Three power levels had just flared to life across the horizon, and they weren't just random dots on a scanner — they were the power levels. One was hot-blooded and righteous. Another simmered with cold, tactical aggression. And the last… well, the last felt like a smug, walking apocalypse with ten feet of hair and sibling abandonment issues.
And he knew exactly what that meant.
"That's Goku. That's Piccolo. And that one—Raditz," he whispered, heart thudding. "This is it. The Saiyan Arc just started."
He stood frozen for half a second, stunned by the realization that the timeline he'd just been isekai'd into was already in motion — and people die during this arc. Like, a lot. And most of them stay dead, or worse, get vaporized before anyone even thinks of using the Dragon Balls.
"I need to get over there," he said aloud, then blinked. "Wait. I need to get over there? What am I gonna do, throw encouragement from a distance? Hide in Goku's shoes and whisper combos like a martial arts Jiminy Cricket?"
Still, a thought hit him — a dangerous, anime-fueled thought.
"If I can see them fight, maybe I can learn from it."
He opened the system screen, heart racing with the kind of hope that only comes from watching way too many shonen battles.
[Observation Mode: Instinctive Mimicry Ready]
Combat styles, stances, and techniques can be analyzed in real time.Warning: attempting god-tier moves with a mortal-tier body may result in disintegration.
Proceed anyway?
➤ [YES.]
➤ [DO IT.]
➤ [I WANNA KAMEHAME-DIE.]
"Hell yes," he grinned, then turned toward the power signatures and sprinted.
Or, well… he tried.
Within the first thirty seconds of his desperate run, his lungs betrayed him. His thighs ignited with pain. His chest felt like someone had shoved a toaster into it and cranked it to eleven.
"Why is everything in this world so... far apart?!" he gasped. "No one mentions the cardio in Dragon Ball! It's all just—ki blast, teleport, punch a dinosaur, but not one single character complains about jogging through a wasteland?!"
His legs started to wobble. He stumbled, nearly faceplanted, and wheezed like a dying harmonica.
"I'm gonna die of jogging. Not a beam, not an alien — jogging!"
And then — a chime.
[DING]
[Adaptive Response Triggered: Fatigue Resistance Acquired]
He blinked. His breathing evened out. The ache in his legs dulled. His steps grew lighter, his posture straighter.
"Wait. That worked?" he asked, taking another few strides. His body moved with less strain. No shortness of breath. No noodle-knees.
He broke into a jog again. Then a run. Then a full sprint, legs pumping like pistons as the desert flew past.
[DING]
[New Trait Unlocked: Kinetic Drive – Movement speed increases based on urgency of objective]
His eyes widened. "Urgency?! Oh, buddy, I'm panicking professionally right now!"
With each panicked thought — What if they die before I get there? What if I miss the fight? What if Goku explodes and takes the mountain with him? — his legs moved faster. His feet tore up dirt, his arms pumped in rhythm, and the wind clawed at his face like he'd become the world's most anxious bullet train.
"I am speed!" he shouted, grinning like a madman. "Take that, Yamcha's corpse!"
Birds scattered. Lizards dove for cover. One rock split in half just from the wake of his momentum.
By the time he crested the final ridge, he'd covered what had to be miles in minutes. He dropped into a crouch behind a boulder the size of a van, panting—not from exhaustion, but pure adrenaline.
Peeking over the edge, he spotted them.
Goku stood with his usual determined glare, shirt already ripped halfway down the middle like his wardrobe had a contract with drama. Piccolo hovered just behind him, arms folded, cape fluttering like he practiced wind timing. And Raditz — oh, Raditz. Tall, smug, and so very punchable.
They were arguing about loyalty, family, and other things that sounded a lot more dramatic in anime than they did in real life.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "It's happening. This is canon. This is real-time, live-action Dragon Ball Z, and I am watching it like a bootleg creep behind a rock."
The scanner lit up.
[Observation Mode Engaged.]
[Analyzing combat movement…]
He stared with wide eyes, soaking in every punch, kick, and scream. Goku darted in first, fists flying with precise rhythm. Piccolo moved like a tactical nuke — every shot calculated, efficient, deadly. Raditz tanked their hits like he paid for plot armor on subscription.
His muscles twitched, his joints tingled. It felt like his body was watching the fight with him, mimicking on its own.
A system message popped up.
[New Skills Acquired:]
• Ki Control – Basic
• Combat Stance: Turtle Style – Initiated
• Posture Reflex – Installed
*Note: You still suck. But now you suck with technique.
He stood straighter. His feet shifted on instinct. His breathing synced with the rhythm of the battle.
"I know kung fu," he whispered, then paused. "Okay, not well, but enough to look cool while losing."
Then came the moment.
Piccolo roared, energy building between his fingers. The Special Beam Cannon spun into existence — a spiraling beam of death, the very definition of "this might be overkill."
He leaned forward, eyes wide, nearly falling over the rock.
[Technique Detected: Makankōsappō (Special Beam Cannon)]
Danger Level: Face-Meltingly High.Ki Requirement: Way outta your league.
➤ [Learn Anyway?]
➤ [Yup.]
His hands sparked. His veins hummed. Something ancient and stupid bloomed in his chest.
"I'm totally gonna blow off my arm trying this," he whispered with glee.
The beam fired.
Goku screamed.
Raditz died. Eventually.
And as Piccolo stood alone in the silence of victory and trauma, the system gave one last ping.
He exhaled slowly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Okay. Okay. I've got basic martial arts, maybe some ki. I'm alive. For now."
Then he looked up at the sky.
"One year until Vegeta shows up. I am so unbelievably screwed."