Frieza sank back into the golden throne of Bucephalus, the soft leather molding perfectly to his regenerated form.
For the first time since Beerus had torn him apart, he allowed himself a long, quiet exhale — a sigh of pure, unadulterated contentment.
The throne room was hushed, the only sound the faint hum of the ship's systems and the slow drip of the last remnants of his golden blood being cleaned away by silent servitors.
One never truly knows what one has… until it is taken away.
The thought lingered like smoke. The arm. The eye. The arrogance. All stripped away in moments.
And yet, here he sat — whole, stronger, sharper. The pain of loss had forged something new inside him: clarity. Ruthlessness without delusion. Power without blind pride.
The throne room doors hissed open.
Cym burst in — eyes wide, breathing hard, the normally composed aide looking like he had sprinted the length of the ship.
The ship was longer then some small moons.
The moment he saw Frieza, he ran — actually RAN — straight to the throne, dropping to his knees and reaching out with trembling hands to check for wounds, for blood, for any sign that his lord was still broken.
"My lord—!"
Frieza let out a low, genuine chuckle — the sound rich and amused.
"You seem quite worried, Cym."
Cym's hands froze mid-air, then slowly lowered. He looked up, his usual composure cracking into something raw and almost childlike.
He glared — meekly, helplessly — the glare of someone who had been wronged beyond measure.
"My Majesty…" Cym's voice trembled with the weight of twenty-four hours of terror. "You **disappeared** out of nowhere. One moment you were here, bleeding, broken — the next… gone. I thought God of Destruction had finished you. I searched the entire ship — every corridor, every deck — screaming your name like a fool. Only to find out you'd somehow teleported to Namek."
Frieza's chuckle deepened — warm, almost fond.
Cym's glare intensified, ears drooping slightly, cheeks flushing with frustration.
"You worried me to death."
Frieza tilted his head, red eyes gleaming with faint amusement.
"So… what would you like, Cym?"
Cym straightened a little, drawing in a shaky breath, voice suddenly calm — but carrying the quiet authority of someone who had worried himself sick.
"I would like you to rest, Furthermore l think l could use a rest aswell ."
Frieza raised an eyebrow.
"You have been running nonstop — 24 hours a day, no sleep, no pause — since you received your new body. You fought a God of Destruction, rebuilt yourself, conquered a planet, and now you sit here like nothing happened."
He placed a hand on the throne's armrest, leaning in slightly.
"A vacation, my lord. You need one."
Frieza hummed — thoughtful, considering.
He had indeed been relentless. Training, scheming, fighting, rebuilding. No rest. No pause.
And some days remained before Beerus returned.
Not to mention Ten years of preparation — intense, brutal training in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber or equivalent.
But before that…
A break.
Stress-free time.
Frieza's mind drifted — old memories from his human life flickering like half-forgotten dreams.
Ezekiel had always been fond of cat girls — the playful, teasing anime trope that had once made a lonely boy smile in a cruel world.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
He raised a hand — the universal holographic map granted by Porunga materializing before him, a glittering sphere of stars and worlds.
He typed a single query.
Cat girls.
He didn't expect much.
But the map spun.
Planets highlighted.
One glowed brighter than the rest.
A small, lush world in a quiet sector — marked with notes: high population of feline-humanoid species, known for beauty, agility, and… Breeding.
Frieza's smirk deepened.
"Well this is certainly a pleasant surprise, But l can't say l am complaining. Well then."
He stood — suit shifting perfectly with the motion.
"A vacation it is."
Cym blinked — surprised and asked "My lord what are Cat girls".
Frieza let out a grin "They are a Man ultimate dream. An ultimate goal.You wouldn't understand"
Frieza again glanced at him.
"Well then Prepare the ship."
"We're going to meet some… new subjects."
Cym bowed — a small, genuine smile breaking through.
"As you command, my lord."
A vacation.
And then…
The cat-god would come.
But Frieza would Have learned all their is to know about a cat humanoid….....intemately
And he would be.
Rested.
Refreshed.
And more dangerous than ever.
---
The holographic map from Porunga still glowing faintly in the air before him — the small, lush feline world marked in soft amber, a quiet corner of Universe 7 promising distraction.
IF the data is true then the world only hold girls and no Male.
He glanced at the navigation display — estimated travel time to the planet: approximately 7 or 8 hours at maximum warp.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Perfect."
He rose in one fluid motion — wine-red suit shifting perfectly, golden accents catching the light like liquid fire.
"I will be back in an hour or two," he announced, voice casual, as if announcing a brief stroll.
Cym — standing attentively at the base of the dais — opened his mouth to ask the inevitable question.
*Where?*
But he caught himself.
Frieza's expression was calm, almost playful — the kind of calm that meant answers would be evasive at best, dangerous at worst.
Cym closed his mouth.
He shook his head slightly — resigned, fond, exhausted — and decided not to ask.
Frieza noticed.
He let out a low, amused chuckle — the sound rich and genuine, rumbling through the throne room.
Seeing Cym's internal struggle — the aide's ears drooping, eyes flicking between curiosity and self-preservation — only made it funnier.
Frieza raised two fingers to his forehead — the classic Yardrat pose, now effortless after mastering Instant Transmission.
He gave Cym one last amused glance.
Then space folded.
He vanished in a silent flash.
The throne room fell quiet.
Cym stood there for a moment — staring at the empty throne, the faint ripple of ki lingering in the air like perfume.
He shook his head again — left to right, slow and exasperated.
"He never changes, will he?"
A small, tired smile tugged at his lips despite himself.
The aide sighed — fond, long-suffering — and turned to the crew.
"Prepare for arrival in 7 to 8 hours. And… clear the schedule for whenever His Majesty decides to return."
The bridge crew nodded — used to the emperor's whims.
Cym looked back at the empty throne.
A vacation.
A mysterious planet full of cat girls, beast girls, dog girls, dragon girls, demon girls and Goth Girls, thick girls, big boobs girls, big ass girls, thick thighs girls. All kinds of girls.
And Frieza — ever unpredictable, ever dangerous — was off doing whatever Frieza did.
Cym shook his head once more.
Some things never changed.
And perhaps… that was for the best.
The ship hummed onward.
---
Frieza materialized in a silent flash of Instant Transmission, the air rippling around him as reality folded and spat him out in the middle of Master Roshi's tiny, cluttered Kame House living room.
The old pervert was on his favorite sofa — Hawaiian shirt half-open, sunglasses askew, one hand wrapped around himself, furiously beating his meat to a dog-eared magazine titled *Busty Bikini Babes Monthly*.
The room smelled of coconut sunscreen, old magazines, and something suspiciously musky.
Roshi's eyes were glued to the centerfold.
He didn't notice the tall, wine-red-suited man with black sclera and glowing red eyes suddenly standing three feet in front of him.
Until he did.
Roshi's entire body locked up mid-stroke.
"Wha—?!"
His hand jerked involuntarily.
A thick, white rope of cum launched forward in a high, tragic arc — aimed directly at Frieza's pristine, golden-accented chest.
Time seemed to slow.
The droplet glistened under the ceiling lamp, spinning lazily, a perfect white comet on a collision course with the Emperor of the Universe.
Frieza's remaining eye widened — just a fraction.
In that split second of horrified realization, he activated Instant Transmission again.
Last Second.
Reality folded once more.
Frieza vanished from in front of Roshi and reappeared behind the sofa in the same heartbeat.
The cum splattered harmlessly against the empty space where he had stood a millisecond earlier, hitting the wall with a wetsplat and slowly sliding down the tropical-patterned wallpaper.
Roshi's jaw dropped.
The magazine slipped from his free hand and flopped open to the floor.
Frieza stood behind the sofa — perfectly still, suit untouched, expression a frozen mask of utter disgust and disbelief.
The silence was deafening.
Roshi slowly turned his head — neck creaking like an old door — to look over the back of the couch.
He saw Frieza.
Tall, pale, wine-red suit immaculate, one hand raised in mid-teleport pose, red eye twitching.
Roshi's sunglasses slid down his nose.
"…Uh."
Frieza's voice came out low, dangerous, and dripping with revulsion.
"You… almost… defiled me."
Roshi gulped audibly.
"I—I didn't mean—! I swear, I was just—!"
Frieza's eye narrowed to a slit.
Roshi scrambled backward on the sofa, clutching his shorts like a shield.
"Look, mister! It was an accident! I've got weak heart, y'know! Sudden teleportation is bad for the prostate!"
Frieza stared.
Long.
Hard.(Pun intended)
Then — slowly — he lowered his hand.
The disgust didn't leave his face.
But something colder, more amused, flickered behind it.
"You have five seconds," he said, voice velvet over steel, "to explain why I shouldn't erase this island, this house, and that disgusting little magazine… with you still inside it."
Roshi's eyes bulged.
"WAIT! WAIT! I'M A LEGENDARY MARTIAL ARTS MASTER! I TRAINED THE STRONGEST WARRIORS IN THE WORLD! GOKU! KRILLIN! I CAN HELP YOU!"
Frieza tilted his head.
The silence stretched.
Roshi swallowed.
"…Please don't kill me over a little… white flash?"
Ifykyk
Frieza's lip curled.
He turned away — looking out the window at the ocean.
"Speak quickly, old man."
Roshi scrambled to sit up properly, pulling his shirt closed.
"R-right! So… who are you, exactly?"
Frieza didn't turn.
His voice was ice.
"I am Frieza."
Roshi blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then his sunglasses fell completely off his face.
"…The Frieza?"
Frieza glanced back — smile small, cruel, terrifying.
"The very same."
Roshi's knees knocked together.
He whispered one word — barely audible.
"Shit."
In that moment he realized...He messed up.
The ocean outside rolled on, indifferent.
Inside Kame House, a very old pervert was in the room with the most dangerous being in the universe.
And he had almost cum on him.
This had just gotten interesting.
---
IMPORTANT FUCKING NOTICE
Name all your favorite waifu that are not from dragon ball. You all have a day or two to convince me. (Preferably cat girls but any hotie can get my shorty)
Here.
And l know some of you are gonna complain That roshi didn't know who Frieza was.....
And l say you let me cook. All will be explained in the next chapter.
And drop some power stone ,seriously. l need them so l know you guys are interested and l am not just wasting my Time.