A Saiyan's Frustration: 10,000 Battle Power, Yet Only Fit to Fight Sandbags. Who Understands?

What did the Saiyans rely on to roam the universe?

Aside from their cockroach-like toughness that just refused to die, it was those round, plump "Space Pods."

Those things were hard currency in the Frieza Force, and absolutely controlled items.

It didn't matter how high-ranking you were. If you didn't have Lord Frieza's handwritten order, you wanted to so much as touch one?

Not a chance!

Royal Guards like Gou Kong, in particular, were watched like hawks.

The guards watching over the spaceship hangar had eyes sharper than scouters.

Forget flying one away—even if Gou Kong merely looked at those round pods a couple more times, they would probably sound the alarm on the spot and suspect that this lord was trying to defect.

And so, Gou Kong once again stood before the palace's tall window, gazing out at the gray, lifeless surface of Planet Vegeta, and rolled his eyes hard.

"Fuck, when is this ever going to end?"

Gou Kong, a pure-blooded Saiyan with the soul of an Earthling, was now like a high-class prisoner.

He wanted to leave this damned place?

Harder than climbing to the heavens.

Aside from wandering around this palm-sized palace, he was a bird without feet.

There was nothing he could do but vent all his pent-up gloom and restlessness on the training grounds.

Fortunately, this body did him proud. After several months of life-risking special training, his battle power had shot upward like a rocket. That was the only comfort in this shitty situation.

If he was being honest, Gou Kong wanted to go to Earth.

He had never hidden that thought.

How great was that place?

Blue skies, white clouds, fresh air, no purple-skinned onion-head Frieza, and no planet that might explode at any moment.

As long as he could survive his way there, even if Planet Vegeta blew up, it wouldn't touch a single hair on his head.

He could quietly be a handsome guy, drink soda, and watch the original plot play out like a show, then consider stepping in once those protagonists had punched a hole through the sky.

That plan was flawless!

There was no reason not to go!

But reality?

He wanted to go?

They'd break his legs!

The root of it all was this goddamn "Royal Guard" job.

Because Gou Kong's position had been personally promoted by King Vegeta, it came with an utterly bullshit rule:

A guard had to serve for life, and could not retire unless dead!

"Pfft—"

Every time Gou Kong thought of this rule, he wanted to punch himself twice.

A lifetime system?

Wasn't that basically a life sentence?

So his battle power of over ten thousand was meant to let him serve as that old man's door god for the rest of his life?

Still, cursing was one thing. This position was not without benefits.

As a favorite in the palace, the VIP treatment was rock solid.

Wherever he went, as long as he showed this uniform, even those elite Saiyans with their noses in the air had to politely call him "Officer Gou Kong."

On top of that, the palace Training Center had a configuration that was simply top-tier in the universe. Gravity rooms, simulated combat pods—everything was available, and the cultivation environment was beyond reproach.

But so what?

No matter how good a cage was, it was still a cage!

That powerless feeling of being trapped in place made Gou Kong feel like his chest was blocked by a red-hot branding iron every time he walked out of the training grounds and looked at that oppressive sky.

Even worse, he was a Saiyan!

A warrior race!

These monkeys had an extremely twisted habit: if they went too long without fighting, the battle lust pent up inside them would swell like fermenting dough, eventually turning into a poison called "irritability" that ate away at reason and made them want to smash everything in front of them to pieces.

Supposedly, this desire could be suppressed through meditation or mental training.

At that, Gou Kong could only laugh coldly three times.

What kind of joke was that?

He had the soul of an Earthling living inside the body of a pure-blooded Saiyan, and they wanted him to learn to sit in meditation like a monk?

Wasn't that like making a cat guard a fish and still demanding it not pick up its chopsticks? Was that even possible?

That violated the principles of biology!

Rather than make him meditate, it would be more practical to let him go pick a fight with someone.

So although the Saiyans were nominally Frieza's subordinates, in reality, every one of them was holding a fire in his gut.

Frieza was strong, and he had many soldiers under him. That was an objective fact.

But the reason the Saiyans had lowered their heads for the time being was largely because Frieza had given them an outlet: invading planets.

As long as they obediently followed orders, they could earn the chance to go to alien planets and cut people down.

To a Saiyan, as long as he could fight, every other grievance was nothing.

Being cursed by Dodoria as a low-class life-form?

Being ordered around by Zarbon?

Didn't matter!

As long as I get to enjoy a proper fight in the end, this bit of compensation for emotional damage is a price I can afford!

It was precisely this "as long as you give me a fight, everything else is negotiable" mentality that allowed Frieza to keep this pack of thugs firmly under control.

As for Gou Kong, although his soul was that of an Earthling, this body was the genuine article: a pure-blooded Saiyan.

That restlessness flowing in his blood simply could not be suppressed by reason alone.

If he did not vent it through real combat, the feeling was like being halfway through taking a dump when someone forcibly yanked up your pants—and you didn't even have any damn toilet paper!

Who could stand that kind of maddening torture, stuck halfway, itching for release?

Put simply, four words: he wanted to fight!

No—he was desperate for real combat!

Unfortunately, King Vegeta would never approve him going out to pick fights.

In that old man's eyes, Gou Kong's greatest value was standing behind him to make him look impressive.

So he could only swallow that fire himself, endure it himself, and find some alloy sandbag to beat to death himself.

Sometimes Gou Kong really could not understand it. With his current combat power of over ten thousand, wouldn't stealing a Space Pod and flying straight to Earth be a matter of minutes?

But reason told him that would be no different from suicide.

The moment he started a ship without authorization, the Frieza Force's radar would immediately lock onto the signal.

When that happened, once a universe-wide kill order was issued, he would be a rat in the street—no matter where he ran, it would be useless.

Just imagining that scene was enough to make his scalp tingle.

"Sigh..."

Gou Kong let out a heavy sigh, as if he had punched cotton and had nowhere to put his strength.

Irritated, he took off the Scouter over his eye and tossed it aside.

His whole body was soaked with sweat, as if he had just been fished out of water, and that tight battle suit clung to his skin, sticky and unbearably uncomfortable.

"This crappy outfit is more tiring to take off than fighting Bardock."

Gou Kong cursed and grumbled, spending an enormous amount of effort before he finally peeled off the sweat-soaked battle suit and the tight bodysuit underneath.

The material was far too elastic, and with all the sweat on it, it was practically as hard to tear away as a second layer of skin.

Rolling up that damp bundle of cloth, Gou Kong carried it into the automated laundry room next door.

The moment he closed the door, the machines inside began humming and automatically went to work.

After living on Planet Vegeta for several months, he should logically have been numb to this kind of advanced technology, but every time he saw it, Gou Kong still could not help wanting to complain.

Who would have thought this bunch of barbaric monkeys, who looked like they only knew how to howl and fight, had actually developed their tech tree this far?

From weapons to daily life, they crushed Earth across the board.

This laundry room was practically a model of full automation.

Walking into the shower area, Gou Kong spread his arms.

Cold water instantly came rushing down over him.

Immediately afterward, several mechanical arms extended from around him, holding all kinds of brush heads and nozzles as they began cleaning him from every angle.

"Holy shit, this treatment..."

Gou Kong could not help sucking in a breath of cold air.

This was even more delicate than the technique of the best bathhouse scrub master on Earth, not even letting go of dead angles like the gaps under his nails.

These Saiyans really had not shortchanged themselves when it came to enjoying life.

Someone might ask: if it washed him this carefully, wouldn't it take two hours?

Then you would be an amateur.

This was Saiyan supertech. It was genuinely fast!

Precise and efficient—before Gou Kong had even finished marveling, the mechanical arms all retracted in unison, and the whole process had not even lasted long enough to finish playing a single song.

"Nice!"

Gou Kong grabbed the dry towel beside him, gave his hair a rough wipe, and walked back to the changing room stark naked.

Standing in front of the vanity, Gou Kong opened the cabinet underneath and took out the dark blue bodysuit and battle armor that had just been washed and folded yesterday.

He put them on piece by piece, smoothed out the wrinkles, then began checking himself in the mirror.

When Saiyans went out, aside from battle armor, they had to wear a bodysuit underneath.

It was not just tradition, but also to prevent embarrassment.

If he got into a fight outside and his outer clothes were torn apart, exposing his bare body underneath, how humiliating would that be?

He might be a rough guy, but basic appearances still had to be maintained.

After confirming that his clothes were neat and there were no flaws, Gou Kong nodded in satisfaction.

"Done. Next up, fill my stomach!"

He had been so hungry for ages that his chest was practically sticking to his back.

A Saiyan's stomach was basically a bottomless pit. That round of training just now had already drained every last bit of his energy.

He casually picked up the brand-new green scouter on the table and clipped it over his face.

"Beep."

The lens lit up red.

Gou Kong pushed open the door and strode briskly toward the dining hall outside the palace.

Eat, work, get stronger, survive.

In this countdown to destruction, every day had to be lived as fully as if it were the last.

As for this damned job...

Once his fists were hard enough, the first thing he'd do was flip this desk!