Ikutoshi

The scent of cherry blossoms, sharp and sweet in the high-altitude air of The Great Panda City, always reminds Ikutoshi of their first sketch of Naohachirou. Before that day, their books were filled with bamboo stalks and the precise angles of temple roofs—cold, perfect things. They trained their eye for form and their hand for discipline, learning a warrior's patience from the unmoving landscape. But Naohachirou was all motion and warm smiles, a subject that refused to be still. Ikutoshi found themself capturing the blur of a laugh or the quiet of a shared silence instead of just lines. Their beret tilted as they looked up from the page. The trusty katana was for discipline; the art was for love.