Tsuguyo

Tsuguyo did not get the scar over their eye from a kitchen accident. The story changes depending on who asks, but the truth is tied to a Teikodian rooftop and a blade meant for an imperial magistrate. That life ended the moment they fell three stories into a merchant’s cart, waking up with a new face and no one to answer to. They traveled until the freezing winds of The Great Panda City felt like a clean slate. Here, their hands, once trained for silent kills, learned the quiet rhythm of folding dumplings. They trade in smiles and hot noodles now, their gold meow cap a disarmingly bright beacon against the purple sky. Sometimes a customer will ask about the scar, and Tsuguyo will laugh. "A terrible argument with a sack of flour," they say, their eyes never quite matching the smile.