Chapter 5: The Belly is a Drum, Not a Shield
A few weeks passed, and a new rhythm settled into my life. Mornings were for school, for pretending to listen to lectures while secretly sketching hero costume ideas in my notebook. Afternoons, however, were for the dojo. They were for the smell of old wood and dust, for the satisfying ache in my muscles, and for the quiet wisdom of my master.
The change was noticeable, even at school. I walked with a bit more purpose, my usual clumsy shuffle replaced by a more grounded stride. Kaito and his two goons still watched me. I could feel their eyes on me in the cafeteria and in the hallways. But they never got close. They'd see me, whisper amongst themselves, and then change direction. It was like I had an invisible, panda-shaped force field around me. It was a nice feeling.
One morning, I saw Akai-sensei walking down the crowded corridor, a stack of papers tucked under his arm. A wave of pride and familiarity washed over me. I lifted a hand, a big, cheerful grin spreading across my face.
"Hey, Master Shi—"
WHACK!
A rolled-up history textbook, wielded with the speed of a striking viper, connected smartly with the top of my head. It didn't hurt, thanks to my Quirk, but the surprise made me yelp.
"Good morning, Po," Akai-sensei said without breaking his stride, his voice the epitome of a calm schoolteacher. "I trust you've finished your report on the pre-Quirk era? It's due today."
I stood there, stunned, rubbing my head as he disappeared into the faculty lounge. A few students who saw it snickered. I just smiled sheepishly. Rule number one, loud and clear: In school, he is Akai-sensei. Nothing more.
That afternoon, I arrived at the dojo still feeling a phantom bonk on my skull. Master Shifu was waiting for me in the center of the room, his arms crossed. Beside him was a large wicker basket.
"Your focus wanders," was the first thing he said.
"Sorry, Shifu," I mumbled. "Akai-sensei gave me a… reminder… this morning."
A flicker of a smile touched his lips before vanishing. "Good. Then the lesson was learned." He gestured for me to stand before him. "You have made progress, Po. Your body is becoming an instrument. But your mind… your mind still thinks like a target."
While he spoke, my eyes drifted. Over his shoulder, I saw a rack of old, traditional weapons leaning against the wall. There were long staffs, hooked swords, and even a dusty, ornate katana. "Wow," I breathed, taking a step towards it. "Is that a real samurai sword?" I reached out a curious paw to touch the hilt.
Thwack.
A thin bamboo staff, seemingly appearing from nowhere, rapped my knuckles sharply. "Ouch!"
"Focus is not just for the balance beam, Po," Shifu said, his voice firm but not angry. He pointed the staff at my stomach. "It is for this."
He was right. I'd gotten stronger, but my entire fighting philosophy was still based on the idea that I could just absorb anything thrown at me. He walked over to the wicker basket and picked up a soft, red rubber ball. His eyes met mine, and they were sharp, probing. "Tell me, what do they call you at school?"
The question stung. I looked down at the floor. "It's stupid," I mumbled.
"Tell me."
"Fluffball," I whispered. As I said the word, he tossed the ball lightly at my chest. It bounced off with a soft thump.
"What else?"
"Walking carpet," I said, a little louder. He tossed another ball, this one a bit harder. Thump.
"Tell me what they say about your dream," he commanded, his voice like steel.
My paws clenched into fists. "That it's a joke," I said, the words tasting like ash. "That a clumsy panda with a useless Quirk could never be a hero." He threw the next ball hard. THUMP. It hit my stomach, and I just stood there and took it, the way I always did. My shield held. But inside, the words still broke through.
"Is that what you are, Po?" Shifu's voice rose, filling the dojo. "A target? A joke? A soft thing that people can throw their words and fists at whenever they feel like it?" He picked up another ball. "The shield just sits there and takes the blow! The drum does not! The drum answers the beat! It sends the sound back out into the world with twice the force! You must unlearn a lifetime of passivity! Use your core! Use your breath! STRIKE THE BALL BACK WITH YOUR BELLY!"
He hurled the ball with surprising speed. It flew right at my stomach. For a split second, my old instinct screamed at me to just stand there and absorb it. But I saw the fire in my master's eyes, I heard the echo of a dozen cruel laughs, and I felt the sting of that textbook on my head. A surge of frustration, of anger, of pure, unfiltered determination rose up from my feet.
I didn't just stand there.
I met the ball. I tightened every muscle in my stomach, exhaled a sharp breath, and contracted my core in a violent, percussive pulse at the exact moment of impact.
BOOM!
It felt like a small explosion happened on my stomach. The red rubber ball didn't just bounce off; it was launched. It flew back at Master Shifu like a cannonball, a red streak cutting through the dusty air. He caught it in one hand, a look of profound satisfaction on his face.
I stood there, breathing heavily, not from exhaustion, but from the shock of it. My stomach tingled with a strange new power. It wasn't the dull, passive resilience I was used to. It was active. It was forceful. It was… loud.
Master Shifu held up the ball and gave me a rare, wide smile.
"Good," he said, his voice now calm again. "That was the first note."
He looked at me, his student, panting in the middle of the floor. "Now, we begin to learn the song."
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