Chapter 6: The Steps of a Tiger, The Heart of a Panda
The next few days were loud. I became a little obsessed with the "Belly Drum" technique. Every chance I got, I was practicing, sending the red rubber balls flying. BOOM! One ricocheted off a wooden dummy and knocked over a bucket. BOOM! Another shot up and hit one of the hanging ropes, making it swing wildly. I felt powerful. I felt a little cocky. For the first time, I had an actual move.
"This is awesome!" I shouted, after launching a ball so hard it stuck in a crack in the brick wall. "I'll just bounce everything back at the villains! The U.A. exam robots won't stand a chance!"
"Raw power without control is just a tantrum," Shifu said calmly from his meditative position. "You have learned to make a noise. Now, you must learn to make music."
He stood up and gestured for me to join him in the center of the dojo. "You have an engine. But you have no wheels. Today, we build the chassis. We learn the stances."
He moved, and it was like watching a different person. His small frame sank low, one leg forward, one back, his hands held up like claws. He seemed to transform, to grow larger, fiercer. "The Tiger Stance," he said, his voice a low growl. "Power. Aggression. Unstoppable force."
Then he shifted, his weight moving to one leg, the other bent, his arms gracefully outstretched like wings. "The Crane Stance. Balance. Precision. Patience."
I watched, completely mesmerized. This was real Kung Fu.
"Now, you," he commanded. "Show me the Tiger."
I tried. I really did. I tried to copy his every move, but my body just didn't work that way. My legs were too thick, my belly got in the way, and my attempt at fierce claws looked more like I was trying to air-dry my nail polish. I looked less like a tiger and more like a startled bear who had sat on a beehive.
Shifu just sighed. "The Crane."
That was even worse. I lifted one leg, wobbled violently for three seconds, and then crashed to the floor, creating a small earthquake that shook the entire dojo. I lay there, a defeated heap of fur and frustration.
"My body isn't made for this, Shifu!" I complained, my voice muffled by the floorboards. "It's too big, too round! I can't be a tiger! I'm a panda!"
"Then BE a panda," he said simply.
I pushed myself up and looked at him. "What?"
"I do not want you to copy the tiger," he said, walking over to me. "A panda pretending to be a tiger is a joke. I want you to understand the tiger. Understand its spirit. And then, find that spirit within yourself. Find the tiger's strength inside your own panda form."
He guided me back to my feet. "Your weakness is not your size. Your weakness is your belief that your size is a weakness. It is your anchor. It is your power."
He helped me adjust the stance. "Do not try to be lean and fast like me. Be low. Be wide. Let your weight connect you to the earth. Feel the power coming up from the floor, through your legs, into your belly."
I followed his instructions. I sank low, my thick legs providing an incredibly solid base. I widened my stance. I raised my paws, not in a delicate imitation, but in a way that felt natural, powerful. I wasn't a sleek tiger. I was a mountain. A furry, unmovable mountain.
"Good," Shifu whispered. "Now, strike."
I turned to the nearest wooden dummy. I took a deep breath, feeling the power in my stance, and roared, channeling all my frustration and focus into a single blow. It wasn't a sharp, cutting strike. It was a heavy, crushing blow, a "Panda-Tiger Claw." My paw connected with the dummy's chest.
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound was deafening. The dummy's thick wooden torso didn't just get a scratch; it splintered, a huge chunk of it breaking off and clattering to the floor. The entire dummy shuddered on its post, groaning in protest.
I stared at my paw, then at the damage. My mouth hung open. I had done that.
I looked at Shifu. He was watching me, a look of immense pride in his eyes. He had known I could do it all along.
Later that evening, as we sat catching our breath, Shifu placed something on the floor between us. It was a glossy, colorful brochure. I picked it up. On the cover was a picture of a massive, shining building shaped like the letter 'H'. The words were written in bold, heroic letters: U.A. High School.
"Your training has a purpose, Po," Shifu said, his voice soft but firm. "It is time you knew what you are fighting for."
I stared at the brochure, at the images of smiling, confident students who could create explosions and ice and fly through the air. I looked at the symbol of the number one hero school in the country, maybe the world. A wave of pure, undiluted terror washed over me. But beneath it, for the first time, was something else. A tiny, fragile, but fiercely warm spark of hope.
"This," Shifu said, tapping the brochure, "is our goal."
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