The desert wind carried a dry, hot bite. Sand stuck to the skin, and every few minutes the only sound was the soft beeping from the Dragon Radar in Haruko's hand.
They were close.
Goku shaded his eyes. "Something's moving that way."
Before Haruko could ask, a low rumble made the ground tremble. Over the rise of a dune, a long shadow slithered into view, followed by the grinding sound of claws scraping against stone.
And then it reared up — a dragon, its wide head lined with jagged horns, scales catching the sun in flashes of gold and rust. It was watching them, weighing them like prey.
Yamcha exhaled quietly. "This isn't on my usual list of desert problems."
Goku stepped forward with the simple lack of hesitation only he could have. "I'll try first."
Haruko stayed where he was, watching the way the dragon's tail shifted — a subtle cue of tension before a strike.
Goku ran in low, Power Pole tightening in his grip, and struck at the head with a sharp, echoing thunk. The dragon rocked back but didn't fall.
"Not bad," Haruko called, "but keep your guard—"
The tail whipped around, catching Goku in the side and throwing him into the sand. He groaned, spitting out grit.
"—up." Haruko finished, stepping past him.
The stick was still in the sand where Goku had dropped it. Haruko picked it up; it felt lighter than it looked, strangely well-balanced. He rolled his shoulders once, eyes fixed on the dragon's throat.
It lunged, jaws like a collapsing trap. Haruko moved in close instead of back, ramming the Power Pole upward with a twist of his hips. The point caught under the skull, and the sheer force of the blow made the sand jump.
The dragon convulsed once, an odd gurgle leaving its throat, then fell to the side with a heavy final thud.
Haruko let out a slow breath. "Clear enough."
An hour later, smoke from Yamcha's cooking fire curled into the night sky. Strips of meat hissed over the flames, the fat scent rolling out on the breeze.
Goku sat cross-legged, staring at the cooking meat with an unwavering focus that made Puar shake his head.
"You two are going to eat the whole thing, aren't you?" Puar asked.
Haruko didn't glance over from where he was turning another rack of meat. "If you've got other plans for it, speak now."
No one did.
By the time they finished eating, there was nothing but bones stacked neatly by the fire. Yamcha kept looking from the pile to the two of them, as though trying to figure out where it had all gone.
"It was good," Goku said cheerfully, wiping his mouth.
"Not bad," Haruko admitted, leaning back on his elbows. "Could use more seasoning, but fresh is fresh."
The quiet rolled in after that — desert nights could feel like they belonged to a different world entirely.
That quiet broke when they heard the slow scrape of something across sand.
A shadow emerged from the darkness — a large turtle, moving with deliberate slowness.
"Excuse me," it said, its voice low and polite, "I'm lost. Could one of you help me reach the sea?"
No one spoke for a moment. Then Yamcha muttered, "talking turtle!, I swear I didn't drink anything today."
"It's talking turtle, ," Goku said simply, as if that explained everything. "Of course we'll help."
By morning, they were walking the turtle along the coast. The salt smell grew stronger with each step, and when the first spray of cold water hit their faces, Goku broke into a run.
The turtle thanked them, bowing its head before paddling into the surf. "Please wait here. I'll bring someone who can thank you properly."
The man who arrived an hour later didn't look like anyone Haruko had expected. He was old, wearing sunglasses despite the overcast sky, his Hawaiian shirt open at the chest.
"Master Roshi," the turtle introduced him.
Roshi grinned. "I hear you helped my friend. Can't let that pass without thanks. For you, boy—" He gestured to Goku, "—Flying Nimbus. Only works for the pure-hearted."
Goku hopped on; the cloud held him easily. His laughter had the kind of innocence Haruko rarely saw.
Yamcha got a small, deep-blue bead on a cord. "Underwater Breathing Bead," Roshi explained. "Lasts as long as you wear it."
Roshi turned to Haruko. "And for you… hmm."
Haruko stood. "I need one of those beads, for my neck. And I could use a large, heavy turtle. One my brother and I can use for weight training. Yamcha too."
Roshi chuckled. "Straight to the point. Fine. Follow me."
By midday, they were on his island. The sea was bright here, transparent enough to see the darker shapes moving below.
Haruko stripped off his outer shirt, nodded to Goku, and together they dove in. By the time they came back, they'd hauled two massive sharks and an octopus that dripped water across the dock.
"Dinner," Haruko said, dragging the catch forward.
The grill took time to build, but soon the air filled with the rich smell of roasting meat and brine. Haruko sat cross-legged beside Goku, both of them eating as soon as Roshi gave a nod.
It was relentless — chunk after chunk of meat disappearing from the platter until Yamcha finally said, "You realize what you just ate could have fed sixty people, right?"
Haruko looked up briefly. "Then it's good you invited fewer than sixty."
Roshi just shook his head, hiding a small grin behind his hand. " monkey tail race, eally different race "
Haruko didn't answer. He'd gotten what he came for — the bead, the turtle, and a mental note of the man's strength. For now, that was enough.
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