Run!
The thought surged up purely on instinct.
Yamcha—who still remembered the anime and all the character names, though his own name from his previous life had already slipped away—scrambled up from the ground on hands and feet.
Without thinking, he bolted in the opposite direction of the explosion.
He didn't dare look back. Only one thought echoed in his mind: Get away from those two monsters! As far away as possible!
Even though this body was weak, its basic physical ability was far beyond that of his old salaryman body.
He tore across the uneven ruins at shocking speed.
Wind roared past his ears, but all he could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart.
He knew very well that, in the eyes of the Androids, his speed was probably no better than a slightly faster snail.
And the Androids in this world had infinite energy, never tiring, hunting survivors purely for amusement.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it all!"
He cursed in his mind as he ran.
Why here? Why now?
He remembered clearly—Future Android 17 and Android 18 were complete psychopaths who treated slaughter like entertainment.
They had no real objective; destroying cities and killing humans was just a way to pass time.
Right now, he was nothing more than a low-level mob on their map, something they could casually erase at any moment.
He ran until his lungs burned, finally collapsing into the shadow of a building that had been sliced diagonally in half.
Leaning against the cold wall, he gasped for breath. His whole body trembled—half from exhaustion, half from terror.
He carefully poked his head out to look outside.
In the distant sky, several streaks of energy blasts flashed, followed by a series of explosions.
Those two monsters were still eagerly "cleaning up" the area.
Thankfully… they hadn't chased after him.
Yamcha exhaled in relief and let himself slump to the ground.
He needed somewhere safe—somewhere he could gather his thoughts.
Curling up in the corner of the ruined building, he forced himself to calm down.
"First, I transmigrated and became Yamcha."
"Second, this is the future Dragon Ball timeline. The Androids are rampaging, and all the Z Fighters except Trunks are already dead."
"Third, I just climbed out of a grave, my body is weak, and my combat power is basically zero."
He laid out each point one by one, and with every conclusion, his heart sank further.
This was a dead end.
In this world, combat power was the only thing that mattered.
And Yamcha, a full-blooded Earthling, had a hard limit to his potential.
Even if he trained like crazy, could he ever reach Frieza's level? Impossible.
But those two Androids possessed power far beyond a first-stage Super Saiyan.
In the original story, Vegeta had just become a Super Saiyan and was overflowing with confidence—yet Android 18 broke his arm like snapping a twig.
Even Trunks and Gohan together could barely escape with their lives.
What could he, Yamcha, possibly use to fight them? Wolf Fang Fist?
Don't be stupid—charging them would just be suicide.
"Wait… there is one advantage."
Yamcha's mind began racing.
"The Androids can't sense Ki!"
This was a critical piece of information.
It meant that as long as he didn't cause a huge scene or stupidly run right into their line of sight, he wouldn't be instantly discovered like a firefly in the dark.
This was the foundation of his survival.
Right now, the two Androids should be hunting the last remaining warrior of this era—Trunks.
Most of their attention would be on him.
That gave Yamcha a brief window to breathe.
"I can't just sit here and wait to die."
He clenched his fists.
Even if this was the worst possible starting point, he refused to die so pitifully.
He'd been given a second chance at life—he had to at least fight for it.
He began examining his own body.
Aside from the weakness and hunger, the physical foundation was indeed excellent.
The muscle lines were smooth and carried explosive strength.
He could sense a power buried deep within his body, but he didn't yet know how to draw it out.
That was Ki.
Any Dragon Ball warrior, no matter how weak, knew how to use Ki.
"I need to find a place… recover my strength first, then figure out how to train."
He made up his mind.
This hiding place was obviously unsafe—just a temporary stopgap.
He needed somewhere more secluded and sturdy.
After resting for a bit, his strength returned slightly.
Then, like a cautious mouse, he moved quietly through the ruins, searching for a suitable "nest."
Every step was filled with fear.
Every gust of wind made his heart jump. Every pebble falling from above made him think the Androids had found him.
Finally, he located a place—the entrance to the underground parking lot of a large shopping center.
Most of the entrance had collapsed, leaving only a narrow gap, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
He crawled inside without hesitation.
The underground parking lot was pitch black, filled with the heavy scent of mold and dust.
But being cut off from outside noises gave him a faint illusion of safety.
He groped his way forward and sat down behind a crushed car.
Darkness and silence wrapped around him.
Only then did he have the space to truly feel this body—and confront the fact that he had become "Yamcha."
He closed his eyes. Memories from his past life and the instincts lingering in this body began to merge.
He could "remember" training with Goku and Krillin, "remember" fighting in the World Martial Arts Tournament.
He could even "remember" the complicated feelings he once had for Bulma.
These scattered fragments gave weight to the identity of "Yamcha."
He was no longer a reader looking in from the outside—he was Yamcha.
A Yamcha who had died once and inexplicably come back to life.
"Damn it, this is seriously unlucky," he muttered, though his tone carried more reckless resolve than despair.
Just as he was steadying his emotions, his hand brushed against something hard on the ground.
He picked it up and, using the faint light leaking in from the entrance crack, saw that it was a cracked photo frame.
He blew off the dust. Inside the photo, a group of people were smiling brightly at the camera.
Young Goku, Krillin, Tien Shinhan, Chiaotzu, Piccolo… and himself—wearing an orange martial arts uniform, face unscarred—holding Bulma, who had blue hair, grinning like a fool.
That was… a time that would never return.
Almost everyone in the photo—aside from Goku, who in this timeline was far away and long gone—had died.
A heavy wave of sorrow and resentment surged through him.
He looked at his lively, carefree self in the photo, then at the silent, lifeless ruins around him. His eyes suddenly grew hot.
"Bastards…"
He gripped the photo frame tightly.
He didn't want to die again.