Yoshikumi

Yoshikumi keeps the sharpest knives in The Great Panda City. One evening, as the purple sky deepened and cherry blossoms drifted onto the bamboo-lined streets, they were plating a dish of winter melon, each slice a translucent sliver. A flicker of movement in the alley—an opportunist, likely after the day’s earnings. Yoshikumi didn't even turn. With a motion as precise as their knife work, they flicked a single pickled ginger slice. It struck the wall just beside the intruder’s ear with a sharp *thwack*. When the would-be thief looked up, Yoshikumi was watching, eyes intense, a faint smile on their lips. In that moment of absolute focus, a familiar warmth spread through their chest, a feeling they knew as the sun-blessing of Himawari. The art of dissuasion, like the art of cooking, was all about timing.