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This article, Two Men, Undivided, is the property of Destructivedisk.

This article, Two Men, Undivided, is property of TeamUnitedNerds.

This story, Two Men, Undivided, is written with the intent to preserve and respect the official Dragon Ball canon, and to fit perfectly into the established Dragon Ball universe, per this policy.


This article, Two Men, Undivided, contains mild or major swearing. You have been warned.


This story, Two Men, Undivided, contains adult themes and situations, or explicit sexual content, and may not be appropriate for children.
Reader discretion is advised.


Dbz Cooler 002

"UNDER CONSTRUCTION"
This article is currently under construction and is incomplete at the moment.


This is a fanon about Master Roshi a few years after he seals King Piccolo away. It is supposed to fit inside the normal Dragon Ball universe and is a joint effort of User:TeamUnitedNerds and User:Destructivedisk.

The story's theme is Paperface by Weezer.

Note: This will not be updated again until July 30th at the earliest, because TeamUnitedNerds does not have access to his computer. He is unbearably slow and I hate him. Sorry! -D-Disk

Note: This story will likely never be finished, as D-Disk has gone away forever and I love him. -TUN

Quite the Handful[]

Roshi fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. The chair, which was made of mahogany, was unusually tall and slightly regal, something Roshi was completely unused to. Roshi rarely sat in chairs to begin with, and such a royal chair was not his cup of tea by any means. Years of Martial Arts discipline had taught Roshi that indulgences such as mahogany chairs were unnecessary. Thusly, he tried to avoid chairs if at all possible, but the intern who had brought him into the office gave Roshi no other option.

Roshi tried to refocus himself. He was in a business meeting and it was time to pay attention to the lady talking to him. As he began listening, she began talking.

“What do you want?” the woman said roughly. She was an aggressive woman, an alpha female of sorts. As a businesswoman, she was straightforward, powerful, and low on time. The man across the counter from her was unimportant, no more to her than a business venture.

Roshi started up hesitantly. “I was hoping, darling, you could help me get some advertising out there.”

“For what?” she barked back.

“I’m trying to get a dojo running, a Turtle School, and it’s not really going anywhere... I don’t have much money for marketing, so-,” Roshi began to say, before he was cut off.

“What numbers are we talking about?” the lady snarled. It wasn’t much of a question, more of a demand.

“Well, I’m not too interested in money... Maybe you could do some advertising and I could pay you off later?”

The lady was not amused. She decided to initiate the finances herself, and therefore began a monologue about stocks, finances, funds, and the like. As a business major, she expected everyone around her to understand her language, and Roshi, as a simple man, understood little of it. As he stopped paying attention to her words, he began looking at her face. She had dark brown hair, put up in a ponytail, and it ran silkily down her back.

His gaze gradually shifted downwards. He noticed her lips, luscious and full. They were red like a cherry, and he could imagine them wrapped around perhaps a carrot or a popsicle. She took a brief pause from her blabbering to lick her lips, and Roshi felt just a little bit of blood spurt from his nose. As she continued talking, Roshi couldn’t help himself from continuing to look down.

The first thing Roshi noticed was that the woman’s top was very professional. Strangely, though, her shirt’s top button was unbuttoned, revealing just the slightest bit of cleavage. He imagined himself squeezing his face in there, pretending like it was an accident. He wanted to squeeze them and do all sorts of unmentionable things to her, but resisted. As more blood came out of his nose, he used a finger to stop the flow, but his fantasies continued.

Naturally, the woman noticed that he was ogling her, and she would have none of it. “Mr. Roshi, it’s time for you to go.” She was a proud women, one too proud for this objectification, and she was already standing up to escort him out of the room. But, even as she did this, Roshi couldn’t help but look at her behind, which was large and shapely. Roshi, just then, couldn’t help but extend his arm out to her, grabbing a handful of her buttocks.

“Heee-haaaww-haaaa!” Roshi cackled, blood spraying from both nostrils. The woman arched her back in anger and extended her nails, prepared to scrape the skin off this perverted man. Roshi, now panicked, ran out of the building in seconds flat. He was never to return.


Before long, Roshi was back on his island. It was in the middle of virtually nowhere, and looking back on it, he realized it was a stupid, stupid purchase. Naturally, he had gotten a great deal of money for taking care of King Piccolo. He had used nearly all of that money to buy his own personal island and to build a dojo on a different island, a couple miles south of Kame Island.

At the time, Roshi had not realized that he would be unable to attract any students to the island without any money. He assumed that if he built it, they would come. That was not the case whatsoever. Word had simply not gotten out about his new training place, so he hoped that a little bit of marketing would get the business running. Now, not even that was a possibility.

Roshi hoped that a little bit of TV might give him some inspiration. After all, he had just subscribed to a new service that regularly sent him yoga videos, so he thought that it might be a good idea to try one out. Roshi went inside and turned on his television, one of the few luxuries he did indulge in, and started trying to get his DVD player to work.

Rapidly, Roshi flipped through the channels. He didn’t quite realize that he just needed to press the source button, so he found himself surfing through an array of different sports, news, and comedy channels, when he came across something that caught his attention.

On the television screen was the very lady who he had just met! The headline above her read “Sexual Scandal?!”. The lady seemed distressed and, for the first time, Roshi paid attention to what she had to say.

As it turned out, the lady Roshi had spoken to was a high ranking media official, one who was deeply offended by Roshi’s harassment. She went over, in detail, what Roshi had done to her. She mentioned how he had stared at her breasts and made a grab at her fanny, all the while acting like it was a traumatic event for her. She ended her speech by mentioning how Roshi was a “low-life”, even if he had stopped Piccolo, and how accepting training from him would be amoral.

Roshi felt his hopes crumble inside of him. He realized that this was likely the end of the road for him, right then, and then started to wonder how he would continue to make payments on his island and his dojo, without any trainees whatsoever. Hopeless, Roshi decided to make one last desperate lunge for happiness; he grabbed the TV manual, desperate to figure out how to get the yoga video to play.

Just a Crazy Young Man and his Fist[]

One week later, Roshi's life was unchanged. It was as if the remote he held in his hand had set his life on pause. All he had done over the past 7 days is checked the window in false hope a student would show up, and watched the TV to see how many times he was on the news. Roshi was sick and bored of being stuck. But at this point, it was his own fault. He would just have to sell the island, or take an office job. No, such a thing would be insane. Maybe if he could just wait, a student would come, and this would all blow over. Then again, maybe not. But Roshi was in no mood for trying. He laid back, and flicked around on his TV until he came to something that didn't involve him. It was one of those cheesy old Kung Fu movies. The hero was spinning around, clearly suspended by ropes, kicking several black-clad rivals in the face. To be that hero, a famous martial artist, legendary and respected. This was Roshi's dream, what he aspired for. Suddenly, he was inspired. He had figured out the perfect way to solve his problems.




Roshi ran through his house, using up the vigor stored from days of sloth. He tore through his house, stopping at a closet. He used it to house gi, weights, and other various martial arts equipment from when he trained under Master Mutaito. He opened it, going through various piles of junk, tossing whatever he didn't need onto the floor without care. After searching the whole closet, all he found of use was a black martial arts outfit, complete with black pants. It wouldn't do much to help his plan. He ran through the rest of his house, tripping over the disorganized mess that was the hallway. He proceeded to move to the bathroom, opening a drawer used to hold medicine and whatnot. He pulled out the first thing he could get his hands on, some silver hair dye. With the hair dye and new clothes, he could put his plan into action


Roshi's plan was to create a new identity for himself, and use it to fight crime. He would become famous because of it. Then at the zenus of his fame, he would tell the world that Master Roshi had trained him. His reputation would be saved, and the students and cash would come flooding in. And the girls, so many girls. He was getting giddy just thinking about it, and ran into the bathroom to start his new identity.






Master Roshi came out of the bathroom, fully clad in his new outfit. He looked different enough, a mere removal of his glasses and a combing of the hair was enough to ensure his identity would be safe. All that was left was a name. He pondered over a few options, before settling on Jackie Chun. Flawless is all he could think. Before long he was out the door, ready to take on some crime.

White Stuff Everywhere[]

Roshi was back in town in minutes, having flown in by helicopter. He looked around, ready to stop an evildoer in their tracks. Unfortunately for Roshi, he saw nothing. Roshi wasn’t prepared for this; he expected ninjas to leap out of nowhere at him, for trouble to come running up to him with a shuriken. No such luck, sadly. Much unlike the movies he had seen, trouble was hard to find in these parts. It was a city that was low in street crime, and fighting evil would not be easy.

Well, that just would not do for Roshi! He would seek out crime and eradicate it; surely the townspeople would appreciate that. Maybe if he visited an urban area or something of the sort he could stop a hit ‘n’ run. Or Roshi could wait outside a bank and wait for the inevitable bank robbery. Perhaps he could track down an abusive parent or a serial arsonist and kill them - well, that might be a bit extreme. If Roshi waited long enough, surely a large green alien would descend upon the...

Roshi’s mind drifted through a fantasy land for a few hours, as he came up with more and more preposterous scenarios in his mind. It ended with Roshi thinking through a complicated scenario in which he drained out the blood of all his enemies and making enemies with his old brother - it was around the conclusion to that fantasy that Roshi realized he had no idea where he was. He had wandered around 19 blocks and now found himself on a busy street. As it so happened, he had just absentmindedly passed through a high-stakes bank robbery, without noticing either burglar. However, he was now well away from the crime scene, and the possibility of him stopping the robbery now was far removed.

As Roshi looked around, he decided that his day’s work was done. He could hardly feel his feet anymore, so he hailed a taxi. With one short call of “Taxi!”, a yellow cab was at his behest. Roshi climbed in, reclining comfortably in his chair.

“Where to?” the cab driver barked, obviously in a hurry.

“Uh, take me to the ferry, please.” Roshi had, with the last remains of his money, purchased round trip ferry tickets earlier that day. He had about 3000 Zeni left, so that should cover the cab ride. After that, though, Roshi had nothing left to his name.

The cab driver didn’t respond to this, but instead started driving. He drove quickly and recklessly, swerving around corners and cutting lanes. The cabbie honked the horn for no clear reason, and Roshi was left confused. He wasn’t scared, necessarily, just disoriented. He was fairly confident that he could survive a car crash, so the bad driving was the least of his concerns.

The cabbie’s phone started ringing, and he hastily picked up the phone. “What do you want? A flat tire? Now? Is this a fucking joke? Goddamnit, Hareeb. I’ll be right there.” The cabbie slammed his flip phone shut, and turned back to Roshi. “We’ve got to make a quick stop. You wanna get out here?”

Roshi wasn't completely sure where he was and also wasn't totally sure if he could get a new cab. “Uh, I’m fine in here. Just finish up fast.”

The cab driver scoffed and turned his car around in what was possibly the worst U-Turn ever. He sped down the road and off into a dirt trail, creating a ride that was no less jerky but considerably bumpier. Roshi was clueless as to what was going on, but he tried to focus on clinging onto the seat belt. He had faced down The Demon King Piccolo and lived to tell the tale, but riding down the dirt road with this driver was still the scariest experience of his life.

Before long, the cab slowed down to a halt, and they pulled up to a large,18-wheeled truck.

The cab driver turned around to Roshi, before commanding Roshi to stay seated. The cab driver went out to greet the truck driver, who showed him one of the tires. The cabbie bent down next to one of the tires and the truck driver handed him a tire jack.

The cab driver got the tire jack right on next to the tire and was prepared to start jacking away. It was at this exact moment that the truck driver took out his gun, placed it against the cabbie’s head, and pulled the trigger. The cabbie’s head exploded into more pieces than a Chiaotzu, as the Cabbie’s blood splattered across the tire and the truck. The truck driver put the gun back into his holster and walked back to the driver’s seat.

Roshi, upon seeing all of this, realized the opportunity! There was crime! A conspiracy, even, and Roshi might be able to stop it! Roshi flung the door open and rolled out of the car, before taking off in a sprint toward the truck. He walked up to the driver’s seat and knocked forcefully on the window.

The window slowly rolled down. The truck driver started up hesitantly. “So, uh, whatcha up to?” The truck driver’s eyes were red and buggy. His voice was twitchy and inconsistent, and he seemed at a rush to get all the words out.

“Well, uh-” Roshi began, before the truck driver pulled out his gun, aiming it at Roshi’s head. It was a small handgun. The truck driver pulled the trigger quickly, and Roshi countered this by catching the bullet with his index finger and thumb. Roshi flicked the bullet up into the air, letting it disappear into the horizon.

The truck driver looked at Roshi in puzzlement for a moment, before speeding off down the dirt path. The truck bounced off at a solid 60 MPH, speeds which were in violation of the trail’s strict speed limit. Roshi took off after the truck, careful to jump over his old cabbie’s corpse, and found that he caught up with the truck in no time at all. He kept pace with the truck, and looked in through the driver’s window.

The driver looked at Roshi with astonishment. “What, what are you?”

“Name’s Jackie Chun,” Roshi responded, before reaching into the truck and grabbing the driver. The driver, panicked, attempted a quick turn of the truck, and, as anyone who has ever driven an 18 wheeler before knows, they cannot turn sharply. The truck, along with its driver, turned over on its side. Roshi, desperate to keep up, jumped in through the window, ready to apprehend the perpetrator. As Roshi jumped into the truck, he felt himself barrel through the front seats, as he crashed through the passenger’s side window and out into the dirt on the other side. He, almost out of instinct, rolled upon impact.

The martial artist settled down around the rear half of the truck. He felt the contents of the truck pour down upon him. He was covered in the finely powdered white crystals that were in the truck, and felt a few crystals enter every orifice of his body. You know, like his ears and his nose.

Roshi was covered in pure Namekian Cocaine, and it was his first time ingesting the substance. He felt the substance immediately take effect, and he felt instantaneously reenergized. He stood up, shook himself off, and jogged on over to the driver.

“Who are you, fiend?” he yelled, picking up the criminal.

“What the fuck are you, man?” the disgruntled driver responded.

“Why did you kill the cab driver?” Roshi responded emphatically. He felt both euphoric and powerful.

“He wanted a share of the profits, and I wanted all the money from the coke.”

“You monster! You deserve to rot in hell, you heartless motherfucker!” Roshi had never quite felt like this before. He wasn’t quite sure if he liked it. “I’m taking you straight to jail!”

Roshi took the criminal by the scruff of his neck and ran for what felt like miles.


Roshi wiped his hands against each other, his job completed. He had gone into the police house, explained the situation to the cops, and alerted them of the tons of cocaine that were out in the desert somewhere. Jackie Chun had just completed his first hard day of work. His energy was still high, so he decided that he was going to try to swim all the way home.

Just as Roshi began to run home, he was stopped by a reporter with a microphone. Who are you?, was her question, and he happily responded Jackie Chun! She asked him about the huge mountain of cocaine found on the dirt path, to which he responded that a horrible truck driver man had just left it there after he flipped over his truck. In Roshi’s cocaine-addled mind, it was pretty close to the truth.

More reporters gathered soon. They asked him about his costume, to which he twitched. They asked him about how he got tangled up in the whole ordeal, to which one of his eyes started bleeding.

“Chun! Where did you learn to fight!?!” a reporter yelled out, catching Roshi’s attention.

“At the Turtle Hermit School!” Roshi responded proudly. “Everyone should go there!”

There were loud gasps from the crowd of reporters, who had thought next to nothing of the Turtle School prior to this - yet now, this superhuman, godly figure was telling them to train there? What a twist!

“Jackie! Are you going to enter the upcoming tournament?” a separate reporter questioned, this one even louder than the last.

“A tournament, eh? What’s the prize?!”

Grabbing Horns[]

Martial arts had always held some mysterious appeal to Roshi. He could never quite put words to it, but combat always held some thrilling magic for him. From his first punch to his battle with King Piccolo, Roshi always had a dream of being a master. He aspired to be more than average, more than good, beyond even incredible. He wanted to be the best, a picture of perfection that would be the inspiration for martial artists everywhere. He wanted children to idolize him and the black of heart to cower at the mere mention of his name. Every single thing he had ever done in his life was a step up the stairs to his dream, and victory in this tournament would mean a massive leap forward.

But as Roshi stepped through the gates of the tournament stadium, his thoughts began to delve into the darker corners of his mind. What if he lost? What if he was sent toppling down the stairs, bones breaking as he fell? What if his name became a joke, or a cautionary tale to those who took their ambition too far? But what if he didn't? Discouragement is the enemy of achievement. Roshi would fight like he would win, and maybe he would.

He was so consumed by thought that he failed to realize he had walked into a wall. Several contestants snickered quietly. A storm of brief and furious emotions bubbled inside of Roshi. He was embarrassed, ashamed, and disappointed with himself. What gave them the right to laugh at the martial arts master that was Roshi, after all? "You're not going to be laughing when I'm the champion!" he yelled out defensively. A large mass of muscle stood up to the left of Roshi. His hair was white, unkempt, and rolled majestically down his back. Upon his glorious head of hair he wore a viking hat, its spikes extending seemingly into the sky above.

"You're going to beat me, huh?" His voice was gruff and deep. Roshi, who didn't want to get into a fight with this gargantuan man, remained quiet, He knew that this viking was belligerent enough to get into a fight before the tournament even started.

Roshi continued waiting in line, the line progressing quickly enough. Once he reached the desk, he leaned against it, relaxing. The registratoion lady was old, dull, and white haired. Roshi had zero interest in her. She looked up at him and emotionlessly asked for his name.

"Jackie Chun," Roshi stated calmly. The lady looked down at a paper on her desk, and pointed Roshi to the arena, robotically. He walked towards the center of the gate. Roshi made his way to the center of the arena, a circle marked with red tape. With every step he made towards the center he was met with louder and louder applause. Roshi was struck with his own ego, and any self-doubt he had before was gone.

As he crossed the tape into the center, he also crossed the line from the realm of confident to egotistical. In his mind, there was no probability for loss, and if he were to lose, it would come as such a shock to him that he would completely crumble down. Roshi's psyche was in a dangerous state.

The Viking Man was born strong and raised strong in the rocky mountains of the far north. Sometimes these mountains would have avalanches, crushing all who were below. The very sight of the Viking Man stepping over the red tape was like an avalanche of terror descending onto Roshi. Viking Man scowled upon the very sight of Roshi and said "You really think that you can stand up to me? Well, then, I guess I'll have to snap you like a twig." If Roshi were to back down and appear weak, this would be his end. Everyone would lose faith in him.

"3…2…1…Fight!" the announcer shouted. Roshi was too frightened to do anything and was frozen in place. What could he have done? Why even bother fighting if he was going to be destroyed either way?

Roshi just stood there and accepted whatever his fate was.

Viking Man swatted Roshi aside with his enormous fist. Roshi was almost flung out of the taped area, but his leg dragged, keeping him inside. Viking Man stared at him with a cold, aggressive gaze. He brought his fist up again, but this time brought it down on Roshi. Even though Roshi wanted to lose, his instincts took over and forced him to nimbly sidestep the punch. Viking Man's fist had cracked the ground, sending fragments of stones and wood in all directions. Roshi was trembling like some invisible force was shaking him. Roshi looked around him and saw the disappointment in the crowd. Mutaito…where ever his spirit was, it was probably ashamed to have ever taught such a loser. Roshi wasn't about to sit down and accept defeat. Viking Man sprinted at Roshi, churning up a cloud of dust as he ran. The ground shook violently Before Roshi could even contemplate moving, Viking Man had struck him in the head. His vision turned into a blurry mess. He could only feel the blood dripped down his face. But Roshi wasn't injured enough for Viking Man. No, he needed to break Roshi to the point where he would never walk again. Viking Man began to lift Roshi up. He picked him up so that he hovered right above Viking Man's knee. He then brought his hands down, slamming Roshi's spine into his knee. He threw Roshi onto the ground and down to the bottom step of his dreams while he drifted into darkness.

Roshi felt cold and distant as he returned to consciousness. He could see and feel the world around him, but he didn't feel like he was part of it. He was a ghost, a shadow, a nothing. He could see Viking Man celebrating his victory while Roshi himself laid in a broken heap. He had lost, in the first round. He was right. He was a disgrace to Mutaito. Mutaito…Roshi heard a voice. It was like a cold whisper in the night…but not one of terror. It was one of comfort, giving power and reassurance. It said "Roshi, I trained you to be stronger than this." The voice said

"Mutaito…?" Roshi asked "Yes…" the voice said. "I don't remember training someone who would give up so easily." Roshi felt himself stand up. First on one knee…then one leg…now he was on both feet.

"Hey…not…dead…yet," Roshi said. Viking Man turned around, wearing the same look of shock Roshi wore when he first looked straight at insurmountable odds. "There's no way you can be up! I broke you!" Viking Man screamed. Roshi positioned his hands and got ready to pounce. He looked absolutely cat-like, his body completely in tune with his sense. He took a jump into the air, his body whizzing through the air at an incredible speed.

He extended his foot as he soared. He felt his foot sink into Viking Man's chest. He spit up a spray of red before being launched out of the taped off area. He laid broken on the ground. The accounted screamed "What a shocking turn of events! What a marvelous comeback victory! I can't believe it myself! The winner is Jackie Chun!" Roshi bathed in the applause.

Sometime later, Roshi was set to fight another challenger. He walked into the rep tape zone once again. Being broken, then rising up to defeat some insurmountable foe had rekindled Roshi's fighting spirit. In his mind, he could defeat 100 Viking Men with one arm tied behind his back. When Roshi's opponent stepped past the red tape, he couldn't help but feel bad for him. He looked so terribly normal that he would have had a better place in the audience than in the arena. He didn't look very nervous, the poor naive fellow. The challenger stuck out his hand and said "Hello, Mr. Chun." Perhaps it was only because he was about to roundhouse this man's brains out in a few moments, but Roshi grabbed his hand and shook it.

"Alight ladies and gentlemen." The announcer said. "We have Jackie Chun fighting against an anonymous challenger. 3…2…1…fight!"

Roshi felt like the strongest man in the world. He started by kicking the cowering challenger in the jaw. The blow was so brutal that it caused Steve's world to spin. He clutched his jaw in pain.

Roshi saw and acknowledged how much suffering he had caused, but it got him excited. It wasn't sadism, no, he was excited because he was strong. The very fact that he could defeat someone, and then get love, praise, and respect for it thrilled him. He didn't want to stop. He followed his last strike with a furious knee to the forehead, knocking Steve out. Steve's body spun out of the ring, colliding into the ground and leaving a body-sized crater. Roshi heard bones crack and blood spurted out, his body spinning around on the ground like a ragdoll.

"The winner is Jackie Chun!" the announcer exclaimed. Roshi was so high on his own strength that he didn't notice the medical team carrying Steve away. He was no better than the scum that was his next foe.

Tarface was a fish out of water in the tournament. He was used to gunning people down, not fighting with his fists. But he wasn't about to let that stop him from acquiring his prize. He chomped on his cigar and made his way to the center. He had easily dispatched his last two opponents. Tarface wasn't, however, a man with a speck of honor inside of him. One well hidden switchblade strike the knee and the battle was decided. As both his feet crossed the red tape, he knew victory was certain. Fair fighting was just the enemy of victory.

Still excited by the ease of his last victory, Roshi wasn't at all intimidated by this cigar chomping warrior who looked like he'd never thrown a punch.

"Alright, it's time for the semifinals. This time we have Jackie Chun fighting against Tarface." Roshi was expecting a victory as swift as the last. He did not expect, however, to be knocked off of his feet before he had a chance to react. Tarface had tackled his legs, pinning him to the ground. He punched Roshi in the face twice before Roshi was able to kick him off. Tarface landed on his feet and prepared himself to attack again. Roshi kicked at Tarface, but as his foot swung through the air, Tarface had ducked, Roshi missing because of Tarface's short stature. He followed up by uppercutting Roshi, his fist making contact with Roshi's chin. Then he grabbed Roshi by his neck. He was going to squeeze the life out of him. Then he was only one step away from his next prize.

Roshi wasn't too afraid of being strangled. If he could just knock him off again...Roshi saw a small glimmer come from Tarface's wrist. Roshi was shocked. Tarface had a knife with him. If only Roshi could warn the judge...

"Say anything and I slit your throat." Tarface snarled. Tarface held the blade between his fingers, and drove it into Roshi's arm. To the spectators, it appeared that Tarface was merely punching Roshi. Roshi was in unbelievable pain. He couldn't shout out though, he didn't want to risk having Tarface kill him. If he could get the knife off of him, he might stand a chance. He just had to hit him before he got stabbed again. Tarface pulled his arm back and drove it towards Roshi's other arm. This was his one chance. Roshi jumped over Tarface and landed behind him. He only had a split second to decide what to do next. This was where Roshi's training came in. He was taught how to get out of tough situations, and how to act on instinct. He kicked Tarface in the back. He flew forwards and landed on all fours. While Tarface got up, he made an effort to flash his blade at Roshi again, as if to say "You've done it now!"

Roshi jumped at Tarface. Just a punch to the back and he'd be in the finals. In an instant, Tarface turned around and drove his knife through Roshi's foot. Roshi screamed in pain, unable to hold back his agony this time. Roshi fell to the ground grabbing his foot. Tarface took the opportunity and jumped on Roshi with his hand around his neck again. He pulled back his fist, ready to drive his blade into Roshi's neck and finish him forever. Roshi thought that this would be a nice time to look over his life, have an epiphany or 90, and just accept his fate. But Roshi couldn't do that. He stood up to Viking Man, even after he was broken. He was brave enough to face the demon king himself. And he was more than brave enough to stand up to this coward.

Before anyone could react, Roshi had his hand wrapped around Tarface's head. He stood up and slammed Tarface into the ground. Tarface grunted, but wasn't defeated yet. Roshi picked him up once more, and smashed him into the floor more brutally. But that wasn't even enough. Roshi raised Tarface's body all the way over his head, and tossed him out of the tape. Tarface's body rolled across the ground, coming to a stop a few moments later.

"Chun wins the semifinals! Now he will proceed to the final round!"

Roshi knew that victory was now his.

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