Chapter Text
I sat up in bed with a sharp inhale, eyes wild and unfocused. What just happened? My mind raced. The last thing I remembered was… dying. My car, careening out of control, busting through a guard rail and sending me tumbling over a cliff. The panic I had felt before everything went black was still fresh. After a few tense moments, my muscles began to relax. “It was just a dream.” I sighed, relief beginning to surface. But it was stopped cold by the revelation that came with my words. That’s not my voice. I thought. And as I regained my senses, I began to take in my surroundings. That’s not my room! Panic started to set in again as I leapt from the bed, stumbling to a full-length mirror in the unfamiliar room. And staring back at me, unmistakably, was Yamcha from Dragon Ball, in all his boxer-shorted glory. The look was a little different in three dimensions, but all the signs were there. The wild black hair, the scars across the eye and cheek, the muscular physique. I ran my fingers across my new face, feeling the subtle dips where scar tissue met unmarked flesh. This was no cosplay, this was real.
“Well, what the fuck.” I remarked flatly, the familiar-but-unfamiliar voice still strange coming out of my own mouth. I pulled open the curtains, my breath catching in my throat as the morning light spilled into the room. Outside the window was a large corporate complex with familiar dome-shaped buildings, and a vast futuristic city beyond. Flying vehicles weaved between the skyscrapers, casually going about their daily commutes. I knew this city, though I’d never been there. The implications were undeniable. Was this the afterlife? Was this hell? No, being reincarnated into Dragon Ball is too cool to be an eternal punishment, even if it is as Yamcha. I decided. Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to me, and a pit of dread began to form in my stomach. I’ve established who I am, but when am I? My eyes scanned the room, settling on a calendar pinned to the wall above the dresser, with a bikini-clad woman lounging above the date. Classy, Yamcha. I thought, approaching reluctantly. November 28th, Age 761. At least the calendar system is familiar. I searched my memory, but I couldn’t recall the significance of that date, if there was any. As much time as I had spent obsessing over Dragon Ball, memorizing specific dates was still a little out of my league. I’d have to look for other clues to figure out when in Yamcha’s life I’d been dropped.
I opened Yamcha’s dresser, pulling out some casual clothes. I couldn’t resist eyeing the orange garment sitting off to one side, carefully folded. Part of me was feeling giddy at the prospect of getting to wear a real turtle school gi, but I resolved to save that for later. I did notice, however, that all of Yamcha’s clothes were very… retro. I supposed that made sense, considering when Dragon Ball was made. There was even a landline phone sitting on top of the dresser. Flying cars, but no smartphones. One of many anachronisms I’d have to get used to, I guessed. I pulled on what I hoped was a Yamcha-like outfit, and headed out of the room to explore Capsule Corp.
I had to admit, getting to see the place from the inside like this was pretty damn cool. I found that I could navigate the winding corridors of the Capsule Corp complex as if by second nature. The full array of Yamcha’s memories weren’t available to me, but it seemed as though certain things had embedded themselves into my own for whatever reason. Places, names, even phone numbers… In any case, I suspected I’d find people in one of the eating areas at this hour, and as I stepped through the threshold into the closest one, my assumption was validated. “Yamcha! Good morning!” The familiar voice of Puar called out, already seated at the table and eating what appeared to be scrambled eggs. Well, ‘seated’ was a strong word, he was floating above the chair at the right height to be able to reach his utensils with his stubby little paws. “Morning, Puar.” I replied, cautiously. “You sound tired.” The little creature continued, a concerned tone entering his voice. “A little, yeah. And hungry.” I admitted. I was happy to take the easy excuse for any un-Yamchalike behavior. Plus, I really was hungry. One wall of the cafeteria-like room was host to counters full of various breakfast foods, still steaming-hot. Of course Bulma had a breakfast buffet in her house, why not? I made myself a plate, not skimping on the portions. Someone with a lifestyle as active as Yamcha probably burned a lot of calories, even if he was a bit of a slacker. I sat down across from Puar and began digging in. “So, hear about anything going on lately?” I probed between bites, angling for some information. My furry companion looked thoughtful. “No, nothing special. Why?” he asked in return. That’s a good sign. I thought to myself. We’re not in the middle of any major crisis. “No reason. Just a little bored, y’know?”
The two of us chatted amicably for a while, while I did my best to sound Yamcha-like. It seemed to be working, at least. Puar is Yamcha’s oldest friend and he hadn’t noticed anything strange yet. Soon, though, we were interrupted by a third person. “Oh, Yamcha. Good morning.” The voice belonged to Panchy, Bulma’s mother. Her strangely ageless features were set in a pleasant expression that never really seemed to change. “Morning, Mrs. Briefs.” I said. Panchy put a finger to her chin, as if trying to remember something. “Weren’t you going with Bulma to meet with your friends today?” She said, sounding uncertain. “She already left.”
The words hit me like a hammer-blow straight to the chest. “No… she didn’t, uh… tell me about that.” Meeting with friends. Didn’t tell Yamcha. There was only one thing that could mean. “Oh dear, did you two have a fight again?” I was too lost in my own thoughts to reply. Raditz. That’s when the universe decided to drop me? The day Goku died? It was a cruel joke. Puar circled the table, comforting me with a pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Yamcha. She’ll come around, she always does!” Some part of my psyche was grateful they interpreted my panic as relationship anxiety. The rest was busy trying to make a plan. Bulma’s already gone. By the time she gets there, Goku is on the way. Then, Raditz. What can I do? … Should I do anything? My mind was running in circles. Yamcha was… probably not much stronger than he was at the last world tournament, at this point. He’d been spending more time on his baseball career and womanizing than on training. I leaned back in my chair, sighing. There’s no point going over there. I admitted. At best, I’d just get in the way of Goku and Piccolo. At worst, I’d get myself killed. Again. Goku getting killed here was a net positive anyway, I decided. We would need the kaio-ken and the spirit bomb later.
But even with that settled, it left a bigger problem still undealt with. What was I going to do a year from now? Nappa and Vegeta would be on their way by the end of today. Training with Kami would make me stronger, but not strong enough to even stand up to Vegeta’s bald flunky, let alone the man himself. Originally, Yamcha dies by saibaman kamikaze, and things just go downhill for him from there. Obviously, that’s not gonna fly. The original Yamcha was reduced to a punchline, a footnote in the story that gave him life. I clenched my fists. Not this time. I have to change the future. I resolved. Though, that was easy to say. The more difficult question was how. I wouldn’t have a lot of time to figure it out. Goku was dying today, and it wouldn’t be long afterwards that I’d be called to Kami’s lookout for training. It was effective training, Yamcha would go from weaker than King Piccolo to an even match for Raditz in the course of just a few months. There was no good reason to skip out on it. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I know about the saibaman bomb, so there’s no way I’ll get caught with it like the original Yamcha. But it wouldn’t mean anything if Nappa just killed me instead, like poor Tien and Chiaotzu. I’d need to play it smart.
Panchy had already politely left the room, and Puar was still trying to comfort me. I needed time to think. “I’m… going for some training. By myself.” I said, trying to sound hurt. Puar only replied with a small affirmative noise, deciding to let me have some alone time. Good. Yamcha’s rocky relationship came in handy. I quickly returned to Yamcha’s room, and solemnly changed into the turtle school gi. Pulling the belt tight, I noted that it was rougher than I expected. Durable cotton cloth, worn by years of use. Running my fingers across it, I could feel numerous meticulously-repaired tears in the fabric. You could tell that this gi really meant something to Yamcha. I resolved to take good care of it, and slipped on the thin white socks and the comfy black kung-fu slippers. “Alright,” I said, admiring himself in the mirror. “I’ve got this.” My false confidence wasn’t very convincing, but it was something.
Minutes later, I stepped out onto the lawn of the Capsule Corp complex. This was the moment of truth. I didn’t have Yamcha’s conscious memories, but his subconscious… Well, it was time to put how much use of that I had to the test. I closed my eyes, trying to feel my ki flowing through my body. I recalled Gohan’s explanation of ki to Videl, following the steps in my mind… I could feel it there, sleeping beneath my skin. A quiet stream, ready to explode into a raging storm at my command. Following my borrowed instincts, I reached out to it. Almost as naturally as breathing, I rose into the air, feet dangling a few feet above the grass. “Haha, I did it! Hell yeah!” I shouted triumphantly. I was actually flying! I was going to have a lot of problems very shortly, but this, at least, I could enjoy. Focusing my energy, I shot up into the sky, becoming a streak of silvery energy as I accelerated into the distance. Somewhere, probably hundreds of miles away, Raditz was lurking. Soon enough, he’d get himself killed at the hands of Piccolo, prompting the other saiyans to come to Earth. I rolled over in the air, looking up at the clouds as I flew along. What do I have time for? Most of the ‘easy’ power-ups were out of my reach at this point. Going inside the hyperbolic time chamber would probably kill me as I was, if Kami would even let me use it. Plus, I’d only get two chances in the chamber. I might need those later. Grand Elder Guru could unlock my hidden potential, but he was millions of miles away on planet Namek, and I didn’t fancy taking my chances in the one spaceship on Earth, the moss-covered relic the nameless namekian arrived in as a child. I’d leave that until after Bulma was able to work on it. There was only one possibility that came to mind: The Ultra Divine Water. Goku had used it as a kid, and it drew out enough of his latent potential to match King Piccolo in combat. There was only one problem: I wasn’t sure I could survive using it.
Some time later, I landed in some desolate field, miles away from the city. This would be as good a place as any to test things out. The beginnings of a plan were forming in my mind, but it came with some risks. The Ultra Divine Water was a definite ‘maybe.’ If I remembered correctly, nobody before Goku had survived drinking it according to Korin. Was that because Goku was just strong enough to handle it, or did it have something to do with his saiyan physiology? I could be buying myself a ticket to an even earlier grave if I guessed wrong. I began going through a series of light warmup exercises, the kind that Yamcha’s body had probably done thousands of times. I knew I would need to acclimate to this body before doing anything else. Knowing how to perform Yamcha’s techniques from his pilfered muscle memory is one thing, but actually feeling what it’s like to do them is something else entirely. Luckily, punches and kicks seemed to come naturally. I marveled at the speed and power I could feel in those limbs, the way each strike seemed to cut through the air with a satisfying crack. I had always thought of Yamcha as a bit of a chump, but this moment reminded me that he was still one of the top fighters in the world. With the basics out of the way, I skipped to the fun stuff.
I knew the motions even without Yamcha’s memories. My hands cupped together, a bead of light forming between them as I concentrated my energy. “Ka-me…” I could feel power rushing in, feeding the bread as it grew. “Ha-me…” I drew my hands back behind me, the little pinprick of light blossoming into a fist-sized sphere of incandescent energy. “HAAA!” I shouted, thrusting both hands forwards and releasing all of the stored-up energy into the sky. It was way more intense than I expected. The light forced me to squint, and the recoil of the energy flowing forth from my hands nearly made me lose my footing. The clouds parted as the kamehameha lanced through the atmosphere, and I dropped to one knee, my hands still smoking from the intense discharge of light and heat. “Damn,” I gasped, heart thundering in my chest. “How do they make it look so easy?” The kamehameha had been a terrifying experience, like trying to aim an atomic bomb. Way too much power for one person to have. And yet, I had it. And it wasn’t even that impressive, compared to the other fighters. This is gonna be difficult. I finally admitted to myself. Of course, I already knew that Yamcha’s life was hard. But somehow, I hadn’t considered the fact that even if I have Yamcha’s body, it was still me in there. It wasn’t like I had a lot of life-or-death battles under my belt before inheriting this body. Or any, for that matter. Can I even do this? I wondered, looking up at the ragged hole my kamehameha had punched into the clouds above.
My answer didn’t really matter, I realized. Either I could do it, or I would die. And Yamcha would remain a joke for the rest of his life. Or even more of one than before, the real Yamcha was at least brave. I have to do this. The question is, what is it I’m actually doing? Somewhere out there, Goku and Piccolo were probably already fighting for their lives. I needed a real plan before Goku died and sent everything spiraling out of my control. I sat cross-legged on the grass, concentrating on what knowledge of the future I could leverage to get Yamcha… No, me, out of this mess and into the Namek saga without a halo over my head. Jeez, Namek… I remembered, a bead of sweat dripping from my forehead onto the grass below. Namek was a whole other can of worms I couldn’t afford to distract myself with yet. I had to focus on surviving Vegeta, first. I sat there for what felt like hours, poring over my options. And then, at last, it came. Not a foolproof master plan, or some cheat strategy I could pull out of my ass, but a path towards survival. And that was a hell of a lot better than nothing.