I think I'm suffering from anger management issues, not at all in accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu. Master Toro, the dojo's most feared individual: our finance director, was going through my earnings to date. He basically compared my meagre revenue against the cost of my food and lodging.
To effectively illustrate the urgency of the shortfall, he then discussed how much panda genitals sell for in the traditional medicines market. "It's not like you use them anyway, that's why you lot are all nearly extinct," he added.
I snapped. In less than half a moment I had performed the Way of the Frozen Shard, striking in a heartbeat. (Now, as a Giant Panda, I move slowly. But that is only in relation to other ninjas. Compared to deskbound beancounters, I move like greased lightning on rollerskates.)
In accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu , I focused my Ki and jumped - no, flowed - onto Master Toro's desk. In an almost Zen-like trance I span, my left paw crushing his neck while my right right hand punched out the nearby window. As I continued my rotation, my right paw caught him in a certain spot behind the ear, disconnecting his brain from its stem. By this time, my left hand had caught a piece of the broken glass. In a finishing move I drove this into his heart (this is the frozen shard), my momentum wrenching the still-beating organ from his chest. As a finale I impaled it on his beloved red pencil.
I'd say the whole process took less than half a second. I didn't mean to do it. It was instinctive. You insult my kind? You insult my mother. You insult my mother? I kill you. No, I don't just kill you, I make sushi from your vitals, sever your nethers and wrap your intestines round your torso like tinsel on a Christmas tree, while you are still talking.
Yes, less than half a second. Blink and you'd miss it. Master Toro didn't blink. He had seen the whole thing. He had seen the whole thing from behind the practice dummy he had slipped into his chair while I focused my Ki and jumped - no, flowed - onto his desk. (Now, that's fast.)
By and large, finance directors don't like it when you try to kill them. And Ninja finance directors don't mess around with reports to HR and rigorous examination of your expenses. For a moment Master Toro regarded me cautiously.
I knew I was dead. He moved so fast I would not stand a chance against his attack. It would be over before he realised it had begun, never mind me.
He spoke: " So you are not aware that I worked at our craft for 30 years? Oh yes, friend panda, I was not always a ... 'deskbound beancounter', as you put it."
I knew I was dead. He moved so fast I would not stand a chance against his attack and he could read my mind. (A useful skill when it comes to expenses claims, I suppose.) In a second he was behind me. I swear he didn't move. One split second he was on the other side of the desk. Then he was speaking in my ear.
"Still, that was a well-executed move, if slow. Unlike most, you kept your right foot - sorry, paw - at the correct angle, in accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu. You show promise. That's the reason you are not dead already. You're worth more to us alive.
"However, your genitals are still up for grabs. And, no, not in that sense."
He then deducted the cost of his destroyed practice dummy from my future earnings. Master Toro then told me to start earning or get used to a different style of trousers.
Not a good day.
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