Dragon Ball Human

"This kid is so strong, maybe he can..."

In the alley, the pig-headed man, Tonpo, stroked his chin, thinking of something. He couldn't help but break into a sly grin, which slowly turned into a lecherous smirk, revealing his piggish face.

Not knowing where he had pulled it from, he took out a portable camera, stuck his upper body out from the alley, and secretly snapped pictures of Yamiru, who was in the middle of delivering a package.

Yamiru happened to be delivering a package to a giant, obese elephant man who was around six or seven meters tall, as massive as a small mountain. When Yamiru rang the doorbell to get the person to come out, the drunken elephant person was already in a stupor. Yamiru struggled for a long time before managing to get this drunk to notice him. The elephant, already dizzy from alcohol, bent down to look, and in doing so, tripped. His gigantic body came crashing down on top of Yamiru.

"Damn!"

Yamiru stared, his vision filled with the shadow of the massive figure above him, the visual impact almost overwhelming.

At first, he thought, "I'm done for," but then he quickly realized, "Wait, I'm actually pretty strong now." His mind raced, his thoughts sharp and calm under pressure, showing his quick thinking. Yamiru pressed both palms up, and with a loud "thud," the giant elephant person collapsed, crushing Yamiru beneath him.

"Damn! He is going to die! Even if you're strong, there's no way…" Tonpo, who had been hiding in the grass and secretly snapping photos, thought to himself, but the next moment, he watched in disbelief as the drunken elephant was lifted. Yamiru, his face flushed and gritting his teeth, was using all his might, his arms trembling with strain, yet he was slowly lifting the elephant like a small mountain.

"Ha..." Yamiru squinted, gritting his teeth, his muscles bulging and taut, even trembling slightly. Strange sounds reverberated in his chest as he slowly straightened his knees and back.

'Even though I'm just a lazy, aimless transmigrator right now, I can't be weak enough to be crushed by a drunken elephant, can I?!' Yamiru felt a surge of frustration inside, the fire burning so intensely that he felt as though he were about to transform into a Super Saiyan. With a shout, he hurled the elephant aside. "Stop looking down on people!"

Boom! The elephant rolled to the side, snoring peacefully as if nothing had happened.

Click! From behind the bushes, Tonpo's camera fell to the ground.

Nearby, two bull-headed thugs sitting on a rooftop sipping cold sodas happened to witness the scene. One of them mumbled, "Brother, isn't that fat guy a elephant man?" The other nodded and replied, "Yeah, it is. We couldn't even move that fat bastard, but that little human kid..."

They exchanged a glance, took another sip of their ice-cold drinks, and simultaneously thought to themselves: Not robbing anyone feels really good.

"If someone else had delivered this, wouldn't they have been crushed by that guy?!"

Meanwhile, Yamiru, still fuming, glared at the drunk elephant man sleeping at the door. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He walked over and kicked the elephant. The elephant's tough skin and thick muscles barely budged from the kick, and it just flipped over and continued snoring. On the other hand, Yamiru's foot was left tingling from the powerful recoil of the elephant's flesh.

"What a talent!"

Around the corner of the animal street, a muscular man wearing a gym trainer's vest stood with sunglasses reflecting the scene of Yamiru throwing the elephant and then kicking it over. He clicked his tongue in admiration, "Such strength at such a young age? This kid is a natural powerhouse! If he trains under me for a few years, he might even make it to the professional league... What do you think, Mark?"

A small boy with natural black curls stood beside the muscular man, focused intently on licking his ice cream.

"How should I know?" The boy, Mark, said with a childish voice, sounding displeased. "I'm only 2 years old, Marda!"

"But you're a genius, Mark," the muscular man, Marda, smiled and said, then his face grew serious. "And I've told you many times, don't call me Marda."

"Okay, daddy." Mark continued licking his ice cream, which he was only allowed to eat once a month, but it was so delicious.

"No 'daddy' either," Marda said earnestly. "Before being father and son, we are master and apprentice, Mark."

"Oh," little Mark didn't fully understand, "Okay, master."

"Sigh…" Marda crouched down to pat Mark's head, smiling slightly. "This is the first time I'm taking you away from home, and it's also the last time I'll compete in the fighting league. Mark, no matter how I perform in this league, I'll have no regrets. From now on, you will be my only hope. I will guide you wholeheartedly and train you until you become a world champion!"

"A world champion!" Mark exclaimed, his mouth full of ice cream.

"Haha," Marda laughed loudly. "Mark, do you know? The supporters of our fighting dojo give the most dominant fighters the title of 'Mr. Satan'! And that title will be your first step toward becoming the world champion!"

"Oh, Mr. Satan... the first step," little Mark mumbled, distracted by his ice cream. He thought to himself, Who cares about being Satan when ice cream is this delicious? Once he wins the world championship like his master said, he'll eat ice cream every day and never have to train again. Fighting was too tiring.

Marda was very pleased with his son-apprentice's response, thinking to himself: 'I, Marda, may not be cut out to be a fighting champion, but maybe I'm destined to be the champion who raises one! I have a son with such exceptional talent in fighting. And inte the middle of a I trip and, made in a whim, i decided to enter a competition, also in a whim, and on the way, I run into a promising kid. Tsk, tsk, I'm a so lucky!'

With that, Marda eagerly led little Mark, still licking his ice cream, to follow the still-delivering Yamiru.

"Fighting league?" Yamiru was about to get in his car when he looked at the two approaching him in confusion. One had a big, black, explosive hairstyle, and the other had small, black, natural curls—both looked absurd.

Marda, with a discerning look, said, "Yes, I was just watching you. Despite your small size, you have incredible explosive strength! Little guy, you might be able to become a fighting champion in the future…"

Little Mark paused in his ice cream licking and looked up at his father, puzzled. Wasn't he supposed to be the future champion?

"A fighting champion? No interest," Yamiru said, shaking his head.

Marda, trying to entice him, said, "Really no interest? If you become a fighting champion, you'll become a household name!" But then, he saw the little boy at the car door looking at him like he was some kind of idiot.

'This kid's dumb, isn't he? A muscle-head type?' Marda thought about this for a moment, then tried again to entice Yamiru. "If you become a fighting champion, you'll have endless money! You can buy anything you want, go to amusement parks anytime, eat ice cream whenever…" The more he spoke, the slower he got, starting to feel like the look the boy gave him was one of pity.

"You've got the wrong person. I'm not interested in fighting," Yamiru still refused, mumbling as he got in the car, "The champion of the World Martial Arts Tournament sounds more interesting... I'm off."

With that, he started the car and quickly drove off in a skid.

"Hey! Wait! Don't rush off…" Marda didn't expect the boy to be so decisive and leave like that. He stomped his foot in frustration, "What a dumb kid."

"Master, what's the World Martial Arts Tournament?" little Mark, finishing his ice cream, wiped his mouth and asked. He had also noticed Yamiru's incredible strength and secretly thought the boy was impressive. Hearing Yamiru muttering about the World Martial Arts Tournament before leaving, he couldn't help but be curious. "Is the World Martial Arts Tournament champion stronger than the professional fighting champion?"

"Pfft, what World Martial Arts Tournament? That poor kid's just ignorant! Satan, don't you go down the wrong path," Marda said, shaking his head in exasperation, trying to teach his son a lesson.

"Dad, my name's Mark," little Mark reminded his master, who had gotten his name wrong. He then pointed at a modest, inconspicuous poster on the wall next to a huge ad for the professional fighting league, which read: 18th World Martial Arts Tournament. "Is that the one? Master, after your competition, let's go check this one out!"

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18th World Martial Arts Tournament...

Around the corner, Yamiru stared at the torn poster and thought about the one he had kept at home, the one for the 17th World Martial Arts Tournament, which he never could bring himself to throw away.