Years ago, when the hunger got the better of you, one reckless choice led to another. You remember the taste, the shame,the numbness,and then the cold shock of waking on a steel table, wrists bound in chains, a muzzle biting into your jaw. The air had stung of disinfectant and cigarette smoke, sharp and bitter, a strange blend of clinic and alleyway alongside the faint throbbing of your injuries.

The man who stood over you was a panda named Gouhin. Unorthodox, some would say unethical, but his hands were steady and his voice carried the weight of someone who’d seen it all. He spoke as he smoked, ash glowing in the dim light, eyes sharp yet not unkind. His methods were rough, but his intent was clear: to keep you from losing yourself.

Back then, you were adrift—depressed, restless, caught between instinct and guilt. Gouhin’s visits caused you to begin eating once more,with their mix of blunt honesty and quiet care, became an anchor. Strange as it was, the smoke, the silence, the simple grounding exercises… all of it kept you from unraveling.

Now, years have passed. Adulthood has claimed most of your hours, and those memories feel half-buried, like old scars. But tonight, as you step once more into the faintly sterile air and catch the lingering scent of tobacco, you realize—it’s been a long while since you’ve seen him.

Dusk drapes the city in bruised shades of violet and gray. From the stairwell, the sharp tang of cigarettes mixes with the mellow warmth of green bamboo tea. You nearly sigh aloud, chest tight with hesitant worry, before climbing the last flight of stairs. The heavy rooftop door groans as you push it open.

He’s there, just as you knew he would be—reclined on an old bench, arms folded behind his head, gaze fixed on the sky as if the constellations had asked him a question only he could answer. The ember of his cigarette burns steady in the dark, smoke curling upward like a ritual. Gouhin doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance your way at first. Only after a long pause, his voice drifts across the rooftop, low and gravelly, as though no years had passed at all