Decades Later

In the year 3100 of the Zeno Calendar, the moonlight over Mount Paozu was as tranquil as it had been decades ago.

On the beach outside Turtle Hermit House, the whistle for morning training had yet to sound, but the dojo entrance was already packed. They were not disciples, but the disciples' disciples—the young faces of the fourth and fifth generations of the Turtle Hermit School stood shoulder to shoulder in several rows, their orange gi forming a bright swath in the morning light. Some quietly reviewed the basic fist-form mnemonics from yesterday. Some secretly strapped on an extra pair of weighted wristguards. Others stood on tiptoe to peer into the dojo, waiting for the figure with a cane to push open the door.

The dojo doors opened. Master Roshi emerged leaning on his cane. His hair had gone completely white, and the cane had long ceased to be for supporting his body; it was merely a teaching tool for rapping disciples on the head. He stood at the entrance and swept his gaze across the lines, his voice strong and resonant. "Today's morning training is simple—run ten laps around the island. No using qi."

A collective gasp rose from the group. This island had been expanded several times by generations of Turtle Hermit School disciples, and one lap now covered at least a dozen kilometers. A little Saiyan girl with a brown ponytail raised her hand—Talos's granddaughter, who had just turned seven this year. Her tail stiffened nervously behind her. "Teacher Mutaito, I've only just started learning the Flight Technique. Can't I finish learning it before I start running?"

"No." Master Roshi adjusted his sunglasses. "Your grandfather had to finish running before he learned the Flight Technique too. Go."

The little girl said nothing more. She turned and sprinted off first. The other children streamed after her, their orange gi leaving flowing streaks of light and shadow across the beach. Master Roshi watched their retreating figures and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Talos's granddaughter ran at the very front, her tail swaying happily in the morning breeze, exactly like her grandfather when he first set foot on this beach decades ago.

In the coconut grove behind the dojo, Talos and Goku sat side by side beneath an old coconut tree that had once been bent crooked by a typhoon, then grown straight again on its own. Both were now white-haired, their orange gi faded from countless washings, yet their backs remained straight. Goku held a bowl of seafood congee—the Turtle Hermit House kitchen had never stopped serving it for breakfast these past decades. He took a sip, his tail slowly swaying behind him. "Your granddaughter asked me earlier why they aren't allowed to use qi while running laps. I told her it was because her great-grandfather taught me the same way. She asked who her great-grandfather was, so I told her he was her grandfather's master's master."

Talos's lips curled faintly. "Like she could understand that."

"It doesn't matter if she doesn't. Once she finishes ten laps, she'll understand." Goku set the bowl on his knees and watched the orange figures on the distant beach grow smaller and smaller. The usual playfulness had faded from his voice. "Do you remember the first time we ran laps on this beach? Krillin complained that ten laps were too many, and Teacher Mutaito threatened to add another ten."

"I remember. Krillin's face was whiter than his bald head."

Goku laughed, softly. In the distance, that bald old man was organizing the morning training equipment with Lazuli at the dojo entrance. Their movements had slowed considerably, but the Qi Net at their fingertips remained as precise as ever. Krillin's hair was now completely white, and several silver strands had appeared in Lazuli's golden hair. The cracks in the S-1 bracelet around her left wrist had long ago been sealed beneath a golden coating, forming fine patterns like ice on a winter river.

"How many laps have we run in this lifetime?" Goku asked.

"Too many to count." Talos leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. The sea breeze passed through the coconut grove, stirring his graying hair. "From Earth to Namek, from The Lookout to the Tournament of Power, from the Connection Sea to the Night Watcher Observatory. We ran every step of the way."

"Tired?"

"No." Talos opened his eyes, his pupils reflecting the southern sea he never tired of seeing. "Because I was never running alone."

Goku did not answer. He merely lifted his bowl and continued drinking. The sea breeze carried waves of children's noise from the dojo—some argued over whose straight punch was more proper, some screamed that Nappa's extra training was too brutal, and some laughed as Trunks got his tail stepped on by Goten again.

On the beach, Lazuli and Krillin's granddaughter crouched beside a reef, weaving a thumb-sized Star Topology sub-node with qi threads. A blue-skinned girl watched intently beside her, occasionally using energy perception to help calibrate its precision. Both girls had grown into graceful young maidens. One had inherited Lazuli's precise perception of energy structures, while the other possessed an innate gift for submicron-level energy resonance. Their orange gi fluttered slightly in the morning light, and pale-gold qi threads were tied around their wrists—beginner training tools Krillin had woven by hand.

"My great-grandfather said that the Qi Net isn't for trapping people. It's for connecting them." Lazuli's granddaughter gently placed the finished sub-node on the reef. Golden points of light flickered in the morning sun. "But every time he spars with Grandpa Nappa, the first thing he does is wrap him up in a Qi Net so he can't move."

"That's because Grandpa Nappa always says, 'This time I'm definitely going to punch through your net,' so Great-Grandpa has to strike first." The blue-skinned girl laughed and poked the sub-node. Her energy perception automatically adjusted its frequency into perfect synchronization with the distant dojo's main node. The tiny golden point on the reef suddenly brightened, then stabilized, pulsing slowly in the same rhythm as the S-1 bracelet around Lazuli's wrist in the distance.

Inside the dojo, Nappa was demonstrating frontal firepower for a group of young disciples. He had gone completely bald, but the way he carried a broken pillar on his shoulder was exactly the same as decades ago. Though he had restrained the power of his Compressed Tri-Beam somewhat, its range could still cover half the training ground. Lapis stood beside him, breaking down the movements of Infinite Barrage. He deliberately slowed his speed severalfold so the disciples could clearly see the force path behind every punch. One taught explosive power, the other endurance. The plaque above the training hall still read "Three-Eyed Immobilization Style"—Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu had retired long ago, but they still came to sit at the dojo every evening. Only one of Tien Shinhan's three eyes remained open now; the vision in another had deteriorated. Yet whenever he occasionally demonstrated the Third Eye Beam for the disciples, the beam was still as precise as ever. Chiaotzu still floated beside him wearing his little round cap. The range of his immobilization technique was no longer what it used to be, but its precision had become even greater. As Tien Shinhan put it, "When you're old, precision is how you make your living."

"That move you used to immobilize me yesterday had a nastier angle than it did fifty years ago." Tien Shinhan sat in a wicker chair outside the training hall, holding a cup of hot tea.

"Fifty years ago, you could still dodge it." Chiaotzu floated beside him, his little round cap tilted slightly by the wind.

"I can't dodge it anymore. Now I can only take it head-on."

"Then don't dodge next time." Chiaotzu said it, then could not help laughing himself.

Piccolo had returned from New Planet Namek. It was his first time returning to Earth for the Turtle Hermit School's annual gathering since retiring. The tendrils of his Qi Fractals remained precise, though fewer in number than during his prime. He sat on a stone platform in the corner of the dojo, surrounded by young Namekian students and Earthling disciples. Some asked what the Night Watcher Observatory was like. Others asked what the oldest segment in Alpha's memory fragments contained. He did not answer. He simply took the rubbing he had made from the Observatory's stone stele from his robes and placed it on the platform. The original text, "Observation is protection; record is meaning," had been worn somewhat blurry, but every character remained legible.

Vegeta stood at the dojo entrance. His dark-blue aura had long since ceased to burn, but the golden radiance he had brought back from the Night Watcher Observatory still flowed through his eyes. He no longer sparred with Goku every day, but they still fought once in a while—the latest had been last month, when Bulma said, "Those two old men are harder on floor tiles than young people." At the moment, he stood with his arms crossed, watching Trunks and the younger Goten teach a group of new-generation disciples the basic coordination for fusion techniques. Even as middle-aged men demonstrating the moves, the two still could not stop stepping on each other's tails, just as they had decades ago in The Lookout plaza.

"Father, want to come demonstrate?" Trunks called from afar.

"No. You've learned well enough already." Vegeta's voice remained indifferent, but Bulma, on the other side of the dojo, saw the curve at the corner of his mouth. She was leading a new generation of researchers in the Turtle Hermit House basement, upgrading an inter-law scanner. Her silver hair was casually pinned up behind her head with a pencil. Trunks's son, Vegeta's grandson—a boy who had inherited both Saiyan blood and Bulma's hair color—was sprawled beside the workbench, handing wrenches to his grandmother. The inter-law scanner had now been upgraded to its ninth generation. It was only one-tenth the size of the original, yet its detection range covered all known star fields across the twelve universes. Bulma looked up from the workbench and pushed up her goggles. "The core algorithm for the ninth-generation upgrade was written by your daughter. She's far more reliable than you were."

Chi-Chi stuck her head out from the kitchen and called, "The congee is ready!" Then she carried a freshly cooked pot of seafood congee to the long table outside the dojo. The Turtle Hermit House kitchen had never stopped serving that breakfast in all these decades. The pot had been replaced several times, but the taste was exactly the same as it had been decades ago.

On the beach, Talos's granddaughter finished her ten laps. Though she had yet to learn the Flight Technique, she straightened up while panting—remembering what her father had told her: Grandpa trained like this since he was little, and so did Great-Grandpa. She did not know how many generations came before "Great-Grandpa," but she did not need to know the rules of the Turtle Hermit School—as long as you finished ten laps, you were Turtle Hermit School.

After morning training ended, Talos climbed alone to the summit of Mount Paozu. Lazuli followed behind him, and the two stood side by side on that old reef. The footprints on this reef were no longer merely the pair Zhao Tiexin had left all those years ago. Over the decades, every generation of Turtle Hermit School disciples had stood here, leaving marks of varying depths. Some were still fresh; some had been worn smooth by the sea breeze.

"You've been running between the stars all these decades." Lazuli looked out at the calm sea in the distance.

"I won't run anymore." Talos said.

Lazuli turned to look at him.

"I'll leave the years ahead to the family. To my granddaughter, to the dojo. The Turtle Hermit goes to my daughter and her generation. What old-timers like us should do isn't keep patrolling the universe—it's protect the dojo and teach the next generation well." He reached out and gently took Lazuli's wrist. The cracks in that S-1 bracelet glimmered softly in the morning light, every one of them sealed forever beneath its golden coating.

Lazuli did not answer. She simply held his hand tighter.

At The Lookout, Piccolo carved a new line beside the Night Watcher Observatory rubbing: "Fourth-generation observers, Turtle Hermit School, record ongoing." He signed his name beneath it. Goku, Vegeta, Krillin, Lazuli, Tien Shinhan, Chiaotzu, Nappa, Lapis, Bulma, Chi-Chi, Trunks, Gohan, Goten, the blue-skinned girl, Talos's daughter, and his granddaughter—all their names were carved below in sequence. Every generation of Turtle Hermit School disciples had left their names here, beginning with Mutaito and continuing to the present day. After carving the final character, he set the engraving knife beside the stele and walked out of The Lookout.

In the distant depths of the void, the Creator slowly opened his eyes. Dark-gold patterns flowed quietly around him. Within that endless sea of stars, every civilization still evolving continued to evolve, and every network still connecting continued to spread. Along the boundary of the twelve universes, the Turtle Hermit patrol ship sailed slowly toward another unknown star field. On the bridge, Talos's daughter sat in the captain's chair. Beside her lay the orange gi her father had worn in his youth—faded from washing, but with the "Turtle" emblem on its chest still clear. Her daughter sat atop a Star Topology sub-node, weaving a golden sub-node no larger than a grain of rice with newly learned qi threads.

"Your grandfather once said that civilizations don't connect in order to survive. They survive in order to connect." Talos's daughter watched the golden point of light in her daughter's palm grow brighter and smiled faintly.

"Does Grandpa still say that now?" The little girl did not look up, wrapping her qi thread around once more.

"Now he only says—the congee's still hot. Come home and eat."

Smoke curled from the chimney of Turtle Hermit House. In the kitchen, a fresh pot of seafood congee bubbled away, steaming hot. The cat called Puar snored beside the stove—it was unknown which generation of Puar this was, but the black cat curled beside the stove in exactly the same pose as the one from decades ago. Master Roshi sat in a reclining chair by the doorway, Mutaito's Notes, passed down through several generations, spread across his lap. He turned to the final page, where the names of generations of Turtle Hermit School successors filled the page densely. The final line had one space left, enough for the next generation of disciples to write their names.

He took off his sunglasses and wiped them with the hem of his clothes, gazing at the orange figures chasing and playing in the morning light on the distant beach. Talos's granddaughter was pulling Lazuli's granddaughter along the sand, competing to see whose woven sub-node shone brighter. Their qi threads intertwined in the morning sunlight, forming a fine golden web. Nappa shouted for them to join the extra training, and Lapis added expressionlessly, "Today's extra training is still running laps." The two little girls wailed at the same time, while Nappa's laughter shook the sky.

"Teacher, do you see it? Life goes on without end." Master Roshi spoke softly, put his sunglasses back on, and rose to walk toward the kitchen. The congee on the stove was still bubbling with heat. Puar rolled over beside the stove, curling his tail into a ring.

Moonlight fell over Mount Paozu's beach, dyeing that faded orange gi silver. The wooden plaque above the dojo entrance, hanging there for decades, swayed gently in the sea breeze. It bore only four words—"Turtle Hermit School Dojo." Below them was a newly carved line in Talos's granddaughter's crooked handwriting: Teacher says no using qi, but we can keep running.