Dragon Ball Roshi

Taro closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the distinctive Nine Tomoe Rinnegan was fully activated. Extending a hand, he harnessed the power of his ocular abilities with intense focus. The peculiar force that could completely control and amplify energy flowed from his eyes into his body, allowing him to manipulate every strand and particle of his ki.

A thin strand of pure white ki separated from the rest under the influence of his ocular power. It wrapped itself around Taro's palm like a delicate white ribbon.

His hand moved fluidly, his gaze following the motion. The white ribbon fluttered gently, but at a microscopic level, an invisible force pulsed within it, accumulating an overwhelming, explosive potential.

With a subtle flick of his hand, Taro directed the ribbon toward a nearby pile of stones, towering twice his height. The moment it touched the stone surface, a disproportionately loud explosion erupted.

Boom!

The small, delicate ribbon blasted a crater into the stone pile, almost hollowing it out entirely.

"Fiftyfold, is it…"

Taro closed his eyes again, deactivating his Nine Tomoe Rinnegan. When he reopened them, they had reverted to their normal black irises. He murmured to himself without sparing a glance at the destroyed stone pile or the countless craters scattered around him. He walked away calmly.

For twenty years, Taro had been refining the abilities of his eyes, pushing them to their absolute limit.

The enhancement provided by his ocular power had plateaued at fifty times his base strength. Despite repeated attempts, he confirmed that this was the maximum amplification his eyes could achieve.

And that marked the limit of Muken.

Although the development of Muken had not yet caught up to the advancement of his ocular abilities, the martial art itself was intrinsically tied to the unique powers of his eyes. Since the ocular limit was fiftyfold, it was no surprise that Muken had reached its own ceiling as well.

Yet, this was not the only constraint he faced.

On his way back to the villa on the island, Taro glanced at the sky. His gaze seemed to pierce through the dark expanse of space, envisioning the galactic emperor he had once battled and left maimed.

"It's not just fiftyfold… The amplified strength itself has a cap, a kind of 'shackle'. That threshold seems to be around one billion."

Taro withdrew his gaze.

Over the past two decades, his base ki had long surpassed two million. However, whenever he attempted to amplify his full strength using his eyes' fiftyfold power, his consciousness would spiral into chaos, as if he were on an uncontrollable hyper-speed train without brakes.

Taro had come to understand that his current mental fortitude was insufficient to wield the amplified energy beyond that limit.

This phenomenon persisted regardless of how much his base ki improved. The one-billion threshold remained unchanging, and as his base ki increased, the necessary amplification multiplier to reach that threshold continued to decrease.

In essence, Taro's peak combat strength was capped — his true potential remained untapped.

Though, to be precise, his base ki was still far from reaching one billion. It was only through the combination of his ocular powers and Muken that he could even approach that level. But his inability to fully harness the power of his eyes left him slightly frustrated.

Taro recalled the early days — back when he first began practicing meditation. Even then, he had suspected that the Muken, which he derived from his ocular abilities, might be akin to a "Dao" rather than a mere technique. Like meditation, it was something that could only be grasped intuitively, not taught explicitly. Only through his consciousness as the master of Muken could others hope to learn it.

The Dao was mysterious.

Mystery upon mystery.

No matter how hard he tried, the barrier of one billion seemed insurmountable — a dead-end within the profound mystery.

It felt as if a cold voice mocked him: "Do you wish to surpass one billion? To cross this threshold? Weakling, that is not a realm you can reach!"

Taro had often reflected on the situations of the warriors in the original story.

For instance, if Son Goku maintained a power level of 90 million and used a technique like the Kamehameha to amplify his destructive power, wouldn't he be able to surpass the one-billion barrier?

Clearly, he could.

So why couldn't Taro achieve the same with Muken?

Sorting through his thoughts, he gradually grasped the key.

Muken and techniques like the Kamehameha or the Special Beam Cannon were fundamentally different. The former represented a "Dao," while the latter were mere techniques.

The Dao was like a towering tree — capable of growing endlessly and reaching the skies. Techniques, however, were but branches, dependent on the tree's trunk. These branches might grow at different heights, but their growth was finite unless a new, higher point on the tree was chosen. But at that point, it would be a new branch entirely.

A threefold Muken delivered power with every strike equivalent to a Special Beam Cannon, but the latter required charging and preparation to achieve the same result.

That was the strength of Muken.

But now, Taro faced a disadvantage — Muken fell short when compared to such techniques.

If his base ki reached 90 million, he wouldn't even be able to use a twofold Muken. The barrier of the "Dao" would block his path. However, if he abandoned Muken entirely and relied on techniques like the Kamehameha, he could surpass the one-billion threshold by extending the branches of his technique beyond the barrier.

Which was superior — His Dao or the techniques? Who could truly say?

---

Taro returned to his villa and went straight to one of his rooms.

Inside was a collection of equipment, resembling a prototype of an oversized personal computer. Yet, it was nothing more than a crude assembly of parts — scattered, mismatched, and nonfunctional.

For the past twenty years, Taro had relied on his immense mental power to recall some of the computer knowledge he had learned in his first life. However, he hadn't been particularly diligent or skilled back then, and his education had been cursory at best. Concepts like computer basics and programming were things he had only superficially learned and promptly forgotten.

After years of tinkering on the island and secretly acquiring materials from the city, he had made little progress.

Taro fiddled with the equipment for a while longer before sighing in frustration. "Looks like I'll have to head into the universe and kidnap some experts… I wonder where that rat went?"

He thought back to a scientific genius he had abducted years ago. It had been so long that he wasn't even sure if the individual was still alive. Taro hadn't paid attention to the average lifespan of their species at the time, leaving him unable to calculate now.

But that was a matter for another day.

"Where has that mangy bird run off to this time?"

Taro stepped out of the villa, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings but finding no sign of the phoenix. Finally, he used his ki sense to locate its ki, only to discover something surprising.

"Hm? The bird is with someone? Doesn't seem like one of the usual villains I let it play with…" Taro muttered, frowning.

He stepped forward, covering dozens of meters in an instant, and then vanished into the dense forest surrounding the villa.

---

The island was secluded, with few visitors. Taro had long since set up mental wards around the surrounding ocean and forest, ensuring that no one could intrude. As a result, he rarely bothered monitoring the island's life signs unless someone exceptionally powerful arrived.

Deeper into the forest, closer to the outskirts, Taro strolled casually. To him, the entire island was his courtyard, and his relaxed demeanor reflected his ownership of the space.

The phoenix's ki was just ahead.

His ears twitched as he heard a woman's voice in the distance.

A woman?

Her ki was weak — clearly an ordinary human. Moreover, the purity and calmness of her ki indicated that she shouldn't have been able to bypass the mental wards surrounding the island.

Curious, Taro wondered how this woman had arrived.

He was even more intrigued by how the phoenix had become so close to a stranger.

Drawing closer, Taro concealed his presence. Hidden in the shadows, he observed a woman leaning casually against a tree next to the vibrant red phoenix. With his power, it was impossible for anyone on Earth — let alone this woman — to detect him unless he allowed it.

However, to prevent the phoenix from sensing him, he needed to exercise a bit more caution.

Taro narrowed his eyes. The blonde woman leaning against the tree, chatting softly with the phoenix, had just taken a book from her bag. On the cover, he could clearly make out the title: The Uchiha Sinners, Volume 7.

"Interesting..."

---

Hathaway, feeling tired after walking for so long, retrieved a book from her bag to pass the time. She had read this series, The Uchiha Sinners, countless times. This time, she had only brought the final volume, Volume 7. Yet, as she flipped through its pages, she could vividly recall every event from the previous six volumes.

"Sigh... people." Hathaway closed the book after reading a while, her thoughts drifting to themes of the Uchiha, brotherhood, life, and destiny.

And... behind it all, those silent, resilient eyes.

Hathaway felt as though she could sense the author's emotions. This book had been her companion for over a decade, like a wise, world-weary man who had spent those years narrating his tale to her.

She then pulled out a painting from her bag. Running her fingers along the seemingly permanent strokes, she gazed at the lifelike image of a young girl and fell into contemplation.

After a moment, Hathaway placed both the book and the painting back into her bag and took out a smaller notebook.

Inside, pieces of paper had been glued onto its pages — clippings from newspapers and magazines, some noticeably old. One clipping had a partial date visible on its edge: June 9, Age 587.

The clipping showed a middle-aged man standing on a crowded stage, microphone in hand, speaking calmly.

This was from twenty-one years ago when the "Soul Painter" made his first and only public appearance at the fifth "Soul Art Exhibition."

Hathaway stared at the photograph for a while before turning the page.

The next clipping showed another middle-aged man, sitting gracefully at a table piled with books, signing copies with a composed and scholarly demeanor.

She flipped back to the photo of the "Soul Painter".

"No matter how many times I look... they really do seem like the same person," she murmured.

"Chrrr..." The phoenix craned its neck to peer at the photo, letting out a low trill.

Hathaway chuckled. Closing the notebook, she put it back in her bag. Then she reached out to hug the phoenix's neck, affectionately nuzzling against its smooth, fiery red feathers. Her gaze fell on the four-star ball embedded on its neck. "Since it's yours, I won't take it..."

Although the phoenix had demonstrated its lethal side earlier, Hathaway found the bird oddly endearing.

The phoenix, too, seemed to like this human girl. It closed its eyes comfortably as Hathaway's gentle hand stroked the feathers on its back.

Rustle, rustle...

Someone emerged from the nearby forest.

Hathaway looked up, her eyes widening in shock...