Dragon Ball Human

Meanwhile, outside the park, the blonde woman had run into someone as well.

It was a little girl with purple hair, styled in twin braids tied symmetrically on either side of her head. She wore a puffed dress with delicate sandals, and beside her sat a sleek black cat, its eyes gleaming.

"Bulma, what are you doing up so early?" The blonde woman, none other than Dr. Brief's wife, asked with a squinting smile. "Where's your dad? Still at the hotel?"

"He's out. He's reviewing materials for the school he's visiting tomorrow," replied the two-year-old Bulma in a composed and articulate manner far beyond her years.

While Mark had shown early intelligence at two, Bulma's maturity already seemed leagues ahead. As she swung her tiny arms and legs in a morning stretch, she casually criticized her father. "Honestly, it's our Capsule Corporation that is funding the school, then why he's the one scrambling to prepare? I'am saying, that school is a hoax!"

Mrs. Brief covered her mouth, chuckling softly.

"Mom, have you ever seen anyone with superpowers?" Bulma asked after finishing her stretches, tilting her head up at her mother.

"No, I haven't," Mrs. Brief replied in her gentle voice. "That's why I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I wonder how many handsome men with superpowers I'll meet at that school." However, her mind drifted to the boy she had just encountered in the park. His eyes had suddenly turned gold—could that be some kind of superpower, too?

Bulma, meanwhile, pulled out a capsule from who-knows-where. With a click, she tossed it, and a toy gun-like contraption materialized in her hands.

Grinning mischievously, she said, "Hehe, my laser gun is definitely cooler than any superpower!"

"Because Bulma is a genius, of course! Now, let's go shopping, shall we?"

"Mom, do you know where big sis went?"

"Tights? She's traveling as a light novelist, isn't she? Honestly, I have no idea where she is right now…"

The mother and daughter gradually walked away, the dog and cat accompanying them exchanging hostile glares as they went.

\---

After venting his frustration, Yamiru finally noticed the throbbing pain in his head. When he reached up to touch it, he found a small bump that had swollen up—one that hurt even more at the slightest pressure.

If this were an anime, Yamiru thought bitterly, it'd look like one of those cartoonishly oversized lumps that make your head look like it's sprouting something ridiculous.

As he grimaced and rubbed at the swollen bump, Yamiru didn't notice the faint golden glow in his eyes fading away once more.

The park wasn't too crowded at this hour. Yamiru climbed onto a nearby bench and sat there in a daze for a while. Eventually, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the two coins he had.

He turned them over in his hands, examining first one side, then the other. After a moment of thought, he pressed the two coins together in his palm.

"If that old man really does have mind-reading powers..."

Yamiru thought back to the moment when the old man had tossed the coins into his hand.

"When I was flipping the coins by myself... I was thinking: if it landed heads, I'd stay here and keep wasting my days. If tails, then..."

At that time, the two coins stuck together. Was it one head and one tail? Or...

Only heads?

Or only tails?

Yamiru clenched the two coins tightly, staring in the direction where the old man had disappeared.

He tightened his fist more and more, his brows furrowing.

Should he remain being a no one? Or... a no one fish with dreams?

The golden light in Yamiru's eyes flickered intermittently as two voices in his head began furiously arguing.

One voice sneered: "Dreams? How much combat power are they worth, huh? Face it, buddy, the Dragon Ball stage isn't meant for Earthlings. Just be a spectator and enjoy the show, won't you?"

The other voice retorted: "People with dreams won't settle for being mere spectators."

The first voice scoffed: "Oh, so your big dream is to become—let's say—stronger than Krillin? Pfft. Don't kid yourself. You're a transmigrator, after all. Deep down, you've got pride, don't you? Spend a lifetime training only to still lose to a Saiyan's hair strand, and I bet you'd punch your own head off in frustration."

The second voice fired back: "Nonsense! Me? Prideful? I call my Battle power garbage every day. Is that what you call pride?"

"Always talking about combat power, obsessed with it. Don't lie—you've thought about those golden-haired monsters with power levels in the billions. Who are you kidding?"

"Y-you're twisting my words! Besides, haven't you read those motivational quotes? The journey matters more than the destination!"

"Heh... Saiyans dream of becoming stronger is more of a ambition than a dream, but Your so-called dream? A glorified daydream, but Sure, let's romanticize the process of your delusion, shall we?"

"You don't know I'll fail until I try! You're the coward here..."

'Coward, my foot!' Yamiru glared with dead-fish eyes, looking like a full-blown lunatic.

The first voice delivered its parting shot, which blended into Yamiru's muttered self-talk: "Idiot. Haven't you read Dragon Ball? No Saiyans or gods, no entry."

He unclenched his hand, the coins leaving painful imprints on his palm. Staring at the coins stacked together, he flipped them over.

Tails.

He turned them over again.

Still tails.

\---

"Yamiru! What's the deal? You're half an hour late!"

At the logistics company's office, a manager as fat as a literal pig-man bellowed at Yamiru, who had arrived in a rush.

Yamiru casually apologized, reaching out and pushing the manager aside.

The 300-pound-plus manager staggered a few steps back from a single shove. All he heard was Yamiru saying, "Excuse me, Manager. Let me get changed and start my shift."

Nearby, a brown-nosing coworker buried his face in his hands, stifling his laughter.

"You..." The manager's face turned bright red. He glared at the snickering lackey, whose shoulders shook from suppressed giggles, and roared, "What are you laughing at, idiot?!"

Fuming, he watched Yamiru head off. Out of all the bottom-rung delivery workers in the company, every single one trembled in his presence—except this part-timer, Yamiru, who didn't give a damn about him.

The overweight manager contemplated finding some "animal people" to teach Yamiru a lesson. But the thought was quickly dismissed—none of the animal workers in the company would dare to, as none of them could take on that freak Yamiru.

What about heading a few streets over to the animal district? Damn it, even the infamous Drunk Elephant, the toughest thug in the area, was supposedly treated like a soccer ball by Yamiru—tossed around like a toy.

Hiring professional fighters? No way. The manager wasn't about to waste that kind of money just to get the kid beaten up. Yamiru's skin wasn't diamond-encrusted, after all, and the manager couldn't justify the expense.

"Dock his wages!" The manager smirked at the thought, but then remembered Yamiru was a day laborer. His pay was handed out daily, and it wasn't much to begin with. The idea lost its appeal—there was no satisfaction in docking pocket change compared to withholding monthly salaries.

While the manager fumed and stewed, Yamiru had already changed into his uniform, loaded a mountain of packages, and exited through the back door.

He tossed a capsule, loaded the goods into the vehicle, and climbed into the driver's seat. Gripping the joystick-like steering wheel, he stared down the street ahead, muttering to himself:

"I have to catch up to that old man. I need to know what these two coins really mean..."

With that thought lingering in his mind, Yamiru began his deliveries.

Not all packages were destined for the animal district. After covering a few streets, only the larger packages remained on his truck. Many animal folk had massive physiques, so their deliveries were often bulky. This was why delivery jobs required workers with considerable strength—otherwise, complaints about poor service would flood in.

"Hey! Get off the truck!"

A shout came from the roadside.

Yamiru frowned, slowing down to glance out the window. Standing on the sidewalk were four or five animal men of varying sizes.

"Is it him?" They clustered around a photo held by the leader, a leopard-headed man. Pointing at Yamiru, they nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's this guy!"

The crocodile man next to him eyed the enormous packages still on the truck and whistled in astonishment. "Wow, look at those heavy boxes. The rumors are true—this guy's got crazy strength!"

The leopard sneered. "So what if he's strong? Think he can handle my superpower?"

"Of course not! Boss, you're from the Superpower Academy. No matter how strong he is, he's no match for you." A small cat-faced lackey flattered the leopard before turning to Yamiru and shouting, "Get down here, you punk!"

Yamiru sighed, bored, and muttered, "Here we go again."