Niitarou

Traders in The Great Panda City whisper that Niitarou is faster than the freezing winds that whip through the bamboo-lined streets, a blur of white delivering sealed scrolls for the Panda Council. They say the mask is a mark of cold professionalism, that beneath it is an operative devoid of distraction. They are only half right. The speed is real, but its purpose is not duty—it is devotion. Every urgent message delivered ahead of schedule buys another minute, another breath to be spent at a small workshop where a quiet lantern-maker works. Niitarou never brings state secrets there, only a single, perfect cherry blossom. The lantern-maker never asks to see their face, claiming the story is told well enough by the light that dances in their eyes.