Dragon Ball Roshi

Outside the Muten school dojo, the atmosphere was filled with sorrow and solemnity.

 Aragon, now in his fifties, and Yumeko knelt beside the coffin in the center of the mourning hall. One by one, disciples dressed in the Muten school white martial arts uniform entered and bowed to the deceased.

 "Farewell, Master's wife."

 "Farewell, Master's wife."

 Each disciple bowed, bidding their final farewell.

 Yumeko knelt beside them, tears falling, her aged face filled with sorrow. Aragon gently patted her hand in comfort. Yumeko's hands, no longer as soft and tender as they had been in her youth, showed the marks of over thirty years of time.

 "I'm fine... I just don't know... if Father will come back," she whispered, shaking her head.

 "He will, Master will return," Aragon reassured her.

 At that moment, faint sounds of an argument could be heard from the door of the dojo.

 Standing guard at the door, Arlong and Atian frowned deeply, muttering in a low voice.

 "Who's the fool who can't see what day it is?" They glanced toward Aragon inside the mourning hall, who gave them a subtle nod. The two men understood and turned, heading toward the entrance of the dojo.

 Soon, they reached the door and saw a young man dressed like a hunter arguing with the two disciples guarding the entrance.

 "Why won't you let me in? I'm here to sincerely pay my respects to the old madam! Our village has been taken care of by your Muten school, and now your madam has passed, and you won't even let us bow our heads? What kind of reasoning is that?"

 The young hunter, restrained by the two Muten school disciples in white uniforms, was growing increasingly desperate, his face turning red as he spoke.

 The two disciples, trying to calm him down, explained helplessly.

 "It's not that we're making things difficult for you, but today's funeral is just for our inner circle. Master's wife said there was no need to make a big fuss. Only the disciples of the Muken Fist are to bow. What's this about you trying to force your way in?"

 Arlong and Atian exchanged glances, quickly understanding the situation.

 In recent years, the disciples of the Muten school dojo often went out in groups to help the weak and punish the strong. Since they were skilled in martial arts, even the common mountain bandits couldn't match them, which earned them a good reputation in the nearby areas.

 It seemed that the young hunter's village had received the protection of the Muken Fist.

 "Arlong, Atian, what do you think?" one of the Muten school disciples who was holding the young hunter asked, looking toward Arlong and Atian for their opinion.

 "You..." Arlong was about to speak when Atian, his companion, patted his shoulder. Arlong looked in the direction Atian was pointing and saw a figure holding an oil-paper umbrella walking through the misty rain towards them.

 The two Muten school disciples holding the young hunter also noticed Arlong and Atian's gaze and turned to look in the same direction. In just a few brief moments, the figure who had been some distance away had already reached the two disciples' backs!

 Such terrifying martial arts!

 Arlong and Atian exchanged horrified glances, about to step forward to stop the person. But the stranger merely patted the shoulders of the two Muten school disciples, who were still frozen in place, and spoke in a deep voice.

 "Please step aside."

 "Who are you?" The two young Muken Fist disciples snapped back to reality and asked.

 Mu Taro closed his oil-paper umbrella, and the rainwater dripped off the umbrella's surface onto the ground.

 "Master!" Arlong and Atian both shuddered and knelt, bowing their heads in respect. Arlong, excited, asked: "You've finally returned!"

 Atian, with a sad expression, murmured, "Master's wife has passed..."

 Taro sighed lightly and helped them up, saying, "I know."

 The two Muten school disciples who were holding the young hunter were stunned. Because of their momentary distraction, the young hunter managed to break free from their grasp. He looked at Taro, confused. Wasn't Muten school supposed to only have one master? This person looks so young… Could it really be?

 Taro waved at the muscular young hunter. The hunter, initially unwilling to respond, suddenly found himself unable to move. He was horrified, gritting his teeth, and could only let out a muffled "mm-mm" sound from his throat!

 Taro casually placed his hand on the young hunter's head. In an instant, he discerned the hunter's background. Smiling, he said, "Let him in. He's just a nearby hunter."

 Arlong and Atian exchanged looks. What did Master just do...? After practicing martial arts for decades, they both noticed something odd about the young hunter earlier—it was as if he wanted to move but couldn't! Moreover, the hunter had been explaining himself before Master appeared. How could their Master know the man was from a nearby village?

 Could Master read minds...?

 Arlong and Atian were startled by their own thoughts. When they looked at their master again, they found that his presence had indeed become even more mysterious than it had been ten years ago. Both of them obediently listened to their master's words:

 "Yes, master." The entire Muten school belonged to their master, so naturally, who could enter and who couldn't was entirely up to him.

 Taro proceeded inside on his own.

 "Senior brother, is that really... our Muten master?" the two disciples asked, both surprised and confused. In their eyes, this person looked about the same age as Arlong and Atian.

 Arlong and Atian, however, were certain:

 "Of course. Who would dare impersonate our master?" He pointed toward the back of the dojo, where the ruins of the mountain that Taro had obliterated with a single palm over thirty years ago still remained. It had even become a famous local tourist spot.

 The two disciples nodded in agreement:

 "That's true!"

 Arlong waved at the young hunter, saying, "Come in, but don't make too much noise." With that, he and Atian went back to follow their master.

 The young hunter, however, was even more confused and asked, "Was that really their master? No way..." The rough-looking man scratched his head, completely unable to understand.

————

In the mourning hall, Aragon, who was kneeling on the ground, suddenly shuddered and looked toward the door. The person who had been absent for ten years was standing there, still as young as he had been a decade ago. Meanwhile, Arlong had grown older—older than his own master.

 "Master! You've come back!" Aragon couldn't hold back his tears and crawled over, kowtowing in front of Taro.

 "Dad!" Yumeko, who had been crying, was even more exhausted now, her eyes red from tears.

 Taro sighed.

 "I came back a few days ago, but I thought your mother probably didn't want to see me, so I stayed away." He smiled bitterly and shook his head. Over the past ten years, his appearance had barely changed at all.

 "Dad!" Yumeko cried out, heartbroken. A deep sorrow lingered in her heart, one that no one knew better than her, the daughter, who could understand how her mother had spent these past ten years in deep melancholy.

 Beside her mother's bed, as her life was coming to an end, Yumeko could clearly feel that her mother seemed to have let go of all her pain and sorrow. With her remaining strength, she had murmured:

 "I know you're here… I know you're here… but it's okay... this is fine… this is fine..."

 But still, Yumeko couldn't shake her grief and pain. Neither of her parents had ever held any grudges against each other, yet they had to part ways. Even at the very end of life, they had both been willing to accompany each other, yet they also understood each other's feelings and didn't demand to meet. Her mother had left this world without a trace of pain or sorrow.

 Taro walked to his wife's coffin and gently placed his rough hand on the intricately carved lid. He couldn't help but remember the coffin he and Fanfan, along with Tsuru, had made for their master decades ago.

 "Fanfan, I failed you. In the next life, marry someone normal..." Taro's eyes turned red, and he sighed softly.

 A feeling of finality rose within him. With Fanfan passing, Taro felt as though he had quietly lived out his life in this Dragon Ball world.

 Outside, the gentle rain continued to fall.

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