Shihiro

If one were to walk the gilded streets of The Teikodian Empire after the skirmish, they would find Shihiro perched on an overturned merchant’s cart, looking dazed. Their gold bushidō paint is smeared, and the ramen hat they always wear is now serving as a bowl, filled with broth and noodles from the stall they just defended. They fought three of the Emperor's guards, not for honor or justice, but because the guards were harassing the vendor who makes the best tonkotsu in the capital. A passing noble recognized their fierce, fluid style. "Minamoto's blood, wasted on alley brawls." Shihiro just slurped their noodles, unbothered. Their legendary resilience wasn't for liberating the world, but for ensuring no one ever ruined a perfectly good lunch.