Dragon Ball Roshi-Chapter 300: Older Than the Stars?

Who in this world could truly call themselves a "Muten"?

Who would dare inscribe the characters "Muten" on their blade?

The warrior monks of Orin Temple stared at Yajirobe's sword, their expressions shifting repeatedly, until one of them finally asked, half suspicious:

"Where did you get that sword? You actually dared to inscribe 'Muten' on it?!"

Yajirobe remained completely unfazed and scoffed, "Do I need to explain where my sword came from to you lot? If I've really offended someone from the Muten School, then someone from the Muten School will come punish me. What business is it of yours? Huh, that's odd... weren't you all just saying you were gonna confiscate my sword and chant scriptures to ward off evil? Why so quiet now?"

He brazenly sized up the bald monks around him.

"N-no, we wouldn't dare. With the Muten's title engraved, how could there be any evil about it? We wouldn't dare, wouldn't dare..." stammered the monk he glared at, waving his hands frantically.

As Yajirobe's gaze swept over them one by one, each monk flinched and shook his head in denial.

"Whether that's truly the Muten's blade or not, we can't be sure—and we wouldn't dare test it. But you, fat brat, you're far too insolent. No respect for elders, your mouth's been disrespectful from the start. You're like a little devil! If we don't subdue you, make you eat vegetarian and recite sutras for a few days, people'll say Orin Temple's lost all compassion!"

Just then, a glib-tongued bald monk leapt out of the crowd. His face wore a mask of serenity, but his words were sharp as blades. His eyes gleamed as he stared at Yajirobe. Sensing that the verbal pressure had built up enough and Yajirobe hadn't replied, he let out a cold chuckle.

"So he's just a brat after all," he thought, and reached out to seize Yajirobe.

But right then, Yajirobe narrowed his eyes. The Muten Blade slid a few more inches from its sheath—then snap, returned fully inside.

His other hand moved to the hilt of his second sword, wrapped tight in bandages. As the monk's hand neared his neck—clang!—a flash of steel!

Like a shooting star across the night sky, in a moment no one could even register, Yajirobe had already drawn his sword, struck, stepped forward, spun the blade in flourish, and returned it to its sheath.

The bald monk looked at the red welt left by the sword's back on his forearm. His expression darkened, shifting like storm clouds.

The others stared at the little fat kid who'd just sheathed his blade, fuming yet not daring to make a move. He'd only used the back of the sword—and it wasn't even his more dangerous one...

If he'd used the edge, that monk's hand would be gone. And what none of them knew was—if Yajirobe had drawn the other sword, the Muten Blade—not just that monk's hand, but this entire little tavern would've been sliced in half.

This wasn't martial arts. It wasn't ki.

It was pure, unadulterated swordsmanship. Kenjutsu.

Yajirobe had never practiced martial arts—let alone ki techniques. All he'd trained in since childhood was how to swing a blade faster, harder, more effectively. How to slice an enemy cleanly in two... Nothing else mattered. He'd heard of martial arts, martial ways, associations, and such... but they never interested him.

"With a divine blade, slay gods and ghosts."

That was the teaching of his master—his father—who gave him the name Robe. Yajirobe had always kept it close to heart.

The divine blade, of course, was the Muten Sword passed down by his master.

As for gods and ghosts? Yajirobe hadn't found them yet.

But his master had said he would, someday.

And Yajirobe believed him.

So he kept wandering. This time, he was heading south.

"You... you... very well!" the monks growled, teeth clenched, but none of them dared make another move.

That single strike from Yajirobe had shaken them.

Even if they didn't think much of him, his swordsmanship was terrifying. Fast. Unbelievably fast. The blade hadn't tasted blood, but the glint of its edge was enough to chill the soul.

Especially that sheathed Muten Sword—it triggered something in one monk's memory...

Hadn't the Muten Roshi once appeared during the very first Tenkaichi Budokai, and granted a sword to some swordsman with divine powers?

As the thought surfaced, the monk felt a shiver of reverence. He grew even more wary of Yajirobe.

"See you around, little baldy," Yajirobe called back to Krillin as he left. He liked the kid for some reason—maybe just a passing sympathy for the weak. He turned away, resting his hands on both sword hilts, and swaggered out to grab a rain cloak and hat at the door, never once looking back.

"That guy... he's amazing..." Krillin stood staring in awe at the direction Yajirobe disappeared. When he turned back to look at his fellow monks and saw their dark, ugly expressions, they no longer seemed so scary to him. In fact, they looked a bit ridiculous. A strange feeling rose in the little monk's heart.

Hands clasped, head lowered, Krillin thought quietly: These people... maybe they're not as terrifying as I thought... Then why should I be afraid of them? Do I really have no choice but to accept my fate? Just because I was an orphan taken in by the temple... because I never learned any amazing martial arts... does that mean I'll be bullied my whole life as a little novice?

But what if... what if there's another future waiting for me? What would it be like?

As if guided by fate, Krillin glanced at the TV in the tavern. The match had changed, but in his eyes, it was still replaying the fierce, passionate fight of the boy with the tail. Just moments ago, he had felt such intense envy.

"Son Goku..." Krillin silently repeated the name to himself.

---

Dr. Brief and Bulma exited the tournament grounds, escorted by their martial artist bodyguards. He had little interest in these kinds of martial arts tournaments. The only reason he agreed to sponsor this year's Budokai through the Virtual Earth Network Company was out of business interest.

His daughter Bulma had insisted on watching the elimination matches today, and he had no choice but to accompany her.

Rumor had it that the Muten himself had made an appearance in the eliminations. As a descendant of a branch of the Muten line, Dr. Brief couldn't help but be curious...

Could it be possible to meet the old ancestor of their family, who hadn't been seen in over a hundred years?

And then...

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Little Bulma was still sulking over the monkey boy's defeat when she suddenly realized she couldn't tug her father's hand anymore. Turning back, she saw that her father had stopped in his tracks, seemingly staring in a particular direction. Curious, Bulma followed his gaze—huh, wasn't that the monkey boy?

Dr. Briefs hesitated. There was someone next to Goku: an old man, a white-haired "young man", and a young woman.

If the old man was Son Gohan, then could the young man and woman be the Muten Roshi and his wife?

That would be... a bit much.

But ultimately, it was best to go and ask. After a moment's thought, Dr. Briefs took Bulma by the hand and walked toward Taro and the others. Meanwhile, Taro had already told Gohan and Goku to head off on their own. As Bulma and her father approached, Taro said something to Hathaway, and the two of them turned around.

The resemblance!

So uncanny!

Dr. Briefs froze on the spot, staring intently at Hathaway's face, momentarily speechless. This woman looked so much like one of his ancestors—her appearance, her aura—everything was identical, as if cast from the same mold.

"What's wrong, young man?"

Taro's calm voice snapped Dr. Briefs out of his daze. He returned to his senses and looked at the youthful face of Taro. For a moment, he seemed to see the kind and gentle countenance of a white-haired elder. This man gave him a strange sense of familiarity.

"Hey, why are you calling my daddy a young man?" Little Bulma protested. In her eyes, her father was clearly the older one.

"Don't be rude!" Dr. Briefs reflexively squeezed her hand.

Taro simply smiled. He crouched down and patted Bulma's head, asking, "Let's see now, this beautiful young lady... must be Miss Bulma, the daughter of the president of Capsule Corporation, right?"

Bulma blinked and stared at Taro's face up close. "How do you know that?"

Hathaway chuckled and said with a smile, "Who else could be this pretty and this smart besides the famous young genius Bulma?" She bent forward and extended her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she spoke warmly. "Hello, I'm Hathaway from the First Institute of the Virtual Earth Network Company. May I invite the genius Miss Bulma to honor us by working with our team?"

Dr. Briefs trembled upon hearing her name. Even though he'd already had his suspicions, now that the name matched the ancestor in his mind, he couldn't help but feel a surge of shock.

Bulma, of course, had no such complex thoughts. Curious and excited, she said, "The First Institute? You mean the one that's as amazing as my dad's company? The one that's invented even more stuff than my dad? The one that..." She rattled off one "the one that" after another, until she ran out of comparisons and frowned in frustration.

Taro couldn't help but laugh and stood up.

Dr. Briefs opened his mouth, hesitated, and then finally gathered his courage to ask, "May I ask... are you two the legendary Muten couple?"

Hathaway exchanged a glance with Taro. Taro, curious himself, squinted slightly at Dr. Briefs. Ever since earlier, he'd felt something... this Bulma and her father, the aura around them seemed strangely connected to his own. Why?

"How did you figure it out?" Hathaway raised an eyebrow and asked with interest.

By all accounts, she and her husband looked no different from ordinary young people. Even Son Gohan, if he hadn't grown up with them, wouldn't be able to see through their appearances. Could the founder of Capsule Corp, Dr. Briefs, actually have talents beyond just scientific brilliance?

Dr. Briefs gave a wry smile and shook his head. "Nothing extraordinary, truly. It's just that the lady..." He paused at the word "lady," seeming to consider his wording, "...bears an uncanny resemblance to one of my grandmothers. It reminded me of something a very senior elder once mentioned about the Muten couple's legacy. That's what gave me the nerve to guess."

Taro narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing from the middle-aged man to the little girl beside him. Then he suddenly asked, "What is your family name?"

Hathaway's expression shifted slightly—clearly, she'd already deduced the truth from that question.

Dr. Briefs pressed his lips together, then smiled and bowed slightly. "My given name is Briefs, but my family name is Mu Lan. This is my daughter Bulma—her family name is Mu Lin... A humble descendant and his daughter greet our forefather and foremother." As he spoke, he gently nudged Bulma into a bow.

Bulma bowed her head, thoroughly confused. What on earth was going on?

Taro couldn't help but sigh emotionally. What a twist! Bulma turned out to be a descendant of the Muten Roshi... But really, it wasn't that unbelievable. Judging from the talents and hair color of the father and daughter, it was clear they'd inherited more from Hathaway's side. Even in the original timeline, Bulma and her father likely descended from Hathaway and someone else. Of course, the original Muten Roshi could never have married Hathaway, but this version of Taro wasn't that same old man. He had married Hathaway, leading to Bulma as their descendant. It was unexpected, but in hindsight, not that surprising.

But then a sudden thought struck Taro:

That brat he once teased back on Planet Vegeta—was he going to become the husband of his granddaughter Bulma in the future? And not even officially, just in name only?

The more he thought about it, the more Taro frowned with displeasure.

---

Having met like this and recognized each other, and being in West City of all places, Dr. Briefs—now the host—naturally invited Taro and Hathaway, these living ancestors, to his home as guests.

For Taro, it was also the first time seeing Bulma's home—one he'd only glimpsed briefly in the original manga.

A true mansion—in a metropolis like West City, where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold, the Briefs' residence could only be described as a compound. The estate spanned hectares, and the staff—excluding the androids and intelligent robots—worked in shifts, ensuring human presence around the clock.

Still, aside from marveling at how science truly was the primary productive force, neither Taro nor Hathaway had any particular reaction to the luxury.

Upon arriving at the Briefs residence, they were warmly welcomed by Dr. Briefs' wife—the same blonde woman from the original series who was always eager to go on a date with any handsome guy. When Dr. Briefs solemnly introduced Taro and Hathaway, she didn't react in any special way—mostly because her default reactions were always a bit "dramatic." She cradled her face in her hands with a high-pitched "Oh my gosh~" before going right back to serving snacks and tea and chatting with Hathaway as if nothing had happened.

Compared to her husband, Mrs. Briefs actually seemed less reserved around Taro and Hathaway, which Hathaway found rather refreshing.

It was worth noting that when Mrs. Briefs first saw Taro, she nearly blurted out, "So handsome! I wanna go on a date with him!" But halfway through, her words were forcefully muffled by a pale-faced Dr. Briefs, who clamped a hand over her mouth in sheer panic—afraid his loose-tongued wife might offend their ancestral guests.

Meanwhile, Bulma had finally figured out the nature of the connection between Taro, Hathaway, and her family. Her jaw dropped in shock and hadn't quite closed since. Her little head seemed to be working overtime, trying to calculate just how many "greats" belonged before grandfather and grandmother. Eventually, the little girl tilted her head on the sofa and asked, "Are you even older than Grandma Ninm?"

Taro and Hathaway both froze for a moment, then exchanged glances.