Bunshichi, a morally questionable 28-year-old playboy who dies and reincarnates as baby Goku while retaining his adult memories and consciousness. With no prior knowledge of Dragon Ball, he must navigate growing up as the legendary Saiyan hero while...
In an all-white monitoring room, Azmina sat hugging her legs, her long flowing red hair cascading over her shoulders. Her pale, porcelain skin seemed to glow against the stark white surroundings. Her face expressed a mix of sadness and terror as she looked down.
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"What should I do, Chronica..." Azmina said with sadness to her friend and colleague.
Chronica lay on her belly, her dark skin a rich contrast against the white floor, her white pixie-cut hair bright against her complexion as she swung her legs. "It's been 3 years you've been asking me the same question. I don't know."
She rolled onto her back and drew one knee up, the tunic's fabric falling away to reveal the long line of her inner thigh. "We don't have a choice. We have to report it to the Supreme Overseer."
"What?!" Azmina exclaimed.
"Yes, she is the highest authority in the Overseer of Reincarnation Department," Chronica began.
"I know, Chronica! Everyone knows that!" Azmina cut her off.
"I know... I just had to say it for some reason. That's weird." Chronica frowned at her own behavior.
"Do you think he's hurt? Do you think he's lonely?" Azmina's voice cracked. "I feel so bad for him... I want to be with him to help him,"
Chronica looked at her with concern, then softened. "You're really kind, Azmina... Being so empathetic with souls..."
Azmina snapped out of it. "Ah! Hehehe!" She laughed nervously.
Suddenly, light illuminated the back of Azmina's red hair. Chronica, now sitting up on the couch, looked past her, eyes widening.
"What the..."
"What's wrong?" Azmina asked, turning to follow her gaze.
There, on the screen that had been dark for three years, an image appeared. A man, imposing, tall, sculpted by relentless training. Blonde hair blazing. Emerald eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce through dimensions.
"Who is he?" Chronica asked, grabbing the manual of the Dragon Ball world and frantically searching through categories of techniques and transformations.
But Azmina wasn't moving. She stared at the screen, her expression shifting entirely. A smile formed, warm and tender, yet carrying something deeper beneath. Her pale cheeks flushed crimson. Her eyes grew soft, almost dazed, pupils dilating as she gazed at the figure on screen. Her breathing became irregular, quickening.
"Those eyes~" she whispered in a breathy tone, bringing both hands to her chest. The movement pressed against her ample breasts, causing them to rise with each increasingly rapid breath. "It's Goku~"
The fabric of her ceremonial robes shifted and bunched with the motion, forming visible creases across her chest as it rose and fell, her breathing pattern completely changed from moments before.
