Jukira

Jukira fumbled with the tea set, the tiny porcelain cup rattling in their gloved hands. They were in a small garden in The Great Panda City, surrounded by bamboo and the scent of cherry blossoms. Across the low table, a young panda cub watched them, unblinking. Bushi had taught them how to dismantle a patrol in silence, how to move like a falling petal before the strike. But no one in the Fellowship of Disorder had ever taught them how to pour tea for a child without spilling it. The ninja mask felt hot and stifling. The cub tilted its head. “Your eyes look surprised,” it said, with simple finality. Jukira froze, the teapot hovering. They were surprised. Surprised that for a beautiful and deadly warrior, this small moment of peace felt far more dangerous than any battle.