It's been a decade since his fifteen minutes in the spotlight, but Ginga is ready to astound the world and win his fans back in the biggest way he knows how. Enjoy!
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It had been a decade since his moment in the sun— everyone told him that his fifteen minutes of fame were over, and that he should settle. He could get a comfortable job somewhere and lead a perfectly comfortable life. But Ginga was the face of the Olympics— shouldn't he shoot for more than an office job and slowly getting soft and fat with each passing year?
Yes. Absolutely, he should. The jaguar had a special talent, and he still had a bit of youth left— why not go for gold, one last time, and leave behind a few more stories? It took him a little bit to try focusing his unique talent, looking to regain his ability to reshape his body, but soon it all came back to him, not unlike riding a bike. It was all about focus, and he could reshape himself to be a prime specimen for any sport— and he had his eye set on an upcoming boxing competition.
Ginga only had to focus and let his body do the rest; mass and shape began to warp under his spotted yellow fur, arms suddenly billowing with thick bulges of cut, dense muscle. His arms were primed to hit with the force of battering rams, green legs suddenly cut with springy muscle that let him leap with shocking speed and grace, a pair of broad shoulders and a broad chest to give him the constitution to be a prize fighter— his opponents wouldn't know what hit him, and this was only just the beginning.