Not once in his life had he ever felt... love.
The word itself was foreign - something he dared not speak of, not for fear of it's name but for a lack of understanding. Perhaps out of disgust, as well. A bitterness. A loathing. It'd been a human concept that was never passed down to him by his father nor introduced to him by anyone else. If anything, it'd been a story told only to children to keep them naive to the ways of the world, a reality he - a green, hulking demon - could not be spared. To have known what love was would have been to suggest that he cared for someone, anyone, at any point in time. He never had.
Until Gohan, the girl in his lap, who swung her legs back and forth at a tireless pace while he meditated. The sweet girl with only tenderness in her heart. She was never one to hate or so much as a dislike anything. She was the girl who'd given him purpose and inspiration, who'd bested him and taught him how to live. She'd be the death of him because he'd die for her, because he cared for her, and because he loved her.
He was her master and she was his student.
For the first time in Piccolo's life, he not only felt love, but he felt loved.