**Fierce County, on the edge of a dusty, abandoned desert-like area – Summer 2025**
The sun beat down mercilessly, as if taking revenge on the entire world. The air shimmered with heat, and on the trembling horizon, mirages danced—sandy dunes that were really just illusions of cracked, dry earth. Yamcha stood there in the middle of nowhere, his black hair reaching his shoulders, tangled and dusted with sand by the wind. A faint old scar traced across his face, a souvenir from another life, another world. His denim jacket was worn thin, a ripped t-shirt stretched over his muscular frame beneath it, and on his belt still hung an old, rusty desert knife—a relic he couldn't bring himself to let go of, because it reminded him of who he used to be.
He took a deep breath, feeling the scorching air burn his lungs. This wasn't the same desert as before—not the endless sea of sand where he lived as a bandit, robbing caravans with Puar, where he first met that monkey-tailed kid who changed everything. Goku. The name still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Goku, who was always stronger, who always won. Yamcha had never been more than a side character in that world—the warrior who died to a stupid exploding creature, the one who always came in second. But now… now everything was different.
"So this is the world," he muttered to himself, staring at his open palm as if searching for something inside it. "Quirks, heroes, villains… and I belong among them too. No more Saiyans, no more Z Fighters. Just me, and this strange power inside."
His body remembered everything. The movements of the Wolf Fang Fist still pulsed in his muscles, the Spirit Ball orb practically burned in his palm whenever he thought about it. But here, in this new life, it wasn't about ki. Here, quirks were inborn biological miracles—mutations, emissions, transformations. His had been with him since birth in this body, a stormy, wolf-like power he had named Wolf Fang Hurricane. He didn't have to name it that way, but the memories made it feel right. An energy that made him faster, stronger, and summoned a red aura around him like a roaring storm whenever he activated it.
An old, rusted sign stood beside him on the roadside, half-buried in the dust:
**"Welcome to Musutafu – 47 km"**
Below it, in smaller, barely readable letters:
**"The city of heroes awaits you. UA entrance exam: 3 months remaining"**
Yamcha smiled, though it was half bitter, half excited. Bitter because he knew how hard it would be to start over—in a world where everyone was born with a quirk, where heroes were celebrities, not just fighters. Excited because this was a second chance. No more Vegeta looking down on him. No more deadly tournaments where he was always the first to fall. Here, he could decide his own fate.
"UA, huh? The best school in the world if you want to fight… and if you want to survive."
He looked up at the sky, where a couple of lazy clouds drifted, but on the horizon the distant lights of the city already glowed—neons, towers, the promise of the modern world. Memories flashed through his mind: Capsule Corp parties, Bulma's smile, the flirts that never really went anywhere. Maybe here it would be different. Maybe here he could find what he had lost—respect, purpose.
"I won't be the comic relief anymore," he said out loud, as if swearing an oath to the desert itself. "This time… I decide. My own team, my own path. Wolf Fang Pack—yeah, that'll be the name. And maybe… maybe someone worth staying for."
He turned and started walking toward the city. His steps were quick, almost dancing across the dust like an old martial artist who knew how to use the terrain. His body already felt the energy—the quirk awakening inside him. He didn't need to shout, didn't need to pose. He just had to want it.
Halfway there, he stopped.
Near a small, crumbling gas station, something moved. A family—an mother, father, and two small children—was unloading a rickety car when a short, green-furred creature burst out from the ruins. Probably a low-level villain, a mutant-type quirk user, maybe hungry or just territorial. Its claws glinted as it growled and advanced toward them, its eyes glowing red in the heat. The mother screamed, the father shoved the kids behind him, but it was clear they had no quirk to protect themselves—just ordinary civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Yamcha's eyes narrowed. Old instincts flared up. He didn't want to get involved, didn't want to draw attention yet, but… "I can't just walk away," he thought. "This is my world now too."
"Hey, you!" he called out, voice calm but firm. Almost friendly, like an old bandit leader sizing up someone before the fight.
The creature turned, growling as it sized him up. Its body hunched, green fur bristling over bulging muscles, claws long and sharp like a beast's. It slowly approached, testing the new prey. The air vibrated around it—perhaps a weak aura, a quirk that gave it extra strength.
Yamcha smiled—that old desert-bandit grin full of confidence and just a hint of humor. "You picked the wrong opponent today, buddy. Go home while you still can, before this hurts."
The creature didn't listen. It lunged forward with a wide claw swipe. Yamcha stepped back, feeling the wind of the attack brush his face—the thing was fast, but not fast enough. The family watched in stunned silence, the mother covering her mouth.
Yamcha activated his quirk. In an instant, a red aura enveloped him like a storm, and a low wolf howl echoed through the air—not a real sound, but the vibration of his energy. "Wolf Fang Fist!" he thought, but didn't say it out loud. He didn't need to. His body moved on instinct.
The creature attacked again, this time leaping with both claws slashing downward. Yamcha sidestepped, his speed blurring in the heat. He countered with a quick left hook, grazing the creature's shoulder. It roared in pain as the energy scorched its fur.
"Not bad, but you're too slow," Yamcha said, circling it now. The creature, enraged, charged again with a flurry of wild slashes, tearing up the ground around them. Yamcha blocked one strike, feeling the force vibrate through his arm, but his quirk softened the blow. Then came the combo: a swift kick to its side that staggered it, followed by a claw-like strike across its chest that left deep gashes.
The fight escalated. The creature's quirk flared—green aura exploded around it, and it grew larger, muscles swelling. It swung a massive blow meant to crush Yamcha to the ground. He dodged, spinning in mid-air, and formed a Spirit Ball in his palm. "Try this one!" The orb was small but controllable—he fired it off, and it curved in an arc, smashing into the creature's back with an explosion of dust and energy.
The creature howled but refused to fall. It charged once more, unleashing a barrage of savage claw strikes that shredded the dirt. Yamcha felt the adrenaline surge—this wasn't as deadly as a Saibaman, but it reminded him of one. For a split second, a flashback hit: the explosion, the death. He shook it off. "Not this time!" One final rush: full Wolf Fang Fist. A blur of motion—claw strikes, punches, kicks, ending with a double palm strike straight to the creature's chest. The impact sent it flying backward, crashing into the gas station wall.
A dull thud. The creature lay on the ground, unconscious, claws still twitching in the air. The green aura faded, its body shrinking back to normal size.
Yamcha breathed a little harder, but he was smiling. The aura around him dissipated. The family stared in shock. The father stepped forward. "Who… who are you? A hero?"
Yamcha shook his head. "Not yet. But I will be." He turned to the family. "You okay? Call for help if you need it."
The mother nodded, tears in her eyes. "Thank you… God bless you!"
Yamcha gave a small nod, then continued walking as if nothing had happened. The city was very close now; the UA tower stood out on the horizon like a challenge, like a promise.
"First decision," he thought as the sun slowly set behind him. "No more hiding. No more being a shadow. If I'm here… then I'll be a hero. My way. My team, my quirk, my life."
As the dust settled behind him, he felt it—this was only the beginning. The world waited, full of quirks, heroes, and villains—and he was ready to face them all.