The campfire had burned down to a pile of dark red embers.
Deep in the forest, insects chirped in waves, occasionally broken by the low, distant roars of ancient beasts.
Bulma was curled up in the back seat of the off-road vehicle, wrapped in Krillin's spare martial arts uniform, her breathing slow and steady.
Krillin sat cross-legged on the roof of the car, wide awake.
The system countdown hit zero.
[Day Seven Training Complete.]
[Saitama Template Basic Adaptation Phase Complete.]
[Current Fusion Rate: 10%.]
There was no dazzling light. No golden glow of leveling up.
Instead, an indescribable soreness crawled out from deep within his bones.
It was nothing like the unbearable pain of the past few days.
This time, it felt as if every bone in his body had been shattered, then kneaded back together by an invisible hand.
Krillin bit down on the collar of his uniform, veins bulging across his forehead.
His spine crackled continuously, like beans popping in a hot pan.
The legs of his perfectly fitted martial arts pants began to shorten visibly.
Muscle fibers in his thighs tore apart, thickened, then compressed again in a violent cycle.
This was not just growing taller.
This was a leap in the level of life itself.
Saitama had paid for breaking his limiter with his hair, and the system seemed to have converted that price into extreme physical reconstruction instead.
Even so, his hair still did not grow back.
The inhuman process lasted a full two hours.
Only when the eastern sky began to pale did the strange soreness finally recede like a withdrawing tide.
Krillin stood up.
Something felt different.
Before, he had always needed to tilt his head slightly to look at the world.
Now, everything lay open before his eyes.
He looked down at his hands.
Long, powerful fingers. Thick knuckles. Skin tanned into a healthy bronze. Gone was the soft, almost comical flesh of before.
[Congratulations, Host. Body Reconstruction Complete.]
[Height: 1.80 meters.]
[Physique Adjustment: Perfect Streamlined Muscle Structure. No longer bulky bodybuilder-type.]
[Trait Acquired: Bald Aura. The shinier the head, the higher the charm.]
Krillin rubbed his scalp.
Still smooth as ever.
"One meter eighty…"
He rolled his shoulders. His joints boomed like distant thunder.
This was the view a man was supposed to have.
The car door opened.
Bulma stepped out, rubbing her sleepy eyes, her hair a chaotic mess.
"Morning… Krillin, do we have anything to eat? That dinosaur meat last night was just…"
Her voice cut off.
She stared blankly at the figure standing on the car roof, back turned toward her.
In the early morning light, that back looked broad and straight.
The orange martial arts uniform was pulled taut, inverted triangle muscles casting sharp, breathtaking shadows.
"You…"
Krillin slowly turned around.
The rising sun reflected off his bald head, flashing almost blindingly.
He jumped down from the car and walked toward her.
A shadow fell over Bulma, completely enveloping her.
She had to crane her neck until it ached just to see his face.
That pressure…
"Kr… Krillin?"
"Morning!"
Krillin grinned.
"What, one night and you don't recognize me anymore?"
"You…"
Bulma circled him three times, pinched his arm, then stood on her toes to measure their height difference.
"This makes no sense!"
She grabbed her hair in frustration.
"How did you grow even taller overnight?"
"I have no idea."
Krillin stretched his neck.
"Maybe that T-Rex was especially nutritious."
"Liar!"
She complained, but her feet did not move back.
Instead, she stepped closer.
The body in front of her radiated explosive power, saturated with a dangerous masculine presence.
For Bulma, who was currently stuck in emotional limbo, this was pure poison.
"Hey."
She poked his chest, cheeks faintly red.
"How tall are you now?"
"One meter eighty."
"Tch. You're even a bit taller than Yamcha…"
She muttered, then quickly looked away.
"Well, since you're so huge now, today's luggage is all yours. I'm going to wash up!"
She fled toward the nearby stream.
Krillin watched her go, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
[Bulma Emotional State Detected: Astonishment, Curiosity, Shyness.]
[Affection Level: Ambiguous (78/100).]
[Evaluation: Height is a man's second face. You now hold the ticket to her heart.]
The system talked too much, but it was not wrong.
In a world that valued appearances, strength mattered, but looks were a powerful bonus.
Krillin opened his status panel.
[Host: Leon Flynn (Krillin)]
[Current Template: Saitama (Fusion 10%)]
[Battle Power: Not Loaded]
Strength: 900
Speed: 880
Constitution: 900
Intelligence: 250
Charm: 85
His gaze sharpened.
[Skill Update:]
[Normal Punch (Advanced): A plain punch, enough to blow apart a tank.]
[Consecutive Normal Punches (Unlocked): One hundred punches per second, causing wide-area destruction.]
"Time to head back."
Krillin clenched his fist. The air burst with a sharp crack.
The martial arts tournament was approaching.
That would be his stage.
Ten minutes later, Bulma returned, water droplets still clinging to her face.
She had changed into lighter clothes, hot shorts and a thin top, clearly showing off her figure.
"Hey, Krillin."
She kicked the tire of the off-road vehicle.
"No fuel. And I didn't bring spare capsules. We're hundreds of kilometers from the city. What do we do?"
She did have spare fuel.
She just wanted to tease the shiny bald head.
"No fuel?"
Krillin glanced at the heavy vehicle.
"Then we run back."
"Huh?"
"Run? Hundreds of kilometers? And what about me? I'm not a martial artist!"
"I didn't say you'd run."
Krillin stepped in front of her, turned around, and crouched. His broad back looked like a solid wall.
"Get on."
Simple and direct.
Bulma froze.
Her heart skipped two beats.
Carry her?
"You said it! If you get tired, don't blame me!"
She bit her lip and jumped onto his back, arms wrapping around his neck.
Hard.
That was her first thought.
All muscle. Solid and unyielding.
And warm. Even through the fabric, she could feel the heat of life radiating from him.
"Hold tight."
Krillin supported her thighs.
The touch was soft and warm.
[Ding! Physical Contact Detected.]
[Reward Gained: Agility +1.]
Whoosh.
No run-up. No preparation.
Krillin bent his legs slightly. The ground exploded into a two-meter-wide crater.
He shot into the air like a fired shell.
"Ahhhhh!"
Bulma's scream was shredded by the wind.
The scenery blurred into streaks of green.
The pressure made it impossible to open her eyes.
Yet a faint layer of energy wrapped around her, blocking the violent airflow.
"So fast!"
"Where are you taking me?"
"To West City. To your home."
His voice was frighteningly steady.
"To my home? Why?"
"I want your father to help me design a custom gravity training suit."
He tapped lightly on the crown of a towering tree, launching himself forward again.
"And I want to see this so-called Capsule Corporation for myself."
In truth, he was there to intercept fate.
According to the original timeline, Yamcha would be heading to West City to apologize around now.
If he wanted clarity of heart, he could not allow that stray dog another chance.
"Why my dad? I could make it myself."
Bulma muttered near his ear, warm breath brushing his neck.
"But… you really have changed."
"How so?"
"You used to take advantage whenever you could."
"But now, your hands are behaving."
She rested her chin on his shoulder.
Krillin smiled, saying nothing.
Behaving?
That was because Muscle Control was running nonstop. With his current strength, one careless squeeze could shatter her legs.
Besides.
The best hunters often appear as prey.
Forcing closeness was crude. Letting the other party come to you was the higher play.
And honestly, he preferred it that way.
"Hey, Krillin."
Bulma suddenly went quiet, then spoke softly.
"Yamcha never carried me like this."
"He just rides that broken motorcycle and lets me eat dust in the back seat."
"Oh."
Krillin responded calmly.
"Then he really is useless."
"You think so too, right!"
Bulma found an outlet, her frustration spilling out.
"All he does is show off. When danger comes, he runs faster than anyone. Even with the Red Ribbon Army last time…"
She vented nonstop.
Krillin listened quietly, occasionally adding a "True" or "That's awful."
Each agreement deepened her resentment toward Yamcha.
Each kilometer increased her reliance on Krillin.
When the futuristic skyline of West City appeared on the horizon, the unpleasant phone call from yesterday had already faded from her mind.
"We're here."
Krillin landed in an empty alley. Two shallow footprints cracked the concrete.
Bulma jumped down, oddly reluctant.
"So fast?"
She checked her watch, stunned.
"Only thirty minutes? That forest is four hundred kilometers away!"
"I didn't even go full speed."
"Let's go. I'm hungry."
"Always eating!"
She rolled her eyes, then naturally linked her arm through his.
"Come on! I'll treat you to something good. And while we're at it… I'll introduce you to my parents."
She froze after saying it.
Introduce him to her parents?
That sounded dangerously like bringing a boyfriend home.
She sneaked a glance at Krillin.
One meter eighty. Upright posture.
Bald, yes, but in this era of individuality, it actually looked cool.
Maybe… not bad?
At that moment, a motorcycle engine roared at the alley entrance.
A flashy red hover bike stopped.
A man in a baseball jacket with long hair and a scar across his face stepped off.
Yamcha.
He held a slightly wilted bouquet of roses and was heading toward Bulma's house.
Seeing the two emerge from the alley, he pulled off his sunglasses and froze.
Bulma was holding another man's arm.
A man taller, broader, far more imposing than him.
"Bulma?"
His gaze locked onto their linked arms, his face turning livid.
"Who is he?"
The air froze.
The battlefield arrived without warning.
Bulma instinctively tried to pull away, but Krillin tightened his arm slightly, keeping her close.
Krillin looked at Yamcha.
The rival he once could only look up to.
Now, he looked weak.
Krillin stepped forward, placing himself in front of Bulma, looking down at Yamcha.
"Yamcha, right?"
"Seems like time hasn't been kind. Not only has your strength declined, but your brain doesn't seem to work very well anymore."