Kousei

"That one? Don't bother them," the market vendor muttered to a customer. "The paint is a warning to stay away, not an invitation to fight." Kousei wasn't born a lone wolf. For years, they ran a beloved noodle stall in the lower districts of The Teikodian Empire, known more for their kindness than their broth. But when an Imperial officer demanded they poison a rival, Kousei simply walked away from everything. Exile was the price for their conscience. The intimidating war paint was a desperate trick learned from a fellow outcast—a way to make their gentle face look hard enough to survive. They hate the feel of it, the way it cracks when they almost smile. At night, they find stray cats in the alleys and share whatever meager food they've found. It's the only time the paint doesn't feel like a lie.