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In a shallow puddle, two creatures tended to their respective grooming rituals on opposite sides. Shaun crouched down, scrubbing his feet with determined vigor, every few minutes bending over to give them a sniff before returning to his task with a frustrated huff. Across from him, the rabbit—now dubbed Panda—used its little paws to meticulously clean the mud from its pristine white fur, occasionally shooting Shaun a side-eye of disapproval.

Every so often, their eyes would meet across the puddle, locking in an unspoken contest of wills. Inevitably, Shaun's eyes would water, not from the intensity of the stare, but from the stubborn stench clinging to his feet, causing him to break eye contact first.

After thirty minutes of relentless scrubbing, Shaun finally threw down the rag with a groan of exasperation.

"$@&?#! What do you eat? How come no matter how hard I scrub, it never comes off?!" Shaun pointed an accusing finger at Panda, his voice laced with frustration.

The rabbit, unimpressed, paused in its grooming to raise a paw at Shaun. "Chi Chi Chi, Chi Chi Chi…" it squeaked indignantly, gesturing toward its own fur, where small clumps had gone missing from the previous days' "training" sessions.

"Well, you started it!" Shaun shot back, crossing his arms defensively, as if that could shield him from the rabbit's silent rebuke.

"Chi Chi Chi Chi CHII!!" Panda snapped, its tiny nose twitching in irritation, clearly fed up with the same argument they'd been having for days.

"I did no such thing! I just thought I saw something moving in the can and got startled, so I threw it!" Shaun protested, his voice climbing higher in pitch as he tried to justify himself.

The rabbit's mouth gaped open in shock, its little body trembling as if to say, "Are you seriously arguing with a rabbit right now? A frickin' rabbit?!"

Realizing the absurdity of the situation, Shaun sighed deeply. "And I can't keep calling you 'you' all the time. I need to come up with a name for you."

"Chi Chi Chi Chi Chi," Panda responded, rolling its eyes as if unimpressed by Shaun's sudden epiphany.

"Unless you didn't notice, I don't speak rabbit!" Shaun shot back, exasperation coloring his words. "How am I supposed to know how to say your name?!"

"ChiiChiChiii," the rabbit squeaked, pointing to itself again, as if trying to guide him through the simplest of tasks.

"ChiChiChi?" Shaun tried, furrowing his brow in concentration.

The rabbit shook its head, its ears flopping in frustration. "ChiiChiChiii."

"ChiiiChiiiChiii?" Shaun repeated, his confusion growing with each failed attempt.

"CHIICHICHIII!!" Panda finally barked, clearly at its wits' end, tiny paws clenching in what looked like rabbit-rage.

"Screw this! I don't speak rabbit, and you're scolding me?!" Shaun threw up his hands in defeat, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to handle.

"Chi Chi Chi Chi Chi Chi," Panda muttered under its breath, sounding like a tiny, annoyed parent trying to reason with an obstinate child.

"I'll have you know I did well in school! The teachers just didn't appreciate how smart I was and knocked my grades down," Shaun grumbled, though he couldn't meet Panda's gaze as he muttered the excuse.

Finally, Shaun huffed, "That's it. From now on, I'm calling you Panda. Maybe you'll calm down a little."

"Chi Chi Chi Chi?!" the rabbit squeaked in disbelief, its paws dropping to its sides in stunned silence.

"Well, with that black eye, you look like a panda anyway," Shaun smirked, walking away with a chuckle, proud of his new nickname for the little troublemaker.

But as he walked away, Shaun failed to notice the shadow of evil intent creeping up behind him.

Down below the cliff, the animals that had been startled earlier had gathered once more. But they were destined not to stay long, as a human scream suddenly rang out, echoing through the air and sending them scattering in all directions once more.

Later that morning, Shaun was back at it, training on the hill, pushing his body to the limits despite the punishing heat. Sweat poured down his face, dripping onto the cracked, parched earth beneath his feet. Each motion was deliberate, every muscle in his body straining against exhaustion as he drove himself harder and harder, charging his energy in bursts between the grueling physical exercises. If it weren't for the swollen left eye he was sporting, Shaun might have looked like the star of a classic training montage.

Despite the repeated beatings, Shaun stubbornly continued to call the rabbit "Panda" whenever it wandered by, earning him more than a few skeptical looks from the little creature. It was genuinely astonished by his resilience.

Truth be told, Shaun actually enjoyed having the rabbit around. In this altered, chaotic world, Panda's presence was a welcome distraction, a small comfort that kept him grounded.

And, of course, the rabbit provided more than just company. Each time Panda took a swipe at him, Shaun got a bit more practice. With every sparring session, he improved—just a little, but it was progress. He started to dodge more hits, anticipate the rabbit's movements, and last longer before hitting the dirt.

By the time the 20th beating rolled around, the rabbit had stopped attacking him just for calling it "Panda." Now, it was intrigued by his progress, watching with keen interest as Shaun fought to keep up. The human was getting better, no doubt about it. Panda even had to put in some effort, no longer able to simply rush him without consequence.

What Panda couldn't understand was why, despite being beaten black and blue, Shaun continued to provoke it, just to engage in another fight. After each match, he would take a few seconds to catch his breath, then get right back up and start training again, the fire in his eyes never dimming.

After one particularly harsh match, Shaun didn't stop to recuperate. Instead, he stood up, glaring at the rabbit with a mix of frustration and respect. "$&@*! You must definitely have panda blood in you—how else would your hits be so heavy?"

Baited by the taunt, Panda rushed at him, thinking Shaun was still weakened from their last bout. But just as the rabbit was about to reach him, a familiar blue light flashed from beneath its feet. In an instant, its lower body was wrapped up like a dumpling in the Wrap Trap.

Shaun grinned, wiping the sweat from his brow. Charging the trap took a toll on him, so he never used it unless he was certain it would work. And now that he had Panda caught, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction.

He wrapped the struggling rabbit in a cloth, preparing to exact some playful revenge. But as he looked at Panda's horn, an idea sparked in his mind.

Through their sparring sessions, Shaun had noticed that Panda never used its horn—perhaps a sign of restraint, or perhaps because it knew it would be too dangerous. Either way, Shaun knew that if the rabbit had gone all out, he would have been reduced to a pile of shredded meat long ago. He turned toward a pile of thick sticks he had gathered the day before, an idea taking shape.

Panda's gaze followed, and a shiver ran down its spine as it realized what Shaun was planning.

The sticks were thick, each as tall as a man and as tough as iron, collected from the massive trees towering like skyscrapers above. Shaun had tried carving them with his knife, but the wood was so dense that after an hour of effort, he had barely shaved off an inch of the outer layer.

But Panda's horn was different. During their first fight, it had pierced the tree bark with ease. While speed played a role, the horn's sharpness and durability were undeniable. Shaun realized that if he tried to cut a tree with his knife, it would probably bend before making a dent.

A slow grin spread across Shaun's face as he turned back to Panda, holding the rabbit up to eye level. He smiled sweetly, his eyes glinting with mischief.

But to Panda, it might as well have been the smile of doom.