Shichisaburou

The scent of damp bamboo and distant cherry blossoms always hung in the freezing winds of The Great Panda City. For Shichisaburou, it was the smell of being overlooked. They were too quiet, their tranquil grey fur too unassuming for the Panda Council's notice. Others saw patience; Shichisaburou felt a gnawing hunger for purpose. They were a ghost in a haori until Minamoto arrived, their words on liberation a burning torch in the cold mountain air. Minamoto’s call to action was not for the strong, but for the willing. Shichisaburou was willing. These days, they paint their face before every patrol. It is not an act of aggression, but a promise to themself. The suspicious squint remains, as does the calm, but it has become the patience of a predator. The side smile is a secret they keep: the greatest strength is being the one nobody ever saw coming.