Ransei

The smell of rich pork broth and simmering dashi clings to Ransei like a second skin. In The Great Panda City, they are known for two things: the best ramen on the mountain and the ridiculous slice of cake they wear on their head. They serve bowls with a cheerful nod, their glasses perpetually steamed, their ancient sabre clanking against the stall as they move. Locals dismiss the blade as a family relic, a bit of dramatic flair. But the food is a precise ritual, not a recipe. Each ingredient is chosen to placate ancient forces, the steam a ward against restless spirits. Ransei’s endless appetite isn't for nourishment; it is a duty. They consume the dark energies that seep from the tomb of Kodai, one bowl at a time.