Skipped past Kyoto's daily life to get here? Can't blame you. Anyway, sit back and enjoy our fool's deep dive into the beautiful insanity that is DBZ.
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He finished the slice, wiped his hands on a flimsy napkin, and stood. "Gotta run," he announced, already turning towards the door. Jenny scrambled up again. "Oh! Already? But…" Disappointment clouded her face. "I… I thought maybe… after?" Her voice was small, hopeful, tinged with confusion. Kyoto flashed her a quick, dismissive grin. "Next time, Jenny." He didn't look back. The bell jingled again as he pushed out into the wet night, leaving her standing bewildered beside the half-eaten pizza. The rain hit him instantly, cold and sharp. He hunched his shoulders, scanning the empty street briefly before stepping off the curb, heading for his Civic parked across the road in the poorly lit lot.
The headlights exploded out of nowhere. Not blinding high beams, just twin crescents slicing through the rain-slicked darkness, impossibly fast, impossibly close. No roar of an engine, just the sickeningly swift whoosh of air displaced. Kyoto had a microsecond to register the chrome grillwork, gleaming wetly under a streetlight, before it filled his entire vision. Impact. It wasn't a crunch, or a thud. It was oblivion. A silent, shattering white flash that consumed everything – the rain, the cold, the Civic, Bianca, Cora, Jenny's worried eyes, Elara's icy fury. Gone. Snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane. No pain. Just… cessation.
Then, light. Soft, diffuse, and impossibly bright. Kyoto blinked. He was standing. Upright. Unhurt. The rain, the street, Giovanni's neon sign – vanished. He stood on a floor of seamless, glowing white marble that stretched into infinity. Above, a vaulted ceiling shimmered with pearlescent light. The air was warm, fragrant with something sweet and floral. Panic tried to claw its way up his throat, but it felt distant, muffled. Dead? Truck-kun? Finally?
"Oopsies! My bad!" The voice was high-pitched, bubbly, and utterly incongruous. Kyoto spun. Standing before him, bathed in the soft light, was… a goddess. At least, she looked the part. Tall, impossibly voluptuous, draped in layers of sheer, shimmering white gossamer that clung to every outrageous curve. Platinum blonde hair cascaded in a sharp, angled bob, blunt-cut bangs framing wide, guileless blue eyes. Her lips were full, painted a glossy pink, currently forming a perfect 'O' of surprise. The robes did nothing to conceal the spectacular swell of her breasts, straining against the flimsy fabric, or the lush flare of her hips. She looked like a pin-up model cosplaying divinity. "Totally didn't see you stepping off the curb!" she chirped, waving a dismissive hand adorned with glittering, oversized rings. "Traffic in the mortal realm is such a drag, y'know? Especially when you're late for mani-pedi day!" She giggled, a sound like tinkling crystal bells that echoed strangely in the vast hall. "I'm Seraphina! Goddess of Reincarnation! Welcome to the White Palace!" She beamed, radiating pure, oblivious cheer.
Kyoto stared, utterly dumbfounded. Dead. And his afterlife administrator was a ditzy bombshell who prioritized nail appointments over pedestrian safety. Bargaining suddenly seemed like the only sane option.
"So," he rasped, voice rough with disbelief. "Where were you plannin' on dumping me? Some generic-ass fantasy world?" He gestured vaguely, frustration bubbling. "Level-up notifications? Goblin slaying? Some useless 'system' chirpin' in my skull? And a harem?" He scoffed, the image of Elara's icy fury flashing briefly. "Boring! Predictable! Seen it a million times! I want somethin' different! Something with..." His gaze instinctively flickered downwards, drawn to the impossible swell beneath Seraphina's sheer robes. "...real stakes. Real... tits." He blinked, realizing the word had slipped out. "Uh... I mean depth. Real depth!"
Seraphina tilted her head, platinum hair shimmering. "Ohhh!" she chirped, tapping her glossy lips thoughtfully. "You don't want the usual RPG grind? No problemo! I've got alternatives!" She snapped her fingers. A shimmering holographic menu appeared beside her, displaying swirling vistas: a cyberpunk cityscape, a pirate-infested ocean, a desolate post-apocalyptic wasteland. "Pick your poison, handsome!"
Kyoto scanned the options, his mind still reeling. Cyberpunk? Full of chrome and neon, but probably also full of corpo suits worse than Elara. Pirates? Too much scurvy, not enough reliable plumbing. Post-apocalypse? Radroaches weren't exactly Bianca-level chaos. He needed... energy. Raw, unfiltered excitement. His eyes drifted back to Seraphina herself, specifically the magnificent curve of her hips straining against the gossamer fabric. "Forget the menus," he muttered, the words tumbling out unchecked. "Just... give me somewhere with action. Where things move. Where the boobs..." He winced, catching himself again. "Boobs? Dammit! I mean... the pace! The pace is fast! And the... assets..." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The women! They gotta be... y'know... stacked! Like proper milk trucks!" He froze, horrified. "Milk trucks?!"
Seraphina just giggled, utterly unfazed. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ooooh, I get it!" she trilled, clapping her hands together, making her chest bounce alarmingly. "You want spice! You want passion! You want... DRAGON BALL Z!" She announced it like the winning lottery numbers.
Kyoto's jaw dropped. The absurdity crashed over him. Truck-kun. Isekai. And now... Namek? Frieza? Kamehamehas? His chaotic life had somehow looped back to his childhood escape fantasy.
"DBZ?" he choked out, staring at Seraphina's oblivious cheer. "Seriously? You're dumping me into a world where people blow up planets before breakfast?"
Seraphina giggled, oblivious to his existential horror. "It's perfect! Action! Explosions! Super-hot alien babes!" She winked conspiratorially. "Bulma's a total MILF, y'know? And Videl later? Phew!"
Kyoto shook his head violently. "Hold up! Negotiation time! Why can't you just zap me back? Patch up the meat suit? Earth wasn't that bad!" He pictured Bianca's wild energy, Jenny's soft curves, even Elara's sharp fury. Chaos he understood.
Seraphina's bubbly smile faltered for a nanosecond. She floated closer, her expression shifting to something resembling pity. "Oh, honey-bunny... no." Her voice softened, losing its manic pitch. "That truck? It wasn't just a fender-bender. It was... smoosh." She mimed a pancake with her glittering hands. "Total write-off. Pulverized pelvis, liquefied liver... messy." She wrinkled her perfect nose. "Beyond even my divine duct tape. Your human body is scrap metal."
Kyoto felt cold despite the warm air. Scrap metal. Like his Civic. Like... "And my life?" he pressed, a desperate edge creeping in. "The mess I left? Bianca? Jenny? Elara?"
Seraphina sighed, a surprisingly weary sound. "Beyond repair too, sugarplum. Think about it." She ticked points off on her glittery fingers. "Bianca? Waking up alone in your trashed apartment? She'll torch the place properly this time. Jenny? Saw you get splattered like a bug on Giovanni's window. Trauma for life. And Elara?" Seraphina shuddered dramatically. "That icy rage? Finding out her favorite chew toy got pancaked? She'll probably fire your corpse out of spite. Earth-you is over. Kaput. Finito."
The finality hit Kyoto like a Spirit Bomb. No going back. No fixing the wreckage. He was cosmic roadkill. He stared past Seraphina at the glowing white void. Earth felt suddenly distant, small... finished. His chaotic, messy, unsatisfying, real life was gone. All that remained was the absurd: a ditzy goddess and a universe of spiky hair, power levels, and planet-busting tantrums.
"So," Kyoto rasped, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a numb disbelief. "DBZ it is." He pictured Goku's idiot grin, Vegeta's perpetual scowl. "Do I at least get to pick where I land? Or what I am?" A flicker of desperate hope sparked. "Please tell me I'm not reborn as Yamcha."
Seraphina froze mid-giggle. Her bubbly cheer evaporated like steam. She stared at him, wide blue eyes suddenly haunted. "Yamcha?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Her perfect posture slumped slightly. "Oh... oh dear. Yamcha." She shuddered, the shimmering gossamer rippling over her curves. "That... didn't go well." She wrung her glittering hands nervously. "Poor soul. Thought being a desert bandit with a cool scar sounded romantic. Wanted to woo Bulma early, avoid the whole... Vegeta cucking him thing." Seraphina hugged herself, looking genuinely distressed. "He lasted three days."
Kyoto blinked. "Three days?"
"Raditz," Seraphina mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Yamcha tried to... negotiate." She mimed a tiny explosion with her fingers near her temple. "Pew. Headshot. Before lunch." She sniffled dramatically. "The paperwork was awful."
Kyoto recoiled. Okay, no Yamcha. Definitely not Yamcha. He needed leverage. Power. Immunity to being casually vaporized by space monkeys. His mind raced back to lazy childhood Saturdays spent watching Goku train. The ultimate cheat code. "Fine," Kyoto snapped, leaning forward. "Forget Yamcha. Forget Earth. Forget Namek. I want Beerus' Planet. Reborn there. As a Saiyan. A super OP Saiyan." He emphasized the last word, hoping it translated. "Right next to Whis. Training from day one. Instant god-level power."
Seraphina blinked. Her distress vanished, replaced by pure, sparkling confusion. "Oh-Pee?" she echoed, tilting her head like a curious bird. Her platinum bob swung. "Oh-Pee..." She tapped her glossy lips thoughtfully, eyes distant. A slow, dazzling smile spread across her face. "Oh! Ooh-Pee! Of course! Silly me!" She giggled, waving a dismissive hand. "You want the... Ultra Deluxe Premium Package! With the... sparkly bits!" She nodded vigorously, her magnificent chest bouncing. "Absolutely! Beerus' Planet! Saiyan! Done and done! Super... Oh-Pee!" She beamed, radiating triumphant certainty. "Consider it handled, handsome! You'll be drowning in... Ooh-Pee-ness!" She snapped her glittering fingers.
Kyoto opened his mouth to clarify – to explain Overpowered meant unbeatable, untouchable, godlike – but the world dissolved before he could speak. The pearlescent light of the White Palace flared blindingly bright, then plunged into swirling, inky blackness. Cold, crushing pressure enveloped him, thick and suffocating.