The Super Saiyan Goddess

EP. 13 - Tournament of Destroyers

She blushed. "I had it handled!"

"Sure," he glanced away. "I'll explain it once more now that you're sober."

Bulma listened quietly as he explained that Frieza sent a pregnant Miyako to a high security prison, and that he was born and raised there. It wasn't until a few years after Frieza was wiped from the Universe did him, his mother, and other prisoners broke free.

"That must've been really hard on you," Bulma furrowed her bows.

Montra stared straight ahead. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. That's why I like to patrol the universe. Make sure Frieza doesn't return. Again. Or stop others like him from coming into power. Thankfully, the Galactic Patrol is helping me fulfill this mission."

"You work with the Galactic Patrol?"

"I'm not an 'Elite Patrolman' if that's what you're asking. It's more like working in collaboration with them."

"Huh. You sure do a lot of work!"

"I don't mind it. As long as it keeps my family safe."

Bulma noticed the picture of his family and smiled. "You look all tough on the outside, but on the inside, you're a sweet guy."

Montra blushed, "...Anyway, we're here."

They arrived to an intricately decorated temple. When they left the ship, he capsuled it and placed it in his belt holders.

"Glad to see your version of our capsules is useful," Bulma smiled.

"Yes. My wife is always glad to study your inventions."

"Your wife is a scientist?"

He nodded as they went up an escalator. "She's the most brilliant person I know."

Bulma smiled at how much he doted on his family. "I'd love to talk to her sometime."

"Actually, she's a big fan—" Montra stopped mid-way as they were surrounded by four men with enormously large oval-shaped heads.

He put an arm around Bulma, holding her protectively close. "Not a step closer," he glared.

"Master Zuno has sensed unexpected visitors," one of them spoke.

"We're here to ask some questions," Montra explained.

"Yes, unfortunately for you, Master Zuno only accepts visitors by appointments," another said.

He frowned. "I don't remember hearing about that."

Bulma sighed. "Can't we just make an appointment?"

"Certainly," he skimmed through the pages. "How does seven years from Monday sound?"

"What the hell...," Montra groaned.

"Listen, we don't have that kind of time!" Bulma stressed. "You guys seem free right now, so can't we just ask our questions?"

"No, we're sorry," another replied.