Chapter 1
I woke up early that morning, before sunrise, and tried to slip out quietly for my training without making a fuss. But as I had already established beyond any doubt, that was simply not in the cards for me. I was, as they say, a bull in a china shop. Or more precisely, a massive two-meter upright-walking panda with an impressive layer of both muscle and fat.
Nearly twenty years had passed since my rebirth in this strange world. Funny, really — everyone dreams of ending up in the universe of Harry Potter, Star Wars, or Naruto, and here I am, dropped into a world packed full of intelligent, bipedal, and not-so-bipedal animals. And honestly, I don't even know what world this is supposed to be. Am I upset about that? Not one bit. Besides, there are far worse universes out there — Warhammer 40,000, for instance. Brrr.
My previous life was no picnic. My parents dumped me in an orphanage right after I was born, and as a parting gift they saddled me with a condition that made my bones snap at the slightest sneeze. My whole life I envied ordinary people who could stroll down to the store for a loaf of bread without worrying they'd fall and break something.
As anyone can probably guess, I was very much alone because of that illness. Who needs a scrawny, fragile-boned wreck? Maybe someone out there would have, but I never went looking. I didn't want to risk passing the disease on to children.
My entire short life I spent as an unremarkable office worker, nothing special about me whatsoever, and my only comfort came from video games and television. I don't remember the circumstances of my death at all — I was twenty-eight at the time. Probably something like "walked outside, tripped, died."
My first year in the new world exists in my memory only as blurry outlines, as if my consciousness had been drifting in some half-formed dream. And by some cruel twist of irony, my biological parents in this world also decided they wanted nothing to do with me, leaving me as an infant in a crate of radishes.
Am I upset about that? Again, not in the slightest. Fate gave me a wonderful adoptive father — a person... well, a goose — who surrounded me with love and care and raised me as his own. He taught me to read, to write, and to cook. I'm genuinely grateful to him, and I do my best to repay him with the same care and attention. I help him run his business as best I can — a noodle shop, where he makes the most delicious noodles I have ever tasted.
Our home and noodle shop sit in a large village nestled in what is called the Valley of Peace. The village is fairly simple, nothing particularly remarkable about it except for its ancient Chinese architectural style. The population is peculiar — or rather, typical for this world. You can encounter representatives of all kinds of intelligent species here. Alongside ordinary humanoid bipeds, you'll find intelligent snakes, insects, birds, and all manner of unusual creatures. The only thing really worth noting is that a group of martial arts practitioners lives up on the mountain above us.
Ah yes, those legendary masters of the fist and the foot. Judging by everything, there's no shortage of them in this world, and they have no shortage of myths and legends surrounding them either. I have no desire and no need to test the truth of those stories. If I'd been an anime fanboy in my past life, I probably would have gone rushing to them to study martial arts. But as things stand — why bother with that headache? They've got plenty on their plate already, protecting the Valley of Peace from bandits and other unsavory types, whose numbers have been growing lately.
They live in a rather impressive place, by the way. The name "Jade Palace" speaks for itself. Once, when I was a child, my father took me there for a festival, and I had the chance to see it up close. Even though I never went inside, I can say the place is extraordinarily striking.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice my foot catch the mop leaning against the wall near the doorway, sending it and the empty bucket clattering to the floor. I froze, bracing for a reaction. Fortunately, the silence held — my father was still sound asleep. Exhaling with relief, I stepped outside and headed to my training ground.
When did I start training in this world? A long time ago. Almost as soon as I took my first conscious steps at an early age, I was hit by some overwhelming compulsion to work out, and I've been doing it every single day ever since. Exercising when you've barely figured out how to get out of diapers is admittedly a surreal experience. Probably some leftover baggage from my past life — I must have dragged a few complexes along with me.
I built the training ground about five years ago, choosing a quiet spot that looks something like a small park. Getting it all set up took serious effort. To give myself some variety in my workouts, I had to get creative and improvise quite a bit. Finding wood and stone was no problem, but iron was a different story.
Iron is valuable here, and the Valley of Peace's supply of it is nothing to brag about. The local blacksmith agreed to forge a few things for me — bars, chains, that sort of thing — completely free of charge, in exchange for some labor: mostly swinging a hammer. His water-mill-powered hammering mechanism had broken down at the time.
For me the work turned out to be decent training, and the blacksmith was happy to share the finer points of his craft as he went. Gradually, without even really thinking about it, I became his apprentice, and eventually something resembling a blacksmith myself, even though that had never been any kind of plan.
My father was cool on the idea of my constant visits to the forge at first, but he warmed up soon enough once I started bringing him free metal goods of my own making — including a ladle engraved with a pattern the blacksmith helped me carve.
Generous food — thanks entirely to my father — combined with constant training had produced real results. Lifting an entire ton of weight with one paw isn't much of a challenge for me anymore. Whether that comes down to the specifics of my body or the specifics of this world, I can't say for certain. But I prefer to take full personal credit.
I warmed up quickly and with energy, humming a cheerful little song to myself: *I inject the tren right in the rear, to become the biggest lifter here~ I squeeze through doorways sideways, dear…*
Then I moved on to the workout proper, every exercise loaded with additional weight.
First came wide-grip pull-ups on the bar to work the latissimus dorsi — naturally, with a chain attached to my belt and a large boulder hanging from the other end.
Then strength sets with heavy lifts: improvised barbell presses lying down and standing up, targeting the chest and shoulders.
After finishing the upper body, I gave my legs their due — a series of heavy squats to hammer the quadriceps and glutes.
I finished with cardio: laps around the park with a massive boulder on my shoulders, then a thorough stretch to close out the session.
Training done, I headed home. Father would be opening the restaurant soon, and I still needed to wash up and get myself together before the workday started.
***
I doused myself thoroughly with a couple of buckets of cold water, toweled off quickly, and went to help Father in the kitchen, where I found him already at the stove. He was dressed in his usual light-yellow robe with the gold belt and its wave-patterned embroidery, same as always.
The kitchen radiated warmth and had a cozy, homey feel, despite its modest dimensions — modest enough that I had to hunch just to move around freely. It opened directly onto a small courtyard fitted with tables where guests could eat outside in the fresh air.
Father glanced over at me with his goose smile and said:
"You've been training again, son. You don't take care of yourself at all. You need to save your strength, or soon there'll be nothing left of you but skin and bones."
"More likely I'll burst from overeating your noodles and dumplings," I replied cheerfully, patting my stomach.
"But you're always the one saying you can never have too many noodles and dumplings," Father pointed out with a sly look, sliding a large bowl of dumplings across to me.
"All right, you've got me there," I admitted, and I polished off the food of the gods at speed. The bowl was empty before long.
It was true that over the past few months I'd been eating heavily and had put on weight, but soon I'd need to start cutting the fat to uncover whatever muscle definition was hiding underneath. Not that I had anyone to show off to. Although, if I went looking, maybe I could find someone…
"Po, are you listening to me? Our first customers have arrived," Father said, waving his ladle in front of my face and eyeing me with suspicion.
"Yes, of course, Father." And I hurried out to the tables to take and deliver orders.
***
The day drifted along at its usual unhurried pace, the familiar rhythm of taking orders and carrying them out. Among the conversations swirling through the restaurant, the locals kept chewing over the same piece of news — the upcoming selection of some legendary Dragon Warrior. I just smirked to myself. That figure was part of the local mythology, rooted in a prophecy left behind by the founder of the local school of kung fu, who happened to live up in the Jade Palace.
I knew a fair amount about this mythical figure thanks to our neighbor's son, whose family we sometimes visited. The kid was basically the local kung-fu fanatic — he even collected figurines of every reasonably famous master and was constantly trying to pull me into his hobby. From his vivid descriptions of the Dragon Warrior, I'd drawn exactly one conclusion: I was probably inside some kind of anime. I could only hope they wouldn't be shipping in any teenage transmigrators who get blessed with divine power by a magic artifact. I was doing just fine without them, and my daily routine suited me perfectly well.
***
*Some time later — third person*
The sun was slowly angling toward the horizon, but the guests in the cozy noodle shop showed no hurry to leave. A large panda moved through the dining area, somehow balancing plates of fragrant noodles without quite colliding with any of the tables, before disappearing back into the kitchen and leaving the customers to their food and the quiet evening.
The brief peace was broken when three individuals walked into the courtyard. Their appearance drew immediate attention from the other guests. They were crocodiles, dressed in matching brown leather straps and bracelets and bright red trousers. The largest of the three was of ordinary height and carried a mace, while the other two were noticeably shorter and appeared to be unarmed. Their expressions made it fairly clear that complex thought was not their strong suit.
The crocodiles wasted no time living up to their appearance. The biggest one, obviously the leader, immediately announced a robbery, demanding that all valuables be surrendered at once under threat of the mace. His two accomplices began methodically emptying the pockets and bags of the other guests, while also snatching bowls of hot noodles straight out of people's hands and wolfing them down on the spot.
The leader himself strode confidently toward the proprietor, who had come charging out of the kitchen gripping a large ladle and practically hissing.
"Get out of my restaurant before the Furious Five or the guards get here!" Ping snapped, making it unmistakably clear how unwelcome these visitors were.
"The Furious Five and the guards are very busy today," the crocodile replied with a smirk. "I doubt they'll show up in time to save you. If you value that chatty beak of yours — along with your head and this little noodle shop — I suggest you hand over everything valuable, fast. Otherwise, you'll regret it." He delivered this in a deep, rumbling bass.
The noodle shop owner's nostrils flared with fury, but his options were slim. Understanding the gravity of the situation, he was on the verge of complying with the robbers' demands, knowing that risking his life and property would be foolish. Losing the restaurant meant losing the work of his entire life — the business he had hoped to pass on to his son one day.
The crocodile was wearing a self-satisfied grin and just winding up for a few more smug remarks when a heavy hand suddenly clamped down hard on his shoulder. The unexpected grip sent a sharp spike of pain through him and he cried out reflexively, his mace slipping from his fingers and ringing against the stone floor of the courtyard.
"Hey, pal, I think you and your friends have the wrong place. The leather workshop is two doors down." A deep voice announced this calmly, belonging to the panda who had appeared from nowhere behind the crocodile and seized his shoulder in an iron grip. The panda's imposing frame stood nearly a full head taller than the robber.
"Get lost!" the crocodile snarled, twisting to wrench himself free and firing a sharp punch at his opponent.
The blow landed squarely on the panda, somewhere around the chest. The crocodile immediately regretted it, grimacing as though he'd just driven his fist into solid rock. The panda didn't so much as flinch, merely raising one eyebrow in mild puzzlement.
"No, *you* get lost — you overstuffed suitcase," the panda snorted after a brief pause, and swinging back, drove a fist directly into the crocodile's wide, toothy maw.
The force of the blow launched the crocodile into the air, teeth scattering, and sent him sailing toward the courtyard exit. He came down face-first, plowing a furrow in the earth, and lay there without moving — out cold, by all appearances. His accomplices stood frozen in place, stunned by the sudden turn of events. One of them had been in the middle of trying to snatch an old sheep woman's bag, but seeing his leader go down, he grasped the danger immediately and dropped it. Both bandits bolted from the courtyard, hastily scooping up their unconscious leader, and vanished into the maze of alleyways beyond.
***
*Same moment — Po's perspective*
Well, damn. Look at me playing it cool. *Keep a straight face, keep a straight face…* I held my expression steady, concealing what I was actually feeling. The crocodile had spun around and slugged me in the chest without any warning — I hadn't even had time to react. Fortunately, it was completely harmless; a slight sting in my chest, nothing more. Good thing he didn't have a knife. As for him flying across the yard from my punch — I genuinely hadn't expected that. Pride surged through me, though immediately after I thought: god, I hope he's still alive. The last thing I wanted was to become a killer, even of someone that unpleasant.
"Po, son, are you hurt? Are you all right? Show me where it hurts." Father broke into my thoughts, circling around me without putting down his ladle.
"I'm fine, Father," I said, hurrying to reassure him.
"Oh, wonderful! In honor of my son driving off a gang of criminals, I hereby declare that everyone receives a free portion of noodles!" Father announced with great enthusiasm, and I already knew exactly how this speech was going to end.
"For anyone who purchases a large portion of dumplings," he finished.
The addendum immediately deflated the crowd, who had been savoring the prospect of something free a moment before.
The absurdity of it made me smile, though somewhere in the back of my mind I couldn't quite shake the question of why bandits had grown so bold that they were walking into the village in broad daylight.
***
The day ended exactly as it always did: the guests gradually trickled out, we closed up, and then came the cleaning and the dishes.
After a hearty dinner I went out for my evening training session. When it was done, I washed up and lay down to let my body rest and recover. For some reason, as I drifted off, I had the distinct feeling that tomorrow was going to be a complicated day.