The old man's arm pierced through Yamiru's chest.
Yet… Yamiru felt no pain of being impaled.
"..." Yamiru looked down and saw the man's arm moving within his torso.
Rather than saying there was no pain, it would be more accurate to say… the old man didn't. Even. Touch. Him!
Ignoring Yamiru's stunned expression, the elder continued his slow, deliberate movements, his fist passing straight through Yamiru as if he were nothing.
"..."
Yamiru's breathing grew ragged as he stared at his own hands, his mind a whirlwind of confusion.
He clenched his fists, furrowed his brow, then fired a Dodonpa from his fingertip. The beam struck the ground, leaving a scorched hole with wisps of smoke curling upward.
Good. Yamiru lowered his hand. At least he hadn't become some kind of intangible ghost.
(Though, technically, he was dead… but what just happened was on another level entirely.)
Speaking—the old man couldn't hear him.
Touching—seemed impossible.
The elder didn't even appear to see Yamiru at all.
"Am I a ghost…?" Yamiru turned, watching the gray-green-robed elder's retreating back. "Or is he the one who's a ghost?"
Just then, he sensed a familiar ki approaching the park.
Looking back now, in this moment, he realized how… weak and impure his original ki had been.
No wonder the Turtle Hermit had refused to take him as a disciple at the tournament gates days later. Even Yamiru himself wouldn't have wanted to teach someone like that.
His first disciple, Piccolo—whether in talent, comprehension, or innate potential—was light-years ahead of the hesitant boy now shuffling toward the gray-green-robed elder.
"Why… can't I hear what he's saying?" Yamiru silently observed the exchange between the boy and the elder, his golden pupils narrowing. As the mysterious old man spoke to his younger self, Yamiru couldn't make out a single word.
The elder tossed two coins to the boy, who panicked when they stuck to his palm, impossible to remove.
By the time he looked up again, the old man had vanished without a trace.
In the park, Yamiru—wearing an animal mask—followed the elder, walking beside him, then circling around to face him, stepping backward to match his pace.
The old man still acted as if Yamiru didn't exist. When Yamiru slowed, the elder passed through him once more like an incorporeal phantom.
Yamiru reached out—and grasped nothing.
He frowned, clicked his tongue, and turned around. The elder was gone.
Looking up, he saw the old man had already risen into the air.
"Only now do I realize… I can't sense this old man's ki at all," Yamiru muttered before launching himself upward, hovering beside the elder. Following the man's gaze, he looked toward a park bench where the younger version of himself fiddled with the coins, alternating between frustration and self-pity. The pathetic display made even him cringe.
After watching his younger self for a moment, the elder turned his attention to the distant sky.
The morning sky over South City was clear, devoid of anything unusual. Yamiru had no idea what this cryptic old man was seeing.
But…
For the briefest instant, Yamiru swore the elder's gaze lingered on his mask.
Their eyes met—his own golden, piercing vision clashing with the elder's—
Then, just like that, the old man returned to ignoring him completely.
"Hmph…" The elder let out a dissatisfied grunt and vanished.
Yamiru clenched his fists involuntarily.
He…
Had no idea how the old man had disappeared.
Instant Transmission?
---
The boy pocketed the coins, pushing the strange encounter to the back of his mind as he dashed through the streets of South City. He hurried to the logistics company, changed into his work uniform, popped open a company vehicle capsule, loaded up the delivery packages, and sped off toward the Animal-People District…
He nearly got crushed by a drunken elephant-headed recipient, but thankfully, his post-transmigration boost in strength allowed him to hurl the elephant away—a feat so shocking it scared off some would-be troublemaking Animal-People thugs, stunned the passing martial artist Marda and his son, and even frightened the pig-man Rota into revealing his true form in a nearby alley…
After a quick work lunch at the company, the boy sighed in relief—but his worries returned the moment he stepped outside. On his way home, his mind swirled with frustration. Sitting at his desk, he spun the coin on the table, hesitating… until he remembered the poster for the 18th Tenkaichi Budōkai he'd seen earlier. Pulling out an old, carefully preserved poster, he rested his chin on the back—where he'd once doodled a Super Saiyan Goku—and drifted off to sleep…
Behind him, near the small bed, the figure in the animal mask stared at the corner of the poster peeking out from under the boy's chin—the golden hair of Super Saiyan Goku just barely visible.
The boy woke around 4 PM in a daze, his bleary eyes catching a glimpse of his own reflection in a small mirror—golden irises flashing for a split second. He rushed out, but the golden eyes behind the animal mask in the mirror lingered long after he left.
That night, after a grueling shift as a part-time waiter at a South City restaurant, the boy returned home exhausted. He took a cold shower in the yard, glanced at the full moon… while on the roof, the figure in the animal mask sat with arms resting on his knees, gazing at the same pale orb. The boy, now shirtless, collapsed onto his worn-out bed and quickly fell into a deep sleep. As the night deepened, the masked figure on the roof caught faint murmurs from inside:
"Dad… Mom…"
The next day, at exactly 4:44 AM, the boy's internal clock jolted him awake. Within minutes, he charged out the door, sprinting toward the park with renewed determination.
Inside, the masked figure ran his fingers over an open notebook, tracing an unfinished line:
"Knowing it's impossible…"
---
In the park, the boy—completely ignored by the mysterious old man after chasing him fruitlessly—slumped onto a bench, panting heavily. He pulled out the two coins and muttered, "So fast… what a cocky old man…"
The elder, having effortlessly left the boy behind, walked toward the park's exit.
Yamiru, still wearing the animal mask, followed alongside him.
But just like yesterday, the old man treated him as nothing more than a phantom—unseen, unheard.
---
The next day, the same park, the same mysterious elder, the same frustrated boy left in the dust.
"Wait!" The boy pushed himself to sprint at full speed, yet the old man—seemingly just strolling—remained impossibly out of reach. His desperate chase sent sparks flying (literally), scattering dogs and startling bystanders, including a blonde woman walking her dog—Mrs. Briefs. But the gap only widened. The boy's frantic steps faltered, sending him crashing face-first into a lamppost.
"Dammit!" He lay sprawled on the grass, pounding the ground in frustration.
At the park entrance, Yamiru stood motionless as the elder approached.
"Maybe neither of us is the illusion…" Yamiru mused. True to his thoughts, the old man walked straight through him again, neither seeing nor avoiding him. "He exists only in the world perceived by that 'Yamiru'… only interacting with that past version of me."
But was such a thing even possible?
Even Yamiru—who had fought angels, met the Dragon God and the Celestial God—found it hard to believe.
They shared the same time and space, yet the elder seemed to only interfere with the past "Yamiru" and no one else. Indeed, the old man had never been seen speaking to—or even acknowledging—anyone else. Yamiru turned, watching the gray-green-robed figure grow distant.
Just as he was about to look away, the elder rounded a corner outside the park and bumped into a stylish, strikingly beautiful woman wearing a cap and oversized sunglasses.
She seemed to be speaking to him—
Yamiru's pupils contracted sharply. In a flash, he vanished, reappearing right beside them.