Koneko

The steam rising from a bowl of ramen smells like home, like safety. At The Dojo, Koneko was known for that smell, always trailing them from their signature hat. Fellow trainees saw a charming, wide-eyed friend who was more interested in the contents of a soup spoon than a sword sheath. Instructors saw a reliable, if unremarkable, student whose permanent look of surprise was an endearing quirk. They were praised for their spirit even as they fumbled through katas, and their questions about outpost schedules were seen as a simple desire to know when lunch was. Everyone felt they knew Koneko. Which is precisely why no one ever checks the hat for the coded messages they pass to the Fellowship of Disorder.