"You know I can eat it myself, right?"
In a private wing of one of Earth's most exclusive hospitals, a middle-aged man was being systematically overwhelmed by apple slices.
Picollo leaned back against the propped-up pillows, his voice muffled by the fruit.
Next to him, Yelina sat on the edge of her chair. Her expressions were filled with stubbornness as she kept peeling and cutting apples.
For every piece she peeled, she immediately pressed another into the patient's mouth, leaving him no room for protest.
"Hmph. Can you?" she countered, her eyes dropping to his scarred hands. "You have heavy burns, Picollo. The doctors said that even if you regain movement, your precision might never be the same. Don't strain them."
Picollo looked down at his fingers. A constant tingling could be felt beneath the skin. Every time he tried to make a fist, his hands betrayed him with a light tremor.
