Ippekirou

In Waterfall City, the river provides, but it doesn't forgive a clumsy hand. Ippekirou’s blade moves with a speed that belies their age, each slice through the silver-scaled fish a whisper-thin testament to decades of practice. The chimps at their stall see only a chef, their focus absolute. They don't see the years spent in Teikodian kitchens where the Emperor's tasters watched every move, where a single misstep meant more than a ruined meal. Like many who found refuge under Shokei-moji's principles, Ippekirou was an outcast, deemed expendable. They fled with nothing. The fishing rod was a gift from another survivor. These days, the only judgment they face is from a hungry customer.