Yamiru's hands gripped the slippery rocks at the shore, and his head dipped underwater as he drifted for a while. He was too exhausted to move.
If one observed closely, they would notice the muscles on his back twitching slightly, his skin sunburned from the long swim across the sea.
The old man floated ashore first and casually said, "Enough, stop pretending to be dead. Get up."
"Gurgle…"
Yamiru suddenly lifted his head out of the water, spitting out a large mouthful of seawater. Panting heavily, he grabbed the rock with his trembling hand, took a deep breath, and crawled up, nearly rolling over before collapsing onto the ground and gasping for air. He didn't waste time and, after recovering just a bit, forced himself to stand up again. His body was soaking wet, so he took off his shirt and draped it over his left shoulder. Streams of seawater slid over his small but visibly toned physique, giving off a distinctly masculine aura.
Feeling something, Yamiru glanced out toward the sea and saw the shark fin disappearing into the distance.
"…" He thought for a moment and, with both palms pressed together, bowed slightly toward the retreating shark.
Today, the shark had given him a lesson. And at the start, it hadn't really intended to take his life—based on the later speed, it was clear the shark had been holding back during the first part of the chase. It was worth a bow of respect.
"Click, click…" Yamiru suddenly heard the sound of a camera shutter.
He was a little surprised and quickly turned to see an animal-person walking toward him, hard to determine their age—seemingly with the head of a fish. They had a camera hanging from their neck and hurriedly walked over. Upon arrival, the figure extended their hand, cheerfully saying, "Hello, I'm Naruno, a reporter from Wano Entertainment News. Could I do a quick interview?"
"Who is this fish-headed person?" Yamiru felt puzzled and didn't want to engage. The old man beside him, however, said nothing and was already walking away.
"We've actually met before, on the passenger ship! Hey! Hey! Don't go!" The reporter, grabbed a recorder and chased after Yamiru. But Yamiru's stamina was far superior to that of this rookie reporter. Even though he was exhausted, he was gradually increasing the distance. Seeing he couldn't keep up, gave up the chase and instead snapped a few pictures of Yamiru's retreating figure. He muttered to himself, "He looks young, but his muscles are solid. No wonder he can swim faster than a shark! This Martial Arts Tournament wasn't a waste of time; there are indeed some extraordinary people out there…"
\---
"Please slow down…"
Yamiru felt his legs sore and cramping with every step as he followed the old man through the streets and alleys of Papaya Island. After some time, he couldn't help but beg for mercy.
The old man slowed his pace a bit and said, "Don't you still have half a Senzu bean?"
"You make it sound easy, but I'm not going to eat it unless I'm seriously injured," Yamiru replied, his skin nearly dried from the seawater, now covered with white, powdery salt that made him feel sticky and uncomfortable. He then asked, "Can I ask why you brought me to Papaya Island?"
"It's nothing much, I just feel... you need a 'starting point'," the old man continued walking without pausing. "A formal declaration that you've stepped onto the path of martial arts. You, boy, have potential, but you lack the confidence that strong individuals or those destined to be strong should have."
Yamiru walked alongside him, glancing around at the tropical scenery of Papaya Island. Hearing the old man's words, he fell silent, and his pace slowed slightly.
After catching up, Yamiru asked, "So, you brought me here because…"
"Lack of confidence comes from not having seen enough. You're strong, but how many people have you come across with similar strength? How many fights have you been in? You run around every day, but the results of all those months of running can't compare to the experience of being chased by a shark today. I brought you here today to get you to fight more people, to get into a real match on a proper stage. That way, you'll start to build some confidence."
Once the old man finished speaking, they reached their destination.
Yamiru, whose mind seemed to have been elsewhere, finally returned to the present. Only then did he notice the bustling, noisy environment around him. He quickly looked up and saw the large stone plaque with the words "The World's Number One Martial Arts Tournament" written boldly across it.
So, this was where they had come.
But it seemed the purpose of coming here was different from what Yamiru had expected. He had thought the old man brought him here to watch a tournament, but instead, the old man led him directly to the registration desk.
"Sign up," the old man told the overweight monk sitting behind the desk.
"Sir, aren't you a bit too old for this?" The monk kindly pointed out. "There are many skilled fighters here this time, even the famous King Chappa has signed up…"
"King Chappa?" Yamiru racked his brain and recalled—wasn't he the flashy guy with a ton of shadow punches and palm strikes, who got easily outdone by Little Goku and Big Goku in two rounds?
The old man responded, "It's not for me, it's for him."
He pointed down at Yamiru.
The monk stood up from his seat, craning his neck forward, and said in surprise, "Sir, you're not joking, are you?"
"Yeah, old man, you're not kidding, are you?" Yamiru found the old man's words rather amusing. He'd never seen anyone from the Dragon Ball world, who hadn't even trained in martial arts, show up at the World's Number One Martial Arts Tournament. Wasn't that just asking for trouble? "I'm just a kid with these small arms and legs, there's no way I'm winning the championship, right?"
"Heh, this little brat's got some nerve..." The monk thought to himself, shaking his head.
"It's impossible," the old man said, nodding in agreement without hesitation. He looked down at Yamiru and asked, "If you can't win the championship, does that mean you won't participate?"
Yamiru felt that what the old man said was both reasonable and unreasonable at the same time. But regardless, he couldn't find the words to argue. After a moment, he gritted his teeth, stamped his foot, and nodded firmly. "Fine, I'll participate! So what if I'll embarrass myself on stage? I'll give it my all!"
"Hoh hoh hoh… To think someone so young is participating. Looks like this year's tournament won't be a waste after all," the monk chuckled as he registered Yamiru for the competition.
As he finished the paperwork, the three of them suddenly heard a loud, elderly yet still powerful laugh. The old man seemed to have noticed the person approaching already but didn't bother to turn around. The monk put down his pen and greeted the newcomer with a smile, "What brings you out? I thought the abbot was keeping you company…"
"No use talking to that old monk. He doesn't even have a decent magazine to offer. Hard to believe he's lived so long!" The voice chuckled.
Yamiru, however, had already widened his eyes in shock.
A man with a shiny bald head, sporting red-framed black sunglasses and a thick white beard covering his lower face, walked in. He was dressed casually in a stylish floral shirt, loose beach shorts, and slippers, with thin legs and a relaxed, slightly bent posture. At his feet, a tired old turtle lay on the ground, panting with its tongue out…
Yamiru didn't need a second to recognize him. If he didn't know who this old man was, he'd rather gouge out his eyes, shout "I'm not worthy to be called a Dragon Ball fan" to the sky, and perish in disgrace!
The old man was none other than the Turtle Hermit!
Yamiru's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the Turtle Hermit. Confused, "he thought, What is he doing here? Wait, isn't Goku still not born yet?"
"Oh?" The Turtle Hermit's sunglasses glinted as he scratched his white beard. "Looks like you recognize me, young man?"