Dragon Ball Roshi

Taro finished speaking without waiting for Tsuru's response, slinging his sketch pad over his shoulder and walking away from the underpass. The phoenix-like crimson bird flitted around Tsuru for a moment, finding the man dull, before flapping its little wings to catch up with Taro.

Tsuru stood there, his expression wooden, watching Taro walk away. His brow gradually furrowed, and after a brief hesitation, he finally started after him. Following Taro, they avoided the bustling streets and turned into a quiet alley. It was rare to see such a secluded lane amidst the towering skyscrapers of West City.

"Boss," Taro called out as he entered a small shop. He set his sketch pad aside and casually addressed the store's interior. The place was sparsely populated, giving it a somewhat desolate air. The phoenix hopped onto a table as if it owned the place, and Taro, unbothered, prepared a dish and a cup for it.

"Coming!" A man in a white work uniform emerged from the kitchen. Recognizing Taro's voice, he greeted him with a grin. "The usual, right? And an extra serving for your bird, I assume?"

Taro chuckled lightly. "Add another pair of chopsticks today." Turning to Tsuru, who lingered by the door, he said, "What are you waiting for? Let's eat."

The shopkeeper noticed Tsuru and greeted him warmly. "Oh, a friend of yours? Come in, what can I get you?"

"The same as mine. We don't fuss over food," Taro said casually. Then, as if remembering something, he added, "And bring some extra vinegar. You haven't changed, have you? I recall you like strong flavors."

Tsuru's lips twitched, but he only responded with a low grunt. Adjusting his robes, which seemed oddly outdated in the modern world, he finally stepped inside.

"Got it! Coming right up!" The shopkeeper didn't press further. As a regular customer, Taro's preferences were well-known.

Taro moved the phoenix's dish and cup to a spot next to him, while Tsuru silently took the seat opposite. The phoenix chirped in protest, thinking its drinking privileges were being revoked, but relaxed upon seeing its tableware still in play.

Drumming his fingers lightly on the table, Taro sized up Tsuru across from him, a faint smile on his lips. "Not bad. You're about on par with Master back in the day."

With his current strength and insight, Taro didn't even need the aura-reading techniques he'd learned from the Yardrats to gauge Tsuru's skill. No matter how skillfully Tsuru concealed his energy, he couldn't hide from Taro at such close range.

Tsuru's eye twitched at the comment, and he scoffed coldly. "I saw and heard everything."

Though cryptic, Taro immediately understood. He sighed softly and said, "Our paths diverged long ago. There's no need to compare yourself to me."

If you stripped away Taro's reincarnations, his sharingan, and all the fortuitous encounters he'd had, he might not be much stronger than Tsuru. Thus, he had no reason to look down on his old companion.

After so many years of cultivation and self-reflection, Taro had achieved a serene state of mind. If he couldn't maintain even this level of calm, all his martial prowess might as well have been practiced in vain.

Tsuru, however, wasn't interested in such philosophical musings. With a sneer, he said, "Master Muten, huh? Quite the title. Must feel great."

Over the past year, Tsuru had lost count of how often he'd heard people praising the legendary Master Muten. The constant adulation had practically bored holes in his ears.

Taro shook his head, unfazed. Beside him, the phoenix began tapping its beak against an empty dish, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet shop. The shopkeeper emerged from the kitchen, carrying a large tray and wearing an exasperated smile. "Alright, alright, I'm coming! That little bird of yours has a worse temper than you, Taro!"

The phoenix's habit of impatiently tapping dishes when food was delayed had initially amused the shopkeeper. Over time, though, its temper had become a source of mild exasperation.

Placing the tray on the table, the shopkeeper served each dish to Taro and Tsuru. "Enjoy your meal."

"Chirp chirp!" The phoenix flapped its wings, its eyes fixed on Taro.

"Alright, alright, you little beast. I should've never let you drink in the first place," Taro said with a laugh. He scooped some of the shop's signature spiced peanuts onto the phoenix's dish and poured a small amount of alcohol into its cup.

The phoenix immediately pecked happily at the dish, cracking open a peanut. With a few quick movements of its beak, the peanut turned to powder, and the bird tipped its head back, swallowing it in one gulp. It then lowered its head to sip the wine, letting out a soft "coo-coo," a sound eerily reminiscent of someone savoring a strong liquor.

Watching the little creature's antics, Taro couldn't help but laugh. This scruffy little bird... he might have spoiled it beyond repair. Across from him, Tsuru paid no attention to the bird's charming display. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Taro and asked in a low voice, "What about Piccolo?"

Without looking up, Taro answered casually, "Killed him."

Tsuru's expression didn't change. He wasn't surprised—he'd already guessed as much. This was merely confirmation. With the methods Taro had displayed a year ago, someone like Piccolo could indeed be eliminated with a mere flick of the finger.

"Taro… Just how powerful has he become?"

Lowering his gaze, Tsuru couldn't help but ponder. For the past year, he had wandered aimlessly, consumed by this very question. In his mind, he could never forget that massive white palm descending from the sky, overwhelming everything like an unstoppable tidal wave. Even though he had been far from the point of impact, he'd felt an inescapable sense of despair, as though there was no place to hide.

"But... I did spare Piccolo's son," Taro said suddenly.

Tsuru's head shot up, his face filled with surprise.

Taro chuckled and waved dismissively. "Haha, just kidding. It's actually an egg Piccolo spat out before he died, perhaps as a means to reincarnate. I have a hunch that whatever hatches from it won't necessarily turn into a scourge like Piccolo. So, I sealed it away for now. As for what to do with it... I'll decide later."

"A joke?" Tsuru's expression grew strange. "After all these years… you're joking now?"

Taro gave him a long look, the smile on his face gradually fading. He sighed, poured himself a cup of wine, and downed it in one gulp. Picking up the bottle, he gestured toward Tsuru. "Want some?"

Tsuru curled his lip, grabbed the bottle of vinegar in front of him, and poured it into his bowl instead. Without a word, he continued eating.

Taro didn't mind. He drank at his own pace, occasionally teasing the phoenix. The bird, in turn, swatted at him with its small wings in annoyance. When its cup ran dry, Taro would refill it without hesitation, much to its satisfaction.

As Tsuru ate, he suddenly paused. Without lifting his head, he asked while gripping his chopsticks, "Have you mastered the Mafuba?"

"No," Taro replied, picking up a dish. "I used another method to seal Piccolo's egg." The concept of magic wasn't something Taro felt the need to hide, though explaining it in detail would take forever—and he had no patience for that.

Tsuru snorted, clearly uninterested in a long explanation. He continued eating in silence.

---

After finishing their meal, the two left together.

The phoenix, having drunk a bit too much, wobbled through the air, struggling to maintain its balance. Eventually, it settled on Taro's shoulder, hiccupping before dozing off.

Taro, without a word, cast a minor spell on the bird. Though his training with the Holy Mage focused mainly on mental, transformative, and barrier-based magic, he had dabbled in auxiliary spells. Sobering up a small bird was hardly a challenge.

"So, what are you planning now? Giving up martial arts to roam the world as a painter?" Tsuru asked as they walked side by side toward the alley's exit. He glanced at the sketch pad slung over Taro's back and sneered.

"Who says painting isn't a form of martial arts?" Taro replied with a casual smile.

Though spoken lightly, the words caused Tsuru's expression to grow serious. He began pondering the deeper meaning behind them. Could there be some hidden martial philosophy in this statement?

Noticing Tsuru's reaction, Taro chuckled quietly. He had only spoken offhandedly, but Tsuru had taken it seriously. After a moment's thought, Taro removed the sketch pad from his back, opened it, and pulled out the bottommost sheet from a stack of drawings.

"Since we're old comrades, this one's for you," Taro said, handing him the rolled-up paper.

Tsuru accepted it, puzzled, and unrolled it with a flick of his wrist. It revealed a charcoal sketch of a waterfall: a cliff, a white cascade, a deep pool, and lush forest. Despite being a black-and-white drawing, the moment Tsuru laid eyes on it, he felt as though he were standing amidst the verdant wilderness, right in front of the majestic waterfall. He could almost hear the soft rustling of the forest and the roar of the cascading water.

His face filled with shock as he looked at Taro, both amazed and bewildered.

Could painting really incorporate the essence of martial arts?

"You... just how powerful have you become?" Tsuru finally asked, his tone filled with bitterness.

To him, a century passed in the blink of an eye. But in that same blink, while he had changed little, this old fox Taro had transformed beyond recognition.

Taro walked on, flicking the sobered phoenix perched on his shoulder. The little bird startled awake, shaking its head groggily, eyes darting around in confusion.

Hearing Tsuru's serious tone, Taro thought for a moment before replying, "Well… within the next 200 years, i won't find a single worthy opponent on Earth. That kind of level, I suppose."

As for after those 200 years, he wasn't so sure. Considering how quickly Son Goku and the others progressed in the latter parts of Dragon Ball, their growth was akin to piloting fighter jets in a foot race. Even with a 200-year head start, who could confidently claim to stay ahead of them? The universe held countless beings, and in all those years, no one had surpassed Freeza—let alone those Saiyan monsters who effortlessly crushed him.

Tsuru, unsatisfied with the response, snorted. It was little more than useless rhetoric. Having witnessed Taro's techniques firsthand a year ago, Tsuru found it inconceivable that anyone in the world could stand against him. Finding someone who could even survive one of his attacks seemed impossible.

But upon deeper reflection… wasn't this what it meant to be invincible?

How else could it be described?

The invincibility of 10, 100, or 1,000—what difference did it make? In the end, being peerless was just that, no matter the scale.

With this thought, the sense of futility in Tsuru's heart grew even deeper.

---

At the mouth of the alley, Taro and Tsuru stopped by the bustling street.

"What will you do now?" Taro asked.

Still clutching the crumpled waterfall sketch, Tsuru remained silent for a moment before scoffing, "One thing's for sure—I won't be peddling paintings like you!"

Taro shook his head, about to retort, when the sketch slipped from Tsuru's hand and floated away. "Even if I can't match you, Taro, I don't need your pity!"

Before the drawing could drift far, Taro reached out, and it flew neatly back into his grasp. Looking up, he saw Tsuru soaring into the sky with the Bukujutsu. His speed was impressive, and within moments, he disappeared into the distance.

Taro stood silently for a while, smoothing the creases on the sketch before tucking it back beneath the stack. Glancing to the side, he noticed a young boy staring dumbfounded at the retreating figure in the sky, an ice cream cone in hand. The scoop had fallen to the ground without the boy even realizing it.

Using telekinesis, Taro caught the fallen ice cream mid-air and placed it back on the cone. Smiling faintly, he patted the boy's head before walking off, his sketch pad securely on his back.

The boy snapped out of his daze, looked around, then down at the salvaged ice cream. With a delighted "slurp," he licked it eagerly. Suddenly, a fiery-red "pigeon" swooped down, taking a large bite out of the ice cream.

The boy froze, then burst into wails of indignation, flailing his arms in an attempt to catch the pesky bird. But the phoenix, far too agile, chirped mockingly and flew off, leaving a small cone-shaped crater in the ice cream. After pouting for a moment, the boy shrugged and resumed licking the remains.

Moments later, his mother rushed over, scolding him as she smacked his bottom. "Why did you wander off? I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Ignoring her reprimands, the boy tilted his head up. "Mom! I just saw someone flying! Up there, really high!" He waved his hands wildly to demonstrate. "Way, way up there!"

The ice cream fell from his cone again, landing with a soft splat.

"Stop spouting nonsense!" his mother huffed, glancing at the melting ice cream. She sighed, deciding they should leave quickly before someone caught them and fined them for littering. Hoisting her son onto her hip, she hurried away, thinking, Flying people? Must be all those bedtime stories about martial arts masters… Now he's hallucinating.

The boy pouted in his mother's arms, determined. Someday… I'll… His thoughts drifted to the recent school discussion about dreams. Glancing at a large poster for some talent competition plastered on a nearby building, he resolved, When I grow up, I'll host the biggest tournament ever and invite all the people who can fly! Maybe even the old martial arts master will show up…

In the bustling city streets, life carried on.