Dragon Ball: Being able to revive means you're courting death? How naive!

Chapter 339 Three Years Later

On Kame-sen Island, the sun shines brightly. Master Roshi lies on a deck chair, basking in the sun, with a beauty magazine covering his face.

A sea breeze swept by, the magazine slipped from his lips, and he grinned from ear to ear, revealing two rows of yellowed teeth. His eyes gleamed with a sly light, clearly lost in a daydream.

The old turtle lay on the beach, lazily stretching its head, its eyelids drooping, and a half-smile playing on its lips as it looked at Krillin, who was cultivating in the sea.

Klin placed his hands on his waist, forming a flower bud shape as he secretly gathered his energy.

As his aura coalesced, waves rose beneath his feet, gradually widening, and the seawater surged and danced around him.

The old turtle's pupils constricted sharply, and its jaw nearly slammed into the sand. As its energy reached its peak, Klin roared and thrust forward with both palms! A powerful shockwave carved a line through the sea, causing the water to surge to both sides.

Just as Krillin raised the corners of his mouth in an excited smile, his smile froze. In the distance, seawater surged back, creating huge waves that crashed and swallowed Turtle Island whole.

As the waves receded, Krillin's lips curled into a sneer as he lowered his head in frustration. "No, this strength is nowhere near that of Goku and the others..."

Master Roshi, covered in seaweed, picked up a wet magazine from under the recliner, patted the sand off his face, and sighed, "Alas, Master Roshi's era as the world's number one is over."

"It's the era of lecherous old men now," the old tortoise teased, tilting his head back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Master Roshi jumped up and roared, "What did you say?!" His beard trembled with anger, and his face turned a deep liver color.

Krillin gazed at the sky and thought to himself, "It's been a year since Goku defeated Frieza, and he still hasn't returned. His strength must be even more unpredictable now."

His gaze was intense yet tinged with melancholy.

On Baozi Mountain, at Sun Wukong's home.

Gohan, rocking back and forth on his chair, was lost in thought when the door suddenly opened and Chi-Chi poked her head in: "Gohan, what are you doing?"

Son Gohan hurriedly got up, but fell off the stool.

Kiki gripped the doorknob, a smile on her face: "Mischievous again?"

A hint of helplessness lingered in Qiqi's eyes, and a middle-aged man with curly hair followed behind her.

"This is Teacher Zhou Sanle; he will be tutoring you from now on."

"Mom, I can learn by myself!"

Kiki put her hands on her hips: "No way! You said you'd study on your own last time, and now you're off playing with Little Flying Dragon!"

Qiqi raised her eyebrows and her eyes suddenly turned stern.

Suddenly her tone changed, and she leaned against the corner of the wall, sniffling, "Without your dad coming back, I've wasted my youth in this house... Gohan, who do you think Mom can rely on?"

Qiqi's eyes quickly reddened, and her fingertips trembled slightly as she gripped the hem of her skirt.

Gohan frowned, his eyes darting back and forth between his mother and teacher.

The tutor coughed lightly, and Chi-Chi immediately wiped her eyes, straightened her back, put on a serious expression, and bowed to the tutor: "I'm entrusting Gohan to you."

Zhou Sanle pushed up his glasses: "I'm the best tutor in the world. I've tutored even the dumbest kids and made them smarter."

"Our Gohan isn't stupid!"

Qiqi glared at the teacher, her tone filled with protective urgency.

"If you want to be my student, you have to do as I say. First, take a test."

Upon hearing this, Son Gohan's shoulders tensed abruptly, and he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Capsule Company, Bulma's family.

Bulma, Yamcha, Oolong, and Puer sat around on the balcony, drinking juice.

Yamcha leaned back lazily on the sofa, tapping his fingertips on the rim of his glass, and sighed, "Peaceful days are truly wonderful."

"Where did Vegeta go?" Bulma suddenly asked, her gaze unfocused, the straw swirling anxiously in the cup.

"They're probably training with Wukong, aren't they?" Yamu said in the Tea Ceremony.

Wulong shuddered, "That guy is too serious; just thinking about it gives me goosebumps!"

"Actually, he's quite hardworking and a good man."

Bulma rested her chin on her hand, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Stealing a spaceship makes you a good man?" Yamcha sat up abruptly, his ears turning bright red, his fingers unconsciously gripping the sofa cushion.

Wulong winked and nudged Yamcha with his elbow, grinning mischievously, "Don't be jealous!"

Yamcha blushed: "Who's jealous!"

After saying that, he grabbed a cushion and threw it at Wulong, but his eyes darted around.

Just then, Bulma's mother brought over some juice: "Your father said the spaceship is almost out of fuel?"

Bulma gazed out the window, her eyelashes casting shadows beneath her eyelids. Her fingertips lightly traced the rim of her glass, her voice low and melancholic: "I wonder if he's met Goku..."

Yamcha watched her retreating figure, a pang of sadness rising in her heart. She opened her mouth but then pursed her lips, her gaze fixed on the ground.

On Baozi Mountain, at Sun Wukong's home.

Son Gohan bit the pen, his nose almost touching the exam paper.

The draft paper was covered with messy formulas, and the ink stains were blurred into dark blue scars by sweat.

Teacher Zhou Le, with his back to him, held his "Advanced Mathematics" textbook rolled into a tube, tapping it lightly against his palm with the rhythm of his pacing. His glasses gleamed coldly in the sunlight: "You even got the formula for question 3 wrong? Were you thinking with your feet?"

Son Gohan's neck veins bulged, and his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white: "This...this is first-year high school material! I haven't learned any of this!"

"Snapped!"

The pointer suddenly struck Son Gohan on the back of the neck, leaving a faint red mark.

As Zhou Sanle turned around, a mocking smile played on his lips: "You don't even understand gravitational acceleration?"

The pointer swung down again, the "snap" sound mingling with the soft rustling of pages turning.

"If you keep arguing, you'll have to copy this chapter's formulas thirty times."

Son Gohan trembled all over, his nails digging deeply into his palms.

The pain in his back felt like a venomous snake gnawing at him, and the anger in his eyes was about to burst forth.

"You want to defy your mother's expectations?" Zhou Sanle's voice was like an icicle.

These words struck Son Gohan like a hammer blow.

Son Gohan suddenly looked up and saw a photo of his mother on the wall: Chi-Chi was wearing a faded apron, her temples were covered in flour, but she was smiling so brightly.

He suddenly remembered the baked rice ball his mother had given him that morning, with the words "Gohan, keep going!" written crookedly on the wrapper.

The moment the pointer struck again, Son Gohan bit his lower lip hard, grabbed his pen, and scribbled formulas on the test paper.

The pen tip pierced the paper, and Zhou Sanle's cold laughter, mixed with the sound of an egg beater coming from the kitchen, wove an invisible net in the sweltering afternoon, trapping Son Gohan firmly in front of his desk.

Qiqi poured the beaten egg mixture into the baking pan, and the golden liquid shimmered like a gentle lake in the sunlight.

Qiqi wiped the sweat from her forehead, looked at the sunflowers swaying in the wind outside the window, and smiled with anticipation.

“Gohan will definitely become a scholar,” Chi-Chi murmured to herself, her fingertips tracing the patch on her apron. “Unlike his father…”

The buzzing of the egg beater suddenly drowned out the slapping sounds from afar.

Qiqi sprinkled powdered sugar into the cake, imagining the expression on her son's face when he got a perfect score.

Perhaps, just like when I was a child, I would hold up my test paper and rush into her arms, calling out in a childish voice, "Mommy is the best!"

The red glow of the oven illuminated the wrinkles around her eyes, and the cleaver on the cutting board suddenly trembled slightly.

Qiqi paused, thinking it was her imagination, and then lowered her head to focus on the buttercream frosting in her hands.

The sunflowers outside the window swayed gently, casting dappled sunlight onto her hair, like a handful of non-shining stars.