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The front courtyard of the Lookout was faintly illuminated by a moon veiled in thin clouds. Though the rainy season was nearing its end, the air remained damp.
Piccolo watched Gohan from a short distance away as the boy peered into the water basin. Perhaps out of concern for Dende, who had only recently relocated to Earth, Gohan had been visiting the Lookout frequently of late. A few days prior, he had brought over some cut flowers, and together they had planted them in the basin, Gohan explaining that "they would multiply through water propagation."
"The roots are already growing, and new stems and leaves are sprouting," Gohan said.
"Is that so?"
Gohan lifted one of the flowers, holding it up against the moonlight. Gently tracing the young leaves with his fingertips, he returned it to the water.
"It’s fascinating. It’s not a seed, yet a clipped stem can become a completely new individual... like a clone."
At the word clone, Piccolo instinctively flinched.
Ever since fusing with the former Kami, Piccolo had avoided looking at reflections. Not just in mirrors, but night windows, the water basin, lakes, and rivers... whenever he caught a glimpse, he would lose track of who was looking back at him. Was it himself? Was it Kami? Was it that warrior he had assimilated with on Namek? Or was it the Great Demon King, who was his parent, his past life, and in a sense, his identical self?
The soft, pale crimson of the flowers peeking over the edge of the basin was supposed to be lovely. Yet to Piccolo now, it felt ominous, and he could not bring himself to step any closer.
A severed stem, which by all rights should have died, multiplying anew. Its form, its nature, its origin—all identical. If so, was it not the exact same entity?
Caught in an indescribable friction, Piccolo found himself unable to look away.
"Piccolo-san, do you dislike flowers?"
"Not particularly... I neither like nor dislike them."
"But you’re standing so far away."
Gohan lifted his head from the basin and walked over toward Piccolo. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone pavement of the quiet courtyard. Stopping right beside him, Gohan looked up and offered a blossoming smile.
"I’m just glad you’re here, Piccolo-san. Whenever I wanted to see you before, you were so hard to find."
Gohan reached out and took Piccolo’s hand. Piccolo did not pull away, but he did not squeeze back either. It was his own hand, yet it felt like the hand of a stranger.
"You’re going to live here for good, right?"
"I suppose... Dende may have need of the former Kami’s knowledge from time to time."
Perhaps because Gohan had just been touching the water, his fingertips were cold. In this season where even the nights were warm, that chill felt starkly pronounced.
"Then I can come see you whenever I want. I’ll come visit a lot, I..."
"Gohan."
When Piccolo called his name to cut him off, Gohan obediently closed his mouth. His face, waiting for Piccolo’s words, was cast in shadow by the weak moonlight.
"Who is it that you come here to see?"
"What do you mean, 'who'?"
"The former Kami? The Great Demon King? That Namekian warrior? Or..."
Before he could finish, a thick cloud blanketed the moon. The courtyard, devoid of artificial light, plunged into pitch blackness. Everything vanished—the basin, the pale crimson flowers, and the silhouette of Gohan tilting his head in bewilderment as he held Piccolo's hand.
Unable to bear the brief silence, Piccolo was about to dismiss his own question as nothing, when he heard Gohan laugh.
"What a strange thing to say. You're being silly."
"Why are you laughing?"
"It’s Piccolo-san. Not Kami, and not the Great Demon King. I come here to see just plain old Piccolo-san."
Gohan’s hand slipped away from Piccolo’s palm, his arms wrapping around Piccolo’s waist instead. Though he still couldn't see Gohan's face in the darkness, the movement of the boy's forehead resting against his solar plexus told Piccolo that he was smiling.
"Why would you even ask something like that?"
The body clinging tightly to him was still small, yet it held the distinct, innocent warmth of a boy.
"...When I look at myself in the mirror, I no longer know who I am. I was born as a mere shadow to begin with, and now I have become too blended."
"Hmm..."
Piccolo realized belatedly that his own arms had reflexively wrapped around Gohan in return. Quite unlike those water-chilled fingertips, the warmth of Gohan's body seeped into him, heating his own form from the point of contact.
"I can tell it’s you without even looking, Piccolo-san. Can you not tell it’s me when it's pitch black?"
"...I can tell."
"Good!"
The moment Gohan pulled back, the faint moonlight broke through once more. Still maintaining his smile, Gohan took Piccolo by the wrist and began to walk. Guiding him back to the water basin, he pointed at the flowers.
"Look, there's a bud forming. I wonder if it'll bloom tomorrow..."
With a mind that had grown strangely tranquil, Piccolo peered down into the basin.
In the glass-like water, the propagated crimson flowers had extended numerous roots. Just as Gohan had said, the softly colored buds looked ready to bloom by tomorrow.
For the first time in a long while, Piccolo locked eyes with his own reflection. And he felt that the person standing there beside Gohan was, without a doubt, himself.