Gurgle... In the deep green liquid, a pair of eyes suddenly snapped open.
Dark golden sclera, crimson pupils.
...
Outside the city, on a straight highway, a hovercar sped forward.
"Seriously? A fighting tournament?"
Tights, who was driving, still seemed a bit puzzled by Yamiru's decision. "Didn't you promise Goku that you'd join him in the 21st World Martial Arts Tournament five years from now?"
"You, of all people, should know, Tights—I've never neglected my daily training," Yamiru replied, sitting in the passenger seat and watching the scenery slowly retreating into the distance. "But the truth is, it's getting harder and harder for me to improve. Maybe my body, my limits... end here. Compared to Goku and his Saiyan bloodline, my talent is nowhere near as great. Even Tien Shinhan might surpass me..."
Tights murmured quietly, "I don't think it's that bad..."
"Hm?" Yamiru turned his head. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
Tights shot him an amused glare. "Are you seriously saying Tien Shinhan is stronger than you?"
Yamiru answered, "Right now, I'm still stronger. But if this continues, he'll surpass me eventually."
"That kid's really something..." Tights mused. "I mean, he does have a third eye. Maybe he's an alien like Goku."
"So what does registering for a fighting tournament have to do with your promise to Goku?" she asked.
"My body might have accepted its limits," Yamiru shrugged and gave a faint smile, "but my will hasn't. Training isn't just about pushing my body to exhaustion. If I'm reaching my physical peak, then I have to explore other ways to improve..." He put on a pair of sunglasses. "Maybe one day, I really will get struck by lightning."
"What? I didn't hear you," Tights asked, thinking she misheard something about lightning.
Yamiru simply clenched his fist toward the sky without explaining further.
He could tell Tights almost anything, but some things—things he wasn't even certain about himself—weren't worth discussing.
If he had understood correctly, what the old Dragon God had meant was this: when Yamiru showed qualities worthy of being nurtured, lightning would descend as a test.
Would that lightning really strike?
Strangely enough, Yamiru found himself hoping it would...
As dusk settled, Yamiru and Tights finally arrived at their destination—Heil City.
"I heard the fighting scene here is pretty intense," Tights said as she and Yamiru stepped out of the car. She casually turned the hovercar back into a capsule and flipped open a travel guide. "Satan Martial Arts Dojo... It says here that the strongest fighter in the dojo earns the title of 'Mr. Satan.'"
"Satan, huh..." Yamiru murmured.
"When we first went searching for the Dragon Balls, wasn't there a legend about a Demon King named Satan in that castle dungeon?" Tights said with interest. "Maybe that story spread around this city and turned into a cultural tradition."
"Maybe," Yamiru replied.
The two walked through the city streets, searching for a hotel.
Though they could always rest in the capsule house within the Spiritual Realm, the atmosphere just wasn't the same.
Goku might have been able to live freely in the wilderness until the day he died, but Yamiru wasn't like that. Besides, he had his girlfriend with him—he had to consider their quality of life. Standing by the hotel window, holding each other as they admired the vibrant city lights, had its own charm.
After a shower and a light meal, Tights stayed behind to rest at the hotel while Yamiru headed out alone.
Back when he left South City and set off for Mount Paozu for the second time, Yamiru had dealt with a pirate ship at sea, rescuing many people—including a professional manager named Na Zanpa.
By chance, Yamiru and Na Zanpa ended up on Dr. Omori's island. With the doctor's help, they took a speedboat back to the mainland before parting ways. Dr. Omori returned home, Yamiru continued on to Mount Paozu, and Na Zanpa went back to his work as a manager.
Before parting ways, Zanpa had given Yamiru his contact information. Recognizing Yamiru's superhuman physique, he had repeatedly tried to persuade him to join the professional fighting league and make a fortune together.
"The last time I passed through this city, I was with the Fourteenth, wasn't I? Heh…"
Time flew by so quickly. Even now, Yamiru couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder when thinking back to his journey, traveling alone on foot in search of Mount Paozu. It all felt almost surreal.
"Zanpa once told me that as long as he was working as a fighting league manager, he would often visit a certain club… What was it called again? Fight Club?"
Asking around on the street, Yamiru quickly found out the location of the well-known club Zanpa had mentioned.
In this city, apart from the Satan Dojo—which doubled as both a training ground and a competition venue—the club was the most frequented spot for star fighters.
It was said that the club's founder was the very first Mr. Satan, a legendary fighting champion.
"To blindly assume that martial artists are always superior to fighters… that would be pure arrogance," Yamiru mused as he walked. "Before Son Goku and the others came along, the peak of martial artists was just Master Roshi or Mutaito. Who's to say there weren't fighting champions in history who were stronger than them? Even today, the top fighter in the circuit, Gaw, has a power level exceeding 100. There must be quite a few fighters in the league with power levels close to 100—or at least in the high double digits."
As he thought about this, he had already arrived at the club's entrance. Looking up, he saw a massive neon-lit sign shaped like a clenched fist.
"A fist, huh?"
Just as he was about to step inside, the club's doors suddenly swung open, and a dark figure was sent flying out.
"Hm?"
Reacting quickly, Yamiru sidestepped the incoming projectile and instinctively reached out, catching the airborne figure. It turned out to be a young boy with a wild, black afro—he looked to be about the same age as Bulma.
"Damn it…" The boy barely spared Yamiru a glance, his fury directed at the club's entrance as he shouted, "Why the hell are you kicking me out?!"
Two large, muscular security guards stood at the doorway. One of them had a tiger's head and spoke with an emotionless tone, "Mark, you may be young, but you're a fighter. You should know the rules here."
The other guard, a lion-headed man, continued, "If you pick a fight in the club and lose, you don't get to stay."
"…Bastards!" The afro-headed boy—Mark—gritted his teeth in humiliation, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'll be back! That son of a bitch dared to insult my dad… Damn it! Damn it all!"
The two beast-headed guards remained unfazed, turning their gazes to Yamiru.
Yamiru, however, was focused on Mark. Studying him with interest, he suddenly asked, "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"