Yamcha moved fast.
As one of the main fighters in the early stages of Dragon Ball, and a former desert bandit, he possessed a wild, agile fighting style.
Fueled by anger, he was pushing himself beyond his usual limits.
"Wolf Fang Fist!!"
With that signature roar, a sharp wolf-like howl seemed to echo through the alley.
Countless fist shadows poured down like torrential rain.
Each strike carried white Qi, sealing off every direction—up, down, left, right—leaving Krillin no room to evade.
The essence of the technique was speed and ferocity.
Once trapped in its rhythm, the opponent would be torn apart like prey caught in a pack of wolves.
Nearby pedestrians screamed and scattered.
A few braver onlookers hid behind shop windows to watch, and someone even pulled out a camera.
But at the center of the storm, Krillin stood as if in another dimension.
In his eyes, Yamcha wasn't fast.
He was slow.
Painfully slow.
It felt like watching a video played at 0.2x speed.
Krillin could clearly see Yamcha's twisted expression, the tension in his muscles, even the single bead of sweat drifting through the air.
"So this is… the gap?"
A faint sense of detachment crossed his mind.
He didn't move his feet.
He didn't even remove his hands from his pockets.
Whoosh!
A straight punch sliced past Krillin's left ear.
Whoosh!
A sweeping kick brushed across his forehead, wind pressure making his eyelashes flutter.
Every attack missed by less than an inch.
Krillin adjusted only the bare minimum—tilting slightly, shifting subtly, bending just enough.
Like a leaf dancing in a storm, untouched by the wind.
"How is this possible?!"
The longer Yamcha fought, the more panic set in.
Cold sweat streamed down his face.
He could feel the heat radiating from Krillin's body.
His fists brushed against the fabric of the orange gi.
And yet—
He couldn't land a single clean hit.
It felt like attacking smoke.
All his power struck empty air, frustration building until he felt like coughing up blood.
"Too slow."
Krillin's calm voice drifted over, audible only to Yamcha.
"The force in your left foot is unstable. Your center of gravity is too high."
"Your lower body feels like you're standing on cotton. Is that really all you've got?"
The calm critique was more humiliating than a slap.
"Shut up!! Shut the hell up!!"
Yamcha's eyes turned bloodshot, his face flushed deep red.
He couldn't accept it.
He absolutely couldn't accept it.
That little bald guy who used to look up to him was now lecturing him like a master scolding a junior.
"Wolf Fang Fist: Modified!!"
He burned his Qi recklessly, boosting his speed by another thirty percent.
The barrage of strikes thickened into a solid wall, pressing down with suffocating force.
"Now it's slightly interesting."
Krillin finally withdrew his hands from his pockets.
The System's warning flashed in red:
[Enemy attack intensity has reached danger threshold (for ordinary people). Recommended counter-attack intensity: within 0.5%. Warning: Exceeding this may cause irreversible damage.]
0.5%?
Krillin frowned.
This level of precision was nerve-wracking.
He had to compress power capable of shattering mountains down to the level of a street brawl.
Facing the nearly invisible barrage, Krillin extended one finger.
His right index finger.
No Ki Blast.
No flashy technique.
Just a single finger.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Crisp metallic sounds echoed through the alley.
Bulma stared in shock, nearly dropping her capsule case.
Yamcha punched like a madman, fists reduced to blurs.
Krillin stood rooted in place.
His index finger traced small arcs through the air.
Every tap landed precisely on Yamcha's knuckles, wrists, elbows.
That finger was an unbreakable wall.
"It hurts!!"
Yamcha felt like his hands were shattering.
Each collision felt like punching a steel pillar.
The recoil numbed his arms, his bones protesting.
"Is… is that finger made of iron?!"
He was terrified.
Krillin wasn't even using visible Qi.
Why was it so hard?
"Have you had enough?"
Krillin's voice turned cold.
He saw the gap—when Yamcha's old strength faded before new strength formed.
The defensive finger suddenly thrust forward.
Through the rain of fists.
Straight to Yamcha's forehead.
Thump!
Krillin used exactly 0.5%.
For Yamcha, it felt like being struck by a thousand-pound hammer.
Time froze.
Yamcha's body stopped mid-charge, eyes bulging, face twisting.
Then the impact exploded outward.
He was sent flying backward like a broken kite.
His feet screeched across the concrete, carving two deep furrows.
He slid over ten meters before crashing into a large iron trash bin at the alley entrance.
Clatter!
Rotten vegetables, fish scraps, watermelon rinds—all dumped over him.
Silence fell.
Only the wind rustled through the trash.
"So… so strong…"
Bulma covered her mouth, her blue eyes sparkling.
This wasn't a fight.
It was domination.
Absolute control.
Calm superiority.
The difference between an adult and a misbehaving child.
She used to find Yamcha's rogue charm appealing.
Now it looked childish.
Frivolous.
Pathetic.
[Ding! Bulma's favorability increased.]
[Current Favorability: Infatuation (85/100).]
Krillin ignored the System and walked toward the trash pile.
Yamcha crawled out, covered in filth.
His long hair was soaked with garbage.
His once-prized baseball uniform was ruined.
Yet the fire in his eyes burned hotter.
"I don't believe it… I'll never believe it!"
He staggered to his feet.
Hands cupped at his waist.
Blue light gathered between his palms.
Bulma's face changed instantly.
"The Kamehameha?! Yamcha, are you insane?!"
"This is a residential area! You'll destroy the street!"
"I don't care!"
"Since you dare humiliate me like this, then let's die together!!"
He had lost control completely.
All his Qi poured into one attack.
"Ka—me—ha—me—HA!!"
A thick blue beam roared forward.
Though weaker than Master Roshi's version, it was strong enough to level a building.
Krillin stopped walking.
He sighed softly.
"So immature. Power without control only harms the innocent."
He didn't dodge.
He raised his right hand, palm open.
No flaring aura.
No dramatic pose.
Pure physical strength.
BOOM!!!
The Kamehameha slammed into his palm.
But his arm didn't move.
The beam struck him like a wave crashing against an ancient reef.
It couldn't advance even an inch.
"Is that all?"
Krillin's voice was indifferent.
Then he clenched his hand.
Pop.
Like bursting a bubble.
The energy shattered.
Blue light scattered into harmless particles, fading in the sunlight.
Crushed.
With bare hands.
Yamcha stood frozen, arms still extended.
His mind went blank.
Anger transformed into fear.
This wasn't martial arts anymore.
This was something else.
Krillin dusted off his hand and stepped forward.
A shadow fell over Yamcha.
"You've grown weak, Yamcha."
His tone was calm.
No mockery.
Just quiet truth.
Yamcha slid down the wall, sitting heavily.
He wasn't exhausted physically.
He was crushed mentally.
"It's not that I'm too strong," Krillin said, crouching to meet his eyes, "it's that your heart is full of distractions."
"Baseball. Women. Fame. Money. Applause."
"Martial arts is honest."
"If you lie to it, it lies to you."
"When was the last time you stayed up all night to perfect one move?"
"When was the last time you broke your limits?"
Yamcha couldn't answer.
He remembered the desert.
Training the Wolf Fang Fist just to survive.
His first World Martial Arts Tournament.
Back then, he was weak—but his eyes had light.
Now they were clouded.
Krillin picked up the broken rose bouquet and placed it on Yamcha's lap.
"You bought it."
"Take it back. Even if it's for Puar."
"You're not worthy of Bulma right now."
"And you're not worthy of this flower."
Krillin stood and walked toward Bulma.
"Let's go. I'm hungry."
He extended his hand.
Bulma didn't hesitate.
She clasped his palm tightly.
Warm.
Callused.
Proof of relentless training.
They walked out of the alley together.
Yamcha remained seated, staring after them.
The image of Krillin crushing the Kamehameha replayed endlessly in his mind.
The gap was too vast.
Jealousy felt meaningless.
"Damn it… damn it all!!"
He slammed his fist into the concrete, skin splitting.
"Martial arts… is honest?"
He laughed bitterly.
"I lost. Completely."
He staggered to his feet.
Took one last look toward Capsule Corp.
Then turned the opposite direction.
"I'm not going back to the baseball team."
"I'm going to Kame House."
"If I don't train this body back into shape… if I don't repay that finger strike… then I, Yamcha, will truly become a joke."
Though his steps were unsteady, they grew firmer with each stride.
...
Author's Update 18+ 📢
The fanfic Naruto: Raised by Kushina, Took His Brother's Wife – Part 1 is now officially fully completed!
It is now available on Patreon for all tiers, including the lowest Tier 1.
The complete Part 1 has been uploaded on Patreon.
📚 Category: Naruto 18+
🔗 patreon.com/Shadow_demon_007
Thank you all for your continuous love, support, and patience for this story 💙