Chourou

Three prices for bamboo, two for secrets, and one for silence. To the young aspirants at The Dojo, Chourou is just the old merchant by the lake, the one who sells perfectly balanced staves and wears a bafflingly crisp shirt and tie. They see the grey bandana and assume a warrior's past, but the wrinkled mouth offers no stories. The seasoned fighters, however, see a different truth. They trade not for bamboo, but for whispers—information from the Teikodian court or the outer forests. They know the shirt is not a strange fashion but a uniform from a life of shrewd negotiation in a world without honor. Chourou themself says nothing. They simply watch the trainees spar, knowing that the most dangerous fights are never won with a stick.