Dragon Ball Roshi-Chapter 283: A True Martial Prodigy

The senior brother stared thoughtfully at the trio beneath the palm tree. Then—his eyes met the "young man" his junior had accused of using dark arts.

What kind of gaze was this?

The senior brother couldn't describe it. Those eyes were too profound, as if they contained the entirety of existence... yet also emptier than the sky itself, leaving only tranquility.

A single glance from this man—he felt his life was now complete.

"Mind your own business! You think you can meddle with the Ancestor's affairs?!" The senior brother smacked his junior upside the head and strode off, though he couldn't resist one last glance behind him.

"Ancestor?!" Rubbing his sore head, the junior brother froze as the words sank in. His eyes bulged. "Y-Y-Y-You mean... the M-M-M-M-Mu—"

He scrambled after his senior, whispering like a spy: "Brother... was that really our school's founder... the Muten Roshi?!"

"Keep your voice down," the senior brother warned. "You know the Ancestor dislikes disturbances. Do you really want to anger him?"

The junior brother paled, nodding furiously. The mere thought of almost lecturing their divine founder made his legs tremble.

What kind of being was Roshi?

A literal immortal. Before him, terms like "elderly" were meaningless. Even the legendary Son Gohan was little more than a playful child in his presence!

Noticing his junior's ashen face, the senior brother smirked. "So? Still want to 'intervene'?"

"A-Ahaha... I'd rather not get flattened into a pancake by the Ancestor, thanks!" The junior brother's pitiful expression drew a loud laugh from his senior.

But then, the senior brother's expression turned solemn. "Junior... we've been blessed. For the Ancestor himself to grace this tournament... We must not shame our school!"

"Absolutely!" The junior brother clenched his fists, fire burning in his eyes. "With the Ancestor watching, I'll fight like my life depends on it! Since when has the Muten School ever disgraced him?!" ƒreewebɳovel.com

The two shared a fierce grin, their blood boiling with passion.

As they walked toward the contestant area, the senior brother glanced back one last time. Though distant now, he still felt the Ancestor's gaze upon them—especially when a shirtless boy in yellow pants and a white belt dashed past, heading straight for the palm tree.

---

Beneath the Palm Tree

"Grandpa!"

Son Goku skidded to a stop, beaming at the three figures. "Old man! Old lady! Hi!"

Having grown up under Son Gohan's reverence for Taro and Hathaway—and awed by Taro's unfathomable strength—Son Goku addressed them with the same respect.

"Goku, you're back." Son Gohan patted his grandson's head, unfazed by the long bathroom trip. (Probably got lost asking for directions.)

Ever since Taro sealed away the boy's violent instincts seven years ago, Son Goku had become almost excessively pure-hearted...

Hathaway adored the cheerful, innocent child. With her unique eyes—which Taro praised as a natural gift for sensing character through ki—she saw Son Goku as nothing less than a flawless crystal of purity.

With the preliminaries approaching, the three elders escorted Son Goku to the contestant area. Along the way, Taro magically conjured a white martial arts gi for him—similar to the Muten School's uniform, but with Son embroidered on the chest instead of Mu.

Thrilled by his new outfit, Son Goku marveled at the "old man's" incredible powers.

Son Gohan, however, stared thoughtfully at the Son character, as if contemplating something.

---

Preliminary Arena

The indoor stadium was massive, packed with medium-sized rings. Spectators filled the stands, while media crews broadcasted the event, scouting for rising stars.

"Old man, are you joining the tournament too?" Son Goku asked, tilting his head.

Taro ruffled the boy's wild black hair. "No, child. This old man isn't competing."

Hathaway chuckled. "Goku, aren't you glad? If he joined, you might not win!"

"Nah! The old man's super strong—even stronger than Grandpa! Fighting him would be awesome!" Son Goku grinned, utterly sincere. Raised in the mountains by Son Gohan, he lacked all pretenses.

Hathaway's expression softened. Watching Son Goku's excitement as he observed the bustling arena, she whispered to Taro:

"Dear... I'm starting to understand why you cherish this child so much."

Though quiet, her words didn't escape Son Gohan's sharp ears. The old master laughed heartily—proud, moved, exhilarated.

"Master once called me a martial genius... But in my eyes, Goku is the true prodigy—born for the martial path!"

Taro simply smiled.

With Kakarot's violent nature sealed away, Son Goku had grown into the same pure-hearted warrior he'd known from legends. And who understood this boy better than him?

As they stepped into the roaring arena—its 50-meter-high ceiling ensuring ample space—the preliminaries were about to begin.