My brat.
Her son.
The hell spawn of our damned union.
We couldn't tell you when he was conceived, Saiyajin pregnancy is only four months while human pregnancy is nine. Nine. Ridiculous! Why the hell a human woman would deal with something like that for nine fucking months is just beyond me. We were pretty damn active the entire time, so we have no damn clue when he was created.
No matter when it happened, the fact remains that it DID.
I ........... I have an heir.
I have a son.
I am a father.
A father to a little trouble making brat that needs to be put in his god damned place! And he would be if that blue hellcat he calls 'mama' would just let me!
She taught him to call me 'papa' of all things. What the hell happened to the respectful 'mother' and 'father' bit his 'future' self called us by?
Needless to say I miss the older more mature version. He will be a warrior.
I doubt he conned Kakkarotto's spawn into rewiring my gravity room. Not that I didn't get some good training in negative gravity, but no one messes with my gravity room.
Save for the woman.
That's where he gets his obsession for getting into fucking trouble! That woman! That annoyingly selfish loud mouthed harpy I mated myself to!
Perhaps it is not all that bad. The way he struggles to become my equal in strength. To become strong enough to earn some form of praise from me. To please me. To seek my approval.
..... He calls me 'the best'.
The strongest.
He looks up to me.
He adores me like none other.
I ... I am my own son's hero.
Just by being his father.
No, it's not that bad at all.