The Journey Home - Everlasting

In the year 3102 of the Zeno Calendar, spring came earlier than usual to Mount Paozu. The wild cherry blossoms along the mountainside covered the slopes as early as February. The sea breeze swept their petals onto the beach outside Turtle Hermit House, where they settled on the shoulders and in the hair of the disciples training at dawn like a light pink snowfall.

The long table outside the Turtle Hermit House dojo was covered with bowls and chopsticks for seafood porridge. For decades, the stove in Turtle Hermit House's kitchen had never gone cold. The pot used for porridge had been replaced several times, but its flavor had never changed. Today, Talos's granddaughter was in charge of cooking it—she was already among the oldest of the Turtle Hermit School's fourth-generation disciples. There were no turtle shells in the porridge, but she had added an extra handful of dried scallops, because there were especially many visitors today.

Goku and Vegeta sat side by side in rattan chairs outside the dojo. Goku's white hair stuck up in a messy tangle, his tail hanging behind the chair as he argued with Vegeta over who had been sent flying first during their last sparring match. Vegeta snorted coldly and took a sip from his bowl, a faint smile hidden among the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Bulma sat beside Vegeta, her silver hair casually pinned behind her head with a pencil. A set of improvement blueprints for a ninth-generation cross-law scanner lay spread across her knees, but she was not looking at them. Her eyes were on the great-grandchildren chasing and roughhousing on the beach.

"Trunks was just as wild when he was little," she said.

"He still is." Vegeta set down his bowl and looked into the distance at Trunks, who was being chased all over the beach by Goten—both middle-aged men had their tails tangled together and were still trying to step on each other's feet.

Krillin and Lazuli sat on a reef. Their white hair stirred gently in the sea breeze. Krillin's Qi Net could still extend dozens of meters from his fingertips, while the cracks in the S-1 bracelet on Lazuli's left wrist had long since been sealed beneath a golden coating, forming an intricate pattern. Their granddaughter crouched on the nearby shore, weaving a brand-new Star Topology sub-node from threads of qi. Beside her, the blue-skinned girl helped calibrate its precision with energy sensing.

"Your great-grandfather said that weaving a net isn't meant to trap others. It's meant to connect them." Lazuli's granddaughter placed the completed sub-node on the reef. Golden motes flickered in the morning light, exactly as her grandmother had done in this same spot decades ago.

Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu sat beneath the rattan trellis outside the dojo. Only one of Tien Shinhan's three eyes was open now; the vision in another had long since deteriorated. But whenever he occasionally demonstrated the Third Eye Beam for the younger disciples, its light remained as precise as ever. Chiaotzu floated beside him. Though the range of his immobilization technique was no longer what it had been, its precision had become even greater.

Nappa emerged from the dojo carrying a brand-new broken pillar on his shoulder. His head had gone completely bald, but the way he carried that pillar was exactly the same as it had been decades ago. Lapis stood beside him, and the two were discussing today's extra training—Nappa insisted on running laps, while Lapis said that was outdated and they should switch to weighted squats. Their arguing carried across the entire beach, but no one found it annoying. Over the decades, those quarrels, like the aroma of seafood porridge, had become an inseparable part of Turtle Hermit House mornings.

Piccolo returned from New Planet Namek for the last time. The younger generation of Namekian warriors had completed their final Qi Fractals assessment in the plaza of The Lookout. Standing at its edge, he gazed down at the boundless sea of clouds. His combat uniform had been replaced by a plain robe, but the character for "Turtle" on his chest remained clear.

"Observation is protection. Recording is meaning." He quietly repeated the Night Watchers' inscription, then carved one final line beneath it—"Fourth-generation observer, Turtle Hermit School, record ongoing. Piccolo."

He put away his carving knife and turned toward the exit of The Lookout. Talos's granddaughter came running up from the entrance, carrying the copy of Mutaito's Notes that had been passed down through several generations. She was already one of the most composed among the Turtle Hermit School's fourth-generation disciples, yet before Piccolo, she remained as respectful as the child who had first learned to weave sub-nodes.

"Grandpa Piccolo, Teacher Mutaito said the last page of the notes was reserved for our generation."

"Have you written in it?"

"Not yet." She opened to the final page. It was densely filled with the names of the Turtle Hermit School's successors through the generations, with a single blank space left on the last line. Piccolo took the notes from her and looked at that empty space for a long time. Then he closed the book and gently placed it back in her palm. "No rush. Write when you know what you want to write."

At the summit of Mount Paozu, Talos and Lazuli stood side by side on the old reef where generations of Turtle Hermit School disciples had left footprints. Talos's hair had turned entirely white, and his back was no longer as straight as it had been in his youth, but he still stood on the reef as steadily as a boulder. Lazuli's golden hair had gained even more silver strands. The cracks in the S-1 bracelet on her left wrist were as dense as a spiderweb, every one sealed beneath an eternal golden coating. They gazed at the wild cherry blossoms flourishing across the mountainside and remained silent for a long time.

"You've been traveling between universes all these decades," Lazuli said.

"I won't be traveling anymore." Talos reached out and gently took her wrinkled hand. "We've handed Turtle Hermit over to our daughter and her group. What old people like us need to do isn't keep patrolling the universe. It's protect the dojo and teach the next generation well."

Lazuli did not answer. She only gripped his hand more tightly. In the distance, smoke curled from the chimney of Turtle Hermit House, and the sea breeze carried the scent of seafood porridge all the way to the summit. Down at the mountainside dojo, the new generation of disciples trained with great enthusiasm. Talos's granddaughter was teaching even younger children the first basic form of fist training—a straight punch. She corrected every child's movements, stern but never angry, exactly like her grandfather had been in his youth.

When the setting sun dyed the entire South Sea gold and crimson, Goku sat alone on a reef at the edge of the beach. The orange-gold aura around him had faded long ago, and the ocean he had watched his entire life was reflected in his pupils. He lowered his head and looked at his callused palms—these hands had fired countless Kamehamehas and used Instant Transmission across innumerable battlefields, from Earth to Namek, from The Lookout to the Tournament of Power, from the Connection Sea to the Night Watcher Observatory. At this moment, they simply rested quietly on his knees, palms upward, as if waiting to receive something.

Talos walked over and sat beside him. The two white-haired old men watched the sunset side by side, silent for a long while.

"Goku, what was the happiest day of your life?" Talos asked.

Goku tilted his head and thought for a moment, then grinned. "The day I first met you on Mount Paozu. You said you were my brother. Back then, I didn't really understand what a brother was, but when you put your hand on my head, I felt all warm inside."

Talos did not reply. He simply reached out and placed a hand atop Goku's head of white hair. It was the exact same gesture he had made many years ago beneath the morning light of Mount Paozu.

"Me too," he said.

Late that night, a bonfire was lit on the beach outside Turtle Hermit House. The Turtle Hermit School's annual gathering reached an unprecedented scale that evening—not just the older generation and the new one, but even patrol members normally scattered throughout the twelve universes had specially returned. The Saiyan homeworld of Universe 6 sent representatives from three generations of trainees. The first graduating class of New Planet Namek's warrior tradition was all present. The civilization from Universe 4 that never fought sent an entire ship of blue-skinned energy sensers. Their children and Earth's children sang the same song beside the bonfire in their respective languages.

Master Roshi sat at the very center of the bonfire, leaning on his cane. His white hair gleamed warmly in the firelight. He flipped through the copy of Mutaito's Notes that had been passed down for generations and began reading from the first page. Mutaito's name. His own name. Zhao Tiexin's name. Talos's name. Vegeta's name. Krillin's name. Lazuli's name. Tien Shinhan's name. Piccolo's name. Nappa's name. Lapis's name. Chiaotzu's name. Bulma's name. Chi-Chi's name. Trunks's name. Gohan's name. Goten's name. Then came the name of Talos's daughter, Lazuli's granddaughter, the blue-skinned girl, the first group of trainees from Universe 6, and the first graduate of New Planet Namek's warrior tradition. Every name was a story, and every story was illuminated by the bonfire.

When he reached the final page, Master Roshi stopped. He took off his sunglasses—something he had done countless times before, but this time was different. He laid them beside the notes, stood up, and walked over to Talos's granddaughter.

"This page is for all of you. Not for one person, but for everyone. From today onward, the Turtle Hermit School will have no master—because every one of you is a master. The Turtle Hermit School isn't one person's school. It's a home for a group of people."

Talos's granddaughter accepted the notes with both hands, her eyes slightly red. She opened to the final page and did not write anything. Instead, she held the blank page up toward the bonfire. Firelight passed through the paper, revealing countless faint patterns—handprints left in its fibers after generations of people had touched it again and again. Every layer of handprints proved that someone had come, learned, taught, and loved.

"There's no need to write anything." She lowered the notes, her voice soft but steady. "This page was never blank."

When the bonfire blazed at its brightest, Goku rose from the reef. Everyone looked toward him. He walked to the center of the fire, his orange gi glimmering in the flames, his white hair stirring lightly in the sea breeze. He struck no pose. He merely stood there, looking at the familiar faces around him—Vegeta, Krillin, Tien Shinhan, Piccolo, Nappa, Lapis, Chiaotzu, Bulma, Chi-Chi, Trunks, Gohan, Goten, and those younger faces, those friends who had come from afar from Universe 6, New Planet Namek, and Universe 4.

"A very, very long time ago, Talos taught me something. He said—true strength isn't about how many enemies you defeat. It's about how many companions you protect." His voice remained as clear as a boy's, exactly as it had been when he first stepped onto the martial arts tournament stage decades ago. "The thing I'm proudest of in my life isn't becoming stronger. It's having all of you."

The bonfire crackled, and sparks flew toward the star-filled night sky. In that instant, everyone felt it—not a change in qi, but a deeper connection. Every patrol station in the Connection Sea lit up with a faint golden glow at once, from Universe 7 to Universe 6, from New Planet Namek to the Night Watcher Observatory, from Zeno's Palace to the depths of the void where the Creator slept. Across the universe, every civilization ever connected by the Turtle Hermit School lit up in the school's golden light.

Deep within The Lookout, Piccolo returned the rubbing of the final Night Watcher stele to its place. He walked outside and stood at the edge of the plaza, looking down at the Turtle Hermit House beach below, red in the reflection of the bonfire. Mr. Popo stood beside him, holding two cups of hot tea.

"How many years have you been recording?" Mr. Popo asked.

"Since the day I hatched—decades now." Piccolo accepted a cup and took a sip.

"Will you keep recording?"

"I will. The Night Watchers' inscription only wrote the first half—observation is protection, recording is meaning. We wrote the second half ourselves—protection is inheritance, recording is eternity."

On the beach, the bonfire gradually burned low. The young disciples had fallen asleep in every which way around the fire—Talos's granddaughter rested her head on Lazuli's granddaughter's shoulder, while the blue-skinned girl curled up beside them, her tail draped over her stomach like a blanket. The older generation still sat around the bonfire. No one wanted to leave.

Goku leaned against Talos's shoulder, eyes closed, breathing as steady as the tide. Talos did not move. He only raised a hand and gently placed it on Goku's graying hair. Vegeta sat opposite them, the golden glimmer in his eyes growing clearer in the firelight. Krillin and Lazuli sat side by side, golden lines of Star Topology flowing slowly between their wrists. They needed no words, and no reason. Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu had fallen asleep against the rattan chairs, Chiaotzu's head tilted onto Tien Shinhan's shoulder. Nappa and Lapis were still quietly arguing over tomorrow's extra training—Nappa said running, Lapis said squats. Bulma leaned against Vegeta's arm, still clutching an unfinished blueprint for the ninth-generation scanner, though her eyes had already closed.

Master Roshi stood with his cane and looked at the young faces sleeping in every direction across the beach, at the old faces around the bonfire, and at the night sky paved with starlight overhead. He removed his sunglasses and wiped them with the corner of his clothes—another gesture he had made countless times, but this time he wiped them for a long while. Then he put the sunglasses back on, turned, and headed toward Turtle Hermit House. At the door, he stopped with his back to everyone.

"The porridge is still hot. Come in if you want some."

Behind him, the bonfire gave one final flicker and consumed its last piece of wood. Moonlight over Mount Paozu spilled across the beach, turning the connected shadows of orange gis silver. Inside the Turtle Hermit House kitchen, a fresh pot of seafood porridge bubbled warmly on the stove. The cat called Puar snored beside it, his tail curled into a circle around a golden sub-node someone had left there. Talos's granddaughter had placed it by the stove after morning training, saying it was Puar's toy. Puar loved it. Every day, he had to curl his tail around it before he could sleep.

Many years later, Talos sat on the old reef, turning the pages of Mutaito's Notes in his hands. The paper had yellowed, but the writing on every page remained clear. Lazuli sat beside him. They were both in the twilight of their lives.

"What do you think the name Turtle Hermit School really means?" Lazuli asked.

Talos closed the notes and looked at the South Sea he could never tire of watching. Then he looked at the dojo on the mountainside, where boxing was still being taught, at the young figures in orange gis on the beach, and at the smoke rising from the chimney of Turtle Hermit House. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"The Turtle Hermit School means—someone came, learned, taught, loved. Then life goes on without end."

Outside the dojo, Master Roshi lay in the reclining chair he had used for decades, his white hair glowing warmly in the morning light. His eyes were closed, and a smile rested on his lips. Beside his hand sat that bowl of seafood porridge that never seemed to run out. No one called him to wake up, because everyone knew he was too tired. In his dream, he returned to many years ago. Beneath the moonlight of Mount Paozu, three youths in orange gis stood on the beach and solemnly bowed to him in the formal salute of martial artists seeking a master. He took off his sunglasses and said, "You three are the finest work of my life."

Then he closed his eyes forever.

For the first time, no whistle sounded for morning training on the beach outside Turtle Hermit House. All the disciples had come from the twelve universes, wearing the same orange training uniforms, standing on the beach, at the dojo entrance, and atop Mount Paozu. No one cried, because Master Roshi had been smiling when he left.

Talos took Mutaito's Notes down from the wooden plaque that had hung above the dojo entrance for decades. Opening to the last page, he found that the blank space left empty for so many years had finally been filled in—"The Turtle Hermit School shall endure forever. All fourth-generation disciples."

The old wooden plaque above the dojo entrance was taken down. A new one replaced it, bearing the same four words—Turtle Hermit School Dojo. Beneath them was a line of smaller characters, left by Master Roshi in the blank space on the last page of the notes before he departed, the ink still wet: Master said no using ki, but you can keep running.

Moonlight fell over the new plaque on Mount Paozu, as bright as it had been decades ago, when three youths first put on their orange training uniforms beneath that same moon. On the beach, a new round of morning training began. Talos's granddaughter stood at the front of the formation, clasped her hands in salute, and solemnly bowed to the new plaque. Then she turned to face the hundreds of young disciples in orange uniforms behind her.

"The Turtle Hermit School Dojo's morning training begins. Ten laps around the island—no using ki."

"Yes!"

The orange uniforms formed a brilliant swath beneath the morning light, stretching toward the far end of the beach. Talos and Lazuli sat side by side on the old reef, watching the figures run into the distance. Goku and Vegeta stood atop the mountain, their white hair gently stirred by the morning breeze. Krillin and Lazuli's granddaughter had already reached the front of the group, her tail swaying happily behind her, exactly like her grandmother's had when she first stepped onto this beach decades ago.

Inside the kitchen of Turtle Hermit House, a fresh pot of seafood porridge bubbled away, steaming hot. Master Roshi's old bowl, used for decades, still rested on the stove. At its bottom was a crookedly carved character for "Turtle"—something Goku had secretly carved while training at Turtle Hermit House. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, scattered through the morning light by the sea breeze, floating together with the crisp cries of "Yes!" toward the Connection Sea, toward the Night Watcher Observatory, toward every place in the twelve universes that glowed with a faint golden light.

The moonlight over Mount Paozu faded, and the sun rose. Ever enduring, the journey unfinished.