the damp streets toward the north.

slope City was located on the southern coast, while his destination, Mount Paozu, lay to the northeast of his current position.

The journey would span thousands—or perhaps tens of thousands—of miles. Naturally, Yamiru didn't plan to run the entire way like an idiot. He needed to conserve his strength for potential emergencies.

After walking non-stop for about 20 to 30 minutes, he noticed a few vendors setting up stalls along the roadside ahead.

They were selling breakfast.

Curious, Yamiru approached. Warm steam wafted through the air, and he saw an assortment of unfamiliar foods.

There was something that resembled porridge but wasn't quite porridge. Something like soy milk, yet thicker and more viscous. There were also steamed buns—yes, unmistakably meat-filled buns, steaming hot and fragrant.

Yamiru had long stopped being picky about food. With a strong body came a hearty appetite.

After a brief inquiry about the items on offer, he nonchalantly pulled out a large bill from his pocket and ordered five large meat buns along with a small pot of what looked like hot porridge.

"Keep the change," he said with a wave of his hand, carrying his breakfast and preparing to leave. He felt that he must have looked incredibly suave while saying it.

Just as he was about to go, his eyes caught a few bright, fresh carrots displayed on the stall. Curious, he asked, "Boss, do people here really love carrots so much?" As he spoke, he casually took a bite of a meat bun. The juices filled his mouth, and he could taste small carrot chunks mixed in with the meat. Satisfied, he nodded.

The stall owner, a wolf-headed man busy replacing the steamer for the meat buns, laughed at the question. "Haha, not exactly. A group of outsiders came to the outskirts of the city recently to collect carrots, so there have been a lot of carrot vendors in town. I'm not too sure about the details. Don't like them? I can get you buns without carrots."

"No need. Just give me two of those carrots. I'll gnaw on them on the road."

Yamiru pocketed the two carrots in his backpack.

He thought back to his earlier trip in Jiora's car when he had noticed farmers carrying loads of carrots on shoulder poles.

"Carrots, huh? Could it be..." Yamiru absentmindedly mused as he ate the meat buns and drank the hot porridge, continuing his journey north.

Within a few hundred meters, all the buns and the porridge were finished.

With the warmth of the meal fueling his body, Yamiru felt like his energy was surging and needed an outlet.

Back in his previous life, people often said that one shouldn't engage in strenuous exercise right after eating, but such rules didn't seem to apply to the world of Dragon Ball. After all, Son Goku always stuffed himself until his belly was round before jumping into fights. Based on Yamiru's experience, exercising after eating not only caused no problems but seemed to be beneficial. Then again, given that Goku could develop something as random as a viral heart disease, it was clear that the rules and environment of the two Earths were quite different.

Joyfully, Yamiru started jogging along the road leading out of the city.

By now, exercise had become such a habit for him that if he didn't move around for a day, he'd feel restless.

Soon, he was out of the city. Yamiru pulled out a pen, bit off the cap, and traced a route on the newly purchased slope City map. He chose a path that passed through inhabited areas, avoiding deep mountains and dangerous rivers.

Stowing away the pen and map, Yamiru adjusted his backpack and resumed running.

For him, this was just a light jog to stretch his muscles. However, to the average person, it looked indistinguishable from a full-speed sprint. Naturally, this drew the attention of the occasional passerby on the road, who turned to watch his figure with puzzled expressions.

One particularly warm-hearted truck driver even accelerated to catch up with Yamiru and rolled down his window to ask, "Hey, kid! Need a lift? I can give you a ride!"

"No thanks, Uncle," Yamiru suddenly grinned, beckoning to the driver with a playful gesture. "How about a race?"

With that, he pushed off the ground and shot ahead like a streak of light, overtaking the truck in an instant.

The truck driver didn't understand what Yamiru had just said, but the young man's golden eyes seemed to convey an unspoken challenge that the driver instinctively grasped. Stepping on the gas, the driver chuckled, "On two legs, you think you can beat my four wheels?"

On the long, straight road, a small figure and a small truck raced side by side, like two tiny dots heading north.

Time passed quickly, and nearly half an hour later, they had traveled over ten kilometers out of slope City.

The urban buildings were now far behind, replaced by open countryside. In the distance, green mountains and clear waters came into view.

The truck driver maintained his speed and couldn't help but admire the young man running outside his window. "How the hell is he still running? Half an hour without a single gasp—what a beast!"

Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes.

Two burly men had appeared on the road ahead out of nowhere.

A bull-headed man, wielding a spiked mace over his shoulder.

A horse-faced man, dragging a meteor hammer behind him.

Hiss! The small truck screeched to a halt right in front of the bull-headed and horse-faced men, nearly hitting them.

Yamiru also slowed down, coming to a stop.

"Heh heh… I knew it. This road has been getting busier lately," the bull-headed man said in a deep, rumbling voice.

He raised the spiked mace and gave a happy slap to his other hand, only to scream in pain as the spikes punctured his palm, causing it to bleed.

The horse-faced man beside him looked utterly embarrassed by his companion's idiocy.

"Y-you two…" the truck driver stammered from his seat, trembling. Was this a robbery? He wasn't sure if he should get out of the truck.

"Shut up!" the horse-faced man shouted, swinging the meteor hammer and slamming it onto the truck's hood. A deep dent appeared as he roared, "Leave the truck and all your clothes behind! We'll let you walk away naked!"

Yamiru, watching from the side, thought to himself, "Why does this setup feel so familiar?"

"You idiot! What if you break the truck? Then what?" the bull-headed man yelled at his partner, clutching his injured hand.

"And you! Same deal!" The horse-faced man ignored his dim-witted companion and turned his long snout toward Yamiru, barking, "Hurry up! Or your Grandpa Horse here will smash you into a meat paste with one swing!" He seemed even more eager to rob Yamiru, eyeing his numerous bags and gear with greedy anticipation.

"Hey, kid! Run while you can!" the truck driver shouted through his window in a hushed but urgent tone. "I'll hold them off with the truck. Go back and get the city police!"

The bull-headed man pointed his mace at the driver and roared, "Run? I'll kill you first!"

"Tch, what a hassle," Yamiru muttered, shaking his head. He didn't even bother putting down his backpack as he walked toward the horse-faced man.

The horse-faced man's hand was massive—about the size of Yamiru's head. And given Yamiru's height, he barely reached the horse-faced man's knees.

Grinning wickedly, the horse-faced man reached out to grab him. However, Yamiru calmly caught one of his thick fingers, bent it backward with a sharp motion, and—crack!—broke it.

"AAAH!!" The horse-faced man let out a braying scream and collapsed to his knees in pain.

Yamiru followed up with a kick to the man's long snout, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground.

The bull-headed man, seeing this, let out a loud moo and swung his spiked mace straight at Yamiru. But with a loud thud, the mace head embedded itself into the ground, momentarily stuck.

Yamiru leapt onto the bull-headed man's arm as he struggled to pull his weapon free and slapped the massive bull face with his palm. "What are you staring at?"

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

The truck driver watched in stunned silence from his seat as the seemingly small boy effortlessly dispatched the two hulking bandits, forcing them to kneel obediently on the ground.

Dusting off his hands, Yamiru adjusted his backpack and casually paced back and forth in front of the kneeling animal-headed thugs.

"Names. Speak."

"Bull Demon King," the bull-headed man answered.

"Horse Bull Demon King," the horse-faced man replied.

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