The bonfire had burned down to a pile of dark red embers.
Insects chirped deep in the forest, rising and falling, occasionally interrupted by the muffled low roars of ancient behemoths.
Bulma was curled up in the back seat of the off-road vehicle, covered with Krillin's spare martial arts uniform, breathing slow and steady.
Krillin sat cross-legged on the roof, wide awake.
The system countdown hit zero.
[Day Seven training ended.]
[Saitama template basic adaptation period complete.]
[Current Fusion degree: 5%.]
There were no flashy lights, no golden glow, no "level-up" spectacle.
Instead, an indescribable, sour itch rose from deep within his bone marrow.
It wasn't like the excruciating pain of the past few days. This felt like his entire skeleton was being broken apart and kneaded back together by an invisible giant hand.
Krillin bit down on his collar as veins bulged on his forehead.
His spine made a continuous crack-crack sound, like beans frying.
The legs of his once-fitting martial arts uniform visibly crept upward as his body changed.
Thigh muscle fibers tore, thickened, and recompressed again and again.
It wasn't just getting taller.
This was a leap in his level of existence.
Saitama's price for breaking his limiter had been his hair, but the system seemed to have converted that price into an extreme transformation of this body.
His hair still didn't come back, though.
The inhuman process lasted a full two hours.
When the eastern sky finally turned pale, the sour itch receded like a tide.
Krillin stood up.
His perspective had changed.
Before, he always had to look up slightly to see the world. Now, everything fell into place naturally.
He looked down at his hands.
His fingers were slender yet powerful, the joints thicker, the skin a healthy bronze. The comical, fleshy feeling was gone.
[Congratulations Host, body remodeling complete.]
[Height: 1.8 meters.]
[Physique Correction: Perfect streamlined muscles (no longer the bloated bodybuilder type).]
[Acquired Trait: Bald Force Field (The brighter the bald head, the stronger the charm).]
Krillin touched his forehead.
Still smooth.
"One meter eight…"
He rolled his shoulders and flexed his limbs. His joints popped like thunder.
This was a man's perspective.
The car door opened.
Bulma stumbled out rubbing her eyes, hair a messy bird's nest. "Morning… Krillin, got anything to eat, because last night's dinosaur meat was too—"
Her voice cut off.
She stared at the figure on the roof with his back to her.
In the faint morning light, his back looked broad and upright.
The orange martial arts uniform fit perfectly, and the inverted triangle of his muscles traced thrilling shadows under the sunrise.
"You…"
Krillin turned slowly.
His bald head caught the morning sun and reflected a sharp glint.
He jumped down and walked toward her.
A shadow fell over Bulma, completely covering her.
She had to tilt her head back, neck straining, just to see his face. "Kri… Krillin?"
Krillin smiled. "Good morning, and what, gone for one night and you don't recognize me?"
Bulma circled him three times, pinched his arm, then stood on her tiptoes to compare their heights.
"This isn't scientific!" She yanked at her hair in frustration. "How did you grow so much taller overnight?"
"I don't know either." Krillin stretched his neck. "Maybe that Tyrannosaurus rex from last night was too nutritious."
"Like I'd believe that!" Bulma complained, but she didn't step back. If anything, she drifted closer.
This body, packed with explosive power, gave off a lethal masculine presence.
For Bulma—currently stuck in a relationship dry spell where she was the one getting iced out—it was practically poison.
"Hey." Bulma poked his chest, cheeks flushing. "How tall… are you now?"
"One meter eight."
"Tch, you're actually a bit taller than Yamcha…" Bulma muttered, then looked away in a panic.
"Fine, since you've become such a big guy, today's luggage is all yours, and I'm going to wash up!"
She bolted toward a nearby stream like she was escaping.
Krillin watched her go, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
[Detected Bulma's emotional fluctuations: Amazement, curiosity, shyness.]
[Affection Level Determination: Ambiguous (78/10).]
[Evaluation: Height is a man's second face; you now possess the ticket to her heart.]
The system talked a lot, but the logic wasn't wrong.
In this world, strength mattered, but looks were still a bonus.
Krillin opened his attribute panel.
[Host: Lin Fei (Krillin)]
[Current Template: Saitama (Fusion 5%)]
[Combat Power Value: Not loaded.]
Strength: 90 (Host can convert Strength value into Combat Power proportionally.)
Speed: 88
Physique: 90
Intelligence: 25
Charm: 85
Krillin's gaze sharpened.
[Skill Update:]
[Normal Punch (Advanced): A simple, unadorned punch, but enough to blow up a tank.]
[Consecutive Normal Punches (Unlocked): Throw a hundred punches in one second, dealing area-of-effect destructive damage.]
"It's about time to head back," Krillin muttered, clenching his fist until the air popped in his palm.
The World Martial Arts Tournament was coming.
That would be the best stage to make a name for himself.
Ten minutes later, Bulma returned from washing up, water droplets still clinging to her face.
She'd changed into something cooler—hot pants and a camisole—whether intentionally or not, it showed off her figure.
"Hey, Krillin." Bulma kicked the tire. "The car's out of gas, and I didn't bring any spare capsules, so we're still hundreds of kilometers from the city, and what do we do?"
She absolutely had spare fuel.
She just saw that shiny bald head and wanted to tease him.
"Out of gas?" Krillin glanced at the heavy off-road vehicle. "Then we'll run back."
"Huh?" Bulma gaped. "Hundreds of kilometers, run back, and how am I supposed to run, because I'm not a martial artist!"
"I didn't say you were running." Krillin stepped in front of her, crouched, and turned his back to her. His back looked like a wall. "Get on."
Concise. Direct.
Bulma froze.
Her heart skipped. This… he was going to carry her?
"You said it, so don't blame me if you get exhausted!" Bulma bit her lip, then jumped onto his back without pretending to be shy.
Her arms wrapped around his neck.
Hard.
That was her first impression.
He was all muscle, solid as rock.
And his body temperature ran high; she could feel that burning vitality even through her clothes.
"Sit tight." Krillin supported her thighs with his hands.
Warm and delicate.
[Ding! Physical contact.]
[Obtained Reward: Agility +1.]
Whoosh.
No run-up. No charging.
Krillin bent his knees slightly and the ground cracked into a crater nearly two meters wide.
He launched like a cannonball, shooting into the sky.
"Ahhhhh!!!" Bulma's scream tore apart in the wind.
The scenery retreated at terrifying speed. Trees became green smears.
The wind pressure was so strong it was hard to keep her eyes open, but Krillin had prepared. A thin layer of Qi wrapped around Bulma, blocking airflow that would have blown her away.
"Too… too fast!" Bulma yelled, clinging to his back. "Where are you taking me?"
"West City, to your house," Krillin replied, frighteningly steady, not a hint of breathlessness in his voice.
"Why go to my house?!"
"I want to ask your father to help me make a special gravity training suit," Krillin said, tapping off a treetop to blast forward again. "And I also need to see the so-called Capsule Corporation."
In fact, he was going to intercept someone.
According to the original timeline, Yamcha should be going to West City around this time to "apologize" to Bulma.
If Krillin wanted peace of mind, he couldn't let that stray dog have any chance.
"Why look for my father, because I can make it too," Bulma hummed near his ear, her breath warm on his neck. "But… you really have changed a lot."
"What changed?" Krillin asked.
"Before, you definitely would have taken the chance to take advantage of me," Bulma said, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But now, your hands are very well-behaved."
Krillin smiled.
He didn't answer.
Well-behaved?
That was because Muscle Control was constantly active; otherwise, with his current strength, he could snap her thighs by accident.
Besides.
The highest-level hunters often appear in the form of prey.
Taking advantage actively is a poor strategy; making the other person unable to resist flirting with you is the superior move.
And also, I like being passive!
"Hey, Krillin," Bulma said after a long pause, voice softer. "Yamcha… has never carried me."
"He only rides that broken motorcycle and makes me sit in the back eating dust."
"Oh," Krillin replied flatly. "Then he really is quite useless."
"You think he's useless too, right!" Bulma snapped, like she'd found a kindred spirit. "All day he acts cool, but when danger shows up, he runs faster than anyone, and it was the same when we ran into the Red Ribbon Army last time—"
Bulma entered full complaint mode.
From Yamcha's taste, to his flirting, to his lying—everything came out.
Krillin listened quietly, occasionally responding with, "Indeed," or, "That's too much."
Every agreement added a little more resentment toward Yamcha.
Every kilometer increased Bulma's reliance on Krillin.
When West City's futuristic steel jungle appeared on the horizon, Bulma had already forgotten yesterday's phone call misery.
"We're here," Krillin said as he landed in a deserted alley, leaving two shallow footprints in the concrete.
Bulma slid off his back, somehow unsatisfied.
"So fast?" She checked her watch in disbelief. "Only half an hour? It's four hundred kilometers from the forest to here!"
"It's fine, I didn't dare run at full speed," Krillin said, brushing dust off his uniform. "Let's go to your house. I'm hungry."
"All you think about is eating!" Bulma rolled her eyes, then naturally hooked her arm through his.
"Let's go! This young miss will treat you to a feast, and incidentally… introduce you to my parents."
As soon as she said it, Bulma froze.
Introduce him to her parents?
Why did that sound like… bringing a boyfriend home?
She sneaked a glance at Krillin.
One meter eight, posture straight.
Even bald, in an era full of "personality," he actually looked kind of cool.
Seems… not bad?
A motorcycle roar suddenly came from the alley entrance.
A flashy red bike skidded to a stop.
A man in a baseball uniform sat on it, long hair flowing, a scar on his face.
Yamcha.
He held a bunch of slightly wilted roses, clearly headed toward Bulma's gate.
When he saw the two of them step out of the alley, he took off his sunglasses and froze.
Bulma was holding a man's arm.
A man taller, stronger, and more imposing than him.
"Bulma?" Yamcha's gaze locked onto their linked arms, and his face turned ashen. "Who is he?!"
The air froze.
A love triangle scene arrived without warning.
Bulma instinctively tried to pull away, but Krillin's arm tightened slightly, keeping her hand in place.
Krillin looked at Yamcha.
The "rival" he once could only look up to.
Now he looked like nothing more than a weakling.
Krillin stepped forward, shielding Bulma, and looked down at Yamcha.
"Isn't this Yamcha?" Krillin said coolly.
"It seems that after not seeing each other for a while, not only has your strength regressed, but even your brain isn't working well anymore."