Frieza Comes To Earth—A Tyrant’s Arrival Meets the Unyielding Might of Renkai’s Legacy

In the high-tech sprawl of Bulma's Western Capital mansion, the security department buzzed with quiet anticipation. Bulma stood at the head of the room, her sharp eyes scanning the assembled crew—Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, and the rest—minus Renkai and Goku, who'd vanished to Baozi Mountain hours ago. She adjusted her headset, her voice crisp and commanding. "Renkai's off with Goku, and they're not back yet. Until they are, I'm running the show here at the security department."

The air thrummed with unspoken tension. Universe invaders crashing onto Earth was once a cataclysmic plot twist, a desperate scramble for survival. But under Renkai's influence, it had morphed into something else—a lucrative gig. One job could net profits dwarfing years of Universal Capsule Company revenue, a monopoly that already raked in billions with its capsule tech. This wasn't charity; it was business, and the payout was astronomical. Renkai pocketed the haul, doling out limitless bank cards to his team—freedom to spend without a care. The company still funneled funds their way for operational costs, but the real cash came from these cosmic dust-ups.

The crew reaped the rewards. No more scraping by like in the old days—Goku farming, Yamcha policing, Tien teaching. Now, their time was theirs, poured into training. Goku thrived most, his card in Chi-Chi's iron grip, ensuring Gohan's upbringing was lavish and his power leagues beyond the original tale. "Train hard, Gohan," Chi-Chi drilled into him, "so you can join Uncle Renkai's security team—best job in the world, like your dad!" The kid was a prodigy now, a testament to the system.

Bulma's team nodded in unison, save for Piccolo, who leaned against a wall, arms crossed, his silence a cold mask. "We're with you, Bulma," Krillin said, echoed by the others. "Same drill as always—wait for the client to call."

She smirked, unfazed. It wasn't callousness driving her; it was pragmatism. Casualties? Planetary destruction? A snap of Jiang Shenlong's claws could undo it all. The urgency of world-ending crises had dulled, replaced by a transactional calm—even the gods in the temple shrugged off the panic these days.

Far above, a colossal donut-shaped spacecraft pierced Earth's atmosphere, its hull glinting ominously against the azure sky. Frieza lounged in his hoverchair, his tail flicking with irritation as the planet loomed larger through the viewport. "Hmph," he muttered, his voice a velvet blade, "all this time wasted on a speck like this? My patience isn't infinite."

Dodoria stood nearby, arms crossed, his pink bulk a stark contrast to Frieza's petite menace. The trip had been a slog, and if it proved fruitless, Frieza's displeasure would be a storm. A worthless planet bred worthless foes—ripe for erasure, he mused, his lips curling into a faint sneer.

The ship descended, engines roaring as it settled near a sprawling city, kicking up dust and debris. The Dog King, twice burned by cosmic invaders, had his network on high alert. The moment Frieza's craft touched down, his palace buzzed with reports. His floppy ears drooped, his muzzle twitching in despair. "Not again," he groaned, paws clutching his throne. "My treasury's a husk—how many more hits can it take?" Science fiction had become his grim reality, and the cost of salvation was bleeding him dry. With a shuddering sigh, he dialed the Universal Capsule Company, praying Renkai's rates hadn't spiked.

On the ground, the ship's hatch hissed open. Frieza rolled out in his chair, flanked by a motley crew of armored lackeys—Dodoria's brutish girth, Sabo's sleek elegance, and a dozen lesser grunts. The barren landscape stretched before them, a stark canvas for his whims. "Dodoria, Sabo," Frieza said, his tone deceptively light, "find Vegeta's little monkeys. I'm curious where they've scampered off to."

"As you wish, King Frieza," they chorused, bowing low.

Dodoria stepped forward, grinning smugly as he tapped his combat detector. "I've got this, Sabo. Vegeta's rabble barely scrape 20,000—child's play." The device whirred, numbers flashing—then erupted in a puff of smoke. He froze, sweat beading on his brow. "Uh, King Frieza, my detector's… malfunctioning."

Frieza's eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, Sabo tested his own. Another pop, another wisp of smoke. "Mine too, my lord," Sabo stammered, mirroring Dodoria's panic.

Frieza's laugh sliced the silence, sharp and sinister. "Oh ho ho! Both detectors kaput? Gentlemen, use your heads—does that sound likely? Kikono would have your hides for such sloppy tech." His grin widened, a predator's delight sparking in his gaze.

Dodoria gulped, bowing deeper. "Your wisdom guides us, King Frieza."

"The detectors we're using," Frieza continued, voice dripping with malice, "are outdated—capped at 20,000. If they're frying, it means this 'scum planet' hides something—or someone—stronger. That's why Vegeta's gone quiet." He leaned forward, intrigued. "Dodoria, you might be onto something. A weak world with hidden power? Fascinating. Find this mystery master—I want them before me to amuse me."

Dodoria nodded, emboldened. "At once, my lord!" Frieza's legion fanned out, their arrogance unshaken. Invincible too long, they saw no threat worth fearing—not even a whisper of doubt clouded their swagger.

Back in Western Capital, Bulma's comms crackled with the Dog King's plea. She sighed, setting down her coffee. "Another payout—poor guy's gonna need a loan soon." She activated her custom combat detector, a sleek marvel of her own design, far surpassing Frieza's relics. The screen flickered, locking onto the invaders' signatures. Her eyes narrowed, a mix of curiosity and steel flashing across her face. "Let's see who's crashing our party this time."

In the gravity room, Vegeta paused mid-punch, sweat dripping as Frieza's aura brushed his senses. "That bastard," he hissed, fists trembling. Nappa and Raditz, equally drenched, shrugged it off—Renkai's crew could handle it. But for Vegeta, it was personal, a wound too deep to delegate.

Bulma rallied the team, her voice cutting through the hum of machinery. "Alright, everyone—game faces on. We've got incoming, and it's big. Renkai's out, so we hold the line." The room bristled with readiness—Piccolo's stoic glare, Krillin's eager nod, Yamcha's cocky grin. They weren't just employees; they were a wall, forged by Renkai's vision and Bulma's grit.

Above, Frieza's ship cast a shadow over the city, a silent promise of chaos. Earth's defenders stood poised, the clash of titans drawing near.

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