Master Roshi's Island Novels & Stories

Finally, she was able to get some relief from her boredom. "Thank you, Mr. Yoon. You are an angel. I thought I was about to get depression from staying here, but you have saved me." "This is nothing much, Mistress, as long as it pleases you." "Do you know what would make it better? If you don't call me Mistress! That makes me feel too old although I actually old now. Just call me by name," she energetically stated. "I will keep that in mind," he spoke out. "One more thing, although you are allowed to do whatever you want with the phone, please do not contact anyone or post your photos anywhere. This is to ensure your safety."

Doris was clearly sidestepping my question, yet the onlookers seemed to interpret her behavior as an admission of my alleged degradation. Jennifer's voice rose above the murmurs, her arms waving with fervor. "Guys, if we turn a blind eye today, who will stand for us when our time comes? Today, we are the judges of the mistress! For this shameless mistress who wreaks havoc on others' family, we owe it to ourselves to mete out justice!" Encouraged by Jennifer's impassioned words, the students jumped onto their desks, their chant of "Expel the mistress and make it right" echoing through the hall.

"This is the last time you try running from me. The next time I will cut off both your legs. Do you understand" "Y-yes" "Enjoy your meal." To both their surprise, he kissed her cheek before walking away. ****************************************************************************

“Tyson has claimed her.” Every muscle in my body locks. They’re talking about me. Another voice answers. “It won’t matter. When the Master arrives, she’ll come willingly.” A cold wave crashes through me. Master? Who is the Master? I force myself to stay still. To breathe. To listen. “The barrier held?” “Perfectly. She’ll never find us.” If only they knew. Footsteps move closer. Too close. I press myself against the rough bark of an ancient oak, willing every part of me into silence.

It was a question that had haunted me for as long as I could remember, a question to which I knew I would never find a satisfactory answer. As Susan gracefully approached me, her hand extended towards me in a silent yet compelling invitation, my heart skipped a beat. The air around us seemed to crackle with anticipation as her words hung in the air, echoing in my ears. "Master is waiting for you, Miss Isabella. Come with me."

Amid the indulgence, someone finally became aware and asked, “George Brown is a French master chef. I didn’t expect his Japanese dishes to be so divine. Incredible!” A server in traditional Japanese clothing overheard and corrected loudly, “Ladies and gentlemen, this dish was not prepared by Master George Brown. It was specially prepared by Master Jiro Ono to celebrate Miss Isabella’s successful completion of her first film.” ***

After five years of being forcibly institutionalized in a mental hospital by my parents for “rehabilitation,” I awakened the “Slap System” skill. One slap, a million dollars deposited into my account. Another slap, my combat power skyrocketed. Just as I was thoroughly enjoying my slapping spree and preparing to leap over the asylum walls to break free, my parents suddenly arrived to take me home. The moment I stepped through the front door, I saw my adopted brother Atticus Hawthorne, eyes reddened, holding my fiancée, Cassandra Vaughn, in his arms. Meanwhile, my real brother Roman Montgomery was locked in a dog cage, bitten and torn by vicious hounds, covered in wounds, and breathing his

completely unfazed by the view, like he was just checking the weather instead of standing in front of paradise. Just another bland fucking day for the young master Cross. I turned to him slowly. "You’ve got five seconds to tell me where we are, before I kick you in the balls." He looked at me with a chuckle. "Alright, alright...We’re here." I blinked.."That wasn’t the question." His face remained perfectly calm. "We’re on the island." I frowned. "What island?" He casually gestured toward the landscape, the way someone might point to an average parking spot.