Male Saiyan Name Generator

On the day of our tenth wedding anniversary, my wife, Cara Dempsey, jumped from ten thousand feet in the air after hearing that her first love's plane had crashed. It was only then that I finally understood the only man she ever truly loved all these years was Luthen Waltz. When we were both sent back in time to relive our teenage years, she wasted no time making a grand, public confession to Luthen, completely cutting ties with me. I just stood there, watching the two of them kiss like they couldn’t bear to be apart, and in that moment, my heart felt nothing. From that day on, we were over, and we lived our separate lives. Ten years later, we crossed paths again at a five-star hotel in Harbor City. She, who had become a celebrity adored by the world, was wearing a gown, laughing in Luthen’s arms. When she saw me wandering through the hotel, searching for someone, she thought I had come looking for her. “George, stop wasting your time! Even in ten years, I will never choose you!” I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked toward the little girl running toward me, calling me Dad, and gave her the warmest smile. Cara’s expression froze. Tears welled in her eyes as she choked out, “You lied to me, didn’t you? You said you hated kids and that you’d only ever love me.”

I, Xavier Locke, had married the same woman, Melanie Slater, seven times. But for the sake of her first love, Leonard Blueman, she divorced me seven times. The first time we got married, she told me, "I'll only love you for the rest of my life." But every time Leonard came back to the country, she sang a different tune. "Can't you be more sensible? How can you bear to stand by and let Lenny be called a homewrecker who snatches a married woman from her husband?" The first time we divorced, I cut my wrists to make her stay. I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, but she never showed up even once to see me. The third time we divorced, I humbled myself and applied to be her assistant at her company. I did that just so I could see her a little more. By the sixth divorce, I had learned to quietly pack my things and move out of the home we shared. My hysteria, my repeated backing down, and my tolerant compromises brought me nothing—just Melanie repeatedly divorcing and remarrying me. Time and time again, she pulled the same trick. With history repeating itself, I decided enough was enough. After hearing that Leonard was coming back again, this time, I handed her the divorce papers myself. As always, she set a date for our next remarriage. But what she didn't know… was that I was leaving for good this time.

As we make our way to the city hall, Paisley Doyle is struck by regret once again. After seven years together, this is the 11th time we've found ourselves at this crossroads. Every time we reach the city hall, she claims she needs more time to care for her sick first love and can't bring herself to marry me. Unable to hold back any longer, I finally decide to confront her. "If his condition never improves, does that mean you'll never marry me? Tell me, what do I even mean to you?" Paisley's temper ignites, and she snaps back at me without a second thought. "I promised to take care of him for the rest of my life! Can't you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for seven years. What does it matter if we're not legally married?"

Seraphine Hale, a genius musician, announces her return to the country. When a reporter asks whether she's back for her first love, she smiles icily. "Are you talking about that trash? It wouldn't be any of my business even if he were to drop dead tomorrow." What she doesn't know is that I've already been dead for close to a decade.

I was the heir to a wealthy family, yet my biological parents were drowning in debt and living on the streets. Out of pity for them, I decided to give up my status as a young heir and care for my family. To help them live better lives, I worked three jobs, working myself to the bone. But one day, I discovered the truth. Their so-called "bankruptcy" was a lie. They had been living a life of luxury all along. To make matters worse, my fiancée had already gotten involved with my younger brother. I was heartbroken and devastated. I decided to return to my foster father and seek his help. To get revenge for me, he ruined my biological parents' business, bringing them down for good.

My parents' enemy kidnapped me and live-streamed cutting off my fingers, just to force them to show up. For a time, the entire internet was searching for my parents. But what no one knew was that the police chief on the live connection was my real father. At that very moment, he was on a beach in Havai, lighting fireworks for his adopted son. And on their barbecue table, the live stream of my fingers being cut off was playing. Later, I survived long enough to be rescued, and I reached out with my severed fingers, wanting to touch my parents. But they recoiled in disgust and, without so much as a backward glance, took their adopted son out for steak. What they never realized was that hidden inside my severed fingers was something that would make them regret everything.

On my birthday, Heather Pond’s lover posted a sonogram on his social media account and captioned it, [We’re going to be parents!] I commented, [Congratulations. You can have the baby cot from my place.] The next second, Heather called me to give me a warning. “Brandon Smith is dying. I’ll come back to you once I give birth to his child. Please don’t trigger him any further!” I remained calm and collected when I served her the divorce papers. Then, I packed my bags and went on a vacation in Europe.

Eight years married, and my wife? She asked for a divorce 99 times. I thought it was just her usual drama—testing me. Then I found out she'd been wiring half a million every year to some dude. Always with the same note: ILU. When she hit me with divorce number 100, I finally signed. I pulled my money out of her little passion project and ghosted—moved my company overseas, wiped my tracks clean. Now she's out there losing her mind, trying to find me.

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."

My wife, who had always despised lugging around keys, ditched our modern smart lock for a clunky old-school key version. She even bolted it shut during showers. Every time I returned from work, I'd have to ring her up first. Fed up, I slapped the divorce agreement on the table during a family get-together. Everyone assumed I was drunk and joking. My wife hauled off and cracked me across the face. "Am I asking too much? You promised you'd indulge me forever." I met her glare with icy indifference and let out a bitter scoff. "Aren't I divorcing you and never returning the ultimate indulgence?"