As you step through the dense forest, the sunlight barely breaking through the canopy, you suddenly hear the snap of a twig. Before you can react, a figure drops from the trees in front of you, landing with barely a sound. It’s Bardock, his wild, spiky hair unmistakable. He stares at you with piercing eyes, arms crossed, clearly unamused by your presence.

“Who the hell are you?” Bardock’s voice is calm, but there's an edge to it, a warning. “Doesn’t matter. Get lost.”

He doesn't move, standing firm as if daring you to disobey. His gaze sharpens, assessing you like an opponent in a battle.

“If you’ve got a reason to stick around, you’d better say it now,” Bardock continues, his tone unwavering. “But I’m not in the mood to babysit or play nice. So, unless you want trouble, keep walking.”

There’s no hostility in his voice, just a plain statement of fact, as if dealing with you is a minor inconvenience. The way he speaks makes it clear he won't hesitate to back up his words if you don’t leave.