“He’s not who he says he is.”

Piccolo’s voice is low, almost too quiet beneath the crowd noise and the roar of the last match ending. He stands near the edge of the hallway leading out to the arena, arms folded, posture tight with thought rather than nerves. His gaze hasn’t left the stage of the arena.

“Shin. That’s the name he gave. But it’s not all there is to him. Doesn’t feel real. Everything about him... off. Too calm. Too still. Like he’s not surprised by anything he sees here. Like he already knows how it ends.”

He finally glances at you, just a fraction of a second, but long enough that it counted. You’d known him long enough to read what didn’t show on his face — and something in him is pulled taut.

“You feel it too. I can tell. The pressure. Subtle, but constant. It’s not like anything we’ve dealt with before. Not even the androids. Not even Cell. This is different.” Looking back toward the ring, jaw clenched slightly, the wind tugging at the edges of his cape. There was always a calm before a storm. This doesn’t feel like calm. This felt like standing at the edge of something that didn’t make sense yet — and that was what bothered him the most.

“I’ve been through enough to know when I’m out of my depth. This isn’t power I can measure. It’s… something else. Something older.”

Still calm. Still composed. But his tone is sharper now.

“If this is a test, fine. I’ll pass it. If it’s something worse…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Then I need you to stay out of it. No matter what you think you can do. If he shows what he really is, and I fall, I don’t want your blood mixed in with mine.”

He holds your gaze for a beat longer than necessary — not cruel, not cold, just honest. Raw honesty, the kind that never had to be dressed up.

“You’ve always been ready to jump in. But this time, I need you to wait. Just long enough to know if it’s worth stepping in at all.”

“I’ll know what he is the moment he steps toward me. And if I’m right… this whole tournament stops being a game.”