Because they were chased by a shark, the three of them finished their ten laps across the river in record time.
By the time they dragged themselves out of the water, they were completely out of breath.
But before they could even catch their breath, Master Roshi brought them under a large tree.
Goku's face tensed up—he remembered what came next.
Sure enough, Roshi took out a rope and tied all three of them to the tree.
"This next training is to develop your reaction speed," he explained.
"If your nerves are fast enough, you can dodge anything."
Then, without warning, Roshi smacked a nearby wasp nest with his cane—
and ran away at full speed.
With their original target gone, the furious wasps swarmed the three tied-up disciples.
Panicked, they tried to flee—but the ropes held them fast.
They could only dodge within the narrow radius allowed by the rope.
"Don't just sit there—move!" Roshi shouted from afar.
Realizing the intent of the training, the trio quickly began dodging in place,
trying to avoid the stingers.
But if one dodged too hard, it meant the others got stung more.
It became a cruel dance of trade-offs and sacrifice.
By the time it ended, they were covered in welts.
Krillin took the MVP for sheer balance—his head full of perfectly spaced bumps.
He looked like a knock-off Buddha.
Roshi clapped, clearly pleased.
"Good. That's it for today!"
Krillin gasped. "You mean… we do this every day?!"
Roshi shook his head.
"Don't be ridiculous. This was the easy day."
"…WHAT?!"
Roshi nodded.
"Tomorrow's the same—except you'll all be wearing 20-kilogram turtle shells.
Now you know why we're called the Turtle School."
Thud!
All three passed out on the spot.
And so, Master Roshi's strict training finally began in earnest.
None of the three dared to slack off.
Maybe it was Roshi's carefully calculated methods,
or maybe just their own grit—but even Chi-Chi managed to keep up.
At first, every day left them exhausted.
But little by little, their bodies adapted.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Then months.
Milk deliveries, farm work, construction labor—
all part of Roshi's "curriculum."
It wasn't long before Goku figured it out.
'So this is why Master Roshi doesn't charge tuition.
He teaches us… and we do free labor for him.
Total win-win.'
Seven months passed in a flash.
Not only had the three grown stronger,
but their friendship had become unshakable.
That day, after training wrapped up, Krillin approached Roshi.
"Master Roshi, there's only one month left until the tournament.
Shouldn't you start teaching us martial arts now?"
Chi-Chi also looked up expectantly.
But Roshi shook his head.
"I've already taught you everything I can.
The core of Turtle School martial arts—
it's all been hidden inside these seven months of training."
"You've already sharpened your eyes, your fists, your reflexes,
your senses, your minds.
What people call 'moves' are just applications of basics."
Krillin blinked.
"You mean you're not going to teach us any techniques at all?"
"No set techniques," Roshi said calmly.
"Any fixed move will eventually be countered.
If I gave you patterns, I'd be placing a ceiling on your future growth."
"You must adapt your basics freely—create your own style."
The three disciples nodded slowly.
Goku already knew from his previous life just how far this foundation would carry him.
But if you asked him what exactly made Roshi's teachings so special…
he couldn't answer.
Maybe it was the philosophy.
Maybe it was how every task—no matter how mundane—built something deeper.
Even if he didn't fully understand,
he trusted that it mattered.
After all, the original Goku hadn't figured it out either,
and he turned out just fine.
Sometimes, true understanding needed time.
Roshi clapped again.
"One month left. No more new lessons.
You'll keep training as usual—
but with 40-kilogram turtle shells this time."
Thud!
Once again, all three collapsed.
Even with the heavier shells, the three were no longer the same.
After seven months of brutal training, their endurance had multiplied.
In fact, they now had enough spare energy to spend time developing techniques.
Every evening before dinner, the three would sit together and share ideas.
But they didn't bother with flashy, impractical stuff—
no "Shoryuken," no "Iron Mountain Press," no "White Crane Spreads Wings."
They weren't in a video game.
Instead, they focused on what worked.
Punches — straight jabs, hooks, uppercuts, elbows.Kicks — low sweeps, side kicks, roundhouses.Defense — proper blocks, cross guards, fluid footwork.Counters — throws, reversals, well-timed dodges.
Everything was raw, simple, and designed for real combat.
And for the first time, each of them was learning not just from Roshi…
but from each other.
The tournament was coming.
And none of them planned to go unprepared.