Asobi

Asobi’s hands weigh dried persimmons with the same steadiness that once held a dynasty's fate. They fled to The Great Panda City for anonymity, not commerce, trading a battlefield for a stall lined with bamboo. The ridiculous 'Displayoooor' contraption on their head was supposed to help them look the part of a modern merchant, but it mostly just flashes nonsensical advertisements and error codes, perfectly matching the stunned look in Asobi's eyes. They despise the cold winds, the haggling, and the sheer indignity of it all. Still, every day, they strap their Ancient Sabre to their back—a weapon that has felled demons, now a glorified box cutter. A young chimper once pointed to it. "What's that for?" Asobi’s jaw tightened. "Cutting prices."