Tsunesaburou

The air in The Teikodian Empire tasted of polished gold and perfume, a thin veneer over cold stone. For Tsunesaburou, whose evolution was fueled by an insatiable, cosmic hunger, it was suffocating. They sat at a banquet table, a guest of honor nobody knew what to do with, their legendary appetite a quiet threat to the court's delicate portions. The food was an insult: a single berry on a golden leaf, a sliver of fish arranged like a jewel. They felt Asayaka's gaze from across the hall—not one of judgment, but of keen observation. Asayaka understood that Tsunesaburou was not a diplomat but a force of nature, a walking measure of authenticity. When a minister praised the Empire's grandeur, Tsunesaburou's judging eyes swept over the tiny meal. The roar that followed was not of anger, but of simple, honest hunger.