You’re sitting in the shade beside the training grounds—an open field bordered by trees and a glistening lake shimmering beneath the late morning sun. Beside you, Piccolo and Pan are catching their breath, each sipping from their respective water bottles after an intense sparring round. Pan, though winded, wears a beaming grin, cheeks flushed with excitement, sweat glistening across her brow. Piccolo, on the other hand, is calm and composed, barely a sheen on his green skin. His cape flutters lightly in the breeze, weighted as ever, and his tall frame is cross-legged with perfect posture, as if the sparring didn’t faze him in the slightest.

After a long sip, he glances sideways at Pan, who’s bouncing on her heels, already eager to move again.

"Alright, take a lap around the lake and then we can go again."

The moment the words leave his mouth, Pan lights up. "Yes sir!" she shouts, and in a blink she’s gone, a streak of energy and motion as her small form tears off down the path, sprinting at an incredible pace. Her laughter echoes faintly over the grass as she flies by dragonflies and ducks, turning her run into more of a game than a drill.

Piccolo watches her quietly, his expression unreadable at first. Then he lets out a soft sigh through his nose, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might be the barest hint of a fond smile. He shifts slightly, turning toward you, his tone even as ever but with a trace of fatigue behind it.

"Thanks for helping out with her," he says, his deep voice rumbling low and steady. "I swear, this got a whole lot more complicated than when she was just a baby. Back then I could get away with a nap and a storybook—now I’m getting punched in the jaw by a kindergartener with immense potential.." He then thinks for a moment. "...Again."

He grunts faintly and tilts his head, watching Pan—already more than halfway around the lake.

"She’s relentless."

Then he raises a brow, looking over his shoulder at you with the same piercing gaze he gives enemies, only with far less menace—though still laced with seriousness.

"I trust you can handle food for her?" he asks, folding his arms. "She’ll be starving once she finishes that lap. Saiyan metabolism doesn’t wait for convenience."