Master Roshi's Choice

A sea breeze blew past, carrying a few scraps of newspaper.

Master Roshi sat under the beach umbrella that hadn't been blown away yet, a copy of Playboy in his hands, but his eyes behind the Sunglasses weren't focused on the bikini-clad beauties.

Everyone was gone.

For the past three years, leading up to the Martial Arts Tournament, they'd all gathered at Kame House—the liveliest stretch of his entire life.

Every day, listening to Goku yell for food, watching Krillin and Yamcha bicker—it was noisy, but full of life.

Now, Goku was married, Yamcha had left, and Tien Shinhan had his own path.

Even Krillin, who'd always stuck by his side, was the world champion now, and he had Bulma.

"Sigh..."

Master Roshi let out a long sigh, feeling truly old.

This turtle shell suddenly felt a lot heavier.

"What's up, old man? What's with the sigh?"

A teasing voice suddenly blasted in his ear.

Master Roshi flinched, dropping the magazine onto the sand.

He jerked his head up and found Krillin squatting in front of him, grinning.

"Whoa! You little brat! Can't you make any noise when you walk?!"

Master Roshi picked up the magazine, covering his embarrassment.

"Weren't you going on a honeymoon with Bulma? Why haven't you left yet?"

"We were about to, but I suddenly remembered there's a lonely old man with no one to look after him, so I came back to check."

Krillin sat down unceremoniously next to Master Roshi and snatched the Sunglasses off his face, putting them on himself.

"Who's a lonely old man! I have the Sea Turtle, and a TV!"

Master Roshi bristled.

"Shoo, shoo, get lost. Don't bother me while I'm reading."

Krillin didn't move. He just quietly stared at the sea.

"Master Roshi."

"What?"

"Come to West City with me."

Master Roshi froze for a second, then waved his hand dismissively.

"What would I do in West City? That's a place for you young people. Cars and buildings everywhere, bad air too."

"I've lived on this little island for over a hundred years. I can't leave this sea."

"Really not coming?" Krillin's lips curled into a sly grin.

"I heard from Bulma that West City just opened the biggest Water Park on the whole planet."

Master Roshi's ear twitched, but he forced himself to stay calm.

"What's so special about a Water Park? I've got water all around me here."

"That's different."

Krillin leaned in close to Master Roshi's ear, whispering like a devil.

"That Water Park is full of young girls wearing the latest swimsuits."

"And since Bulma's the heiress of Capsule Corporation, she has the Supreme VIP Card for the place. Which means..."

Krillin deliberately drew out his words.

"We can go to the exclusive Private Pool Area. No outsiders, just endless beautiful waitresses, and unlimited iced drinks and magazines."

"And most importantly..."

Krillin pulled a photo from his pocket—one he'd just generated with the system as a "West City Beach Real View" (though it was heavily airbrushed).

"The girls there really admire martial artists. Especially respected, immortal-like old masters like you. They love those."

Master Roshi's eyes behind the Sunglasses went wide in an instant, and two streams of nosebleed shamelessly dripped down.

He snatched the photo, hands trembling.

"Th-this... th-this... those long legs... that fair skin..."

"So? You coming?"

Krillin pressed his advantage.

"I've set aside a villa with a pool for you right next to Bulma's place. You can bring the Sea Turtle too—the water quality there is way better than this crummy bay."

Master Roshi swallowed hard, his inner dignity and instincts locked in a fierce battle.

"Ahem!"

After a moment, Master Roshi cleared his throat with feigned seriousness, tucked the photo into his robe, and pushed up the non-existent Sunglasses (still on Krillin's face).

"Since you're so filial, I suppose this master can't refuse."

"After all, I've taught you for so many years, and my body really does need... hmm, some recuperation."

"But!"

Master Roshi's tone shifted.

"I can't stay there all the time. Kame House is the foundation of our school; someone has to guard it."

"Then how about one week a month?"

Krillin suggested.

"Think of it as a consulting fee for guiding our training."

"One week?"

Master Roshi stroked his chin, as if calculating how many beauties he could ogle in that time.

"Deal! But you're covering the travel expenses!"

"Relax, with me here, travel's free."

Krillin stood up, handed the Sunglasses back to Master Roshi, and extended his hand.

"Let's go, master. Bulma's waiting over there. There's a Swimsuit Fashion Show in West City tonight—if we're late, we'll miss it."

"What?! A Swimsuit Fashion Show?!"

Master Roshi sprang up from his lounge chair, moving with a nimbleness that belied his three-hundred-year-old age.

He dashed into the house with lightning speed, slung the shell marked with the "Turtle" character onto his back, and grabbed a walking cane.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry! Krillin! Use that Instant Transmission thing of yours! Stop dawdling!"

Watching the old man hopping around in a frenzy, Krillin couldn't help but laugh out loud.

This was his master—lecherous, unserious, but more reliable than anyone when it counted: Master Roshi.

"Hold tight, old man."

Krillin placed one hand on Master Roshi's shoulder and the other around Bulma, who was stifling a laugh beside him.