Recalling his youthful days training on Muten Island, Son Gohan spoke clearly to the crowd:
"Everyone, I'll keep this brief. Today's exam is simple… Head fifty kilometers due south in this direction. There's a rural town called Seven Feathers Town. I'll be waiting there. By then, I'll know who passes and who doesn't."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and flew away, leaving the examinees in stunned silence.
They looked in the direction he had pointed—a dense, untamed forest. Fifty kilometers? Some could already hear the growls of wild beasts lurking within. A few shuddered, some hesitated, but others steeled themselves and charged straight in.
"Wait, this exam… doesn't have a time limit?" someone muttered, gritting their teeth. "Whatever. Fifty kilometers—who knows if I can even make it?"
"Let's go, Satan!" Nanda urged, noticing the boy still deep in thought.
"He'll just tell us if we pass when we get there?" Satan groaned. "Damn, so even finishing the run doesn't guarantee anything?"
With a sigh, he and Nanda entered the forest together.
---
High above, Son Gohan observed the examinees as they began their journey. The thick canopy meant nothing to his vision—as a true martial arts master, he perceived the world not just with his eyes, but with his mind and spirit.
He carefully sensed the energy of each participant.
A person's energy reflected their heart.
A skilled martial artist could discern one's character, virtue, and intentions just by sensing their energy.
And Son Gohan was undoubtedly a master of this level.
The examinees varied in physical ability, so he wouldn't judge them solely on speed or endurance. The true test lay in their perseverance, courage, conviction… and how they handled unexpected challenges along the way.
In the end, only those with the right spirit would earn his approval.
Flap, flap…
A small red bird flew over and perched on Son Gohan's shoulder.
He chuckled. "Long time no see. Did Master send you?"
The bird chirped, fluttering its wings.
Son Gohan patted its head, then noticed its disdainful gaze toward the forest below.
"Don't look down on them," he teased. "If not for Master, you'd probably have been roasted and eaten by now."
Screech!
The bird slapped him with its claw.
Son Gohan laughed. "Been a while since we sparred. How about testing my new move? Don't worry—I won't use Muken."
---
Days later, after wrapping up his duties as examiner, Son Gohan and the red bird flew toward Muten Island over the sea.
With his current mastery of Muken, crossing such distances was effortless—swift as the wind, traversing a thousand miles in an instant.
Spotting the island on the horizon, he smiled. 'It's been a while.'
"Let's go see Master," he said to the large red bird beside him.
The bird screeched, unimpressed. 'What's the big deal? It's just home.'
As Son Gohan descended toward the crystal palace at the mountain's base, the bird circled twice before growing bored and flying off toward the summit.
---
At the peak, silence reigned.
A spherical boulder, weathered by time, moss-covered and ancient, sat at the cliff's edge.
The fiery red bird landed on it, preening its feathers and occasionally pecking at the stone.
"...Who… is it… again… him… who… am I…?"
The bird jerked its head up, looking around. 'Who's talking?'
Finding nothing, it resumed pecking, scratching at the rock for insects.
---
Below, in the crystal palace…
Son Gohan entered to find his master and teacher-wife quietly chatting in the hall.
Hathaway lounged on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, while Taro traced shapes in the air with his finger—tiny, lifelike figures moving silently in midair.
Son Gohan marveled at the technique. 'To manipulate energy so delicately, with such precision… Master's control is truly godlike.'
But then again, this was Taro. The extraordinary was ordinary for him.
"Master. Master-wife," Son Gohan greeted.
Hathaway smiled. "Gohan's here! Come, sit."
Taro closed his hand, dispersing the energy figures. "Jarvis mentioned you presided over East City's exam this year. Any promising talents?"
"Master, were those gestures from 'The Uchiha's Sinner's' just now?" Son Gohan chuckled as he sat. "But let's be honest—you've never cared much for the Martial Association, have you?"
Hathaway smirked, glancing at Taro. "He's got you there. You've always been lazy. In all these years, you've only taken one disciple."
Taro raised a finger at Son Gohan, who grinned innocently.
With a dismissive huff, Taro gestured to the teapot. "Pour your own tea."
Son Gohan, suddenly playful like a mischievous old man in their presence, poured himself a cup and sipped.
"There were two interesting candidates," he admitted. "One's too young, too distracted—likely to be led astray by worldly temptations. The other has exceptional physical talent, but his temperament is lacking. Without guidance, he might take a dark path."
He set the cup down with a sigh.
"So I told them to return in five years. Whether they make it or not… well, that's up to them."
Then, shifting the topic:
"But Master, why did you summon me this time?"
Taro snorted.
"Where's your martial arts awareness? So slow! Just look up—isn't it obvious?"