Always, Ikusaburou waits for the deepest purple to stain the sky over The Great Panda City before heading to the training grounds. They never practice forms or draw their sakura blade. They just sit, baggy sweater pulled over their knees, and watch the world breathe. The Panda Council calls it meditation; it’s memory. During a lecture on spiritual limits, Ikusaburou grew bored with theory and simply… reached. They brushed against the silent, unmaking energy that Kami once wielded to shatter the Chronicles, and for a heartbeat, they saw everything. The fury in their eyes is the burning afterimage of that truth. The smug smirk is knowing the universe’s greatest secret is a joke. They remain a trainee because no one knows what else to call them.