I'm Really Here

Being transmigrated into a younger, stronger body was surreal. Even in my previous life, I hadn't been that old—only in my mid-twenties—but this… this was different. I was sixteen again, and my body felt wiry and agile, like I could sprint across the desert without breaking a sweat. My senses were sharper, and I felt an energy thrumming beneath the surface, something I'd never experienced before.

The name here, however, was the most jarring thing of all. I had to get used to it; to survive, I needed to leave behind my old identity of Liam, the unremarkable, average guy. Now, I was Yamcha.

Yamcha… the bandit. The loser of Dragon Ball, who was famous for dying to a saibaman and canonically never winning a single serious fight. Great. Not exactly a role I'd asked for. But in this world, strength was everything, and "Yamcha the Loser" wasn't going to cut it.

I stared at the translucent screen floating before me, displaying my stats like I was in a game. My so-called "status page."

Name: Yamcha

Age: 16

Title: Bandit

Level: 1 [EXP: 0%]

HP: 40/40

MP: (Locked)

KI: 22/22

Strength: 9

Agility: 11

Endurance: 8

(Power Level: 9)

Intelligence: 5

Perception: 5

Willpower: 5

(Magic Power: 5)

Skills:

Gamer's Body - Lvl Max

Gamer's Mind - Lvl Max

Wolf Fang Fist - Lvl 4/30

Swordsmanship - Lvl 1/75

Description: Almost twice as strong as the average human, in general, a weakling.

It was strange to think of this as "me." I chuckled, unable to help myself. I'd reincarnated—or maybe "transmigrated" was the better word—into one of the most notoriously weak characters in anime history. The only comfort was the Gamer's Interface I'd somehow been gifted, which meant I could level up, gain skills, and hopefully, rewrite Yamcha's pathetic legacy. I dismissed the interface screen and looked around, getting a feel for my new environment.

I was in a small, sand-colored dome made of packed earth, crude and cozy, yet surprisingly well hidden in the barren Diablo Desert. This place was my "hideout," a safe place for a thief, and it was only me and one other person. Or rather, one other creature.

The creature in question was perched at a circular window, holding a spyglass and keeping an eye out for unwelcome visitors. A tiny, blue, cat-like being. Not a regular cat, though—more like a magical plushie brought to life. My new friend… or rather, Yamcha's friend.

[Puar - Lvl 2]

Ding!

A notification sounded, and another window popped up in my vision.

[You have gained Skill: Observe.]

[Puar - Lvl 2]

[A cat-like creature that can transform into anything. He is a loyal friend. (PL: 4)]

It was strange, but looking at Puar, a sense of nostalgia and warmth welled up in me. The kind of loyalty Puar had for Yamcha was rare, especially in this world where power dictated survival. I decided I'd do my best to live up to that loyalty. I couldn't afford to be the loser Yamcha had become in the anime.

"Yamcha! There are three travelers crossing the desert—sitting ducks!" Puar's voice was high-pitched and energetic as he—or she?—leaned forward, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

I climbed up to the window and looked through the spyglass myself. "Let me see…" The faces of two figures became clear. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized them instantly. A young boy with wild black hair and a monkey tail… Goku. And beside him, a short, portly pig-man wearing a cap: Oolong.

Holy crap. I was really in Dragon Ball. And there, right in front of me, was the hero himself, albeit a much younger, more innocent version of the legendary Goku.

They were an odd pair, slowly making their way through the unforgiving desert. As I looked, memories of the anime flooded back. I remembered every fight, every transformation, every massive threat looming in the future. The Saiyans, Freeza, Cell, Buu—they were all real now. And I was nowhere near ready to face any of them.

"They might have some capsules," Puar suggested, breaking me out of my thoughts. I looked over at Puar, who was giving me an expectant look. Right, capsules—currency in this world for a bandit like Yamcha.

"Good thinking," I replied with a smirk, doing my best to sound like the original Yamcha. "Puar, get the… uh, Jet Squirrel ready."

Puar blinked, confused, before nodding and hopping down to fetch the vehicle. Moments later, Puar returned with a strange contraption, an old model of a jet-ski motorcycle with wide runners for sand travel. I glanced down at the vehicle, hesitant but curious.

[Jet Squirrel]

[An old model jet-ski motorcycle that can be stored in a capsule. Its value is about 20,000 Zenni.]

The name made sense now, and I had to admit, I felt a strange thrill as I climbed aboard. The thing was fast—absurdly so, given its age. As soon as I twisted the throttle, it took off, and I had to concentrate just to keep control, gripping the handles tightly as I sped over the dunes toward Goku and Oolong.

We closed the distance in under a minute, the massive rock formations of the desert looming around them. I could see them more clearly now—Goku, with his naive grin, and Oolong, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder.

"Hello there, travelers," I called, putting on a calm, friendly tone. "Looks like you could use a hand out here."

Goku blinked, looking up at me with wide-eyed curiosity. "Who are you?"

I kept my expression neutral, raising an eyebrow as I tried to project confidence. "Just a local. The name's Yamcha." I glanced at Oolong, who was glaring at Puar. "And if I were you, piggy, I wouldn't be insulting my friends."

Oolong's face went pale, and he immediately put on a forced smile. "Ah, sorry! No offense meant!" He practically bowed, and I had to stifle a laugh. Oolong, the once-cocky little pig, looking terrified of me—it was a nice change of pace.

Goku tilted his head, curious as ever. "Do you have any food?"

Of course, he'd be thinking with his stomach. I smirked, trying to play up my role as the roguish bandit. "Maybe I do. Come on, I've got a place nearby where you can rest."

I led them back to the hideout, throwing a capsule onto the ground to produce an old, beaten-up car. Bulma must have been nearby, because the minute the car appeared, I spotted her emerging from the shade of a rock formation, looking dusty and worn out from her travels.

My heart skipped again. Young Bulma—bold, beautiful, and fearless, if a little naive. She looked at me with wide eyes and a faint blush on her cheeks, and I felt an unexpected pang of embarrassment. No, keep it together.

"Hi there," she said, fluttering her eyelashes a little. "Nice ride you've got."

I nodded coolly, keeping my tone casual. "Glad to see another traveler out here. I'm Yamcha."

Bulma smiled, tucking a strand

A/N: I know it doesn't matter in the context of things but the reason why I switch projects so much is because I just get bored easily