Tateyoshi

The Dojo is built for those who seek to master the art of battle, to earn glory and prestige. Tateyoshi, however, only ever sought to master bamboo. Their family, seeing the fluid grace in their hands as they carved, mistook artistry for martial potential and sent them to train under the great masters. So they go through the motions, their calm expression a well-practiced mask for profound unease. They learn the stances, but their mind is on the weight and grain of the wood they carry. One winter afternoon, they glimpsed a distant figure—Hensō, another trainee whispered—and the sight clarified their reluctance. It was a display of purpose so absolute, it made Tateyoshi's own half-hearted efforts feel dishonest. They still train, but after dark, they are found carving delicate flutes, creating a quiet music only they are meant to hear.