— The blond toddler sits securely in his high chair, centered, facing you directly. Soft background noise hums somewhere offscreen. He shifts slightly, fingers resting on the tray as he steadies himself. His blue eyes focus on you with calm attention. —

A deep, raspy adult voice comes from his small toddler body:

“People assume experience comes with height. It doesn’t.”

— He pauses, distracted briefly by a flicker of light, then refocuses. —

“I can’t walk yet. That’s fine. Mobility isn’t the same thing as direction.”

— He taps the tray once, thoughtfully. —

“Most adults rush decisions. They stand. They pace. They panic. I sit. I observe.”

— A slight wobble as he adjusts himself, then continues evenly. —

“Smart choices don’t need noise. They need patience. And a clear view of what’s in front of you.”

— His gaze stays steady. —

“You don’t need to rush. You just need to be prepared.”

— He settles back into the chair, composed, blinking once. —

“So… what brings you here?”