Komichi

The scent of hot ramen broth always mingled with the damp river spray where Komichi cast their line, a fixture on the lower banks of Waterfall City. They met a warrior from the upper plaza, one who spoke often of Minamoto's relentless drive and saw Komichi's patience as a flaw. "The world needs swords, not fishing poles," their new acquaintance had argued, gesturing so wildly they knocked a noodle bowl right onto Komichi's head. Komichi had just laughed. They showed their partner that freeing the world didn't always require a blade. With a taut line and an expert flick of the wrist, they could disarm a foe without spilling a drop of blood. That messy meal became a fond memory, a reminder that one can uphold a legacy of liberation by creating a small, quiet space of peace for someone else to share.