Matajirou

Every morning, Matajirou meditates upon a single, dried mushroom cap kept in a lead-lined box. They were once a guard in The Teikodian Empire, their calm demeanor mistaken for simple loyalty. But patient eyes see through gold-leafed lies. They saw the shadows stretch from the dungeons, heard whispers of Isha’s cruel science, and understood the blinding sunlight was a mask for moral decay. In a forgotten imperial garden, they found a fungus of the same species that legend says transformed Sakkaku. But Matajirou did not consume it. Instead, they studied it, learning to channel its deceptive properties into their own movements—a brief lapse in memory, an unnoticed flicker in the periphery. They still guard the palace corridors, a tranquil ghost among the gilded walls.