Waves crashed tirelessly against the tiny island suspended in the vast sea.
White foam shattered at the base of the pink walls, creating a steady, comforting rhythm.
For Krillin, air mixed with seaweed and salt felt far more welcoming than West City's blend of gasoline fumes and humming machinery.
He jumped down from the plane, his shoes sinking into the soft sand.
The grains slipping into the seams confirmed it.
He was home.
Pushing open the slightly peeling wooden door of Kame House, he stepped into dimmer light.
The air carried the stale scent of cheap shredded tobacco—Master Roshi's favorite.
The skinny old man sat cross-legged in a wicker chair, turtle shell strapped to his back, sunglasses perched on his nose.
He clutched a red telephone receiver, leaning forward as if engaged in a life-or-death duel.
"I know! I know today is three days before the deadline! I'm not senile!" Master Roshi barked, spittle flying as his free hand tapped the table in rapid thumps.
"What do you mean you haven't reached him yet? That boy named Goku—if he hasn't registered, can't you make an exception?"
"Rules? Rules are dead, people are alive!"
"What if he got lost in the mountains? You know that kid is a one-track mind!"
Krillin didn't interrupt. He leaned quietly against the doorframe and set down his backpack.
He simply watched.
The man revered as the "God of Martial Arts" now looked like an anxious old grandfather worried about his missing grandson.
The sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the worry carved into the lines on his forehead.
"Fine! I'll bring him myself! Even if I have to tie him up and drag him into the ring!" Master Roshi snapped before slamming the receiver down.
He sagged into his chair like a deflated balloon.
Removing his sunglasses, he rubbed his temples. His small eyes were filled with fatigue.
"That idiot…" he muttered. "Gone so long without even sending a letter."
"Did the post office close? Or did he eat the paper thinking it was a meat bun?"
"Maybe he can't read the address properly…"
"Master," Krillin said softly, smiling.
Master Roshi's head snapped up so fast it stirred the air.
Seeing the bald figure in the doorway, his expression froze before sliding back into his usual mischievous facade.
"Oh, it's you," he said, putting his sunglasses back on.
"I thought you were too busy enjoying the capitalists' sugar-coated bullets to return to this broken island."
"How could I?" Krillin chuckled, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge and handing it over.
"No place out there compares to here. Besides, who else would bring you the latest bikini special issue?"
At the word "special," Master Roshi's Adam's apple bobbed visibly.
He maintained a stern expression anyway and took a large gulp of beer.
"Hmph. At least you still have some conscience."
Silence settled between them.
Seagulls cried beyond the window.
"You're worried about Goku, aren't you?" Krillin asked gently.
Master Roshi paused mid-sip.
"Worried? I'm not worried about that freak," he grumbled, staring out at the endless sea. "That kid's tough as nails. Bullets can't even pierce him.
I'm worried he'll swallow someone's pet monster or tear down a house, and I'll have to pay for it."
Krillin only smiled.
Years ago, he and Goku had burst into this old man's quiet life.
Back then, Krillin was cunning and determined, willing to do anything to grow stronger.
Goku had been pure—like an uncut stone.
They carried turtle shells weighing dozens of kilograms while delivering milk at dawn.
They swam through shark-infested waters, with Goku always racing ahead and trying to catch one for lunch.
They ran through forests buzzing with bees until their heads swelled beyond recognition.
Master Roshi had lounged beneath a sun umbrella, reading beauty magazines as if carefree.
But Krillin knew better.
Under those swaying coconut trees, the old man had quietly passed on the essence of martial arts, the fundamentals of the Kamehameha, and lessons of integrity and resilience.
He scolded them for laziness, then secretly added meat to their rice bowls at night.
He clenched his fists at the World Martial Arts Tournament, eyes shining at their growth.
And when danger appeared, he stood in front of them without hesitation.
Krillin and Goku were the gentle light of his twilight years.
"He'll come," Krillin said calmly.
"That guy may have no sense of direction and no grasp of numbers, but his devotion to martial arts is purer than anyone's.
He won't miss the World Martial Arts Tournament."
Master Roshi turned to look at him.
"Krillin," he said slowly, "you've changed."
"Huh?"
"Your ki."
The old man stood and walked around him thoughtfully.
"Before, your ki was strong but restless, like boiling water pushing against a lid."
"But now…"
Without warning, Master Roshi thrust a finger toward Krillin's forehead.
The jab was lightning fast.
Krillin didn't move.
Three millimeters from contact, Master Roshi stopped.
Krillin didn't even blink.
His eyes were calm, deep as a still lake.
"Your ki has settled," Master Roshi said quietly, lowering his hand.
A faint smile appeared on his lips. "It seems Dr. Brief's daughter gave you more than just equipment."
Krillin scratched his bald head.
Inside his mind, Genius Intellect operated at full capacity.
In that instant, he had constructed a complete motion model of Master Roshi's strike—muscle contraction speed, elbow rotation, fingertip pressure, potential damage output.
But he simply chuckled. "Maybe the food in West City fixed my brain."
"Smooth talker."
Master Roshi laughed.
"Since you're back, don't just stand there. Yamcha's been training like crazy lately. If you don't work hard, you'll fall flat on your face."
Krillin glanced through the window.
On the distant beach, a long-haired figure attacked a massive rock with furious strikes.
"Yamcha…"
Krillin narrowed his eyes.
The world shifted into streams of data.
Every movement Yamcha made was analyzed and broken down instantly.
Target: Yamcha.
Status: Highly motivated. Muscle fatigue: 75%. Action efficiency: B-.
Flaws: Numerous.
"Fall flat on my face?"
Krillin stood and stretched, his neck cracking softly.
"Master, the current me could carry a boat and run."
He pushed open the door, sunlight flooding over him.
"Time to go greet him… and give him a little lesson."