------------------------------------------------
A/n: Hey everyone! thanks for checking out this fic! Here's another chapter although its a short one. Don't hesitate to critique or comment :)
------------------------------------------------
— 3 Days Later —
It's finally the weekend — the day I get to meet Master Roshi. I could've gone earlier, the moment Bulma confirmed he was at least considering giving me a shot. But I waited. Couldn't risk losing pay. Real slave-drivers, the Briefs.
But today's the day. Today I start my journey. Today I take my first step toward becoming one of the best.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"No."
"What!?"I stare, stunned. He just flat-out rejected me. No trial, no sparring match — nothing. He took in almost everyone. Even Tien trained under him, and they were from a rival school!
"Why not!?"
Master Roshi doesn't even look up. He's lounging in a beach chair, calmly rubbing sunscreen on his shiny bald head. He picks up an issue of Playboy and flips it open.
"Sorry, kid. I'm retired." A soft chuckle escapes him. "Heh heh heh."
I clench my fists, then fall to my knees, bowing low with my hands pressed together.
"Please, Master Roshi. I just want to learn martial arts. I want to be... to be worth something."
He finally glances down at me.
"Judging by your body, you don't even know how to throw a proper punch. But more importantly..." He closes the magazine and sets it on his lap. "You don't have a reason to fight."
"I just told you I do!" I shout.
"No. You have a reason to do something. Your need to 'be worth something' — you could fulfill that by being a baker, or a teacher, or a damn delivery boy. That's not the kind of purpose that justifies a life of combat. Fighting — real martial arts — it demands more than that."
"No... No! I won't accept anything else!" My voice cracks as I step forward. "I want to be a martial artist! I want to fight! I want to be the best!"
Master Roshi doesn't flinch. He just looks at me, calm as ever.
"And that's another problem," he says. "You want to learn martial arts so you can fight others. But real martial artists fight to conquer themselves. To challenge themselves. Until you understand that, I won't even teach you how to throw a punch."
I freeze. My hands shake at my sides.
"...Fine." I grit my teeth, turn on my heel, and stomp back toward Bulma's plane."We're going back, Bulma." I growl. "That old piece of shit won't train me? Fine. I'll get strong on my own. Stronger than him. Then I'll come back and shove it in his face."
Bulma doesn't even look surprised — just concerned. She leans back in the pilot seat, arms crossed.
"You don't need to be that mad at him," she says. "He might be a perv, but he's still one of the greatest martial artists alive. And believe it or not, he's got a good heart. Maybe he just didn't want to see you go down the wrong path."
"go down the wrong path?" I snap. "He's letting me go down the wrong path by doing nothing. That's not guidance — his reasoning is just dumb."I slam the door behind me and drop into a seat, arms folded.
"Doesn't matter. I'll still train. I'll still fight. And one day..." I look out the window, back toward the tiny dot of Kame House in the distance. "I'll be stronger than him."