Several weeks passed before Kakarot started getting used to the Turtle Hermit's training, especially to the shell that weighed as much as him, and that he had to carry on his back at all times, save for sleeping.
At the end of a long day, they sat in front of a small fire and roasted sardines. In this time Kakarot had scrutinized the old man in search of weaknesses he could take advantage of. He was crazy about young and thin women, and used to daydream remembering what he called "the good old days"; he talked about them with so much pride.
"The world of martial arts was purer then," the Turtle Hermit said. "Only the cultivation of physical, mental, and spiritual strength mattered, not pleasing an audience. Now, if you don't use a flashy style, no matter how useless in real combat, or dress like a clown to get attention, you don't seem like a martial artist at all." He let out a long sigh. "The world I was born no longer exists."
Kakarot absorbed every last detail of the man's musings. He already learned a lot from Son Gohan, and logically, his master should have more to teach him about Earth and its warriors. But that's not what he'd ask him tonight. "What's that thing you're wearing around your neck? Grandpa had one too."
He had seen the sphere that morning, as the old man played with his beard, which usually concealed the necklace he had fashioned it into.
"Oh, this?" the Turtle Hermit said, holding it. "It's a Dragon Ball. There are only seven of these in the whole world. Look, the stars inside are different, this one has three. If you gather them all, you can summon Shenron, a dragon who can grant almost any wish you ask of him."
Kakarot arched an eyebrow in disbelief.
The old man laughed and took out a 100 Zeni bill from his wallet. It had a portrait of a dog in a suit. "How do you think a dog came to be King of the World?"
"Really? Have you ever seen the dragon yourself?"
"Once," the Turtle Hermit said. "It's a sad story, but I think you deserve to hear it, since as Gohan's grandson, it concerns you. Several decades ago, your grandfather didn't live in seclusion in the mountains, but in a place similar to this. He was married to Ahiru, a woman he met during one of the many adventures of his youth. They were expecting a child, and everything seemed to be going well, but Ahiru fell terribly ill.
"Gohan traveled the world and consulted the best doctors and healers, but none could do anything for her. Desperate, he turned to me, as he knew of the legend of the Dragon Balls, and had seen mine, which I found many years ago while diving in search of mermaids. I didn't believe the stories then, but I agreed without hesitation to help him search for the other six.
"Gyuma, a young man of unusual size and strength, who was my pupil at the time, accompanied us too. We traveled to the home of my older sister, Fortuneteller Baba, and with the help of her powers of divination, we discovered the location of the Dragon Balls. Before leaving her place, Baba warned Gohan that his journey would not have a happy ending and that he might prefer to spend that time with his wife, but he ignored her bad omens.
"We found the Dragon Balls in a few weeks, but it was too late; Ahiru had passed away. Hoping to bring her back to life, we summoned Shenron. The sky suddenly darkened, turning day into a moonless, starless night, and the dragon appeared in the sky above us.
"Gohan made his wish, but Shenron cannot bring back to life those who have died of natural causes, so my sister's prediction came true. With our mission ending in failure, and with no intention of making another wish, Shenron disappeared. In case an emergency arose that required the Dragon Balls, we each kept one and scattered the others to the four winds.
"After that, Gohan retreated to Mount Paozu. I offered to come live with me for a while, but he said he needed to mourn his loss alone. I thought he would never again be happy. A few years ago, however, I received for the first time in a long time a letter from him. He wrote of a monkey-tailed boy whom he had adopted, and named Son Goku."
They ate in silence until it started to rain, and they ran back into the house. The rumble of the roof masked the sound of Kakarot's sobs, who stayed up all night.
Goku, not yet ten, had only been living with him for a few months, but Roshi could have sworn the boy had been studying martial arts for decades. When the boy practiced in secret, or so he believed, he demonstrated an almost complete mastery of every move and technique. It was evident that Gohan had taught him well, but there was something else, something inside the boy that pushed him to strive no matter what.
He reminded him of his own master, Lord Mutaito. He too had that fire in his eyes, in part it was what allowed him to be the first man ever to learn to use ki, the vital energy that all beings possess, but most live their entire lives without ever feeling.
At that time, Roshi was only one of the many dozens of Mutaito's disciples. He smiled remembering how he and Shen would sneak out of their bedrooms at night to watch the master train. Roshi knew he would never catch up with him, how could he? But still, he vowed to dedicate his life to martial arts, and save for a few decades of retirement, he had.
Many years later, with a gray beard and hair long gone from his head, after having unraveled the secrets of ki, and developed the Kamehameha, he finally considered himself a master and thus ready to take disciples.
Unlike Mutaito, who offered a place at his school to anyone who would ask, Roshi would only accept those who proved themselves worthy. He had seen many would-be warriors succumb, not to the enemy, but to their own weaknesses and inner demons; indulging in their vices, and using the teachings of better men to evil ends.
In his more than three hundred years in this world, Roshi had trained a dozen apprentices. Some had remained on the path of good, but lacking sufficient skill or courage, they fell in combat. Others, however, ended up becoming the kind of men he had sworn he would never train, and as their master, it was his duty to stamp out the evil he had helped to bring into the world.
After the last of these duels, more than a hundred years ago, he swore that he would not take a disciple again, and he meant it. It was then that he secluded himself on his small island, and for several decades, time passed without any disturbance to his peace.
One day a visitor arrived; a youngster, not yet a man. He had sincere eyes and a pure heart, he knew that at first glance. Of course, he turned him down. The boy apologized and left, saying that he would train on the coast north of the island, that he would visit him from time to time with provisions from the mainland, and to see if he would change his mind. He trained for an entire year without giving up, and finally, Roshi took him under his wing.
Like Mutaito, Gohan was gifted among the gifted. He had the potential to break a new ceiling in martial arts, and were it not for the loss of his wife and unborn child, Roshi knew he would have succeeded.
Many nights he had stayed awake, thinking of what could have been; a bad habit for a man with so many failures in his past.
Gyuma was the last of them. He came to him as a child, although his size already exceeded that of the vast majority of adults. He was strong but clumsy, and teaching him control was not easy. After years, he thought he'd set him on the right path, but the recent stories he'd heard about the terrible Ox King Gyuma left no room for doubt. Luckily, his brand of evil was small and contained to the greedy protection of his castle's treasures.
Goku could become his greatest achievement, a champion for good who inspired millions to follow in his footsteps. After a couple months of insistence, Roshi finally showed him the Kamehameha. The white-blue beam of light crossed the air over the sea and got lost beyond the horizon. Goku looked at him with astonished eyes, no doubt realizing how much he still had to learn, and then smiled.
He began practicing the movements: widening his stance, cupping his hands, and bringing them to his side, then thrusting them forward.
"You must concentrate all your ki in a single point, between your hands," Roshi told him, "and then release it at once in a beam."
Goku nodded and frowned with his eyes closed. "Kame…" He started again, this time slower, but with a clear contained tension. "...hame…" To his astonishment, a small ball of ki sprang up between his hands. "...ha!" Goku thrust his arms forward, and a wave of light split the air. It was small, but the energy beam was strong and stable.
"It can't be," Roshi said, thinking aloud. "Even Gohan trained for three years before he was able to do that."
Goku looked at his hands. "It was too small," he said with a deflated tone. "I'll have to keep training."
Roshi leaned over to come face to face with Goku and put his hands on his shoulders. "Goku, what you just did was no small task; many have spent their whole lives trying, and failing. Your grandfather would be so proud of you. I know I am."
Goku nodded with a sad glint in his eyes. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Is the Kamehameha the most powerful technique in the world?"
Roshi sighed and pondered his answer. As little as he liked it, Goku deserved to know the truth. "No. The Crane Hermit's Dodonpa deserves that title. It doesn't need to be charged, so it can be fired instantaneously, but it can be charged to increase its power. Unlike the Kamehameha, which slams its target, the Dodonpa is a causes an explosion on impact, and it emits heat, so it can also burn. It's a technique for assassins, which is what my old friend and rival became." He remained in silence for a while. "It is late, Goku. Let's go to sleep."
Roshi took off his shell and dropped onto his bed, but sleep eluded him.
Kakarot wolfed down his bowl of rice, hungry after the afternoon training. It had been nine months since the Turtle Hermit took him as an apprentice, and he could feel himself getting stronger with every passing day.
In the evenings, after dinner, the old man would tell him stories of Earth's martial artists. Tonight's was special, it was a story of his own youth: the story of the War against the Demon King Piccolo.
"Oh, his name sounded innocent enough," the old man said in a stern voice. "But he was cruel and fearsome; his power, overwhelming. He spawned a brood of monsters, his children, and together they transformed a peaceful world into a living hell. Even in the peak of my youth, I was no match for his offspring, much less for him.
"When they attacked Master Mutaito's School, only three of us survived the onslaught: Lord Mutaito, my friend and rival Shen, who became the Crane Hermit, and myself. Our master was the only one who could face the enemy head-on, and managed to kill several of Piccolo's demons with his original ki technique: the Thunder Shock Surprise. He carried us from the fight when we could no longer resist and were about to be killed by Piccolo's demons.
"We fled to a distant cave, and while Shen and I trained without rest to learn to use ki and Mutaito's technique, our master secluded himself in the depths of the earth to divine a solution to the world's end. After months of training, he came back. He was still not strong enough to defeat Piccolo, and perhaps never would be, so he came up with a new technique to seal the Demon King forever.
"Established as the ruler of the world by the right of might, Piccolo spent his days wreaking havoc, killing and enslaving at his black heart's content. We ambushed him, and while Shen and I kept his children busy, Mutaito unleashed his new technique: the Mafuba.
"A green whirlwind of light burst from his hands, and with a thrust of his arms, engulfed the air and captured the Demon King. The current of energy swirled in the air, as Mutaito and the Demon King struggled for control. Finally, Mutaito won and thrust the flow of energy and Piccolo inside an electric rice cooker, where he got imprisoned. Our master had saved the world, but the price of victory would be steep.
"The toll the Mafuba took was too great for any man to bear, and Mutaito fell to the ground, dying. With his last breath, he tasked us with hiding the rice cooker where it could never again be found so that Piccolo's evil would never return.
"After throwing the rice cooker into the depths of the ocean, Shen and I joined forces for the last time to hunt down the remaining sons of Piccolo, who despite their father's defeat, continued to spread their evil throughout the world. After killing the last of them, our paths parted. So much conflict had stirred a lust for power in Shen, although perhaps it had only fanned embers already in his heart."
Kakarot looked at the Turtle Hermit in silence. Two questions arose in his mind. "How old are you? I'm pretty sure Grandpa wasn't alive at that time, and he was old."
The Turtle Hermit laughed. "This year I will be three hundred and eighteen years old."
"That's not normal, is it?"
"No, Goku. During our hunt for Piccolo's sons, Shen and I found and drank from the elixir of immortality, which has extended our lives far beyond that of any human."
Now, that sounded useful, Kakarot thought. "Are you immortal, then?"
"No. All living things must die one day. The elixir only prolongs life, but it does not stop aging, or make one invincible. I am only exceptionally old. I can die, but it won't be old age that takes me."
"Shame. It would be great to be immortal..."
"Do you really think so? A truly immortal being would continue to live no matter what. The seas could dry up and the land become a wasteland, but an immortal being would remain alive, dying of thirst and hunger, but being unable to die."
"I see..."
But the idea of living forever had taken root in his mind. He could visit as many worlds as existed in the universe, and fight against all kinds of beings. He could be an eternal warrior; those he could not defeat he would simply outlive, becoming stronger all the while.
Forever.