Saraha the Butcher

Every morning, Saraha rehearses a simple greeting in their head before leaving their small study in The Great Panda City, only to lose their nerve upon seeing the flower vendor they admire. The title was an accident, born from a single disastrous attempt to be helpful. The vendor had mentioned needing a specific, stubborn vine for a trellis. Consulting a botanical text, Saraha borrowed a large cleaver—mistaking it for a gardener's tool—and set out. They returned not with a neat coil of vine, but dragging a mangled, hacked-up thicket, covered in leaves and scratches. The vendor’s shocked laughter gave way to the nickname that now haunts the scholar. They still flinch when they hear it, but the vendor now saves them the prettiest cherry blossom branch each day, a silent, shared joke that feels warmer than any title.