"What a sharp gaze this old turtle has!"
Just one glance, and he already noticed that I recognized him?
Yamiru muttered internally, feeling exasperated.
He thought he'd done a decent job keeping his expression neutral. Sure, his eyes widened a bit, but his facial muscles hadn't moved at all! Yet, the Turtle Hermit still saw through him—proof of how sharp this three-hundred-year-old monster truly was.
"Quite impressive, young man. You're so young yet seem knowledgeable!" The monk registering the participants clicked his tongue in admiration. "Master Mu Taro hasn't come to observe the Martial Arts Tournament for many years, and his whereabouts aren't widely known. For you to recognize him—remarkable! Hahaha…" His words were, of course, a compliment to the Turtle Hermit's enduring reputation.
"So Master Roshi true name is Mu Taro, this isn't showed in the original work" Yamiru firstly thought.
The Turtle Hermit simply chuckled and waved it off without comment.
"There was no need to panic. So what if he was recognized?" He also Though.
Yamiru forced a slight smile. After a brief moment of hesitation, he replied, "When I was in South City, I often followed news about the World Martial Arts Tournament… I've long heard of the God of Martial Arts fame..."
He had initially intended to say that he'd overheard other participants on Papaya Island talking about the Turtle Hermit. But then, glancing at the old man who'd brought him here, Yamiru decided against spinning such an obvious lie right in front of him. So he quickly adjusted his words. Although the logic of his statement was somewhat incoherent, it wasn't entirely untrue. While in South City, he had indeed paid attention to the World Martial Arts Tournament, and he had genuinely "heard" of the God of Martial Arts. The two facts, however, were unrelated.
The Turtle Hermit simply nodded, showing no particular interest. Behind his sunglasses, though, his gaze flicked discreetly toward a passing young lady in short shorts.
Of course, Yamiru had no clue about the Turtle Hermit's lecherous reason for wearing sunglasses. However, he did seem to hear the old man beside him let out a faint, disdainful snort.
"And this is…?" The Turtle Hermit's sharp ears, no longer dulled by years of watching aerobics on TV, had clearly caught the sound.
The old man ignored the Turtle Hermit entirely. He didn't even glance at him. Instead, he turned to Yamiru and said, "You should head inside for the preliminaries."
Yet, Yamiru's feet felt glued to the ground. His eyes were fixed on the Turtle Hermit's collar, which seemed slightly bulging. He caught a glimpse of something orange-yellow, smooth and round, peeking out from under it.
"The Dragon Ball… That's a Dragon Ball!"
This was the closest Yamiru had ever been to a Dragon Ball since crossing over into this world.
"What are you standing there for?" the old man asked, seeing Yamiru standing frozen like he'd lost his soul.
Yamiru was, in fact, deep in thought. He was seriously considering whether he should kneel down and kowtow to the Turtle Hermit right this second. Would that earn him a place as a disciple of the Turtle School? The idea was so tempting that it made his heart race.
Standing before him was one of the top martial arts masters on Earth!
Yamiru wanted to learn martial arts, and the best starting point would undoubtedly be under the Turtle Hermit's guidance.
After all, the old man who brought him here had already made it clear that he wouldn't take on any disciples. Mysterious and eccentric as he was, bringing Yamiru to the World Martial Arts Tournament didn't seem to serve any obvious purpose. Even if Yamiru somehow managed to fluke his way into winning the tournament, so what? Without a solid foundation in martial arts, he'd still need a teacher to guide him.
"Heh… Young man, your intentions are impure, and your mind is too scattered. I won't accept you as my disciple."
The Turtle Hermit's calm yet firm voice abruptly shattered Yamiru's thoughts.
Yamiru froze. "I was just thinking about it! I didn't even say anything, and you're already rejecting me? What about my dignity?" He thought.
"Can you read my mind?" he asked incredulously.
"It's because your thoughts are too strong," the Turtle Hermit explained helplessly. "At this distance, it's hard for an old man like me to ignore them."
The portly monk chuckled, "Master Mu, you truly are the God of Martial Arts. My grandfather used to tell me that during the earlier tournaments, your presence at the World Martial Arts Tournament would drive martial arts enthusiasts into a frenzy. Everyone wanted to meet the God of Martial Arts, and many hoped to become your disciple… Perhaps this young man is no different."
"Great, now they think I'm just a Turtle Hermit fanboy…" Yamiru lamented silently. "Wait, does the Turtle Hermit attend tournaments often? Oh, that's right, he seemed quite familiar with the event when he brought Goku and Krillin here…"
Even so, Yamiru felt utterly defeated. Damn, the old man can read minds, too?
In Dragon Ball, Goku could communicate telepathically with Krillin and King Kai. It seemed that mastering martial arts was akin to gaining supernatural abilities. Perhaps the reason the Turtle Hermit could easily read Nam's mind in the series was also due to Nam's intense emotions at the time…
Realizing this, Yamiru quickly focused on suppressing his thoughts, silently counting "1, 2, 3…" as if playing a game of freeze tag. Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Turtle Hermit craning his neck to follow the long legs of a passing woman in shorts.
Yamiru sighed in relief. He wasn't entirely sure what constituted "strong thoughts" that the Turtle Hermit couldn't ignore, but fortunately, while he'd been overthinking about the manga, the old man had been preoccupied ogling girls.
"Master Mu!" the sea turtle at his feet scolded, tapping his leg. "Mind your image!"
"Ahem, ahem!" The Turtle Hermit straightened up, suddenly looking serious. "I'm not taking disciples anymore. But young man, the fact that you have the courage to participate in the World Martial Arts Tournament at such a young age shows great potential. You don't need to be my student to achieve greatness." He spouted some formalities before casually strolling away with his shell on his back.
Watching the Turtle Hermit disappear into the distance, Yamiru felt utterly defeated.
"Has there ever been a transmigrator rejected by the Turtle Hermit after a single meeting? And with a critique of 'impure intentions and a scattered mind,' no less!"
"If wanting to follow a renowned master counts as impure intentions, then aside from Goku, who seeks a teacher without such motives? Isn't it because of your reputation as a top-tier instructor?"
"As for having a scattered mind—well, excuse me for being a Dragon Ball fan! Seeing you immediately makes me think of the Turtle School, Goku, Dragon Balls, Super Saiyans, Ultra Instinct… How is that my fault? Blame Akira Toriyama for making the series so captivating!"
Yamiru followed the old man to the preliminaries area, deep in thought.
Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself:"A person must first feel shame to become stronger. The Turtle Hermit said my mind is scattered—fine, I'll change that!"
"No more distractions! Focus on the present and what's in front of me."
Yamiru admitted that many of his flaws were remnants of his previous life. Having a mind full of chaotic thoughts was one of them. His lack of focus meant he constantly overthought everything. If someone threw him into the Naruto world, he'd never manage to master Sage Mode. But could he be blamed? In the information age, distractions were everywhere—nothing like this primitive, internet-free world of Dragon Ball Earth.
"Stop! Stop overthinking!"
Taking another deep breath, he recalled the clear-headed state he'd achieved while racing through the ocean earlier.
"Hah, I'll treat this as my first lesson from Master Roshi."
Having his flaws so mercilessly exposed by the Turtle Hermit felt like a harsh wake-up call. His tendency to overthink seemed even worse now. "How did Goku—or even Krillin—earn the Turtle Hermit's approval? Was Krillin's potential really that exceptional... Stop! Stop! Stop!"
Slapping his cheeks hard, Yamiru scolded himself: "Get a grip, Yamiru! The Turtle Hermit has already given up on you—so let him go! Forget him; he's not the right teacher for you!"
"Go on in," the old man said, stopping at the doors of a grand hall inside the temple. "This is the venue for the preliminaries."
"Got it!" Yamiru replied firmly. Fighting on stage should keep his mind too busy for distractions, right?
\---
As soon as he stepped inside, a cacophony of noise assaulted him, nearly making him lose his footing.
The makeshift arenas were arranged in sequence, with all sorts of bizarre contestants crowding around each ring. When Yamiru stepped into the hall, it felt as if the room went silent for a moment. Numerous eyes turned to him in unison. After realizing he was just a tiny kid, their gazes shifted away just as quickly, and the lively chatter resumed.
"Attention!" A white-browed, white-bearded monk climbed onto the central arena to explain the rules of the preliminary rounds.
Next came the drawing of lots to assign contestants to specific arenas.
Yamiru felt genuinely nervous. He was very familiar with this feeling and not surprised by it—his heart was pounding, and his hands felt slightly numb, similar to how he'd feel when giving a presentation in front of the class back in school.
He didn't rush to draw his lot. Instead, he stood in place for a moment, trying to adjust his mood and focus.
"Hey there," someone called to him from below.
Yamiru looked down. He wasn't used to this angle since, after his reincarnation, others always had to look down at him. It was a little boy with curly black hair. He looked familiar.
"It's you," Yamiru said. "Weren't you participating in some… professional fighting league with your master in South City?"
"My master's too weak. He lost in the first round," the boy, Mark, whispered. "Don't tell him I said that, okay?"
Yamiru noticed a tall man approaching them through the crowd. The man, sporting a bushy afro and a muscular build that stretched his tank top to its limits, was holding a lottery slip. Sure enough, it was Mark's master, Marda, the same coach who'd tried to recruit him in South City.
Yamiru wondered how Mark had managed to get in here. The elder who'd brought him had only escorted him to the entrance earlier.
"Easy," Mark said smugly. "I signed up for the tournament and came in, then forfeited."
"What? That's an option?!" Yamiru was baffled by the kid's creative thinking.
Mark asked, "Is that what you did too?"
"No, I'm actually going to fight in the matches." Yamiru flicked the boy's forehead lightly and walked over to draw his lot.
Soon, Yamiru finished and made his way to the board displaying the matchups. He wanted to see which arena he was assigned to and who his opponent would be.
Marda approached with his son in tow and asked, "What number did you draw?"
"Number 23, Arena One," Yamiru replied.
Marda laughed. "Looks like fate wants me to teach you a lesson."
He raised his slip, which read "Number 24."
Yamiru exchanged a glance with Mark, who raised a finger to his lips and made a "shh" gesture.
"Fate works in mysterious ways," Yamiru said with a smile.
First, he'd encountered Master Roshi today, only to be turned away. Now this—it truly felt like some cosmic coincidence.