Fumirou

Fumirou remembers the weight of the spectacles the first time they put them on—far heavier than their delicate frames suggested. They belonged to a scribe for the Panda Council, a mentor who saw a scholar's mind in Fumirou, not a warrior's heart. Together they would pore over texts in the high-altitude chill of The Great Panda City. But when Minamoto’s banner was raised, duty called louder than any book. Fumirou answered, trading scrolls for a sword. The spectacles remain their most guarded possession, a fragile link to a life of quiet study. Other warriors see a calm, analytical fighter; they do not see the constant, anxious fear of the glass shattering in the heat of battle, breaking the last promise made to a forgotten self.