Dragon Ball Roshi

The black-haired young man, who appeared out of nowhere, carried an inexplicable aura of trustworthiness. The Muten disciple instinctively took the Senzu Bean from the man's hand, placed it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Leaning weakly against the tree behind him, the disciple's eyes widened as he suddenly felt his energy fully restored. Not only that, but all his old and new injuries vanished entirely.

He stared in disbelief at the black-haired young man in front of him, dumbfounded. "Who... exactly are you?"

"Caw—!"

At that moment, the piercing cry of a phoenix echoed from the sky, loud and exuberant.

Earlier, the phoenix had been cloaked in Taro's immense ki, its wings ablaze with fiery energy. It had swept down on Demon King Piccolo and the demon warrior midair, creating a whirlwind that sent them hurtling down to the ground.

"Where did this blasted bird come from?!" The demon warrior roared in frustration, raising his palm to unleash a crimson ki blast at the phoenix.

The phoenix flapped its wings effortlessly, dodging the attack, and let out another resonant cry.

"Damn it!" The demon warrior gritted his teeth and unleashed a flurry of ki blasts, over a dozen streaking toward the phoenix in an instant. Yet, using the ki Taro imbued it with and the techniques he taught, the phoenix evaded each one with ease.

Despite its massive size, the phoenix moved gracefully in the air, its crimson form weaving elegantly through the barrage of ki blasts like a dragon in flight. Its fiery wings glowed with intense ki energy, like blades forged of boiling flames.

With a sharp whoosh, the phoenix shot toward the demon warrior, leaving a brilliant white trail of light behind it.

In the fleeting moments that followed, the demon warrior's eyes widened. His pupils reflected the approaching blade-like white glow, disbelief etched across his face as the light engulfed him.

The blade of light passed through.

The crimson phoenix abruptly halted behind the massive demon warrior, its fiery wings glowing with white-hot ki. With a powerful flap, it ascended into the air.

A blood-red line appeared on the demon warrior's neck. He let out a raspy "gghhh" sound, his expression frozen in disbelief. Then his head tilted, detached from his body. His lifeless remains plummeted into the forest below.

A foe so powerful even Earth's Guardian could do nothing against him had been effortlessly taken down by a single bird.

Demon King Piccolo floated below, dumbfounded and slack-jawed.

He had intended to act before the phoenix, to make a show of strength by taking down the demon warrior himself—or perhaps killing the bird for good measure.

Thank goodness he had hesitated!

If he had struck first, he would be the one headless right now. Cold sweat dripped down Piccolo's face as he stared at the phoenix above, its piercing gaze locked onto him. His limbs grew cold, and despair gripped him.

Who could have imagined that in the mere span of a hundred years, he, the mighty Demon King Piccolo, would be no match even for a bird?

Hovering above, the phoenix stared down at Piccolo but made no move to attack.

Piccolo let out a shaky breath, relief flooding over him. Anyone—or anything—capable of obliterating the demon warrior so effortlessly was not an opponent he wanted to provoke.

"Hmm?" Suddenly, Piccolo's attention shifted as he sensed the ki of the Muten disciple below growing stronger.

Glancing down, Piccolo's eyes widened in shock. Pointing at the young black-haired man standing beside the disciple beneath the tree, he snarled, "It's you!?" His voice was laced with fury as his teeth ground together in hatred.

This face—how could Piccolo forget?

Sealed within the rice cooker for a hundred years, over 30,000 days and nights, he had relived the memory of this despicable, hateful, shameful face every single day! If not for this thief unsettling his spirit with cunning words, how could that old fool Mutaito have succeeded in sealing him?

"Who are you? Even Demon King Piccolo recognizes you?" The Muten disciple, now fully recovered, leaned against the tree and questioned the black-haired young man crouching beside him, glancing up at the sky.

He had clearly heard Piccolo's exclamation of "It's you!" moments ago. The seething hatred packed into those two words was unmistakable. How could someone so young possibly be connected to the Demon King from a hundred years ago?

"Me?" The black-haired young man replied calmly, slowly rising to his feet.

As he stood, his appearance began to change…

The disciple uttered a startled "Huh?" and turned to look again. He watched as Taro rose, his face transforming right before his eyes.

Wrinkles began to etch themselves across his once-smooth skin, and his thick, jet-black hair seemed to lose its vitality. The roots even started to gray.

By the time Taro stood fully upright, he had returned to the appearance he bore when he left the Muten school dojo in search of the Dragon Balls years ago—a middle-aged man.

"Gr-grandmaster?!" The Muten disciple stammered, completely stunned, his mouth agape. Speechless, he stared at Taro, struggling to comprehend the revelation.

Taro spoke softly: "Don't be afraid." His cold gaze, sharp as lightning, swept upward toward the floating Piccolo, whose fiery eyes glared down at him from the treetops. With a faint smirk, Taro remarked, "It seems you still remember me."

"Even if you were reduced to ashes, I'd still recognize you!" Piccolo growled through gritted teeth but refrained from making a move. The terrifying bird behind him loomed as an unknown threat. The earlier demon warrior hadn't even had time to act before being instantly decapitated. How could Piccolo dare to act rashly?

Moreover, the transformation Taro had just undergone—from a young man to an aging figure—deepened his doubts.

He doesn't seem that strong… but why do I feel uneasy? Piccolo thought, trying to calm himself. He's just a human. A hundred years have passed; of course, he's old now. That youthful appearance was just a trick. No matter how many tricks he has, I can crush him with one slap.

Yes, better to wait until that dreadful bird is gone before making a move…

Then, he saw the middle-aged Taro on the ground gesture toward the phoenix. With a joyous cry, the phoenix flapped its wings and descended, folding them gracefully as it perched on Taro's shoulder. It affectionately nibbled at Taro's clothing with its beak.

"…"

Taro turned his gaze back to Piccolo. Over the years, his killing intent had largely faded thanks to his centuries of martial cultivation in the Naruto world. Yet at this moment, he could feel it resurface—a deep, primal urge to kill.

"Well then, will you take your own life, or shall I do it for you?" Taro stood calmly, not exuding any overpowering aura or even much killing intent. His voice, however, was chilling.

Piccolo felt as though he had plunged into an icy abyss. His expression darkened, and his body began to tremble subtly. The sight of the crimson bird peacefully perched on Taro's shoulder tightened his chest.

The foreboding presence of death enveloped him.

This was a sensation he hadn't experienced even when facing the demon warrior after being freed from the seal—a profound sense of imminent doom. No, it felt even stronger, as if what he was experiencing now were merely echoes of his own death, playing out before him.

"Ahhhh!" Piccolo screamed in panic, flying frantically toward the sky.

Trying to escape?

A cold smirk curled on Taro's lips. He raised a hand, shaping it into a claw. With a sudden roar, a tangible white ki beam erupted from his palm, transforming into a brilliant dragon claw that streaked through the air, outpacing Piccolo's desperate flight.

Piccolo's eyes widened in terror as the white dragon opened its maw, morphing into a massive ki hand.

Boom! The hand clamped down with crushing force, trapping Piccolo within its grip.

Crack, crack…

The ki hand tightened relentlessly, the sound of bones and muscles snapping under its unyielding pressure reverberating through the air. Piccolo's veins bulged as he looked down in horror at the massive hand holding him. His gaze followed it down to Taro, who stood below, staring at him coldly.