Tainosuke

The scent of scorched willow planks and overcooked fish often drifted from Tainosuke’s favorite spot by the river in Waterfall City. They sat serenely, pink yukata folded neatly, attempting to gently toast a river trout with a small flame exhaled from their lips. But serenity was a fragile thing. A moment’s distraction, a flicker of annoyance, and the flame would surge, turning lunch into a stick of charcoal. 'Still struggling, Tainosuke?' a familiar voice called from a nearby boat. Nijuurou held up a string of perfectly caught, un-burnt silverfish with a smirk. Tainosuke didn’t rise to the bait, only sighing as they nudged the smoking remains into the current. The ancient amulet around their neck felt cool against their skin. They had learned poise and poetry, but never the simple art of not setting their food ablaze.