Mohiko

On the night their reflection smiled back with unfamiliar eyes, Mohiko understood the whispers about them. The Great Panda City is a place of serene order, but a second, colder will lived inside Mohiko, a sharp-edged presence that unnerved the gentle locals. They were never formally exiled, but the space that cleared around them in the bamboo-lined streets felt like a judgment. So they embraced the fringes, making a home in the city's steamiest ramen stall. The azure cap and shades became a uniform, a way to appear relaxed and approachable when they felt anything but. Every bowl of noodles is a small ritual of control, a tether to the simple, warm person they strive to be, even as the other part of them watches, and waits.