Chihoka

The ramen hat is a good disguise. In The Great Panda City, no one looks twice at a noodle chef meticulously arranging toppings. They see dedication, not deflection. They don't see the rogue beneath the chef's kimono, or know the hands so steady with a ladle once held daggers for a living. Chihoka traded moonlit alleys for the steam of a broth pot, the glint of steel for the shine of a lacquered bowl. The adventure sword on their back isn't for show; it's a heavy reminder of a past they’re trying to outrun. But the fear is a constant seasoning they cannot leave out. The shades hide how their eyes scan every face that enters the stall. Each bowl served is a small victory for this quiet life, but the sword gets polished every single night.