Dragon Ball Roshi

The short man, overwhelmed with excitement, looked at the casually placed drawing board on the ground and felt a pang of regret. How could such precious artwork be left so carelessly? Carefully picking it up, he began flipping through the stack of drawings one by one.

For each piece, he spent at least ten minutes studying it. Every time he stared at a painting, his expression cycled through phases: a blank gaze, bewilderment, recovery, and finally, amazement. He marveled at each masterpiece before reluctantly moving to the next, only to repeat the process all over again.

This cycle continued for hours. By the time he emerged from the ocean of art and the spiritual baptism it brought, the rain had stopped, and night had fallen. His female companion, having long grown impatient, had laid a blanket near the fire and fallen asleep.

"Boss," the bodyguard greeted as the man finally "returned" to reality.

The short man responded with a faint "Hmm" before glancing at the fire. The "Soul Painter" was still seated there, head down, writing those enigmatic words on his notebook. The man hesitated, clutching the drawing board tightly, unwilling to let go. His mind raced as he drafted potential pitches and pleas.

"If you want it, take it," Taro said suddenly, his pen pausing mid-stroke. His voice was low yet carried a resonance that seemed to pierce the man's very soul.

'As expected of the Soul Painter—his very words carry such an aura,' the man thought in awe.

In truth, as the man had been immersed in the paintings, Taro had already used mental magic to briefly scan his thoughts, confirming his background and character. With Taro's current level of spiritual power, reading the thoughts of an ordinary person was effortless. Even Babidi, the mage from the original story, could mentally communicate with all living beings on Earth and "remotely" destroy their heads in an instant.

Taro placed little value on these sketches. He hadn't intended to keep them long-term and would likely have discarded or burned them eventually. Giving them away casually didn't matter to him.

As for whether these drawings might end up in the hands of martial artists and lead to unexpected developments—Taro deemed it highly unlikely. Unless one reached the level of Mutaito, even martial artists wouldn't be able to glean any profound insights from the subtle meaning infused into his art.

The most likely scenario was that someone like the man before him would simply view the works as a rare "artistic style" to admire.

Unless… Taro deliberately poured his energy into creating an "abstract painting" specifically designed to depict the essence of the Muken. But over the past two years, whenever he attempted such a feat, he found himself unable to finish. Frustrated, he would crumble the incomplete work into dust.

The man, ecstatic at Taro's permission, quickly came to his senses and stammered, "Compensation…" He remembered how much his friend had spent to acquire just one of the painter's works. Now, holding this thick stack of over fifty pieces, he couldn't fathom the price he would need to offer.

As the man babbled on, Taro grew mildly irritated. Frowning, he paused his writing and glanced up. At that moment, a more potent suggestion spell was silently cast.

The man froze briefly before pulling out a business card from his pocket. He handed it over reverently, though his actions were subdued. Taro didn't reach for it; instead, he used telekinesis to float the card toward him.

"Chirp, chirp…" The phoenix stirred, awakened by the motion. It glanced around at the new arrivals but didn't seem bothered. Spotting the floating card, it playfully flew after it, though the card smoothly landed in Taro's shirt pocket, ignoring the bird's antics.

In the hut, the short man and his bodyguard paid no attention to the phoenix's actions. The woman who had been sleeping on the floor stirred and woke up. After getting up, she didn't glance at Taro but instead gathered the blanket she had been lying on and, along with the two men, left the straw hut.

As they returned to the car, the three of them suddenly snapped back to reality, exchanging bewildered looks. 'What just happened? How did we get back to the car?'

The short man looked down at the drawing board in his hands, feeling as if he had just awakened from a dream. Hesitating for a moment, he got out of the car and turned back to look at the hut. There was no light inside anymore, and the mysterious artist seemed to have already left...

———

Four years later, in the year 573.

The largest art gallery in the South City was holding a special art exhibition today.

As soon as it opened, countless people rushed over, crowding into the space. The venue was enormous, meaning the person who booked the gallery was exceedingly wealthy. After all, who else but someone with immense financial resources could have amassed so many pieces of the "Soul Painter's" artworks, which had skyrocketed in value to a thousand gold per painting?

It was said that the exhibition would showcase thirty-two authentic works. Many came with skepticism, but once they arrived, they were stunned. A large crowd had gathered in front of a landscape painting closest to the entrance, staring at it in a trance. They seemed to have lost their very souls to the painting, standing still, mesmerized. No one spoke, as everyone was immersed in the tranquility of the depicted natural world.

"Everyone," a voice suddenly echoed through the loudspeakers on the wall, startling the crowd out of their reverie. They turned in confusion, only to see a short man standing at the exhibition's front desk. He was the organizer of the event and the collector and owner of all the displayed authentic pieces. He beamed with pride, delivering a long speech, and finally concluded, "...I have the honor of collecting over fifty authentic works from the Soul Painter. Not wishing to keep them to myself, I've decided to host an exhibition every three years, showcasing thirty-two works each time…"

The crowd erupted in shock. The rumors were true. Someone had really collected over fifty pieces! The news was so astonishing that a few people in the crowd started scheming, considering methods like kidnapping, extortion, or theft... anyone who could get their hands on a piece would never have to worry about food or drink again.

The exhibition lasted for seven days.

On the seventh day, the "Soul Painter's" exhibition came to an end. The man discreetly arranged for two separate groups to transport a batch of authentic and fake paintings. With a smile on his face, he walked through a secret passage, surrounded by bodyguards, leaving the gallery.

Unexpectedly, he encountered someone blocking his way.

This was a hidden passage, one that only people with proper identification could enter. At this time, no one other than him should have been in the passage. His bodyguards moved to protect the short man.

The person walking toward them was an unremarkable middle-aged man with black hair streaked with grey. A bright red pigeon was perched on his shoulder.

"It's been a long time," Taro smiled, his spiritual energy surging.

The short man, who had been reflecting on the past, suddenly remembered the scene from four years ago when they had sheltered from the rain in the dilapidated hut. The memory had been vague, blurred by Taro's earlier mental manipulation, but now it became as clear as day.

He eagerly pushed through his bodyguards and walked toward Taro. "Master, it's you!"

He reached out to shake hands, but Taro handed him a thick notebook instead. The notebook looked somewhat old, and although it hadn't been opened, the man could tell from its side that every page seemed to have something written on it.

"This is…" The short man was puzzled, but without hesitation, he accepted it.

"Do me a favor," Taro smiled. "Publish this book."

"Did you write this?" The short man recalled that when he had first encountered Taro years ago, he had seemed to be writing something in a notebook. After asking, he opened the notebook, and on the first page, six bold characters were written in a flowing, powerful style:

[The Uchiha's Sinners]

———

Taro reminisced about his first life as the ordinary man Wu Taro, who had aspired to become a great writer. He also reflected on his brief second life as a ninja. After much contemplation, he poured his complex thoughts into writing a book.

Rather than directly writing a memoir titled "The Memoirs of Uchiha taro", Taro adapted the story of Naruto. The central characters became the Uchiha brothers, Sasuke and Itachi, using their perspectives to unravel the hidden secrets of the ninja world. The story explored the essence of being a ninja and narrated an epic tale, focusing on two intertwined lives.

Taro didn't simply replicate the original story of Sasuke and Itachi's experiences and endings. He wasn't fond of Naruto's style, which often relied on empty words without real action. So, while Sasuke and Itachi were the protagonists, Taro infused his own understanding of the ninja world, his thoughts on the Uchiha clan, and themes like fate, hatred, killing, peace, and love into the narrative.

As for the fate of Sasuke and Itachi, Taro planned to mirror the original outcome for Itachi, making him the one to end the Uchiha bloodline, while Sasuke would sever the clan's future. Together, the two brothers would bring the history of the Uchiha name to a close.

He hadn't yet figured out the full details of the story, and what he handed to the short man for publication was only the first volume of his plan. Taro didn't care about the book's sales; he only wanted to write what he truly desired. This book was his way of severing all ties to his past, of cutting away all the entanglements of his former life.

As Taro left the art gallery building, the sky had gradually begun to drizzle.

He tilted his head back, remembering the character of Uchiha Itachi, the man who had borne all the pain and humiliation throughout his life. He couldn't help but think of his own elder brother in his previous life, the one who had manipulated him into killing his closest friend to awaken the Mangekyo Sharingan—the man named Uchiha Musashi, who sought to obtain the perfect Mangekyo Sharingan.

The light drizzle fell on Taro's face, seeping into the shallow wrinkles, bringing a slight chill.

Flap, flap...

The immortal bird fluttered its wings on Taro's shoulder, shaking off the water droplets. Taro snapped back to his senses, letting out a silent laugh. With a flick of his finger, he sent the bird flying off his shoulder. The little creature shot off, almost crashing into a nearby trash can before flapping back, clearly disgruntled, and landing obediently on Taro's shoulder.

In a flash, Taro blended into the bustling crowd of the city, disappearing without a trace.