Youyou

Youyou did not wear the ramen hat to be funny. It was a promise, a piece of home from the noodle stall they left behind to become a warrior in The Great Panda City. The other trainees saw only the comical bowl, the old-fashioned mutton chops on a young face, and the kawaii eyes, and they laughed. Youyou was a mascot, not a threat, never chosen first for sparring. But every evening, when the purple hues deepened and the cherry blossoms trembled in the freezing wind, Youyou was still there. They practiced their forms until their arms ached, their katana a whisper against the cold air. They were training for the day an opponent would underestimate them one last time.