No system, relies on hard work to get stronger, written in a more old-fashioned style.
Victor, male, 22 years old.
Having just graduated from university, he had passed an intern interview for a large, desirable corporation.
On a sunny afternoon, full of ambition and planning for the future, he was figuring out what to buy for the younger brothers and sisters at the orphanage with his first paycheck.
However, the wheels of fate began to turn.
At a fateful intersection, he was viciously sent flying by an out-of-control, 100-ton "Dayun" truck!
The heart-wrenching, searing pain lasted only for a moment before his vision was completely swallowed by endless darkness.
There was no life flashing before his eyes, no memories resurfacing near death, only a feeling of his soul being brutally torn apart and crushed.
"It's over... my job... maybe in the next life..."
This was his last thought before his consciousness sank.
What followed was a long and chaotic journey.
He couldn't feel the existence of his body; he seemed to be just a wisp of remnant consciousness, drifting along in a cold, viscous liquid.
This liquid emitted a strange, indescribable scent—a mixture of metal and life energy.
His consciousness was intermittent, like a bad signal. At times, he could clearly feel the liquid flowing slowly over his "body," and at other times, he would fall into a void of dead silence.
In those brief moments of lucidity, he could occasionally "hear" some vague, distorted sounds, as if separated from him by a thick wall:
"...Life force... stable..."
"...This kid's... numbers are... surprisingly high..."
"...Beep... Power level... 500... confirmed..."
"Power level 500?" A ridiculous sliver of clarity flashed through his hazy consciousness. "What the hell? A game? Or... a hallucination after I died?"
Before he could think further, his consciousness was once again dragged into the viscous, dark abyss.
Time lost all meaning here. It could have been an instant, or it could have been years.
He felt like a forgotten seed in a kind of forced hibernation, passively accepting transformation and nourishment.
Some fragmented memories that didn't belong to him—violent images of fighting, roaring, and destroying planets—invaded his earthly mind like a virus, bringing a splitting headache, but they were quickly soothed by the cold liquid.
In this endless tug-of-war between semi-consciousness and chaos, he had almost forgotten who he was, forgotten his past, forgotten that damn car accident.
Until—
Splash!
Along with the sound of a large amount of viscous liquid draining away and a sense of weightlessness, his back suddenly slammed onto a cold, hard surface!
"Ugh!"
A muffled groan escaped his throat uncontrollably.
A blinding, metallic glare pried open his heavy eyelids.
His vision went from blurry to clear. The first thing that came into view was a cold, smooth, silver-gray metal ceiling covered with complex, unfamiliar pipes and indicator lights.
The air was dry, with a scent of disinfectant, completely different from the viscous liquid environment in his consciousness.
He was lying at the bottom of an empty metal tank. The walls were still streaked with a light green, viscous fluid, slowly dripping down the smooth surface.
"Where... am I?"
Victor tried to struggle to sit up but felt his body was unusually heavy and unfamiliar, as if he had just rented it and it wasn't quite listening to his commands.
Just then, a voice filled with clear surprise and awe sounded nearby, speaking in a language he had never heard before, but strangely, he understood it completely:
"You... You're awake?! Lord Whitley!"
Victor snapped his head to the side.
A toad-like alien, about one and a half meters tall with grayish-green skin and huge, protruding eyes, was standing next to the metal tank. It was holding a faintly glowing tablet-like device, which it now fumbled to tuck under its arm before bowing deeply to him with an extremely respectful, even slightly fearful, posture—so standard it looked like it had been practiced a thousand times.
"Lord Whitley! Welcome! This is the exclusive awakening room for elite warriors!"
The toad alien's voice trembled noticeably.
"I am your awakening guide, Kam. Your battle armor and the latest model scouter have been prepared for you! The coordinates for your exclusive residence have also been entered into the system, and someone will lead you there shortly. If you are dissatisfied with anything, you may request a change at any time!"
Lord Whitley? Whitley?
Victor (Whitley?) was completely bewildered, his brain having shut down.
He looked down at himself. He was only wrapped in a thin, film-like undergarment that outlined a ridiculously muscular physique, filled with a sense of explosive power. This was definitely not his sub-healthy body that subsisted on takeout and late-night gaming!
Transmigration? Rebirth? Aliens? Saiyans?! What did that toad just say? Elite warrior? Me?
Countless pieces of information exploded in his mind.
The resilience he developed as an orphan in his past life and the experience of reading countless web novels allowed him to forcibly suppress the overwhelming shock and panic in his heart.
He took a deep breath, trying to imitate the cold protagonists from short dramas in his memory, and responded in the calmest tone possible:
"...Mm. I understand."
He supported himself on the cold wall of the tank and climbed out somewhat clumsily, standing barefoot on the equally cold floor.
Although his body felt heavy, an unprecedented sense of power flowed through his limbs. He followed the direction pointed out by the toad alien, Kam, and looked towards the entrance of an open metal corridor at the side of the room.
Seeing that the newly awakened Lord Whitley didn't seem angry or picky, Kam was visibly relieved and bowed deeply again, his forehead almost touching his knees.
"Farewell, Lord Whitley! May your martial fortunes prosper!"
Only after Whitley's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor did Kam dare to straighten up.
Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, he muttered with lingering fear, "I survived... Thankfully, this lord seems to have a calm personality, unlike the one who awakened last month and nearly demolished the awakening room... Let me see who's next to awaken..."
Inside the corridor, the light was much softer. Whitley walked with a somewhat stiff gait.
The walls were as smooth as mirrors, reflecting his current appearance: short, spiky black hair, a face that was slightly boyish yet had sharp features, and deep within his eyes, a carefully concealed confusion and vigilance, and... that young body containing explosive power.
"Whitley... Saiyan... Power level 500... Prince's guard..."
He mulled over these keywords. Combining the environment he had just woken up in, Kam's attitude, and the fragmented information about the warrior race, the Saiyans, that had been forcibly stuffed into his mind, an incredible yet crystal-clear conclusion emerged.
"The Dragon Ball world... Planet Vegeta... I've become a Saiyan? And a so-called elite warrior, at that?"
He stopped, leaning against the cold metal wall to digest this massive shock.
"An orphan... an orphan in two lifetimes..."
Vague information about his parents in this life also surfaced. While he was still in the incubation pod, his parents in this life had been killed in action while attacking some high-level planet.
A faint sense of familiarity with his identity washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by a much stronger sense of existential crisis.
"Prince Vegeta... awakens in one year... power level of at least 1000... a guard?"
Whitley's eyes sharpened instantly.
"What a joke! Be a guard for that Vegeta? If he gets unhappy and decides to crush a mere guard like me, what's the difference between that and squashing a bug? I must get stronger! Before Vegeta emerges, I must find a way to become stronger than him!"
His goal was clearer than ever before: get strong first! Then, live as comfortably as possible!
He didn't linger any longer and strode firmly towards the outside of the corridor.
Outside lay his new world as the Saiyan Whitley, filled with unknown dangers, but also holding infinite possibilities.
And the first step was to check out the "home" assigned to him, and then, begin training like his life depended on it!
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Whitley sat cross-legged on the cold metal floor of his backyard, his breathing long and rhythmic.
A month of uninterrupted practice in sensing and controlling "ki" had allowed him to get a preliminary grasp of it.
The once violent and uncontrolled torrent of power within his body had now been partially tamed and could be roughly guided and compressed with his will.
"I can power up too!"
He stood up joyfully and stretched his limbs, his bones letting out soft cracking sounds.
Walking into the simple yet ruggedly Saiyan-styled room assigned to him, he picked up the oddly shaped scouter. The cold device fit over his ear and temple, and a faint light glowed on the lens.
Whitley walked to a large metal mirror on the wall, holding his breath as he looked at his reflection.
Short black hair stood up like a hedgehog's spines, sharp eyes, wearing the standard dark blue battle armor, and a body brimming with explosive power.
"Hooo..." He slowly exhaled.
The numbers on the lens began to jump: 510... 650... 800... 1150... 1480... 2002!
The highest value stopped at 2002! A full 1500-point increase from a month ago!
An indescribable excitement surged in Whitley's heart.
This proved his direction was correct! Simple physical exercise could raise his base level, but sensing and controlling "ki" was the true key to unlocking a Saiyan's potential!
Next, he tried to control it in reverse.
He imagined compressing the scorching energy inside his body inward.
The numbers on the lens began to drop rapidly: 2000... 1500... 800... 554!
He suppressed it to a minimum of 554!
"It worked!"
Whitley couldn't help but let out a low roar, the most genuine smile since his transmigration appearing on his face.
Although his control wasn't precise enough and fluctuated greatly, this was definitively the preliminary manipulation of "ki"!
This meant not only could he hide his true power, but more importantly, he had found the path to a higher level—the fine-tuned application of energy!
He had already laid the foundation for the powerful techniques from the original story, even for sensing the ki of others! This was far more important than just stacking power level numbers.
With this newfound confidence, Whitley was even more certain about his short-term goal.
First, set a small goal! In one year, surpass Vegeta's power level and reach at least 10,000!
He could clearly see the hope.
And in the days that followed, his life became even more disciplined and even more insane.
In the early morning, he would meditate in the backyard, sensing the flow of "ki," trying for more precise control. The goal was to compress it lower, make it more stable, and try to guide the ki to circulate continuously within his body.
From time to time, he would recall snippets of knowledge about "ki" that Master Roshi and Korin had told Goku in his memories.
Sometimes he would also try to condense a bit of energy at his fingertip, watching the faint light flicker in his hand.
From morning to afternoon was hellish physical training.
A Saiyan's naturally tough body and recovery ability allowed him to endure loads far beyond that of an Earthling.
He set up simple but heavy barbells in his backyard for squats, deadlifts, and bench presses. He also constantly performed high-intensity shuttle runs, frog leaps, push-ups, and sit-ups, each time training until his muscles tore and his bones groaned, only stopping when the last ounce of strength was exhausted.
His training suit being soaked in sweat, forming a puddle on the ground, was a common sight.
In the evening, after a short rest, he would again conduct "ki" management and recovery training.
He found that after intense physical training, his body's perception of "ki" became even sharper.
Late at night was spent studying the provided battle armor and scouter, trying to understand their principles. Although he mostly couldn't understand them, it helped him think about how to use his current conditions to improve training efficiency.
The food delivered by the servants, though still terrible in taste, was ample in portion and extremely high in nutritional value.
Whitley forced himself to swallow it down every time. He could feel the food turning into a rolling heat current, diligently nourishing his tired body, accelerating muscle repair and strength accumulation.
As an elite warrior, this food was a resource he was entitled to.
He rarely left his house, having no interest in the belligerent and plundering culture of Saiyan society outside.
Occasionally, fellow Saiyan warriors would pass by. Sensing his power level of around two thousand at such a young age, combined with his status as the prince's guard, most would just cast looks of awe or jealousy. No one dared to provoke him easily.
Whitley was happy with the peace and quiet, taking the art of "lying low" to the extreme.
In the royal palace of Vegeta, King Vegeta tapped his fingertips on the cold armrest of his throne. His gaze swept with exceptional coldness over the officials bowing respectfully below.
"That Whitley, Met and Zor's child, how has he been lately?"
His voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority.
The official in charge of intelligence immediately stepped forward. "Reporting to my king, Lord Whitley remains in his residence. According to the daily reports from the servants observing him, he... almost never goes out. All his time is spent... training."
"Haha! Training?"
A cold arc formed on King Vegeta's lips, thick with disdain.
"Hmph! An elite warrior born with a power level of 500, actually trying to get stronger using such an inefficient, foolish method only used by low-class warriors? How laughable! If not for the great merits his father, Met, achieved for the Saiyans, a guy like him wouldn't even be qualified to look up to my son, Vegeta!"
He paused, his tone turning cold. "Keep an eye on him. He can't make any waves. As long as he doesn't cause trouble, let him be."
"Yes, my king," the official quickly replied.
King Vegeta's gaze turned to a more important topic. "Regarding King Cold, is there still no more specific intelligence about that son of his, Frieza?"
When he mentioned the name King Cold, a hint of apprehension flashed deep in his eyes.
The officials bowed their heads even lower, the atmosphere becoming somewhat stagnant.
The head intelligence officer answered, steeling himself, "My king, my deepest apologies. We have only found out his name, Frieza. He is called... a rare genius among the Frost Demons by King Cold. As for his power level and personality... our spies are completely unable to obtain any information. All who have tried to investigate further have..."
His voice carried a barely perceptible tremble.
"A genius?"
King Vegeta slammed his hand on the armrest, his voice suddenly rising, filled with the pride and fury of the Saiyan King. "On what grounds?! My son, Vegeta, the great Saiyan Prince, will descend like a king in one year! That is the true genius! Unmatched in the universe!"
His roar echoed in the vast hall, and the officials below were silent as cicadas in winter.
After venting his anger, King Vegeta took a deep breath, regaining his superficial composure. "When will King Cold and his people arrive?"
"The date has been confirmed, my king!"
Another official in charge of diplomacy quickly interjected. "In three months! King Cold will personally visit Planet Vegeta with his son, Frieza, and... have an audience with you!"
He deliberately emphasized the word "audience."
King Vegeta was clearly pleased with this word. His tense face relaxed slightly, and he let out a satisfied hum.
"Mm. Make all preparations for their arrival. We must display the might of our Saiyan race! There can be no mistakes!"
"As you command!" the officials responded in unison.
After the officials had left, King Vegeta walked alone to the depths of the palace, to a giant incubation tank protected by heavy energy shields.
Inside the tank, a small, curled-up figure was suspended in the light green nutrient fluid—the yet-to-awaken Prince Vegeta.
King Vegeta placed his broad palm on the cold wall of the tank, his eyes fervent and full of expectation.
He whispered in a voice only he could hear, "My son... Vegeta... soon... the day of your birth is coming soon..."
He gazed at the small body as if seeing an infinitely glorious future through it, his voice dropping lower, filled with an almost fanatical conviction.
"You must be... the legendary... Super Saiyan! You will lead the Saiyans to completely conquer this starry sky! Any obstacle, whether it's King Cold... or that Frieza... will grovel at your feet!"
He looked at the constantly, slightly rising and falling figure of Vegeta in the pod. In his cold eyes, a light called ambition now blazed!
While Prince Vegeta had yet to awaken, another peaceful month passed, and Whitley's training intensity upgraded once again.
He was no longer satisfied with basic physical training.
He utilized a few low-status alien engineers who worked in research, and with their help, he built a very rudimentary prototype of a gravity room in a corner of his backyard.
The effect was primitive, and the range was small, only covering a small area. The gravity multiplier fluctuated between 1.5 to 3 times that of Planet Vegeta.
But Whitley treasured it like a jewel! This thing was far more efficient than simple weight training!
At this moment, he was bare-chested, undergoing ultra-high-intensity training under about 2.5 times gravity.
Every punch, every kick, was accompanied by the violent expansion and contraction of his muscles and a heavy whooshing sound.
His sweat had long since evaporated, his skin was reddish from the high temperature, and steam rose from the top of his head.
His gaze was terrifyingly focused, and the white vapor he exhaled was distorted by the abnormal gravity.
"Not enough! Give me... more strength!" Whitley roared in his heart, forcibly channeling more ki into his limbs, trying to fight against the heavy restraint and simultaneously stimulate his body to erupt with even greater power.
He could feel the power within him boiling, being furiously hammered, compressed, and refined under high pressure!
VMMMM—!
The crude gravity field generator emitted a strained hum, and the gravity instantly spiked to nearly 3 times!
"HRAAAH—!"
Whitley seized this moment of extreme pressure, concentrating all his strength and will into one punch, and struck out fiercely!
BOOM!
The air seemed to explode after being compressed, letting out a dull bang! An invisible shockwave spread out from his fist, sending fine metal shavings on the ground flying!
The moment this punch was thrown, Whitley clearly felt that an invisible "gate" inside his body seemed to have been burst open by this extreme pressure and explosion!
A torrent of energy, far larger and more refined than before, gushed out from the depths of his body!
At the same time, the numbers on the lens of the scouter he always wore on his ear began to skyrocket like a wild horse that had broken its reins: 2100... 3200... 5500... 6200... 6800... 7200!
The number finally stopped at 7200!
"Hah... hah... hah..." Whitley panted heavily, looking at the glaring number on the lens in disbelief.
Just over two months! From an initial 500 to 7200! The speed was shocking even to himself! The crude gravity room, combined with pushing his limits and guiding his "ki," was incredibly effective!
"It seems my power level won't just stop at ten thousand! I should have about ten months of free time left..."
A smile appeared on Whitley's lips. After this period of improvement, he was confident he could raise his power level to over fifty thousand by the time Vegeta was born!
"From now on, I just need to follow the plan. When Vegeta leaves on his mission... I'll fake my death and slip away! Then I'll go straight to Earth!"
The martial arts heritage on Earth would be a great help to him, and there was also the genius scientist Bulma. Who else would he seek out if he wanted to rapidly increase his strength?
Besides... Planet Vegeta isn't safe!
He had planned it all out during this time. As long as he didn't get reckless and the plan went off without a hitch, he could leave this place before Planet Vegeta's destruction and head to that remote planet, Earth.
"Age 737... it's currently Age 731. There's plenty of time!"
As for the matter of Planet Vegeta being destroyed... what did it have to do with him?
In short: don't come crying to me, we're not close!