I remember the exact moment I died >:[
Not the pain,there wasn't any time for that bullcrap, but just the thought.
Gohan screamed. His hair exploded upward in silver-gray fury, aura flaring like the animators had been holding back their budget for one final flex, Beast Gohan. The theater shook with sound, people cheering like it was the second coming of Super Saiyan 2.
And I said it.
Out loud.
"That's a bunch of BULLSHIT."
Not loud enough to be rude, but loud enough that my girlfriend elbowed me in the ribs. I kept going anyway, muttering under my breath like an aging nerd who had spent too many years caring about power scaling.
"No buildup. No training. No foreshadowing. Just trauma and -BOOM- new form. Absoluty Booldly Asspull."
And then the ceiling collapsed, i think.
I didn't even get a dramatic final thought. No life flashing before my eyes. No ironic realization. Just a deafening crack, a blur of falling concrete, and something heavy,VERY HEAVY slamming into my skull.
BOOM.
Gone.
I Woke Up Hungry
The first thing I felt was cold.
The second thing was hunger, real hunger. The kind that gnaws at your insides like your body is trying to eat itself to survive.
I opened my eyes and immediately shut them again.
Too bright.
Sunlight hit my face without mercy, baking exposed skin. My head throbbed, not in the sharp, splitting way of an injury, but in a dull, constant ache, like it had been hurting for a long time.
I forced my eyes open again.
Concrete. Cracked and dirty. A wall covered in faded posters written in a language I didn't recognize, but somehow understood. A smell of oil, trash, and heat hung thick in the air.
I tried to sit up.
My body felt… wrong.
Too light. Too small.
I looked down at my hands.
They weren't my hands.
They were thin. Dirty. Smaller than they should've been. My arms were skinny, all bone and skin, wrapped in torn sleeves that might've once been a shirt.
My breath caught in my throat.
"dam it," I whispered.
My voice cracked, high, rough, young.
I scrambled to my feet and nearly fell over. My balance was off, center of gravity unfamiliar. I stumbled toward a reflective surface, a broken piece of glass leaning against a dumpster.
What stared back at me wasn't an adult man.
It was some kid.
Maybe eight. Nine at most.
Black hair, unkempt and matted. Face smudged with dirt. Eyes too big for a face that had seen too little food and too much sun. Clothes that were barely clothes at all.
I stepped back, heart pounding.
"This isn't real," I said. "This is a dream. I got knocked out. I'm in a hospital."
Then a shadow passed overhead.
I looked up.
And my blood ran cold.
A car flew over me.
Not hovered.
Flew.
Sleek, white, and unmistakably Dragon Ball in design. Blue accents along the sides. A familiar logo stamped clearly on its underside as it passed:
CAPSULE CORP.
My knees gave out.
I sat down hard on the pavement, staring up at the sky as more flying cars zipped by in neat lanes, like highways carved into the air.
"aw crap-baskets," I whispered again, but this time it wasn't denial.
It was realization.
Dragon Ball Z.
Not a show. Not nostalgia. Not power-scaling arguments and internet debates.
Reality.
My mind raced, connecting dots faster than my body could keep up. Capsule Corp meant Bulma. Which meant Goku. Which meant Ki. Saiyans. Androids. Gods.
Which meant....
I swallowed.
....this world was not safe.
I wasn't a reincarnated prodigy. I didn't feel power humming in my chest. No instinctive Ki control. No hidden tail. No divine voice welcoming me to a new life.
I was some homeless kid.
In Dragon Ball.
That was arguably worse than dying.
Deez Streets Don't Care About Canon
The next few hours were a blur of survival.
I learned quickly that hunger overrides existential dread. My stomach hurt constantly, a sharp, twisting pain that made it hard to think. I scavenged half-eaten food from trash bins, ignored the stares of adults,
The city was massive, towering buildings, neon signs, Capsule Corp tech everywhere. I need to find my way to Master Roshi, somehow. I needed his help.
And that scared me more than anything and somewhat sad in an another way.
Because in Dragon Ball, if you weren't important, you were fragile.
Random cities got erased. Planets blew up. Androids rampaged. Aliens invaded.
And kids like me?
We were collateral damage.
As the sun dipped lower, I curled up behind a stack of crates in an alley, hugging my knees. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't shut up.
I thought about Gohan.
About Beast.
About how angry I'd been at the transformation, not because it looked bad, but because it felt earned by narrative convenience, not effort.
And now here I was, in a world where power decided everything.
I laughed quietly.
"Guess I should've kept my mouth shut."
Understanding the Timeline
Over the next few days, I listened.
People talk more than you'd think—especially when they don't think you matter.
I picked up scraps of information. News broadcasts playing on public screens. Conversations in markets.
The timeline slowly became clear.
King Piccolo Jr was beaten a few years ago.
And no talk about aliens.
Which meant it's early in the timeline.
I clenched my fists.
I knew what was coming.
And I was a starving kid with no Ki control and no plot armor.
"That power-up was still an ASSPULL AND YOU KNOW IT".
And a rock hit me on the my head.
Mc power level: 1
End of chapter.
Author: i will not turn my human mc in a saiyan and no Zenkai Boost. And hi everyone i feel like i want to write a fanfic in dragon ball, as i love it.