Tatsukurou

Every morning, Tatsukurou smooths the lapels of a suit that never quite feels like their own. In the bustling yards of The Dojo, they are seen as a shrewd and focused merchant, their intense eyes brokering deals for training supplies and rare artifacts. No one knows they were a simple botanist who found the suit, along with a ledger of appointments, in a wrecked caravan on the path here. They took the identity for a single night's shelter and became trapped in it. The exclamation mark that flickers above their head isn't surprise at a good bargain; it’s the constant, silent alarm of an imposter, terrified of the day someone asks about a life they never lived.