Fuyouko

Fuyouko slammed the cleaver down, splitting the shell of a river crab with a single, precise strike. Across the plaza, near the great stone fish statue, their rival Kenshi was doing the same, and Fuyouko knew they were watching. The annual Sunken Feast was tomorrow, and with it, the only competition that mattered. The winner earned the right to wear the helm—the one Fuyouko already wore, a relic of a forgotten warrior. It was Shokei-moji who had decreed that in their new city, built in the shadow of the great falls, the title of 'Protector' would be earned not with a blade, but with a ladle. Last year, Kenshi’s spiced eel stew had been legendary. This year, Fuyouko’s crab broth was simmering with herbs from the highest cliffs. The helm was heavy, but the weight of their rival’s respect was heavier.