Dragon Ball Human

The genius dragon clan descendant, Piccolo, officially stepped into Earth's human society. 

But not smoothly. 

Though undoubtedly gifted, he was currently just a weakling who'd spent thirty isolated years on Yunzabit Highlands. Merely traversing the wilderness outside his homeland became an ordeal. 

Fortunately, as a Namekian, he only needed water to survive—making one wonder if he photosynthesized like a plant. This at least simplified his journey. 

Watching from the skies above, Yamiru mused that such plant-like functionality would've made his own early days much easier. 

By the time Piccolo reached his first inhabited village, he was in sorry shape. 

Walking through the settlement, the simple villagers eyed him as a monster. Isolated from the outside world, they'd never seen beast-men or monster-men before—let alone a two-meter-tall green-skinned behemoth with snail-like antennae, sharp claws, and intricate patterns covering his arms and chest. 

With such an appearance, it was hard not to alarm people. 

Moreover, Piccolo's face completely lacked "human warmth." Thirty years of isolation on those Kamiforsaken highlands—it was impressive he hadn't lost language function or developed facial paralysis. Expecting social grace was asking too much. 

Piccolo never anticipated such unwelcome reception. These people were utterly unlike the only other being he'd met—"Kami." So unfriendly. 

He left in disarray, carrying unease and confusion as he pressed onward. 

---

One month later, another town 

Under cover of night, a towering figure crept to a well, lowering then raising a wooden bucket for a ten-minute drinking session. 

In the thick darkness, Piccolo's amber eyes darted about like an alert owl's. 

Thud. He tossed the bucket aside, wiping his mouth. By now he'd realized the outside world wasn't much better than his "home." Though more populated, not a single person proved companionable. His spoken words this past month didn't exceed those exchanged with "Kami" thirty years prior. None gave him that same feeling—approachable yet commanding respect, tinged with yearning. 

"Kami... where do you live?" he murmured into the night. 

His directionless journey continued. 

---

Urban zones 

In bustling streets populated by beast-men and monster-men, passersby no longer stared oddly at Piccolo. 

Yet he keenly sensed little had actually changed. 

The invisible bias simply shifted from targeting him alone to encompassing all non-humans. Superficially, the three humanoid species held equal status, but clearly only baseline humans appeared truly respectable and vibrant. Their relaxed, carefree expressions were absent from beast- and monster-kind... 

---

Years of wandering 

Piccolo aimlessly drifted through human society for over a decade. 

He saw glittering metropolises and primitive farmlands—places with televisions and cars alongside others still wielding hoes. Different towns seemed to exist in different eras. 

"Heh, stupid mutt!" 

In an alley, thugs surrounded a green-furred fox-man, kicking and beating him as he curled up whimpering. 

Passing by, Piccolo's eyes flashed with anger. "Stop!" 

The bullies paused, surprised. Though Piccolo stood two meters tall, they weren't intimidated, pulling out iron pipes and crowbars. 

Minutes later, Piccolo lay curled up under a barrage of blows. The fox-man had long fled. 

"Dare interfere, will you?" 

"Freak!" 

"Should just die!" 

The thugs rained down unrestrained violence, leaving bruises and purple-blooded wounds. 

"Hey, check it out—his blood's purple!" They laughed like they'd discovered a novelty. "Total freak! Hahaha..." 

Piccolo endured in silence, a festering rage brewing within him. 

His mind split in two—one half insisting harming others was wrong, the other screaming with hatred to slaughter them all. 

"Is that—demonic energy?" High above, Annin's expression darkened. As the Supreme Elderly Lord overseeing Earth's infernal forces, she detected the sinister aura coalescing around the beaten Piccolo faster than Yamiru could. "To attract demonic energy in this era... No wonder you called him a 'genius'..." She moved to intervene, but a hand stopped her. 

Yamiru held her back. "Wait." 

Perplexed, Annin watched as another figure appeared at the alley's mouth—a young human man. 

"Hey, stop that!" the youth shouted angrily. 

"Shit!" The thugs seemed to recognize him, their bravado crumbling as they raised pipes defensively. "Mutaito, mind your own business! Your martial arts school has no jurisdiction over us!" 

Panting behind the young man, the green-furred fox caught up. "Elder... Elder Brother Mutaito... Th-they're the ones..." He pointed at the bullies. 

"See? This is my business." The youth—Mutaito—cracked his knuckles and advanced. 

"Damn it! That fox belongs to your school?" The thugs flushed with anger. "Since when do you train beasts? This is too—AH! OW! Mutaito! Mercy! Please, no more!" 

After the chaotic beatdown, Mutaito roared, "Scram!" 

The bruised thugs fled. The fox helped Piccolo up—his face swollen, body mottled with purple-green bruises. "Are you okay? Thank you for saving me..." 

The darkness in Piccolo's expression lightened slightly. He studied the fox, then the victorious human. 

"I'm Mutaito, a martial artist." The youth grinned, extending a hand. "What about you, big guy?" 

Piccolo's tone remained flat—he'd never learned emotional inflection. "Piccolo." 

Mutaito hauled him up, marveling. "You're huge! And built like a tank... My master would drool seeing you!" He patted Piccolo's arms like inspecting rare treasure. 

"What's a martial artist?" Piccolo suddenly asked. 

"Wanna find out?" Mutaito's smile could power the sun. "Come with me!"