The desert heat was the first thing Riku noticed.
Not the kind that baked you slowly, but the kind that pressed against your skin like a living thing, daring you to breathe. Sand stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by jagged rocks and a blue sky so wide it felt unreal.
He lay there for a long moment, staring up at it.
So I'm really here.
Riku pushed himself up, hands shaking—not from fear, but from the unfamiliar weight of his own body. It felt… different. Lighter in some ways. Heavier in others. He clenched his fists and felt strength coiled beneath skin and bone, raw and unpolished.
No hospital bed.
No dying breath.
Just heat, sand, and silence.
"Dragon Ball," he muttered.
The word sounded absurdly calm in his mouth.
He remembered everything—Earth, anime marathons, endless debates about power levels. And now this. A world where children shattered mountains and humans were left behind by history.
Riku laughed once, short and dry.
"Figures."
He checked himself quickly. No tail. No strange aura flaring around him. Just a lean body, calloused hands, and scars that didn't belong to any life he remembered.
Human, then.
Good.
He stood, brushed sand from his pants, and tested his balance. The air felt thicker when he moved, like resistance he'd never known before. When he threw a tentative punch, it cracked—not loudly, but sharply, the motion clean and efficient.
His eyes narrowed.
Ki.
It wasn't blazing or explosive. It didn't roar. It sat deep inside him, compressed and quiet, like something waiting to be shaped.
Riku exhaled slowly.
If this world rewarded brute force, then humans lost. Everyone knew that.
But no one ever asked what happened if a human stopped trying to compete—and started refining.
A distant explosion echoed across the desert, followed by laughter. High-pitched. Wild. Familiar.
Goku.
The timeline was early. Earlier than Z. Early enough that mistakes still mattered.
Riku turned toward the sound and began to walk.
He didn't plan to chase legends.
Didn't plan to beg for masters.
Didn't plan to hide behind genius inventors or stolen power.
He would fight.
He would lose.
And he would learn.
Because someone had to prove that bloodlines weren't the only thing that mattered in this universe.
And one day—whether fate liked it or not—Bulma Briefs would look at him and realize the same thing.
END OF CHAPTER
Author's Comment:
This story is about earned strength. No Saiyan blood, no divine handouts—just a human refining himself in a world that forgot humans mattered. Losses will be real, growth will be slow, and the romance will be built on respect. If that's your kind of Dragon Ball story, welcome to the journey 🐉🔥