The waves tirelessly pounded against the tiny, isolated island in the middle of the sea.
White foam shattered against the pink walls, producing a monotonous, comforting rhythm.
For Krillin, the air tinged with seaweed and the briny scent of salt felt far more welcoming than the mix of high-octane fuel and precision electronics back in West City.
He jumped off the plane, his feet sinking into the soft sand. The grains pressed between his toes, confirming one undeniable truth he was home.
Pushing open the slightly chipped wooden door of Master Roshi's house, he noticed the interior was darker than the bright sunlight outside.
The air smelled faintly of old tobacco, the kind Master Roshi had always smoked cheap and harsh.
The frail old man, wearing sunglasses and carrying a massive turtle shell on his back, sat cross-legged in a wicker chair. He gripped a red telephone receiver tightly, leaning forward as though locked in a life-or-death duel on the other end of the line.
"I know! I know! Today's the third-to-last day to register! I'm not senile!"
Master Roshi's voice soared, spittle flicking onto the table. His free hand drummed anxiously, producing a rapid "tap, tap, tap" that seemed to echo his agitation.
"What do you mean you haven't reached him yet?"
"That kid… that Son Goku, if he hasn't registered, can't you show some leniency?"
"Rules? Rules are for paper! People are living beings!"
"What if he got lost in the mountains?"
"You know that kid one-track-minded as ever…"
Krillin remained quiet, leaning against the doorframe and placing his backpack lightly at his feet.
He observed Master Roshi.
The legendary "God of Martial Arts" looked at this moment like an ordinary empty-nester fretting over his grandson's absence.
The sunglasses hid his eyes, but the deep worry etched into the wrinkles on his forehead was unmistakable.
"Enough! I'll bring him myself. Even if I have to tie him up, I'll drag him to the arena! I'm hanging up!"
With a loud click, the receiver slammed back onto the base.
Master Roshi exhaled long and heavy, slumping in the chair like a deflated balloon.
He removed his sunglasses, revealing his usual squinty eyes, now lined with fatigue, and rubbed his forehead.
"You idiot…" he muttered under his breath.
"Gone for so long, and not even a letter."
"Have the post offices closed? Or did he just eat the paper like it was a sandwich?"
"Maybe he can't read and doesn't know how to write an address."
Krillin interjected at the perfect moment, a teasing smile on his face.
Master Roshi shot upright so quickly it stirred the air around him.
When he saw the bald figure in the doorway, his wrinkled face froze for a moment before his usual mischievous mask returned, covering any trace of concern.
"Well, look who it is."
Master Roshi slid his sunglasses back on, smirking.
"I thought you'd be lost in the capitalist candy-coated world, never coming back to this rundown island."
"Never, my dear Master Roshi," Krillin replied with a playful grin. He grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and handed it to the old man.
"No matter how nice it is out there, it doesn't beat a single thing here!"
"And besides, if I didn't come back, who would buy you this issue of the Bikini Special?"
At the words "Bikini Special," Master Roshi's Adam's apple bobbed noticeably. He tried to maintain the authority of a master as he took a long swig of the beer.
"Hmph, not completely heartless, I see," he muttered.
The two lapsed into a comfortable silence for a while.
Outside, the calls of the seagulls sounded unusually clear.
"Master, you're worried about Goku, aren't you?"
Krillin pulled over a chair and sat down, his playful expression gone.
Roshi paused mid-sip.
"Worried? Ha! Not about that kid."
He spoke stubbornly, yet his eyes drifted toward the vast ocean beyond the window.
"That boy's tough bullets couldn't pierce him."
"I'm worried he'll get into trouble, devour some monster's home, or tear down someone's house, and I'll have to pay for it."
Krillin smiled but didn't call him out.
Years ago, he and Goku had stumbled into this old man's life.
Back then, Krillin was full of schemes, doing anything to become stronger.
Goku, on the other hand, was pure like a blank sheet of paper or perhaps, like an unyielding stone.
They carried heavy turtle shells at dawn to deliver milk, exhausted and panting.
They swam in shark-infested waters, with Goku always swimming faster, foolishly trying to catch a shark for lunch.
They darted through forests swarming with bees, ending up stung and swollen beyond recognition.
Meanwhile, Master Roshi lounged under his sun umbrella, sipping juice and flipping through magazines, carefree as ever.
Yet Krillin remembered that under the coconut shadows of Kame House, the old man taught them much more than martial arts.
He instilled the essence of staff techniques, the secrets of Kamehameha, and the virtues of integrity and resilience.
He taught Goku to read the feints and openings of moves and to guard the purity of his heart.
He helped Krillin surpass the limits of his body and compensate for innate weaknesses with intelligence.
He would feign anger when they slacked off, yet secretly slip extra meat into their bowls at night.
He clenched his fists in pride at the Martial Arts Tournament, tears glimmering at every small victory of his students.
And when danger struck, he never hesitated to stand in front of them.
Krillin and Goku had become the gentle light in his twilight years.
"He'll come," Krillin said softly but with absolute certainty.
"That kid may be directionally challenged, illiterate, and sometimes painfully stubborn…"
"But his dedication to martial arts is purer than anyone else's."
"At the World Martial Arts Tournament, he will not miss it."
Master Roshi turned to look at Krillin.
A glint flashed across his sunglasses.
"Krillin, you've changed."
"Huh?"
"Your ki," Roshi's voice took on a serious tone.
He stood and circled Krillin.
"Before, your ki was strong but restless, like a pot of boiling water constantly pushing against its lid."
"But now…"
He extended a finger and suddenly, without warning, jabbed toward Krillin's forehead.
The strike was lightning-fast, not even stirring the air.
Krillin didn't flinch.
Or rather, he didn't need to.
Three millimeters from his forehead, Roshi stopped.
Krillin didn't even blink.
In his pupils, the finger reflected like a still, bottomless lake.
"Now, your ki has settled."
Roshi withdrew his hand, finally allowing a small, satisfied smile.
"Looks like Dr. Brief's daughter not only gave you equipment but opened your mind."
"This kind of calm judgment can't be trained through exercise alone."
Krillin touched his bald head. His newly acquired S-rank talent, Genius Intellect, was operating at full capacity.
In that instant, his brain automatically modeled Master Roshi's movement: contraction speed of the deltoids, angular momentum of the elbow, pressure at the fingertips…
He even calculated the damage that jab would have caused if it landed.
He didn't say a word, only chuckled.
"Probably West City's food nourished my brain too well," he teased.
"Smooth talker," Roshi laughed and scolded, visibly in a better mood.
"Since you're back, don't waste time. That Yamcha kid has been training like a madman lately."
"If you don't push yourself, you might end up flat on your face in the gutter."
Krillin followed Roshi's finger to the window.
Through the glass, he saw a long-haired figure furiously striking a massive rock on the distant beach.
"Yamcha, huh…"
Krillin narrowed his eyes.
The world around him became a sea of data.
Every movement of Yamcha was analyzed, broken down, and restructured.
[Target: Yamcha. Status: Highly excited / Muscle fatigue 75%. Efficiency: B-. Weaknesses: Entire body.]
"Flat on my face, huh?"
Krillin stood, stretching his neck, the vertebrae cracking crisply.
"Master, now I can carry a boat and run with it."
"I'll go see him and… give him a lesson," he said, opening the door as sunlight poured over him.