Frieza hovered in front of the full-length mirror, eyeing the top of his head with clear disgust as he gestured at it.
"Too short."
"No, seriously—way too short!"
Sure, his final form was the strongest, most energy-efficient, and sleekest design of all his transformations—perfect aerodynamics and all that.
But that damn height, barely scraping five-foot-three? It was the one glaring stain on the resume of the Emperor of the Universe!
Just think about it.
Future meetings.
Him—the supreme ruler of everything—having to crane his neck up to talk to that purple potato Thanos?
Even that blue-faced nutjob Apocalypse, who basically just rants like a cult leader, towers over him by a mile!
Is that acceptable?
Hell no, it's not!
"Presence can be boosted by slaughter, sure," he muttered.
"But actual physical height? That's part of the dignity package."
Frieza stared at his right hand. Red light from the Reality Stone intertwined with green from the Time Stone, pulsing gently.
Since I'm the one writing the rules now…
Wanting to be a little taller isn't too much to ask, right?
"Let's make this king a bit more perfect!"
Bzzzzz—!
A soft but irresistible wave of cosmic power instantly wrapped around his entire body.
Reality itself was being rewritten.
Bones reshaped, muscles stretched, cells multiplied in perfect proportion.
No pain.
Just the exhilarating rush of breaking every genetic limit at once.
In the mirror, that small white figure began to rise.
Five-seven… five-ten… six-three!
The glow faded.
A six-foot-three Frieza stared back at him.
Tall, sleek, imposing.
"Hmm…"
He turned sideways, admiring the new frame.
"Much better than before."
"But…"
Thanos's massive shoulders flashed in his mind, along with Apocalypse's door-wide build.
"Still not quite there."
"That crushing presence—the kind that makes ants feel like dust just by looking up—it's not enough yet."
A ruler has to look down on everything.
"Add some more!"
He snapped his fingers.
Bzzz!
Light flared again.
This time, growth stopped right at six-foot-seven.
A sweet spot.
Not bulky and clumsy like the Hulk, not skinny like a pole.
Now Frieza stood six-seven, every muscle line stretched to flawless perfection.
His once slightly rounded head now looked sharper, colder, more regal.
That thick white tail whipped behind him, each snap cracking the air like a gunshot.
This is what a god should look like!
This is the body an Emperor of the Universe deserves!
"Oh ho ho ho…"
Frieza gazed at the perfect creature in the mirror and let out a delighted, indulgent laugh.
"Perfection!"
"It's a masterpiece!"
"Starting today, this is my ultimate default form!"
He turned away from the mirror.
No need to keep staring—he knew that from every angle, he was now flawless.
"Alright, image upgrade complete."
"Time to check on my backyard and see how the crew's been keeping it."
With a thought, whoosh!
He vanished.
The next instant, he was ten thousand meters up, piercing the clouds, hovering in the stratosphere.
Those scarlet eyes—enhanced by the full set of Infinity Stones—now functioned like an all-seeing satellite as he gazed down at the blue planet below.
Frieza swept his gaze over what used to be New York, now officially Frieza City.
Streets wide and spotless—no trash, not even a fallen leaf.
Every building flew purple flags bearing his stylized "F" emblem.
People on the sidewalks wore the standard-issue uniforms.
Every face carried that genuine, heartfelt happy smile—courtesy of Professor X's "optimizations."
No arguments.
No muggings.
Definitely no more of that ridiculous "shoplifting-is-free" nonsense.
The old street gangs and junkies?
Now happily screwing bolts on assembly lines—and loving every minute of it.
"Praise the Great King! Another day full of hope!"
"Thank you, Great King, for giving us food and purpose!"
"Long live King Frieza!"
Countless voices rose into a massive wave of psychic devotion, echoing over the city.
Frieza shifted his gaze farther out.
The once-chaotic Middle East was now one giant solar farm, pumping free clean energy to the whole planet.
Former warlords who'd blown each other up over oil were now holding hands planting trees in the desert.
Even Gotham—well, all those old high-crime slums—had been replaced with neat, uniform housing blocks.
No cops needed.
Because nobody even thought about crime anymore.
Under Professor X's global psychic network, the second a bad idea popped into someone's head, their brain auto-corrected it to "I should help that old lady cross the street."
"Is this absolute rule?" Frieza murmured, taking a deep breath.
Even the air was clean—no more choking exhaust fumes.
Fresh. Sweet.
The taste of power.
"Not bad," he said with a satisfied nod.
"That old wheelchair guy Charles might be slow on his feet, but nobody washes brains like him."
"And Erik's been handling the infrastructure pretty damn well too."
He surveyed the planet running like a perfectly tuned machine.
His Asset #001.
A world without conflict, without chaos—only obedience and productivity.
Sure, some so-called "freedom fighters" would probably call it hell.
But to Frieza?
Pure paradise.
"This is the order I want."
He spread his arms wide, his six-foot-seven frame casting a massive shadow in the sunlight.
"No more bickering politicians, no more greedy corporate fat cats."
"Just one voice. One will."
"Mine—Frieza!"
[Ding! Host's control over territory has reached Perfect level!]
[Fear values converting to Worship values—continuously transforming into energy!]
Hearing the system prompt, the smile on Frieza's face grew even wider.
"Excellent."
"With the home base locked down tight, this king can finally go sightseeing in the other territories."
"Let's start with Planet #002!"