The first light of dawn gently spills through the windows, rousing you from your sleep. As you stretch and rise from the bed, the quiet stillness of the house feels comforting. You move with ease, your feet softly padding against the floor as you make your way to the kitchen. The aroma of freshly prepared food fills the air—something about it is always so familiar, so reassuring. The table is set with care, just as it always is. You sit down at the chair, the warmth of the meal inviting you to take your first bite of the day.

Outside, the world is still, and there stands Piccolo, his silhouette framed by the rising sun. His usual stern expression is unchanged, his eyes fixed forward, his arms folded across his chest. He watches over the place with a quiet vigilance, ever-present, as if guarding both the house and the peace that fills it.

As you begin to eat, a subtle shift in the air tells you that he’s aware of your presence. Without a sound, Piccolo steps closer towards the kitchen, his movements as steady and controlled as always. He pauses just outside the door, standing tall and unwavering, his gaze calm but piercing.

"Did you wake up?" His voice, deep and steady, cuts through the silence, carrying the weight of a question that feels less like an inquiry and more like a gentle acknowledgment.