The snow fell in a slow, steady rhythm, blanketing the world in white. For as far as the eye could see, the silver landscape stretched toward the horizon—a sight rarely found in the cold vacuum of space, making it feel strangely fresh.
Watching over this silent world, a man sat perched on a rock, lost in thought.
"...Well, now what?"
The man—Turles—was, for lack of a better word, burnt out.
Since the day Planet Vegeta vanished, his entire existence had been centered on one goal: killing Frieza. He had formed the Crusher Corps specifically to surpass that monster, wandering the stars and converting countless worlds into nutrients for the Tree of Might. And then, just recently, that lifelong ambition had been fulfilled.
Even if it hadn't been by his own hand, the son of Bardock had ascended to legend and struck Frieza down. It was a good thing. A dream come true... yet he found himself wishing it didn't feel so much like a dream.
The problem was that with Frieza dead, Turles had lost his purpose. He had lived only for that kill. He had always told his crew that once the tyrant was dead, he would take Frieza's place and rule the universe. But now? He felt an incredible lack of motivation.
It wasn't that he'd been lying to himself. He truly had intended to conquer the stars. He'd preached that ambition to the Crusher Corps every single day.
"Ah... I see."
Thinking it through, Turles realized the simple, bitter truth. They say you don't know what you have until it's gone, and he was no exception.
"...It's because those idiots aren't here anymore."
The Crusher Corps—the loud, stupid bunch who shared his goals and laughed at his jokes—were gone. He let out a self-deprecating laugh at his own sentimentality. He had viewed them as pawns to be used against Frieza. Just subordinates. Nothing more.
But they had been his kin in their own way. Now that they were gone, he felt a strange, hollow loneliness. His goal was met, and his army was lost. All that remained was a hollowed-out Saiyan sitting in the snow. With nothing left to do and nowhere to go, Turles was well and truly lost.
"Maybe I should just... let myself freeze to death here."
He had no regrets. Maybe he'd go join those fools in Hell. Bardock would probably be there too. Gine... well, she hadn't really done anything bad; she might be in Heaven.
As Turles wallowed in his weakness, he sensed someone approaching.
"Goku! I knew it was you!"
A young woman in a blue winter coat came running toward him. She looked to be in her early twenties with striking red hair and a cheerful face.
"Wow, it's been so long... look how big you've grown! Don't you recognize me? It's Suno!"
"...One of Kakarot's friends?" Turles muttered.
A large, hulking man caught up to her, sounding frantic. "Suno, wait! That's not Son Goku! He looks like him, but he's someone else!"
"Eh?"
"Hmph. You've got a sharp eye, big guy," Turles said, standing up. "He's right, miss. My name is Turles. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not the man you're looking for."
Suno stared at him, clearly struggling to accept the truth. She looked him up and down, searching for any sign that he was lying.
"Are you... are you really not him? Your hair, your face... you're a dead ringer for him. Though, now that I look closer, your eyes are a bit meaner... and your skin is darker."
Turles and Goku were virtually identical in appearance—from their hair to their height and build. The only real difference was their complexion. If Goku ever spent a week in a tanning bed, even their mothers wouldn't be able to tell them apart.
"So, what are you doing out here all by yourself?" Suno asked, her confusion turning to concern. "And why are you wearing those weird clothes?"
"Sorry my 'weird' clothes offend you," Turles grunted.
He was wearing standard Saiyan battle armor—specifically, the model with the shoulder guards and the high-cut leg openings. In the Frieza Force, this was standard attire. In the middle of a snowy village on Earth, it looked like a man wandering around in a breastplate and a pair of speedos.
Suno clapped her hands together. "Alright, you're coming home with us."
"Hah?"
"Look at you! You're going to catch a cold in that outfit! Just looking at your bare legs makes me shiver. You'll get frostbite!"
"I don't need your help. We Saiyans don't mind a little cold—"
"I don't care if you're a 'Vegetable' or whatever! Just come inside!"
"Hey... wait..."
Suno, it seemed, was the type who didn't take 'no' for an answer. She grabbed Turles and practically dragged him toward her house. The strength she'd used to drag a half-dead Goku into her home years ago was still very much intact.
Turles could have resisted, of course, but he just let himself be led away with a look of utter bewilderment. Between Vegeta being domesticated by Bulma and Goku being pushed into marriage by Chi-Chi, it seemed Saiyan men were surprisingly weak against forceful women.
A short time later, Turles was forced into a change of clothes: a thick, black winter coat. It was the same design Goku had once worn in Jingle Village, just in a different color. As Turles frowned at the unfamiliar Earthling fabric, a warm bowl of soup and a plate of sliced apples were placed before him.
"Please, eat," the large man said kindly. "I grew these fruits myself."
"Eighter runs the orchard here," Suno explained.
"An orchard, huh... in a place like this?" Turles picked up a slice of apple and tossed it into his mouth.
He froze.
It was... delicious. Better than any fruit he had ever tasted in his travels across the galaxy. Earth, as it turned out, was a top-tier planet for cuisine. Its food was so good that even the Gods of Destruction would later claim that a simple boiled egg from an Earthling chicken was as good as the legendary delicacies of the cosmos.
"Surprised?" Suno smiled. "Apples preserved in the snow have a unique, crisp texture."
"...Yeah. I'm surprised. This is the real deal."
Turles wasn't talking about the texture. But he didn't feel like explaining that. He just quietly finished the rest of the plate.
***
Frieza, the galactic overlord. His name reached the furthest corners of the galaxy, a synonym for terror for every living soul. Only the highest gods, the sealed Hera Clan, or the legendary Super Saiyans didn't fear him. Actually, when you listed them out, there were quite a few exceptions—but for the average mortal, Frieza was the ultimate end.
Even while Frieza was being rebuilt into a cyborg under King Cold's orders, his empire remained active. Today, they were invading a peaceful world called Planet Okakaume.
The residents were human-type aliens, much like Earthlings. They were being slaughtered simply because their planet had a nice climate. The Galactic Patrol, as usual, was useless. Fearing the Saiyans and Frieza alike, they simply looked the other way, leaving the planet to its fate.
"Fire! Kill every last one of the natives!" the commander roared.
The locals tried to fight back. They took up arms, but their power levels didn't even reach double digits. In a universe where a power level of 1,000 made you a local god, Frieza's "cannon fodder" soldiers were an insurmountable wall.
Even worse were the Saibamen. The cheapest model clocked in at 1,200. The more expensive Tennenmenhit 2,400. And the high-end Jinkoumen recorded a staggering 4,000.
For the Okakaume people, it was the end. No miracle was coming. They could only wait for the darkness.
—But then, the miracle arrived.
White wings unfurled in the sky, and a brilliant white light rained down like divine judgment. Thousands of homing energy blasts streaked across the atmosphere, each one finding the heart of a soldier, a Saibaman, or a Jinkouman. In a single heartbeat, the entire invasion force was annihilated.
It was a display of absolute celestial authority. The Galactic Patrol wouldn't save them. Their local gods couldn't save them. But a savior had come nonetheless.
A white goddess from a distant star had arrived. With a wave of her hand, ruined buildings knit themselves back together; with a step, the scorched earth turned green once more. She offered salvation without asking for anything in return, her gentle smile bringing peace to the wounded.
She said nothing. She accepted no praise. She simply spread her wings and vanished back into the stars.
From that day on, sightings of the "White Goddess" were reported on planets across the Frieza Empire. She became a symbol of hope. To the people she saved, there was only one word for her: Goddess.
***
Let's be clear: the "salvation without reward" was a huge misunderstanding by the locals. Lisette was actually being very pragmatic.
To put it bluntly, her "crusade" against the Frieza Force was just training. She had chosen Frieza's soldiers because "Nobody gets mad if I hit these guys, and they make great moving targets." Her building repairs were just her practicing her Object Creation ability. She figured if she did it on a large enough scale, like Piccolo did for Gohan's clothes and sword, her powers would grow. If a building ended up looking a bit weird because she misread the local's memories, well... that was just too bad.
The forest restoration? That was just her practicing a Pseudo-Spirit Bomb, absorbing excess energy and redistributing it to the planet.
But regardless of her intent, she was a savior. She arrived in the middle of crises, glowed with an unnecessary amount of divine sparkles, and left. Before she knew it, a massive interstellar religion had been founded in her name. There were even religious wars over whether her underwear was white or pink.
She had accidentally become less of a God and more of a Galactic Idol. Her fan base numbered in the trillions, reaching levels of faith that even the Supreme Kais could only dream of.
In this world, faith is a tangible power. If the concentrated malice of the universe could create Janemba, then the concentrated worship of trillions could certainly elevate a soul.
Lisette first noticed the anomaly when Mr. Popo and Boss Rabbit rushed into her room, looking terrified. They told her that they could no longer sense her presence.
It wasn't that her ki was gone—Lisette could still feel it just fine. But to everyone else, her energy had become "Clear."Transparent. Undetectable.
She reached out to King Kai via telepathy to ask what was happening.
"That, my dear, is Divine Ki," King Kai explained. "You've moved beyond just holding a title. Your very existence has shifted. There is a being called Beerus, a God of Destruction, whose ki is also clear—undetectable to those who aren't gods. Because of the trillions of people praying to you, you've ascended to a higher stage of divinity. You are, strictly speaking, a higher-ranking god than I am now... though don't you dare forget who's in charge of this sector!"
"Understood," Lisette replied.
She had no idea who "Beerus" was—likely some filler character she'd missed in her old life—so she just ignored it. To her, the highest gods were the Supreme Kais, and even they were basically just professional spectators for Super Saiyans.
Lisette spent the next year systematically dismantling King Cold's influence. She didn't invade Frieza-controlled planets, but she gleefully crushed every fleet she found. By the time a year had passed, the Cold Empire was a tattered mess.
The final nail in the coffin was the betrayal of Zarbon.
The former general had somehow pivoted into becoming the manager of Lisette's "Eternal Beauty" fan club. He raised the banner of the "Goddess" to dismantle what was left of Frieza's loyalists. He didn't do it out of love—he still hated anyone more beautiful than himself—but he was a pragmatist. He saw the writing on the wall and realized that making Lisette an idol was his best path to survival and profit.
His announcement that "Actually, Cooler was killed by Lady Lisette" shook the galaxy. People realized that even the strongest of the Frost Demons could fall.
Zarbon became the wealthiest man in the universe as the head of the "Eternal Beauty" organization. He was now the primary financier for the Galactic Patrol, and even the King of the Galaxy had to bow to him.
Life sure takes strange turns.
Zarbon's Current Status
"Beauty, strategy, and gold rule this world. The stars have spoken... and they have chosen me!"
Power Level: 30,000 rightarrow 400,000 (Thanks to the Tree of Might fruit).
Second Form: 600,000.
He currently spends his days in a gaudy, gold-plated office, wearing fur coats and sunglasses, surrounded by beautiful women and throwing diamonds at anyone who annoys him. He is the ultimate winner of the Namek Saga.
***
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