And so, a lively night passed.
Goku and Krillin stayed at Bulma's house. Goku, carefree as ever, didn't mind where he stayed. Krillin, who used to be quite conventional, had spent the past year training on Muten Island and, influenced by Goku's pure-hearted nature, had also become more easygoing... Besides, Bulma was their good friend, so they felt at ease.
Taro quietly took Hathaway back to Muten Island without notifying anyone. Given his status and seniority, there was no need to inform anyone, and no one worried about their safety or whereabouts. However, the Phoenix chose to stay at Bulma's house, being waited on by a bunch of servants like the big boss, occasionally returning to tease Goku and the others, quite content.
That night, Yamcha tossed and turned in his room, unable to sleep, lost in thought.
The next day, in West City, in front of the mansion of Capsule Corporation's chairman Dr. Briefs, Yamcha packed his bags, slinging a bundle over his shoulder, wearing a straw hat he'd gotten from somewhere, and came to say goodbye to Bulma and the others.
Bulma, Goku, and Krillin came out to see him off.
"Are you really leaving?" Bulma crossed her arms, surprised. "The trial Taro gave you... actually seems to have no time limit. You don't have to rush, right?"
Krillin added, "Yeah, why not come to Sayuan City together and wait until the world finals are over? Aren't you going to cheer for Goku and me?"
"Exactly, Young Master Yamcha!" Puar hovered beside him and chimed in. As Yamcha's pet, Puar went wherever he went. Though it wanted to watch the World Martial Arts Tournament finals, if Yamcha insisted on leaving, it had no choice but to follow.
"No," Yamcha smiled, gripping the bundle's knot firmly, his expression resolute. "I really want to become a disciple of the Muten Master. Since this is a trial from him, the sooner I set out, the better... As for cheering, I can bless you now."
He paused, then sincerely said to Krillin and Goku, "Krillin, Goku, I believe you both will do well in the finals! Especially you, Goku — maybe you'll even win the championship!"
Krillin shook his head with a worried frown. "The World Martial Arts Tournament has five major regions, each more intense than the last. Only top masters make it to the finals. Getting a good rank isn't that easy..."
Goku grinned, holding his head. "Yeah, it's probably really tough!"
Krillin glanced at him. Sure enough, though Goku said it was hard, the fighting spirit and eagerness in his eyes only grew stronger... such a headache and yet so admirable and inspiring! The bald one sighed quietly, feeling his own fighting spirit well up.
"Hmm, though it's tough, don't worry — we're disciples of Master Taro!" Krillin said firmly, almost trying to pump himself up.
Goku chuckled as his tail swayed behind him.
Bulma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling gently as she looked at Goku, who was still shorter than her chest, her eyes flickering.
Watching these two full of youthful energy, Yamcha couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. It's nice... all because they were disciples of Muten, huh... He let out a long breath in his heart, strengthened his resolve, and cheered himself on. He decided to set off today to make a good impression on Muten.
To become your disciple, I'll work hard!
Just watch, I will complete the trial!
A full circle of Earth... whether it takes one year, two years, three, five, or even ten, I will return step by step!
Seeing Yamcha's figure slowly fade away, Bulma touched her chin and murmured, "Why did he keep looking at the back garden with such a strange look? Seriously..."
Krillin, about to turn back with Goku, stopped hearing Bulma's muttering, scratched his bald head, and mumbled, "Could he be thinking... if Master Taro might be watching him? But Master went back last night..."
Poor Yamcha, trying to impress Master Taro with effort, but Taro had already gone home with Hathaway!
Bulma shook her head and went back to the courtyard with Krillin and Goku.
The world finals of the Martial Arts Tournament were about to begin, so preparations had to be made. The purple-haired girl punched and clapped with fighting spirit, shouting passionately, "Next, we need to gather info on other finalists from the five regions! We must beat them badly, Goku!"
"Got it!" Goku raised his fist in agreement.
"Hey, don't forget me! There are two of us in the finals!" Krillin complained.
"No big feast if you don't win the championship, got it, Goku!" Bulma ignored Krillin and continued.
"Oh, oh! Big feast!" Goku happily echoed, swinging his fist, then headed to Bulma's gym to train. With the magical weight training suits Master Taro made for them, even ordinary gym equipment could be used to cultivate their martial arts.
In fact, skilled martial artists don't need external aids like weight suits or special venues — they can train anywhere, anytime. Even simple push-ups yield different effects depending on their level.
---
Time flew by quickly. The 21st World Martial Arts Tournament finals were drawing near day by day.
From east, west, south, north, and center, the top players from the five regions trained hard, awaiting the final moment.
The media daily hyped this global event held every five years, digging into the lives of the sixteen finalists from all five regions, seemingly eager to report everything from what time they woke up to what and how much they ate for breakfast — all to grab attention.
The contestants' popularity voting was also underway across major websites.
"Of course I'm voting for the new champion from the Northern Capital! So handsome, and he never even used the second move!" someone excitedly commented.
"That's because the Northern Capital region is the weakest, alright?" another replied disdainfully. "Don't you know that Son Goku from the Western Capital already defeated last year's champion and didn't even leave a spot for the opponent? This year's champion has to be Son Goku!"
"Exactly! My Goku is the cutest and coolest! Five years without seeing him, and he's still as adorable as ever!" Many liked the comment, and it was followed by countless enthusiastic replies.
"Stop focusing so much on Son Goku, will you? Don't you know the Southern Capital region has a young master who calls himself from the Crane School? He's a half-breed of the Three-Eye tribe, and I heard he might be a descendant of Fan from the very first Martial Arts Tournament!"
"Fan? Seriously?"
For a while, there was lively debate. Among all the contestants, Son Goku, Piccolo, and Tienshinhan led the popularity polls by far. Right behind them was Krillin... probably because he was suspected to be Goku's senior fellow disciple.
---
Northern Capital, the cold wind cut like a knife.
An uninhabited mountainous area, snow-covered peaks stretching endlessly.
A green-skinned figure in a white robe and vest hovered in midair above the valley. His white cloak flapped wildly in the cold wind. His expression was stern, eyes eerie, intently fixed on something in front of him.
It was a book, levitating by his psychic power. Judging from the cover, it was the very book that had become a sensation across the martial arts world on Earth — The Warrior's Notes, personally written by the Muten Roshi.
Piccolo's gaze was focused, blue-white light flickering intermittently in his eyes as he turned pages with his power.
The howling snowstorm was held at bay by his ability, keeping the pages dry.
After easily winning the Northern Capital region championship and securing a spot to advance, Piccolo had overheard a passerby mention this book. At first, he didn't care much, but after learning it was personally authored by the Martial Immortal, he obtained a copy. From then on, he kept reading until today, unknowingly having gone through it countless times.
Piccolo's feelings toward Taro were undeniably complicated.
By the emotional legacy passed down from the previous generation of Piccolo, he hated Taro to his core. It was this man who, at a critical moment, caused him to be sealed away by the Martial Grandmaster with the Demon Sealing Wave; the seal lasted nearly a century. After barely breaking free, he was controlled by the demon realm's evil forces, losing all dignity; and finally, mysteriously, Taro—powerful beyond belief—directly killed him, nearly destroying Piccolo's will to start over.
...Start over? Thinking about it now, such a thought was truly laughable.
During the two hundred years he was sealed atop Muten Island, his demonic embryo's life energy suppressed by Taro's magic, Piccolo's mind was in chaos. Yet overall, he kept growing. His hatred for Taro, though unconscious, was deeply rooted; at the same time, his fear of this man grew daily in that endless darkness.
After finally emerging, Taro told him he wouldn't kill him.
"Me... such a villain... can I... really start over?" Piccolo was bewildered, scornful, and fearful as he began secretly studying martial arts on Martial Immortal Island. It was during this period that his understanding of Taro began to break free from the previous Piccolo's limitations. He gradually realized how unfathomable and terrifying Taro truly was.
Son Goku and Krillin—whom he had once dismissed—were rapidly growing under Taro's guidance before his eyes.
Now, after reading Taro's writings, Piccolo felt more than ever that Taro was indeed the Muten Roshi the world claimed him to be.
Martial arts novices could enjoy the book's dramatic stories and find inspiration to begin their path. Beginners would discover many insightful perspectives, solutions to cultivation difficulties, and ways to avoid detours. Even martial arts grandmasters could uncover profound truths in its lines like the ringing of morning and evening bells.
Piccolo felt that beneath the surface of the book's stories, countless Zen mysteries hid. Every sentence was full of complex martial arts principles, even transcending martial arts into natural universal truths. It intoxicated him deeply. To think that such a magnanimous, selfless person existed in the world, with a martial arts realm, cultivation, and achievement vast as the ocean—compared to him, everyone else was humbled into dust.
Unconsciously, his ambitions of becoming a great demon lord had long faded.
With the existence of someone like the Martial Immortal, even ten thousand Piccolos could only stir up ripples at best, merely a joke.
So Piccolo continued cultivating alone in the snowy mountains of the Northern Capital. Not that no one had noticed him—media with highly concealed equipment had already discovered his whereabouts. Every day, information about the new champion of the Northern Capital region was printed and published locally. People found Piccolo reading the Martial Immortal's book with passion and couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship.
---
Eastern Capital.
Satan had become a member of the Martial Arts Association and, having learned some impressive skills, his living conditions had greatly improved. However, his father's old illness never healed and he passed away several years ago. He also competed in this year's Eastern Capital Martial Arts Tournament but unfortunately failed before reaching the qualifying round.
Still, Satan booked a ticket to Sayuan City. This rare grand event—being part of the Martial Arts Association—of course he wanted to see it for himself. Moreover, he had arranged an offline meetup with some people in the Martial Immortal's virtual capital on the Earth network for exchanges and sparring.
"Let's go!" Satan shaved his beard clean, full of energy as he slung his backpack and stepped out.
---
Southern Capital.
In a deep mountain forest, the sound of a waterfall roared like thunder.
"Tien, it's time." Chiaotzu flew here using the Flight Technique and spoke to the muscular young man beneath the waterfall.
Tienshinhan's third eye on his forehead suddenly opened wide, emitting a sharp gleam. He gathered his energy and leapt out from under the crashing waterfall, flying into the air. His whole body relaxed as he opened his three eyes, which were lively yet calm. He smiled and said, "Let's go, Chiaotzu!"
"Yeah!"
---
At the Ox-King's Signature Restaurant.
Chi-Chi stood guard in front of the TV, humming a tune as she waited. The Ox-King saw this and chuckled, saying in a gruff voice, "Chi-Chi, the finals haven't officially started yet. Why don't you come help Dad cook? You cook even better than me!"
---
Desert Edge.
Yajirobe held an iron blade, facing the blazing desert sun. With repeated unsheathing, swinging, and resheathing motions, his movements were honed to perfection. His focused expression made him seem like a different person. Every draw, slash, and sheath was executed with precise posture, strength, and distance. Each cut carried the peak of his spirit and energy, the blade gleaming fiercely.
At his waist hung the Muken Sword, never yet drawn.
The chubby boy was drenched in sweat. After swinging the blade for the thousandth time, he sheathed it, wiped the sweat from his face, and thought silently, It seems like the final tournament of the so-called world's strongest martial arts competition is about to start… Whatever, I have nothing better to do; I might as well check it out.
Goku… martial arts… just how powerful will it be…?
Huh? What's that?
Yajirobe was about to leave when he suddenly spotted a flash of light in the nearby sand. Curious, he walked over and dug a few times in the sandy rocky ground, uncovering an orange-yellow orb. Looking closely, he saw that inside the orb floated a red pentagram—it was quite beautiful.
"Pretty nice… I'll string it on that rope as a necklace…" The chubby boy scratched his head, then stroked his double chin, thinking, "Maybe I should give it to Chi-Chi… she might like it… whatever…"
---
West City.
"Stop dawdling, are you ready yet?" Bulma opened the capsule of her flying vehicle and looked back to ask.